As Above, So Below

Lacia strode through a constellation of stars, shuffling her feet the same way she shuffled through her thoughts. She’d left Aria speechless, which wasn’t how she wanted to leave things, but she couldn’t explain—not yet. It was sudden, and she understood that, but she couldn’t face her and tell her everything was going to be alright when she truly didn’t know if that was the truth or not. What’s worse, the guilt that swirled in her stomach told her there was more to the story even she didn’t know which only complicated matters further. It stung, watching her hand fall short of her own, pulling away from the girl who’d given everything to be by her side again, walked through hell and stood at the gates with her. The silence was deafening: her ears rang with a pitch so shrill it could be mistaken for a dog whistle.

She stared at her feet as she dragged them along, stars on her left and right accompanying her worried thoughts and unsettled shuffle. Leaving Aria behind was for the better, even if the distraught look on her face would only add cracks to the walls she was working so hard to rebuild. There was just too much at stake to bring her along, to allow her to live the “past” with her, and she hated herself for it. The image of her fingers slipping through Aria’s as she pulled away would haunt her mind forever; they weren’t soft and supple like she had expected—they’d been callused, dry skin creating as many cracks across their surface as faults that had ruptured through her mind… all faults she’d allowed Aria to face alone.

If she’d taken Aria with her, though, she feared she would resent her—she feared everyone would resent her. The truth was, the dream she had was of her own purposeful creation: the shoreline, footprints etched in the sand, and the eventual near-drowning. When she woke the following morning, scrambling to brush her egregious bedhead before school, she couldn’t remember anything she had been doing before the dream—at least, not at first. It was a strange bout of amnesia the doctors couldn’t explain; after a few days, however, the memories returned, but it had stirred something inside of her: a warm, bubbly feeling that sat in the pit of her stomach. Despite its comforting warmth, it also carried a weight that festered in the back of her mind like unresolved guilt or lingering emotional attachments—hence why she feared resentment as retaliation.

She felt like an elementary school student, eyes glued to the floor in shame, walking to the principal’s office to explain why she’d been caught hiding in the bathrooms instead of attending class again. The truth was, she’d later admit to her parents, she didn’t like how the other kids stared at her like she was some kind of foreign object they’d never seen before. It unnerved her, made her unable to focus during class because of the constant stares and haunting whispers of curious eight and nine-year-olds.

It was precisely because she didn’t understand the dreams and her own identity that she had to leave Aria behind. In a perfect world, she would have allowed her to walk the universe alongside her, recounting her starry stories of the universal past she’d left behind to chase something worldly and unfettered. But why? She understood her relationship with Aria. The problem, though, was Aria’s past and the suffering she had endured. Was her decision to give up her past life for one on Earth, rather than one as an omniscient observer, what brought Aria so much hardship and pain? If so, would she hate her for it? For taking something so precious from her, forcing her to walk a path of loneliness and despair? She didn’t know how to make something like that up to her, much less how she’d even begin to apologize.

Even so, the more she thought about her time on Earth and the fragments of the life she used to live, the more she finally began to understand her true self, of which she hoped would lead her to more answers about herself, but it also helped explain why people would just… gawk at her. Everywhere she went, someone would always stop, stare for a moment, and exclaim she was the most beautiful person they’d ever seen—as radiant as a star.

Of course, the full story of her past remained elusive, but bits and pieces had returned to her over the years—especially in the last couple—and she hated it. She knew that, somehow, she was at fault for Ahzef’s current plot to revive Nertiia and thus his plans to rewrite the entirety of the universe with her power, the part she hated, but those tiny fragments were rare and, when they came, they left her with as many questions as there were stars in the sky. The strange part? They always came as vivid dreams, ones she’d wake up questioning the contents and validity of… the most egregious example being the recurrent drowning nightmare—the one she’d wake up from, gasping for air after.

