(~838 words — part 7)
The cathedral loomed in the quiet morning mist—towering spires of blackstone and stained glass, its steeples etched with runes older than the city itself. No bells rang. No priests walked the halls.
And yet, it watched.
Nyari stood at the massive iron gate, her cloak drawn tight, her badge hidden beneath her tunic. The note was still in her hand—its paper smooth, but the ink strangely warm to the touch.
"If you wish to learn the truth of your rebirth…
Meet me beneath the cathedral. Come alone."
She took a breath.
And stepped inside.
⛪ The Silent Hall
The cathedral interior was dim—shafts of blue light cutting through dust-heavy air from rose-shaped windows. Holy statues lined the walls, each one cracked or faded, faces eroded by time.
Not a soul in sight.
But she could feel it.
The pull.
A soft tug in her chest. A whisper beneath her heartbeat.
She passed the altar, stepping onto a side stair carved in crumbling marble. No guards. No locks.
Just a slow descent into the unknown.
🕯️ The Catacombs
The stairs spiraled downward for what felt like hours—each step older, colder, darker.
Her dagger glowed softly in her hand, illuminating cobwebs thick as rope and carvings along the walls that grew less religious… and more ritualistic.
Tiger markings. Starburst patterns. Eyes. Always eyes.
At the bottom, a single stone door waited—half-open, ancient hinges rusted but still functional.
She stepped through.
And into a chamber of forgotten gods.
🌀 The Chamber of Echoes
It wasn't a crypt.
It was a temple.
A secret one.
Massive columns encircled the space, carved with beings of fur and flame—animals with celestial eyes, shapes shifting mid-form. A massive basin sat in the center, filled with shimmering water that showed not reflections—but memories.
And beside it… a figure.
Hooded. Tall. Neither male nor female in form—draped in flowing black and silver robes. Their voice came before their face.
"So you finally returned."
Nyari stopped. "…Do I know you?"
The figure tilted their head. "Not yet. But I know you, child of stars. You wear the mark of the white hunt. The curse and the gift."
They raised a hand—and the basin glowed.
Her old life flickered there.
Riku.
The boy in the rain.
The wish in the dark.
The moment the world rewrote itself.
Nyari stared. Her claws curled in her sleeves.
"…What is this?"
"Your truth."
🧬 The Truth of Her Rebirth
"You were not simply reborn," the figure said softly. "You were chosen."
"Chosen by what?"
The figure gestured upward.
"By the Eclipsed Flame—the broken divinity that scattered across all worlds. Fragments of its light seek hosts. Vessels. Embers."
"You… were the perfect spark."
Nyari took a step back. Her tail flicked behind her.
"No… I was just a boy. I didn't ask to be a god."
"You didn't need to ask," the figure replied. "The void hears longing better than prayers. And it gave you a body that remembers what you once were—long ago, before memory."
Nyari clenched her fists.
"You're lying."
"Then look."
🌌 The Divine Memory
The basin pulsed.
Suddenly, the chamber vanished—and Nyari stood in a field of stars.
Not a vision.
A memory.
Her memory.
She stood as something not human. Not beast.
Wings of stardust. Eyes of flame. A body that shimmered between feline and goddess—striking down shadows that consumed worlds. Protecting. Hunting. Serving.
But there was a cost.
She saw herself kneeling.
Bowing.
Submitting to a higher force—a woman in robes of void and crystal.
The true goddess.
And then—
Shattering.
Rebirth.
Earth.
A boy in a quiet room, never knowing why his dreams felt like cages.
💔 The Aftershock
Nyari collapsed to her knees.
The stars faded.
The temple returned.
She trembled—not with fear, but with grief.
"…That wasn't me."
"It was," the figure said softly. "And it still is."
Nyari looked up, golden eyes wide.
"Why show me this?"
"Because something ancient has awakened," they replied. "Something that remembers your original form. And it hates you for surviving."
Nyari's hands shook.
"…What do I do?"
The figure stepped closer.
"You remember.
You awaken.
You choose who you become next."
And with that—they vanished.
No wind.
No sound.
Only a final whisper left in her ear:
"You are not prey, Nyari.
You were born to hunt what others fear to name."
🕊️ The Ascent
She emerged from the catacombs at dawn.
Eyes narrowed.
Head high.
Her heartbeat still echoed with memories she didn't ask for—but felt.
She had a choice now.
To run from what she was.
Or rise into it.
And as the wind caught her cloak and the capital stirred awake…
Nyari whispered to herself:
"I won't be someone else's weapon."
"But I won't hide anymore either."
"I'll fight. For me. For them. For everything this power was meant to protect."
To be continued in Chapter Nine: "The Hunters Stir"
(The enemy makes its move. Assassins marked by void arrive in the capital—drawn by Nyari's reawakening. But they aren't just hunting her… they're awakening others like her.)