Auctioned by the Gods: Rebirth of the Harem Emperor

The palace felt colder after Caelis left.As if the god of judged souls had left a splinter of his presence lodged in every marble archway and silk-draped corridor.

Ren didn't realize how tightly he'd been gripping Lyra's hand until they stepped into Saphira's private audience chamber, and she made a small sound of pain. He loosened instantly, thumb brushing over the faint indents his grip left behind.

"Sorry," he rasped. "Didn't realize—"

Lyra just shook her head, lifting his hand to press her lips against his knuckles. "I'd rather your hold hurt a little than be empty."

Saphira watched them from her crescent throne. No courtiers lingered, no divine scribes took note. Here, it was only them — three conspirators tangled in a web spun by older, crueler gods.

"You've accelerated the war," Saphira said finally. Her voice was calm, but the way her long fingers tapped the arm of her throne betrayed tension. "Caelis appearing himself means the Elder Conclave is restless. They fear what you're becoming."

Ren snorted. "They should."

"That arrogance will serve you well — if it's backed by cunning." Saphira leaned forward, violet eyes catching lamplight like amethysts. "Amara still waits with the final trial. And understand this: she is not a goddess who delights in illusions for their own sake. Her mirrors are not just visions. They shape the threads of destiny. You will not be fighting memory alone. You will be fighting what might yet be."

Lyra's fingers twitched against his. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning," Saphira said softly, "there's a chance he does not return as the man you love. Or at all."

Silence swallowed the room.Ren's heart lurched, a cold, ugly weight dropping into his gut. He glanced at Lyra, ready to reassure her, to promise he'd never break.

But she spoke first, voice trembling but fierce. "Then I'll go with him."

Saphira's brow lifted. "That is not permitted."

"I don't care." Lyra stepped forward, chin lifted. Even wrapped in delicate silver robes, barefoot on cold stone, she radiated a stubborn power that made Ren's chest twist. "You all speak of binding threads and woven fates, but I'm done being a pattern on someone else's loom. If Ren faces this alone, who's to say he wouldn't choose differently this time?"

Saphira was quiet a long moment. Then she sighed, rubbing two fingers along her temple. "You are reckless, Bloom Goddess. But perhaps that recklessness is why this mortal stands before me instead of rotting under an auction blade."

She rose, dark robes pooling like spilled ink. "Very well. I will secure you passage into the outskirts of Amara's realm. You may not be permitted at the heart of the mirror, but your presence could yet anchor him."

Lyra's relief was a soft gasp. She reached for Ren again, fingers lacing with his like they'd been waiting to lock together.

When they were finally dismissed, Ren didn't head back to their chambers. Instead he led Lyra through quiet gardens where ghostly white flowers bloomed under starlight. He needed space, needed time to catch his breath before plunging into whatever nightmare Amara had woven.

Lyra let him drag her along without question, until he finally stopped under an old stone arch choked with vines. Then she slipped in front of him, hands rising to his face.

"Talk to me," she whispered.

He swallowed hard. "I don't want to fail you."

Her smile was soft, sad. "This isn't about failure."

"It is to me." His voice cracked. "Lyra, if that mirror shows me a version of myself that still wears chains — what if part of me wants them? What if I step through and lose everything we've fought for?"

"Then I'll tear the mirror apart myself," she breathed. Her thumbs stroked under his eyes, catching tears he hadn't noticed. "I didn't love you because you were flawless. I loved you because you were terrified of becoming what they wanted — and chose me anyway."

He kissed her.Not like before — desperate, hungry. This was slower, their mouths moving as if tasting words that couldn't form.

Lyra's hands slid into his hair, tugging lightly, making him sigh into her mouth. Then she pulled back just enough to whisper, "Take me here. Not like a conquest. Just… to remember why you're fighting."

His groan was a broken thing. He pressed her back against the ivy-wrapped stone, hands bunching the soft fabric of her robe until it slid off her shoulders. She was warm under his palms, all smooth skin and tiny shivers.

They didn't rush. His mouth traced over her collarbone, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp. Her hands roamed his back, nails raking lightly, pulling him closer until nothing but ragged breaths and rapid heartbeats filled the night.

When he finally pushed into her, they both moaned — not loud, not frenzied, but soft. Worshipful. Like two pieces clicking back into place. Lyra's legs wrapped around his waist, anchoring him to this fragile, precious now.

"Say it," she breathed against his ear, voice cracking as he moved inside her. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," he panted. Each slow thrust drew tiny whimpers from her lips. "Always. Even if the gods tear everything else away."

Her laugh was wet with tears. "Good. Because if they take you, they'll have to tear me apart too."

They stayed wrapped around each other long after the shivers faded, skin damp, breathing synced. Eventually Lyra slid her hands to his face again, tilting his head until their eyes met.

"When you go to her trial," she whispered, "promise you won't try to face it as the Emperor. Or the Fatebreaker. Just go as Ren. The man who chose memory. The man ,kissed me like I was his last prayer."

He nodded, throat too tight for words. Then he pressed his forehead to hers, letting their shared silence be the only vow they needed.

Hours later, they stood before a swirling silver gate woven of moonlight and shadow. Saphira waited there, eyes solemn, fingers wrapped around a slender rod of dark crystal that pulsed with faint blue veins.

"This will guide your passage," she said, offering it to Ren. "And if the worst comes — if Amara's realm tries to rewrite you — this will tether a sliver of your true self. Pray it's enough."

Lyra clung to him one last time, hands fisting in his robes. Then she drew back, eyes shining with defiance and fear all at once.

"I'll be right behind you," she vowed. "Even if it's only in memory."

Ren stepped through the gate.

Cold swallowed him instantly, like plunging into deep water.He felt Lyra's warmth ripped away — heard her shout his name, muffled by leagues of shadow.

Then there was only silence.And ahead, the faint echo of chains.

Waiting.