Her reawakening as a member of the Ilern, subsequent assumption of the role as Earth’s princess, and fragmented drip of memories were only a small piece of the puzzle, though she knew it was one of the most important ones. Still, there remained a final piece she needed to find, and the sooner she found it the better. Unfortunately, that meant she would have to face the past. She wasn’t trying to run from what she couldn’t remember—she was looking for the shoes that would carry her along the path of a forgotten past. She continued shuffling through the constellation, her bracelet noiselessly collecting the surrounding starlight—she would need the stories contained within each speck.

Despite her troubled mind, her breaths were steady, almost crystalline in the celestial shimmer. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt at home. Her eyes blazed bluer than fire as she looked up, transitioning from a troubled, lagging shuffle to an elegant stride empowered by the regal blood that flowed through her veins. The air began to hum with her every breath as if someone was plucking the strings of a lyre, the constellation she now strode through her enchanted forest.

“It’s good to see you have returned.”

“Yes, it took me quite some time, longer than I had foreseen, but I’ve returned, Astraeus.” Lacia replied. “My apologies,” she curtsied.

“It is of no matter, now, your highness.” Astraeus rose from a throne of stars, glimmering in marvelous chromatic displays of cerise, aqua, and lilac. His appearance was just as dazzling. He approached Lacia, galaxies swirling across his body. “With your return, we will now proceed. As the sovereign ruler, you must ascertain what it is that will accompany you into the New Dawn.”

“Ah, so flattering as always,” she beamed as she rose to her feet. “But, please— I am no less “human” than my friends who have risked everything for me. Just my name will do.”

“Then, if I may be so hold,” Astraeus smiled, a comet tail creating the curve of his mouth, “by what name is it that you would most prefer to rise as?”

“…Before I give you my answer, it should be known that I am not abandoning who I am now or who I once was then. I am reaffirming who I have always been and always will be, even long after the universe has been restored to its proper order. I just have to rediscover myself, first.” She folded her arms across her chest in thought. “Elyra.”

“Very well then, Elyra. As you stand between the mightiest of Earth’s heroes and the elegance of flight, may your melodies forever grace the Elysian Fields.” Astraeus’ throne coalesced with the cosmic background as his body began to fade. “My presence is required elsewhere now that you have resumed sovereignty over this realm.”

“I chose each of the Flame Chasers myself—this universe will remain intact. Of that, I am certain. It is thanks to you that I can attest to such certainty.”

Suddenly, the stars around Lacia began to move, forming a celestial corridor as they welcomed her home. They twinkled like lights on an airport runway—she followed them, each star pulsing brighter as she passed, recognizing her sovereign bloodline. A rainbow road of starlight illuminated the path with bouts of color, each star that offered its light shining brighter than it ever had before. The stars did not wait to welcome her home—they bent with every graceful step she took; they bowed to her as their magnitudes grew; they sang the chorus to her stellar melody while she plucked the strings of the constellation’s lyre.

Starlight wrapped her body in ribbons of gathering, multi-colored light as she walked forward. The star did not wait to welcome their sovereign princess home—no, they were hers to command, and they wasted no time dressing her in the appropriate attire:

Midnight violet hues molded to her body, assessing each subtle curve as the bodice of her star-formed dress came into focus—corset-like but as fluid as the swirling colors engulfing her body. The fabric shimmered with three-dimensional depth; it was as if the bodice had become the midnight sky itself as it brushed the backs of her knees, offering a slight tease, leaving her knees uncovered. Silvery threads traced constellations across the bust and waist, a subtle reminder of who she always was and who she would remain—interwoven and intersecting with ancestral roots. At the base, the skirt ruffled into a subtle A-line flair, something contemporary with a majestic style that commanded beauty and demanded respect. The neckline framed her collarbones with intention—not ostentatious but framed like the rising moon on the horizon. The sleeves reflected the same midnight purple regality: fluid, ethereal, and perfectly molded. Lace cuffs at the wrist added charm and glamour, fabric working from the shoulder down.

Her tights shimmered as if her legs were made of starlight themselves—iridescent with shifting hues as she continued to walk. No stage light could ever compare to the auroras her legs had become; not even the most skilled artists could replicate the mixture of fine silk and ethereal fabrics that graced her slender form. The starlight playfully bounced off her legs, their color now somewhere between elegant black and oriental white. She commanded the light and the light bent to her will. It was a symbiotic relationship: the light was her sovereignty and her identity; in return, the light would be given new life, molded through regality and harmony.

