The halls of the Celestial Assembly were built to impress gods.
A dome of celestial glass stretched above, painted with false stars that glowed like memories of long-dead constellations. The marble underfoot was forged from the bones of extinct worlds. Time stood still here—not out of reverence, but fear. This was not a place where truth was spoken. It was where truth was buried.
Park Hae In stood at the heart of the room, framed by cold light. Her uniform bore no crease, no fold. Her eyes, once filled with compassion as humanity's protector, now gleamed with something more sinister. Beside her stood Mr. Singh, as still as obsidian, his hands clasped behind him like a warden awaiting a sentence.
Surrounding them, seated in a wide crescent, were the Eleven Elders of the Celestial Family, each older than kingdoms, draped in robes threaded with stardust and law. Behind them towered their ancestral sigils—emblems that once controlled galaxies.
Twelve thrones.
Eleven filled.
One vacant. Cloaked in darkness.
Jin Shang's throne.
It had been sealed the day Olympus fell. Marked with silent curses. No one spoke his name here. Not anymore.
But the shadow remained.
Mr. Singh's voice cracked through the air like a warhorn.
"He's gone. But the scars he left—Olympus in ruins, the Abyss stirring, the Prophecy fractured—will fester long after we are dead."
No reply. Only the silent rustle of ancient robes. Judgement waited.
Then Park Hae In took a single step forward.
Her voice was cold. Sterile.
"Jin Shang was never meant to exist."
The words hit harder than any sword.
Elder Yuan's voice boomed like a sermon. "He was an anomaly. A fracture in the balance we preserved. A curse born from rebellion."
"But still," whispered Elder Mira, her voice thin, "he was born of her blood."
Silence again. This time not of formality—but fear.
They were not angry at what Jin did.
They were afraid of what Jin was.
Elder Yuan stood. His voice cracked. "We brought her into this universe. She was never meant to step foot in this cycle."
"From another universe," Singh added quietly.
"She was the reincarnation of Rhea," Yuan growled. "The Titan mother. And we were fools—Fools—to believe her child wouldn't inherit everything."
"And his father," Hae In added, lips tight, "was the reincarnation of Kronos. The Time Tyrant. The Devourer of Pantheons. You gave them new names, new faces—Han Jin Hyuk and Elena Eva—but you invited a storm into your house."
A storm named Jin Shang.
Elder Mira buried her face in her hands. "So we… made him."
"No," Singh corrected. "You summoned him."
"We tried to correct it," Hae In added. "We created the Sadan Island Incident. Artificially spawned disasters. Summoned Laplace, Orchestrated deaths. A perfect trauma. One meant to fracture Jin's sanity, suppress his awakening, break the soul before the god inside it could breathe."
Elder Lisa whispered in horror, "And instead… he transcended."
"He ascended," Singh hissed. "With Abyssal power. With Erebus. With hatred."
"And we gave him a reason to hate us," Hae In admitted, showing no shame.
John Elder rose slowly. "Then answer me, Hae In. Why did we let him rise? Why didn't you stop him at the turning point?"
That's when Singh laughed. A hollow, mocking sound that bounced off divine marble.
"Oh, you really don't know, do you?" he said. "Have you all forgotten why Park Hae In chose Lillian as the new Supreme Commander?"
The Elders turned, expressions of dawning horror crawling over their ageless faces.
Hae In's smile was faint. Serpentine.
"She was the only one untouched by Jin's presence. Kind. Loved. Respected. Loyal. But more importantly…"
She paused. And then delivered the dagger.
"…She doesn't know who she really is."
"Her bloodline—" Elder Yuan gasped.
"She's the heir," Elder Mira whispered, trembling. "Monarch's legacy… still lives?"
"Not awakened," Singh said. "Not yet."
"She doesn't even know?" Elder Lisa asked.
"She must never know," Hae In replied coldly. "That's why I placed her at the center. The heart of power. The epicenter of chaos. Near enough to awaken… but not far enough to escape."
One by one, the Elders sat back in horror.
"She's a weapon," Singh said, voice flat. "She'll either break…"
"…Or become what we need," Hae In finished.
Elder Lisa leaned forward. "And if she becomes like Jin?"
Hae In's expression hardened into cruelty.
"Then I'll destroy her myself."
A long silence followed.
Lisa's voice broke the quiet. "So what do we do with her now?"
Hae In walked to the center of the dais, her boots echoing with deadly purpose. She stared up at the vacant throne—Jin Shang's shadow still clinging to its carved edges.
She turned back to them.
Her voice was low. Bitter. Final.
"Just give her to me."