Their eyes were on me, each filled with a mixture of fear and discomfort, as if they were collectively bracing for a moment none of them wanted to face.

I woke to my mother standing stiffly at my bedside, her expression uncharacteristically grim. My old room wrapped around me like a memory, and I realized I must have been more exhausted than I’d thought. My brother entered, followed by Mast, and I expected the usual teasing or awkward pleasantries, but they were reserved—eerily so.

“You’re starting to freak me out,” I said, feeling around my body for signs of injury. “I feel... fine,” I added, though my voice trembled with uncertainty.

My mother’s worried gaze was the most unsettling part. The fact she wasn’t scolding me or firing off questions meant something truly dreadful had happened.

“Is Tiberius okay?” I asked, the thought crashing into my mind only now, heightening my anxiety.

“He lost a lot of blood,” Mast replied gently. “He’s still drifting in and out of consciousness, but the worst is over.”

Relief barely had a moment to settle before the tension thickened again, as if the air in the room were holding its breath. A healer entered, his robes denoting a rank high enough to confirm that this situation was dire. The room went silent, and all eyes fixed on him.

He cleared his throat—a small, somber sound that felt like a tolling bell. “We tried everything,” he said, voice heavy. “We even brought in a specialist, someone with extensive experience in female anatomy, but... there is nothing more we can do.” The collective hope drained from the room, leaving a heavy stillness.

“What about my female anatomy?” I asked cautiously, dread coiling in my gut as a terrible idea formed.

“I’m afraid,” the healer said, his voice as lifeless as his expression, “that you cannot have children anymore. The damage to your reproductive system is extensive and beyond our abilities to heal.”

The crystal. The realization hit me, sending an ache deeper than physical pain. The goddess’s warning—that a life would be forfeit—suddenly made horrific sense. That and the machine working without Tiberius. It wasn’t my life she had claimed... I must have been...

“There has to be something else,” my mother interjected, her voice already steeled for a fight. “Maybe another race, another kind of magic—there must be something.”

The healer’s eyes dropped, and he sighed. “You can try,” he said, almost pityingly. “But all you’d be doing is offering false hope.” He gave a perfunctory bow and left.

My brother approached, pulling me into a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion.

I couldn’t handle the weight of their pity, not right now. “Mom,” I said, my voice unsteady but determined, “I can’t believe I’m agreeing with you, but... you’re right. Let’s not give up. Let’s get more opinions.”

Her eyes lit up, a small but genuine smile breaking through. “Yes,” she said, a little spark of the mother I knew returning. “You’re right. We’ll be thankful for what we have. It’s good to have you back.”

Kraityn broke the tense silence, his voice slicing through the thick air. "So what happened, sis?" he asked, trying to mask his unease with a casual tone.

What was I supposed to tell them? The truth, unvarnished and wild? Thank Elune that the priest had just left the room—things were already awkward enough without him here to witness this.

"I don't think you'll believe me," I admitted quietly, my voice wavering.

Mom, surprisingly composed and brimming with unexpected positivity, chimed in. "Whatever happened between us in the past, your problem was always being too honest," she said, a gentle smile softening her features. "You don’t need to worry about that."

Her unwavering faith caught me off guard, but I shook my head. "It’s not that," I replied, hastily trying to reassure her. "It’s just... even I wouldn’t believe me if I were in your shoes. It sounds so fantastical, like something straight out of a myth. And honestly, if word gets out, I might be dragged before the Church of Light—and definitely not in a good way."

Mom’s demeanor turned serious. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her two attendants, who left the room without question. "Now," she said, her voice firm, "you can be sure whatever you say stays here."

I let out a nervous laugh. "Fine, but remember, I warned you." My heart pounded as I forced the words out. "There’s no easy way to say this, but... I killed all the gods. ME!" I finished, letting the silence crash down on us.

Kraityn’s eyes widened, and he looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and forced patience. "Is that some sort of metaphor?" he asked, visibly torn between trying to process my words and fighting off incredulity.

"No," I whispered, fidgeting with the edge of the sheet covering me. My hands twisted the fabric as if seeking an anchor. "No metaphor. The story is obviously more complicated, but... there are no more gods. Not anymore."

Mom’s expression hardened, but she didn’t falter. "Let’s assume, just for a moment, that you’re telling the truth," she said, her voice steady but full of questions. "Why? Why kill them?"

I swallowed hard and explained the goddess’s warning about the gods arriving into this world, how their physical presence would bring nothing but destruction.

“So we’ve established the why,” Kraityn said, his voice careful but curious. “But I think the how is the most important part,” he added, leaning in as if my next words might hold the key to some great mystery.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

My heart raced. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of this truth pressing against my chest. This part—this was dangerous. If word got out, people would go searching for the machine, hunting for power they couldn’t possibly understand. Maybe it was better to leave this part out... at least for now.

I started explaining everything, trying to keep my voice steady even as their eyes slowly drifted, glazed over by the sheer absurdity of my story. I couldn’t blame them. Necromancers, mind control, orcs, elves, golems, and gods—plural—warring and conspiring. It sounded ludicrous, even to me. How could they ever believe it when I struggled to believe it myself?

“You know what?” I said suddenly, interrupting my own narrative. The tension in the room was suffocating. My nerves were fraying, each moment making the story feel more unreal. “Let’s just forget about this. Maybe I have a fever or something. Yes... that makes sense,” I babbled, my voice cracking. “I’m probably delirious, rambling anti-church nonsense. Or I had a really, really bad dream. That must be it,” I finished, desperately grasping at straws.

Kraityn and Mom exchanged a glance, their confusion palpable, but there was caution in their eyes too, a wariness that suggested they didn’t know whether to trust me or fear for my sanity.

