Seven Sins System Chapter 646. Lust and Love III
Seven Sins System Chapter 646. Lust and Love III
Goddess of Love’s PoV
Selaphira took a slow step forward, closing the distance between them with grace too effortless to be learned.
“I am meddling,” she whispered. “Because what’s blooming in your daughter’s heart is stronger than duty. Stronger than fear. And yes… stronger than your control.”
“You’re speaking of that Wrath.” Lysathiel’s voice dropped. Cold. Sharp.
Selaphira’s smile didn’t falter. “You see? You knew.”
“I guessed.” Her hands clenched tightly at her sides. “He’s a devil.”
“He’s not his father.”
Lysathiel’s eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t need to be. His bloodline is chaos.”
“And so is hers,” Selaphira said, stepping closer, voice growing warmer, fiercer. “Divine chastity is not silence. It’s resistance. It’s choice. And she’s choosing him.”
“You have no right—”
“I have every right,” Selaphira said, her tone like velvet over steel. “Because I’ve lived through this. Because I had love once. And I buried him.”
That stopped the Queen cold.
Selaphira exhaled, long and quiet, stepping back again. Her gaze softened, but the ache in her chest throbbed like a wound scraped raw.
“You were there, weren’t you?” she whispered. “When that corrupted entity woke up and showed up here…”
“I was,” Lysathiel said. “Because I had to be.”
Selaphira’s words lingered—petals edged with iron—while twilight pressed close around the balcony. In the hushed second that followed, the Queen of Light found her breath. It left her as a thin line of frost.
“If I had let that creature—that corrupted archangel—stay here,” Lysathiel said, voice trembling in its restraint, “the Light Realm would be finished. You know that.”
“So you kicked him,” Selaphira answered, calm yet shaking beneath the surface. “Straight into the Shadow Realm. Straight into their capital. You handed him a blade of anguish and pointed him at the Seven Sins.” Her eyes burned. “And he slaughtered them. Including the one who wore Lust’s crown.”
“My decision saved millions,” the Queen whispered, but it sounded like she was reminding herself. “He was a wound we could not heal.”
“A wound you could not face,” Selaphira shot back, stepping forward again. “So you threw him at mine.”
Lysathiel’s jaw tightened. Wind tugged at her dawn-thread gown; the crown above her brow flickered, listing for a heartbeat before righting itself. “You think I wanted that?”
“I think you feared what he reflected,” Selaphira said, her voice lower, sadder. “A divine soul cracked open by emotion too vast for law. The same fault line buried in every one of us.” She pressed her palm over her own heart.
The Queen’s gaze dropped to the marble rail. “And if I had done nothing?”
“Then perhaps the demon lords might still stand,” Selaphira answered, throat tight. “And my love might still live. My counterpart—my mirror—my other half. Lust and Love, side by side instead of one buried and one left behind.”
Lysathiel flinched. For a moment, the dawn threads of her gown seemed to dull, as though dusk had dared to touch her.
A single tear—liquid light—slipped from the Queen’s eye. It cracked on the railing, sizzling into nothing. “I did what the Realm demanded.”
“You did what fear demanded,” Selaphira corrected, though her tone was gentler now. “But I forgave you. I forgave you, even when no one asked me to. And I swore I would never let another love story die the same way.”
The Queen inhaled, slow and trembling. “Puriel is my daughter.”
“And Azrael is her choice,” Selaphira replied. “Just as my Love was mine. The moment you take that from her, history repeats and more kingdoms fall.”
A silence as heavy as an eclipse settled between them.
At last Lysathiel spoke, voice scarcely above a whisper. “If I stand aside and she breaks—”
“Then I will catch her.” Selaphira stepped close enough to clasp the Queen’s hand. “Just as you once caught me when my world collapsed—though you pretended otherwise.”
A fragile laugh broke from Lysathiel; it was half-sorrow, half-relief. “And who will catch you, Selaphira?”
Selaphira smiled—small, weary, but fierce. “I have my faith. Not in gods. In love.”
Wind rose, scattering rose-petal motes across the balcony, brushing both women’s hair back from tear-wet cheeks.
Lysathiel squeezed Selaphira’s hand. “Then teach me to trust it again.”
Selaphira’s answering nod was slow, solemn. “First, let your daughter speak her own truth. We’ll guide her. Gently. No chains, no secret exile, no blades.”
The Queen of Light inhaled, bracing herself. “But I reserve the right to incinerate anyone who hurts her.”
“He doesn’t hurt her,” Selaphira said immediately, firmly.
Lysathiel’s gaze sharpened. “You don’t know that. He’s still a devil.”
“And yet he treats her more gently than the entire Council ever did.”
“He’s unstable.”
“He’s grieving.”
“He was born from sin.”
“So was half the pantheon.”
“He walks with death.”
“And she walks with restraint. They balance.”
“They’re fire and starlight—opposites.”
“Which is why they fit.”
Lysathiel frowned, her tone colder now. “You’re romanticizing what could be dangerous. The moment she binds to him fully, the rift between realms might shatter.”
Selaphira stepped closer, her eyes darkening. “And the moment you force her away, you will shatter her.”
“She’s still mine to protect.”
“No,” Selaphira said, “she’s hers to choose.”
Their stares locked—one like a sunrise about to sear, the other like dusk ready to fall with quiet defiance. The wind stilled. The roses trembled.
“I won’t allow the Light Realm to be destabilized by a goddess’s passion project,” Lysathiel said, voice low.
“And I won’t let you repeat history out of fear,” Selaphira replied.
They stood that way for several heartbeats.
Then Selaphira’s voice dropped. Quieter. Deadlier. “And if you try to mess up their relationship—if you so much as whisper exile or punishment—then I will stand before the Seven Halls of the Realm and announce that you were the one who let the ancient demon rampage through the demon capital. That you redirected the corrupted archangel. That you sparked the massacre that killed the Lords of Sin.”