1 I was the Celestial Princess, born of starlight and blessed by the All-Mother. My destiny was to undergo the final Ascension—a trial to become the last true god. But during my trial, as the last lightning struck, the storm raged on. Lyra, my lifelong handmaiden, then transformed. Nine amethyst tails unfurled—proof of divine bloodline. She wept in my mother’s arms: "Eloise’s trial will fail. I have the sacred blood!" The Queen, furious, dragged me to the Scourge Dais. "Today, I’ll have justice for my true daughter!" The King siphoned my millennia of power to Lyra. "This is what you owe her." My husband Kaelen gazed at Lyra tenderly. "Fate’s threads weave true. At last, destined lovers unite." Lyra demanded a final price: my flesh for my mother, my bones for my father. I died piece by piece, consumed by cosmic despair. 2 When I awoke, reborn into the past, I was standing on the Scourge Dais once more. My mother was just about to announce my true parentage to the assembled Celestials. But this time, something was different. Just as I braced myself for the denunciation, my mother’s voice rang out, sharp and unyielding as forged steel. “Eloise is the one and only Princess of the Celestials! This is not open for debate!” The sky, already a bruised tapestry of storm clouds, was ripped open by jagged white scars of lightning. A bolt of raw, divine power struck me, and the world dissolved into white-hot agony. The skin it touched blackened and split, a searing torment. But I had no skin left to burn. No flesh left to char. In my last life, my father had already seen to that. On that day, to erase any lingering doubt, he had put me on trial before the entire court. “You have been nurtured by the Celestial realm for seventy thousand years,” he had declared, his voice devoid of any warmth. “This is a debt you owe Lyra. Today, you will repay it.” By then, my seventy millennia of carefully cultivated essence—my very core—had already been drained from me by a secret Celestial artifact and poured into Lyra. I was nothing more than a mortal husk, collapsed and broken on the cold stone. “My power… I earned it through ages of toil,” I’d rasped, my breath shallow. “Lyra now wields it with no effort. Is that not enough?” Lyra’s reply was a cold hiss, her eyes like a serpent’s. “Enough? You dare speak of seventy thousand years? You stole my life! You stole my parents! For seventy thousand years, I should have been the princess, and instead, I lived as a servant because of you!” She turned to the King and Queen. “Father! Mother! If she does not repay her debt—flesh for my mother, bone for my father—then I would rather not be a princess at all!” My mother had flinched, a flicker of hesitation in her eyes. “Must it come to this? She has already been…” But Lyra threw herself into our mother’s arms, her expression a perfect portrait of pitiable suffering. “Mother…” The Queen said nothing. She sighed, a sound of resignation, and turned away. Seventy thousand years of raising me, undone by a single, whispered word from Lyra. The Celestial guards dragged my unresisting body to the execution block on the dais. The pain was so absolute that I tried to throw myself from the platform, to find the mercy of a quick end. But Kaelen, my husband, stopped me. “Lyra said you’re not to miss a single cut.” Driven mad by agony, I begged him, a primal plea. “For the love we shared, I beg you. Grant me this one mercy. Let me die with dignity. Let me die now!” Kaelen’s face was a frozen mask. “The love we shared? My wife has always been, and only ever will be, the Princess of the Celestials.” The flesh was carved from me, strip by agonizing strip. A torture so inhuman it shattered my soul. Lyra’s laughter echoed, wild and triumphant. “The highest form of this execution requires three thousand, three hundred and fifty-seven cuts. If I find any of you slacking, you’ll regret it.” The guards used the dullest blades. Every slice felt like it was scraping against my very spine. … Now, my father’s deep, imperious voice pulled me from the suffocating grip of that memory. “Eloise. As the Celestial Princess, why has your Divine Trial failed? Why have you not Ascended to godhood?” I lifted my gaze to meet his, a wall of ice. In my last life, I died never understanding how Lyra, a mere handmaiden, could manifest the nine tails—the ultimate proof of divine heritage. Reborn, I would not be so foolish as to walk the same path to ruin. 3 At the King’s question, the assembled Celestials erupted into a cacophony of murmurs. “The seven thunderbolts of the trial have all struck. Why is there no sign of her becoming a god?” “And the storm continues… It’s more than seven. Could her lineage be tainted? Is this a divine curse instead of a blessing?” I threw the question back at my father. “Am I the Celestial Princess or not? Father, are you not the one who knows this best?” I pressed on, my voice ringing with false innocence. “You watched me born, watched me grow. Could there have been a mistake?” The King was dismissive. “As ruler of the Celestials, my duties are vast. I have little time for the affairs of the inner palace.” The implication was clear: he could not, or would not, confirm my legitimacy. The doubts among the court grew louder. “The Princess is destined to become the last true god! The purity of her divine lineage is paramount to the honor of our race!” “If her blood is not pure, then where is the true heir?” My eyes found Kaelen. Though I already knew the answer that festered in his heart, I needed to hear it from his lips. “They all doubt me,” I said, my voice quiet. “Do you?” Kaelen, who had looked at me with such adoration only moments before, now had a storm of conflict in his eyes. “The entire court gathered to protect you through your trial. But seven thunderbolts have fallen, and you have not Ascended.” He couldn't meet my gaze. “You are not the true princess… which means you are not my wife.