A pair of crystalline-silver high heels wrapped around her feet—sleek and ethereal. They refracted starlight as she walked. Glittering with intensity, they doubled as elegant knives, weaponized edges when needed and always combat-ready. Each step was a sharp decree, a crystalline echo that resounded through the atmosphere, rising and falling like the breath of a shimmering aurora. The stars had been struck into song the same way her heels struck the atmospheric floor—her sovereign gavel, the cosmos her courtroom.

She tossed her hair over her shoulder as she approached the throne Astraeus had been seated in. Starlight wove her honey and platinum locks into a pale, sunlight-colored hue. Even the universe’s mightiest monsters acknowledged her sovereignty, a pair of supermassive blackholes gifting her their cosmic collision’s creation; gravity waves nestled into her hair, creating a heavenly home as they gave it a refracted, bouncy wave. It seemed to capture the multicolored starlight, yet, it retained the same sunlight shimmer it had always been… at least… in this life.

Taking a pair of fingers, she kissed the air, absorbing just enough starlight for a cerise, matte finish as she pressed them against her lips. While she didn’t mind Earth’s makeup, she found that what the cosmos offered to be more appropriate, not to mention it was far easier to apply starlight for the exact look she desired—dusky eyes, rosy lips, under-eye blush, and enhanced nose and cheekbone highlights.

Astraeus dropped to one knee, bowing before Lacia as she stood before the throne once occupied by the titan of the cosmos himself. Once she took a seat, she would officially reassume the title of beauty, power, and—to her—endearment: The Estrean, the one, sovereign princess that ruled over heaven, the terrestrial realms, and even the inter-passageways that connected the dimensional groupings between Earth and Chiipha. Astraeus’ acknowledgement of her claim to the throne was only half of the final power transference required for official resumption.

“Twenty-two years on Earth wasn’t what I was expecting, not after such a long slumber,” she admitted. “I do understand I asked you not to involve yourself in the devils’ Rezertia affairs unless the situation became dire, but—”

Astraeus interrupted her. “Yes, your highness, you did. However, had you not returned when you did, I would have been forced to intervene. We have lost every dimensional grouping aside from this one—Ahzef has grown mighty since his last attempt.”

Lacia stood before the throne, back turned to Astraeus. “Indeed. He has already begun to siphon power from the Primordial Goddess, but she is also lacking in strength… for now. She will awaken soon.” She paused for a moment. “What I did not foresee was the complete removal and fragmentation of my memory. Originally, my plan was to confront Ahzef alone and eliminate Nertiia for good, but I ended up living a quarter of a lifetime as a human girl, blind to the reason I chose to descend in the first place.”

“Your highness—”

“Elyra,” she corrected.

“Elyra,” Astraeus began, “let us finish the transference of power so that you may sit upon your throne once more. I must also repair the tatters in our universal plane left behind by Ahzef. There is much to be done to restore order.”

“Very well. I cannot remain here, and I have a lot of explaining to do to… my friends. So, yes, let us finish.”

A shimmering wall appeared before Lacia and the throne, semi-transparent and almost glass-like. It absorbed the light of the universe, embellishing the wall in aggregates of devoured worlds, dying stars, and… Lacia’s memories. She turned, placing her hand next to an empty segment in the center as her eyes examined the hollowed-out space, shaped like a puzzle piece. Holding out her hands, a ball of light appeared in the center, morphing into the shape of the missing piece. Once added, she would complete her reassumption of power, once again the sovereign ruler of her universe.

Without hesitation, she turned her hands over, allowing the final piece to the puzzle she’d been seeking to float before her as she carved a large, bleeding gash into her palms. She refused to revoke her humanity if it meant forgetting all the times she laughed, cried, felt her heart break—even the times she found herself utterly exhausted after a long school day. Revoking her humanity to become something that was more than human didn’t sit right with her.

