When a God of Destruction Was Reincarnated in Tensura:

Ramiris fluttered through the vast expanse of Celesterra, her wings barely keeping her aloft.

Something was wrong.

She had been in Beerus' realm, ready to undergo her trial, but now—she was here.

Or at least, what remained of it.

The skies above were colorless, void of their usual warm golden glow. The sprawling, ancient trees that once pulsed with life and magic were now withered husks, crumbling to dust before her eyes.

Celesterra—her home, her domain—was dying.

She could feel it.

Or rather—she couldn't feel it at all.

Her connection to the land, to the life force of the world she had nurtured for eons, was gone.

Her breath quickened.

"No, no, no… what is this?!" she whispered, clutching her head.

This wasn't right.

She had been protecting Celesterra for ages, guiding the flow of spirits, life, and nature itself. She was the Fairy Queen, a Guardian, the very heart of this land.

And yet—

It was as if she had never existed.

"Ramiris."

A voice—soft, but empty.

She turned sharply.

A group of Celesterra's spirits—beings she had nurtured, watched over, cared for—stood before her.

She smiled, relief flooding her.

"You guys! Thank the heavens, something's wrong! I can't feel—"

They walked past her.

Ramiris froze.

Her wings faltered.

"…Guys?" She waved a tiny hand. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"

No response.

The spirits, the ones she had loved and protected, simply moved on.

She reached out—

Her hand passed through them.

As if she wasn't there.

Her heart pounded.

"…What?"

Her voice was small.

She turned—her gaze frantically searching for someone, anyone who would acknowledge her.

But Celesterra's people, its spirits, its creatures—they all walked past her.

As if she was a ghost.

As if she had never mattered.

Her chest tightened.

This was just a trick. A cruel joke.

Right?

She flew up, searching for Ivarage, for her knights, for anyone who would see her.

But then—

She saw Celesterra's castle.

Or what was left of it.

Her home—the sacred heart of her kingdom—lay in ruins.

Shattered stone. Collapsed towers.

The grand, intricate tapestries she had once hung in the halls—burned.

The throne where she once sat—dust.

"…No."

Her tiny hands curled into trembling fists.

Her wings fluttered erratically as she flew down, landing amidst the rubble.

She pressed a hand against the cold stone.

She tried to feel it, to connect with the land, to make sense of this nightmare—

But there was nothing.

No pulse of magic.

No warmth of life.

No Celesterra.

It was all gone.

And no one remembered her.

Her knees buckled.

She fell, her hands gripping the broken earth beneath her.

Her breath came in sharp, ragged gasps.

"…Why?" she whispered. "Why is this happening?"

She wasn't weak.

She wasn't useless.

She had fought, she had protected, she had given everything she had—

So why?

Why was everything fading?

Why was she fading?

A whisper curled around her, soft and cold.

"You were never needed."

Ramiris flinched.

The voice was not her own, but it came from within.

"You were never important."

She shook her head, pressing her hands against her ears. "Shut up…"

"No one needed you. Celesterra lived without you. It will thrive without you."

"Shut up!"

"You were just a passing wind. A flickering light. And now, you're gone."

Her body shook.

Was that… true?

Had she… ever really mattered?

Would the world have been fine without her?

Would Celesterra have been better off?

Her breathing grew shallow, uneven.

The shadows around her deepened.

Her hands grasped at nothing.

She was disappearing.

And no one would remember.

A Whisper of Light

A voice.

A memory.

"…You are Ramiris."

A small warmth sparked in her chest.

"…You are a protector."

A flicker of light in the darkness.

"You matter, because you chose to matter."

Her breath hitched.

She remembered.

She was Ramiris.

She was Celesterra's Guardian.

She had fought for it, bled for it, given her heart and soul for it.

And even if it was gone—

That didn't erase everything she had done.

She mattered.

Even if no one remembered—

She would remember.

And that was enough.

The shadows shattered.

The illusion collapsed.

And Ramiris stood.

She gasped, air rushing into her lungs.

She was back.

The twelve figures of the Grand Order stood before her, their eyes unreadable.

The trial was over.

She had passed.

Ramiris didn't say anything at first.

She just… breathed.

Her hands trembled—but she clenched them into fists.

She was here.

She was still here.

And no one could take that away from her.

"…Good," she whispered to herself.

Then, she lifted her head.

And faced the Grand Order with unwavering eyes.