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Kaelen. Three thousand years we have been bound, and only today do I see you for what you are: a parasite. You never loved me. You loved the title: Princess of the Celestials. Future God.” He opened his mouth to defend himself, but a sweet, cloying voice cut him off. “Kaelen, darling, why waste your breath on this mongrel?” Lyra swept in, a vision of deliberate splendor, having dressed for the occasion. Before the entire court, she made her declaration. “Allow me to reveal the truth. I, Lyra, am the true Celestial Princess!” She let the ensuing chaos swell before continuing her tale. “Eloise’s mother was a handmaiden to the Queen. Consumed by jealousy, she switched the infants while the Queen was weakened from childbirth.” Lyra’s eyes met mine. She noticed my gaze lingering on her magnificent gown and smiled, a secret, triumphant smirk. She spoke to me then, a whisper carried on the wind that only I could hear. “I’ve always loved this dress on you. But it’s not just the dress. From now on, everything that was yours… is mine.” An uproar tore through the assembled nobles, but my father remained unnervingly calm. He simply asked, “Even if Eloise is an imposter, how can you prove that you are the true princess?” Lyra’s posture was one of pure arrogance. “Only those with the purest divine lineage can manifest the form of the ancient Nine-Tailed Vulpine, the mark of true god-kin. It has been tens of thousands of years since a child was born with the trait, but on the day the true princess was born, the sacred totem of the Nine-Tailed Vulpine shone with a violet light for three days and three nights.” As she spoke, a sliver of violet light pierced the gloom of the storm clouds, illuminating her in a solitary, divine spotlight. And there, for all to see, nine tails of pale amethyst unfurled behind her, like a blooming, deadly flower. A gasp went through the crowd. “By the All-Mother! It’s the blood of the Nine-Tails! The mark of a true god-kin, and the most noble violet, at that!” “She is the true princess! Have we been squandering our resources on a fake for all these years?!” Lyra swished her tails, a peacock displaying its lethal finery, the undeniable proof of her identity. Watching this perfectly orchestrated drama unfold, I saw all the seams I’d missed in my first life. It was too smooth, too rehearsed. And there was still one key player missing. I scanned the dais. My mother, the one who should have been at the forefront of my condemnation, was nowhere to be seen. 4 I tried to summon my own power, to manifest my true form, but just like before, nothing happened. The nine tails would not appear. In my previous life, desperate to prove my legitimacy, I had forced the transformation. But what had emerged was not my beautiful, elegant Vulpine tail. It was a thick, coiling tail of obsidian scales—a serpent’s tail. The sight had horrified even me, and it had sealed my fate as an imposter. If it weren’t for the memories of my own childhood, of my tail popping out uncontrollably whenever my power flared, I might have believed their lies myself. Now, in the present, my father draped a protective, sorrowful arm around Lyra’s shoulders. “My lords and ladies,” he announced, his voice heavy with feigned grief. “Our Celestial realm has been deceived by a lowly servant’s whelp for seventy thousand years! The princess who will bring us glory is here. It is Lyra!” At the pronouncement from their authoritative King, the eyes of the court turned on me, filled with accusation and hatred. “The daughter of a common servant, enjoying the honors of a princess for millennia! She must repay the debt!” “Cast the imposter from the Scourge Dais! Let her die in torment and regret!” I watched the mob’s fury rise, a familiar coldness seeping into my heart. For seventy thousand years, I had accepted their reverence, yes. But I had never shirked the duties of a princess. The Celestial population was sparse, and I had personally handled countless matters that never reached my father’s throne. Many of the nobles now screaming for my blood had accepted precious artifacts and elixirs from my own hand to break through their cultivation bottlenecks. For the honor of our people, I had trained without a single day’s rest, reaching the cusp of Divinity in a mere seventy thousand years. And now? I had done nothing but lose my title. The moment I could no longer benefit them, they wanted me dead. “The Scourge Dais? That’s too good for her!” Lyra spat, her voice laced with venom. “Without the realm’s resources, how could her essence have grown so powerful, so fast? Meanwhile, I, the true princess, was burdened with menial tasks, my own cultivation stagnating. Who knows how many millennia it will take for me to reach the power Eloise now possesses?” My eyes sharpened. This was the moment. In my last life, my father had heard these words and immediately agreed. “The Celestials possess a secret artifact, the Soul-Siphon. It can drain the essence of another and make it one’s own.” Just as I remembered, my father’s gaze turned on me, cold and hard. “This is what you owe her,” he said. “The debt is due.” I recoiled, feigning defiance. “Impossible! The essence I cultivated with my own blood and sweat? I will not give it as a gift to another!” Lyra’s eyes burned with envy. “If you weren’t a princess, with an endless supply of