“Humans are so fascinating, but actually getting to be one was even more rewarding than I could have ever imagined.” She pressed her palms against the ethereal wall, blood trickling down its face. “The Rezertia before the last one, during the Greyriter and Lhumin family conflict, taxed me… greatly. During the time of my extended slumber, Azhef bid his time, rebuilding his legion, steadily gaining power that rivaled my own. Of course, this is frustrating, a feeling I’ve grown to despise,” she laughed, “but some of the fault lies with me, why he has grown so powerful.”

“Do not be so harsh on yourself,” Astraeus said. “We are not gods—we cannot predict nor alter the future for we are only meant to oversee the princesses who Ethera had been tasked with selecting as defenses. Your time spent as human was an invaluable experience that will surely aid you greatly in the coming battle, but do not forsake Ethera’s trust and belief in you. When time permits, you should speak with her if you desire to learn more about yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Lacia admitted, “but I took pity on Ahzef and spared him, letting him retreat, thinking he wouldn’t dare attempt another Rezertia. I know now that was a foolish decision, an imperfection I could never tear from myself. I paid dearly for that mistake, in more ways than one.”

“If the impartation of power should be deemed foolish, then I bear that fate with you. That boy, Rei, has great potential. I do not doubt you are already aware, however.”

“The problem isn’t who receives power or when it comes to its distribution, though,” she said, removing her hands from the puzzle-wall. “The problem is that I failed to use proper judgement and lacked better foresight. I am not perfect, by no means. I think my time as human these last twenty-two years proves that—there is no being that is not filled with imperfection, and I am certainly no goddess.”

The wall continued to shimmer as her blood seeped into the celestial, glass-like face. She took a step back, admiring the midnight-purple hues it adopted, the outlines of the different “puzzle” pieces boldened in bright crimson. One after the other, their brightness grew in magnitude—a sign of recognition, a sign that the puzzle-wall contained more than just mystical pieces to an unsolved map.

Like the wall, the cut across Lacia’s palms also began to glow, resonating with the puzzle-wall in front of her, but it was more than that: the puzzle-wall was filled with her memories, heritage, lost years she had forgotten and, most importantly, Ahzef’s plan. The stars bore witness to every creature’s life… including the devils’. Once the final piece was fitted, the stars would align before her, mapping out a constellation that revealed everything she’d lost and everything she needed to regain that loss.

“In order to obtain the final piece to this puzzle, I have to give something of immense value to me… I can’t help but question if this is something I had already decided some many years ago. Did I make a decision I may regret now? I’m beginning to think my journey on Earth was meant as ignorance, a way to dismiss what I didn’t want to address. Perhaps a way to finally reveal Ahzef’s true intentions for a costly price.” She turned to face Astraeus. “If I allowed Ahzef to devour the other dimensional groupings so that I could obtain that piece… I would have allowed the lives of trillions to perish, all to save one, single instance of humanity. If that should truly be the case, would I have been justified in my actions?”

“Elyra… You made a gamble that had no guarantees, regardless of the anticipated outcome. While I cannot attest to the decision you, yourself, made, I will tell you that I offered you advice of the same weight twenty-two years ago that I offer you now— Guarantee is never guaranteed. When you learn of your decision, do not cast judgement upon yourself. You are the sovereign ruler of the stars and the worlds they blanket with life. Permanence is not forever, nor should it be used as a means to doubt your intentions—they are yours, after all. Imperfect, yes, but that imperfection is what allows one to cast better judgment and anticipate foresight.”

Lacia smiled. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” She turned to face the puzzle-wall again. “To obtain this final piece, I will have to face whatever decisions my past self made and bear those consequences. It would be unjust if I did not.”

