The integration was like watching two pieces of a cosmic puzzle finally click into place. Evelyn's form began to glow brighter as Ma'at's soul merged completely with her essence, the golden light intensifying until everyone had to squint just to look at her. The light pulsed once, twice, three times—and then something incredible happened. The massive statue of Judgment began to change. The crystallized starlight and divine stone didn't crack or crumble—it transformed. Like cosmic clay being reshaped by invisible hands, the statue's features softened, became more defined, more real. The stone took on the warm tones of actual flesh, the carved hair began to move in a breeze that existed only for her, and those perfect stone eyes suddenly held depth and intelligence and ten thousand lifetimes of accumulated wisdom. She was impossibly beautiful. Not in the way mortals were beautiful, or even the way gods were beautiful. She was beautiful in the way that justice itself was beautiful—perfect, balanced, absolute, and just a little bit terrifying in its purity. Her wings were white as fresh snow and harder than diamond, each feather looking like it had been forged from compressed starlight and divine will. They weren't alive in the way bird wings were alive, but they held power—cosmic power that hummed with the authority to lift her across dimensions, shield entire civilizations from annihilation, or strike down those who perverted justice with the weight of absolute moral law. Each feather was perfect, pristine, and sharp enough to cut through lies themselves. When she moved, they caught light that didn't exist and reflected truths that couldn't be spoken. In her left hand, she held scales that defied physics and philosophy alike. Not made of metal or stone, but forged from pure concept—the very idea of balance given physical form. They gleamed with inner light that pulsed in rhythm with the moral weight of every decision that had ever been made. One side held innocence, the other guilt, and between them hung the fate of souls. The scales were never still, always weighing, always measuring, always finding the precise point where justice and mercy met. In her right hand, a staff materialized—not carved or crafted, but willed into existence. It glowed with soft golden light that seemed to emanate from within the crystallized starlight it was made from. Get full chapters from NoveI-Fire.ɴet The staff was both weapon and symbol, capable of channeling the absolute authority of cosmic law or simply serving as the foundation upon which all moral decisions rested. Ancient runes spiraled along its length, each one representing a fundamental law of existence that even gods dared not break. But it was her eyes—or rather, what covered them—that truly marked her as Justice incarnate. A cloth of the purest white silk, woven from threads that seemed to shimmer with their own inner light, was bound gently across her eyes. The fabric was so fine it looked like captured moonlight, so perfect it made the concept of sight seem crude and unnecessary. She was blind to all—blind to wealth, blind to status, blind to beauty or ugliness, blind to power or weakness. She did not see the colors of skin, the cut of clothes, the gleam of gold, or the desperate pleading in someone's eyes. She was Justice in its most perfect form—impartial, incorruptible, seeing only the truth that lived in hearts and souls. The blindfold wasn't a limitation. It was liberation. It was the most beautiful declaration that justice would never be swayed by what the eyes could see, only by what the heart could know. Her robes were gossamer-thin, flowing fabric that seemed to be woven from morning mist and divine light. They barely covered her perfect form, clinging to her curves like liquid starlight, revealing as much as they concealed. The fabric shifted and moved with every breath, every gesture, creating an ethereal beauty that transcended physical form. But this was beauty that only the most worthy could witness—only Parker, Maya, Zhang Ruoyun, and Nyxavere could see her in her full divine glory. To all others, she appeared modestly clothed, their minds unable to process the overwhelming perfection of Justice unbound. As the transformation completed, Evelyn's physical form began to fade, becoming translucent, then transparent, then pure soul-light. She was becoming the final piece, the last component needed to make Judgment whole again. The soul-light that had been Evelyn drifted upward and merged with the awakening statue, and suddenly those divine eyes opened. She stepped down from her pedestal with the fluid grace of someone who had never been uncertain about anything in her existence. Her wings folded against her back, and when her feet touched the palace roof, reality itself seemed to sigh with relief, like the universe had been holding its breath waiting for her return. The first thing she did was turn to Parker and bow—not the shallow bow of political courtesy, but the deep, respectful bow of someone acknowledging their master, their anchor, their most treasured bond across infinite lifetimes. "My Lord," she said, and her voice carried the weight of absolute justice tempered with infinite loyalty. "I have returned." Parker smiled, the expression soft with genuine affection and relief that his oldest companion was finally whole again. But then Judgment turned toward the crowd of family members, her blind gaze sweeping over them with the kind of cosmic awareness that transcended physical sight. She didn't need eyes to see—her perception cut through appearances straight to the essence of what things truly were. And when her unseeing focus landed on one particular golden-eyed cat curled up in Annabelle's arms, her expression shifted from serene welcome to something that looked suspiciously like cosmic annoyance. Without warning, without explanation, without even the courtesy of a greeting, Judgment strode forward and kicked Erebus straight out of Annabelle's arms. The golden-eyed cat went flying through the air with a very undignified yowl, tumbling across the palace roof like a furry missile before landing in an ungraceful heap near the edge. "What the FUCK dude!" Erebus shrieked, scrambling to her feet with her fur standing on end and her tail puffed out to twice its normal size. "Did you just—did she just—" "Oh, the old feud," Parker sighed, running a hand through his hair like he'd just remembered something he'd been hoping to forget. Maya and Zhang Ruoyun exchanged looks that held entire conversations about cosmic entities and their tendency toward petty grudges that lasted eons. "Here we go," Maya muttered. Before anyone could intervene, before anyone could explain or mediate or do anything remotely diplomatic, Judgment appeared where Erebus had landed—not walked, not ran, just appeared with the casual teleportation that came from being a fundamental force of existence. And she kicked Erebus again. This time, the golden cat went tumbling into a decorative cosmic fountain, emerging soaked and absolutely livid. "THAT'S IT!" Erebus roared, and her voice carried harmonics that hadn't been heard since the first stars learned how to scream. The small, soggy cat began to grow. Her golden eyes blazed with primordial fury as she expanded from house cat size to tiger size to something that definitely shouldn't have been able to fit on the palace roof but somehow managed it anyway. Her fur crackled with dimensional energy, her claws extended into things that could probably claw through the fabric of reality itself, and her tail lashed with enough force to create small hurricanes. She was now roughly the size of a small building, dripping wet, absolutely furious, and staring down at Judgment with the kind of rage that could probably start another cosmic war if left unchecked. "YOU WANT TO PLAY, BIRD BRAIN?" Erebus snarled, her voice now carrying enough bass to rattle dimensions. "LET'S FUCKING PLAY!" Judgment looked up at the massive cosmic cat with an expression of mild interest, her blind gaze somehow managing to convey the exact level of unimpressed evaluation that only came from eons of experience dealing with dramatic cosmic entities. "Still dramatic, I see," Judgment observed calmly, her unseeing focus never wavering from Erebus's enlarged form. "Some things never change." The family watched in fascination and growing alarm as the two ancient beings faced off, cosmic power crackling between them like visible electricity. A fight was about to ensue. And judging by the way reality was already starting to bend around the edges from their combined presence, it was going to be spectacular.