Mom stood, her movements gentle yet deliberate, as if handling something fragile. “Maybe a short walk will make you feel better,” she suggested. “The healer did say to take things slow for the first few days.” Her voice was warm, comforting in its attempt to soothe the chaos I had stirred. She reached out, helping me to my feet, her touch grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

Stepping out of the grand entrance of our family villa, I was greeted by the sight of familiar white columns gleaming in the afternoon sun.

I’d missed it. Funny how absence makes the heart soften, even for a place you once thought you couldn’t wait to escape.

We made our way past the front courtyard’s familiar fountain, its gentle trickling sound oddly comforting. We were headed for a small hill near the villa when my mother broke the silence. "The king will want to hear what happened," she said, her voice carrying an edge of concern. "True or not, I’d suggest leaving out the gods part."

I sighed, eyes sweeping over the landscape I knew so well. "I suppose you’re right," I murmured, distracted by the familiarity of it all.

Mom surprised me with a rare attempt at humor. "You’re definitely not yourself. That’s twice today you’ve agreed with me," she said, her eyebrow arching slightly.

I couldn’t help but turn to her, a small smile breaking through. "Believe it or not, I’ve grown a little wiser since I’ve been away," I admitted, a tinge of regret in my voice. "I wish we hadn’t parted on such bad terms." Near-death experiences have a funny way of shifting your perspective.

She reached out and hugged me, and I clung to her more tightly than I’d intended. "Maybe I pushed too hard about that marriage," she said, her voice almost unsure, almost apologetic.

That caught me off guard. An apology from her? Now that was new. "I might have been a tad difficult," I admitted, teasing out the last part with a grin. "Sometimes... just because I could."

Her eyes softened. "Maybe if you stay awhile, we’ll have a chance to catch up," she said, her hope tangible.

I hesitated, the weight of recent losses settling heavily on me. "I think I’ve had enough adventure for now. Maybe it’s time to grow roots, as they say." A sudden wave of grief hit me, memories rushing in unbidden, and I couldn’t hide the change in my expression.

Mom noticed, as she always did, and clasped my hand tightly. "The beginning will be the hardest," she whispered. "But you’ve always been strong."

Strong... The word felt like a lie, but it was the version of me that made her proud. So I kept pretending. "How’s work?" I asked, desperately steering the conversation away from the sadness threatening to overwhelm me.

She regained her stern expression. “Not that great. The skirmishes with Celestria have hurt trade. The trolls are more active than usual, which means port commerce is suffering too,” she sighed, but pressed on. “Still, it’s not like we’re the only ones struggling, so our standing hasn’t been affected.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Ever since Dad passed, she had made it her mission to elevate our family’s prestige. And while I understood the relentless pragmatism and even admired her dedication, it was a constant source of friction between us.

“And Kraityn?” I asked, eager to pivot away from the ever-present theme of family status.

She frowned, her disapproval obvious. “He’s almost as stubborn as you when it comes to that girl I found for him. She’s beautiful, wealthy, and from an excellent family. What more could he possibly want?”

At least, for once, her criticisms weren’t aimed at me.

“Speaking of Kraityn,” she continued, “he mentioned running into you at Whitestone. He said you weren’t alone. Is the person you brought home the same one he saw?” So much for escaping her scrutiny.

“Yes, Mother. His name is Tiberius,” I replied, trying to maintain my composure.

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “I do hope you’re not too fond of him. Your tone sounded far too invested for a simple friendship.” She delivered this judgment with a detachment that made my blood boil.

“If you must know, yes, we are together,” I answered, doing my best to stay calm.

She lifted an eyebrow, the disapproval seeping back in. “Well, I suppose you’re entitled to your fun.” I bristled, but she cut me off before I could speak. “I won’t try to push a suitor on you, but don’t tell me you’ve got any serious intentions about marrying an offworlder.”

Right. The offworlder thing. I’d almost forgotten how much of a stigma that carried. “We haven’t talked about marriage,” I said, my voice tighter than I’d intended.

“Good,” she said, her voice a little too relieved. “Just remember, this isn’t just about you. If anyone even suspects it’s more than a casual fling, we’ll become pariahs.” She stood, dusting off her robes before heading back to the villa.

So that’s why she’d come along. Not to offer comfort or solidarity, but to ensure that her precious reputation remained intact.

The hilltop breeze brushed against my face, but it offered no comfort. The view spread out around me—rolling hills blanketed in wildflowers and golden grass swaying gently in the afternoon light. Behind me, our family villa stood proud and white, a monument to tradition and permanence. It felt so detached from the chaos inside me, from the sudden, hollow space in my heart.

I pressed a hand against my lower abdomen, the place where life had almost begun. The silence inside my own body was deafening, and I closed my eyes, willing the tears not to fall. But they came anyway, and I let them, because this wasn’t something I could just fight off or ignore.

The irony wasn’t lost on me. The entire reason I had walked away from the life carefully laid out before me was to escape the fate of marrying a prince, where my only duty would be to secure the royal line and ensure the family’s legacy. I had wanted more, something that felt truly mine—a path chosen, not imposed. And for a time, I thought I had succeeded.

But here I was, paying a price I never imagined, for a decision that had never really felt like my own. What choice did the goddess give me? Would I have agreed to this sacrifice if she had taken the time to explain all the consequences, to spell out exactly what was being asked of me?

It was the whole world, after all. The answer should have been simple, right? Yet nothing felt simple when it was my own body, my own heart, doing the sacrificing. It was easy to talk about noble decisions and destiny when they didn’t come wrapped in pain and loss.

The breeze whispered around me as I sat there, grappling with the weight of it all. I wanted to be strong, to keep my head high and find some semblance of purpose in the emptiness, but for now, I clutched the ache close to me. It was raw, undeniable, and no excuse or logical reasoning could lessen it.