There was a reason she was allowed to remember scattered fragments of her true identity, though that reason remained elusive—at least, until she reassumed the throne officially. The stars would reveal the truth, a truth she knew she didn’t want but would have to accept, regardless of what it revealed. After all, the stars never lied, always brutally honest when it came to confessions: an accidental solar storm here, a captured interstellar object pulled off course by the pull of a rogue planet’s gravity there…

She recalled a stinging rebuke when they reluctantly offered their thoughts on a daytrip she’d decided to take to a nearby ocean world. It was her favorite vacation spot: solitary beaches, no trash, and all the sun she could ever want… Unfortunately, what was supposed to be one day turned into one decade which, in turn, allowed a politically-inept planet to destroy itself with nuclear weapons—she’d never hear the end of that one. Still, it remained an example of the things she could remember and an example of the things she couldn’t—leisurely vacations in her galactic neighborhood and important, universe-altering events respectively. She was certain the answers to her past, and her true identity, would come—possibly even instantaneously once she resumed her position upon the throne.

“The pieces are primed. Now, it is my duty to assume control of what I both lost and left behind. Henceforth, Astraeus, you are no longer bound to this throne. Your observance of the worlds has given us a fighting chance… and a shot at finishing what I should have ended long ago.” She shook her head. “I could ask myself why I didn’t squash that devil mess when it first began to fester all I like, but it seems moot to keep standing here, wondering and questioning the things the stars already know.”

“Should you require my assistance, I will be but a moment to your side,” Astraeus said. “I now revoke my control and omniscience bestowed upon me by you, though there remains much to do still. Ahzef is quite the messy eater. To your delight, scraps of the devoured worlds may yet be salvageable.”

“That is excellent news, and it actually does bring me joy to know that I wasn’t careless in my decision to carve out a little time as a human girl,” she said in surprise. She turned to Astraeus once more and nodded. “You are hereby relieved of your duties here. I will clean up the rest of my mess.”

Astraeus bowed before disappearing into the cosmic background, likely already busy collecting the discarded fragments of Ahzef’s meals like trash after a large sporting event—unclean, carelessly littered, and overly disappointing. Just what was Ahzef’s true purpose, though? Just as she questioned herself, she too questioned everyone and everything around her. Despite the innumerable questions that ran marathons through her brain, she knew one thing was for certain: she enjoyed her time on Earth, even if it was a bit more than she liked to admit at times.

“I can’t make any decisions without first understanding who I am and what I’m supposed to be doing… I’m not some kind of omniscient being, and I’m most certainly not some kind of goddess, but what, then, does that make me?”

She walked over to the throne, glimmering in the multi-colored starlight. With Astraeus’ departure, she took the opportunity to address her troubled mind—alone. The last thing she’d said to Aria ended up being something that probably only brought her confusion despite her already-strong understanding of the situation at hand. Afterglows and Arias… Both were key to the incomplete puzzle that awaited its final piece, eagerly pulsating like a rhythmic breath—the light would dim then grow before repeating the cycle. It would not fit inside the puzzle-wall until she came to terms with herself and her past—secrets buried within the very fabric of the universe itself.

Her heels struck the starry floor, reverberating throughout the constellation as each step crafted a new note, a new sound that redefined the empty space. The notes were sharp, causing them to linger, yet they remained gentle. The constellation was a lonely, desolate place, the place she was sure she’d spent countless years watching humans mill about their planets. The only company she ever had were the notes from the stars themselves, the constellation strumming its harp like a sweet lullaby… the constellation Lyra.

She took a seat upon the throne as she crossed her legs, one over the other. “It’s time I finished the final piece to this puzzle,” she yawned, settling her head into her hand. “Nothing will change the last two decades I spent on Earth, and it’s not like I’m renouncing my friendship towards anyone, but I also realize I may not be able to return.”

She closed her eyes, settling into a dream-like reverie. The stars held the secrets she sought. For better or for worse, she would have to face a past that she knew nothing about—something completely alien from the terrestrial tribulations of Earth. The decision to face a past as boundless as the universe itself wouldn’t be easy, but her story was written in the stars, trailed in the wake of passing comets, and twirled in the spiraling arms of galaxies as they performed their cosmic ballet.

“I never thought I would be the one to write the beginning to this ending. In some ways, it is almost cathartic, though I cannot yet fully explain why I even have the tiniest sliver of who I really am and how it resurfaced, but I suppose that is something I will just have to find out for myself. ‘As above, so below,’ they say.”