the realm’s treasures, you would be nothing!” The court roared its agreement. My father, taking this as his mandate, produced the Soul-Siphon—an obsidian amulet that seemed to drink the light from the air. It was clear he had it ready all along. “If you submit, you will suffer less,” he threatened. He lunged, a sword of pure energy materializing in his hand, aimed at my heart. I summoned a shield of my own, preparing to block the fatal blow. But with a deafening CLANG, his blade was struck from the air. A furious voice cut through the chaos. “Stop!” 5 All heads turned to see who possessed such power. There, standing before the King, her eyes blazing red, was my mother. The Queen. The King’s voice softened instantly. “Jocasta, my love, we have been deceived for seventy thousand years! The daughter you’ve protected with all your heart… she is not our blood!” I watched the scene unfold, a silent observer of my own past. In a moment, Lyra would rush to my mother, weeping about her tragic life as a servant. With the nine tails as proof of her divine blood, no one would doubt her. My mother, torn between pity and fury, would then personally escort me to the Scourge Dais. The Celestial lineage, since time immemorial, had been matrilineal. This was to ensure the sacred Vulpine blood—the spark of the gods—was passed down. Without my mother’s consent, my death would not have been so certain, so agonizing. Just as I remembered, the Queen pulled me towards the Scourge Dais. She turned to the assembled nobles and declared, “Today, I will have justice for my trueborn daughter!” Below the dais, Lyra shot me a playful, mocking wink. “Blood calls to blood, my dear. A mongrel like you could never compare.” She turned to the Queen. “Mother, I believe that after we transfer her essence to me, she should be flayed and boned. It’s the only way to appease my hatred.” The Queen glanced at Lyra, her expression darkening. She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then her voice rang out, clear and resolute. “Eloise is the one and only Princess of the Celestials! This is not open for debate!” The King’s face contorted. “Jocasta! The entire court saw Lyra’s nine tails. The proof of her blood is undeniable! Are you going to deny what is before our very eyes?” Lyra, stunned at this departure from the script, added her own poison. “Mother, if you claim Eloise is your daughter, then where is her tail? Where is her proof of the sacred blood?” The court echoed her sentiment. “If she is the princess, let her reveal her Vulpine form and prove it!” But the Queen, who should have been raining fury upon me, now looked ill, her face pale. She moved to shield me with her own body. “I am the Matriarch of the Celestials. The matter of the divine bloodline is mine to decide! All of you, leave this place!” Under the weight of her absolute authority, the nobles hesitated, some already beginning to retreat. But at that moment, a splash of liquid, cold and shimmering, hit me. I spun around to see Kaelen, an empty flask in his hand, his face a mask of cold indifference. “The Waters of Revealing will show one’s true form. We will see who my wife is, once and for all.” Kaelen. The greatest warrior of the Celestials, his Frostfang blade having defended our borders for millennia. At the foot of Mount Kunlun, he had taken my hand, his eyes full of wonder. "My sword will protect only one from this day forward. Where my wife’s gaze falls, there my blade will follow." Only today did I understand. He was protecting his wife, yes. The Princess of the Celestials. Who that princess was… didn't matter. Before I could even process the fresh wave of betrayal, a thick, coiling tail of obsidian scales burst from the base of my spine. A collective gasp of horror rippled through the court. 6 Scorn. Disgust. Mocking laughter. The thunder above me grew louder, a relentless, punishing barrage that showed no sign of stopping. In my last life, it was at this moment—gravely wounded by the heavenly trial—that my father had struck. He had used the Soul-Siphon while I was at my weakest, tearing my seventy thousand years of essence from my broken body. And just as before, a bolt of lightning struck me square on the crown of my head. Pain, absolute and blinding, threatened to tear me apart. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard Lyra’s sharp cry. “This is no ordinary trial for godhood! The heavens have thirty-six realms, and each has its own thunder. She is enduring the Thirty-Six Storms of Ascension, a trial no one has ever survived!” The sky felt as though it were collapsing, the black clouds pressing down on the terrified Celestials. But the single violet spotlight around Lyra remained, a sanctuary in the maelstrom. “You see?” she shrieked, her voice triumphant. “She is a cursed thing, an abomination condemned by the heavens themselves! I am the one born of auspicious signs, the one with the true divine blessing!” Even Kaelen turned to Lyra, his eyes full of pity and dawning realization. “So it was you all along. You are my true wife. The threads of fate weave true, letting destined lovers finally be together.” My father seized his chance. With a cry of triumph, the King launched himself into the air, the Soul-Siphon in his hand aimed straight for me. “Jocasta, you see the proof!” he roared. “Today, I will make her repay every moment of suffering our true daughter endured!” A single, soul-shattering cry from the Queen: “NO!” It was too sudden. She was too far away to stop him. The Soul-Siphon was already at my brow. The King’s methods were as swift and merciless as I remembered.
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