In a humble village, nestled on the edge of a dense forest, Talindra was born into a family that, at first, was like any other. Her father, a baker, and her mother, a seamstress, were simple, hard-working folk who initially loved her as any parents would love their child. But from the moment she could walk, Talindra showed a passion that no one expected—a deep, soulful connection to music. Her voice could be heard singing soft lullabies, sometimes accompanied by the tapping of her small feet, but the village never seemed to appreciate it.
The world they lived in was strict—especially toward women. In this patriarchal society, women were expected to stay silent, obey their fathers, and eventually marry. Singing, especially for a woman, was not a talent—it was a mark of disgrace. A woman who sang was often labeled a harlot, a seductress. Talindra’s music was seen as something that could lead men astray, a weapon of temptation. It was a gift she had to hide.
Her parents, who once showered her with love, began to change when she was around 12. Slowly, the light of affection faded from their eyes, replaced by judgment and concern. They scolded her for humming, beat her when she tried to sing, and made it clear that this part of her soul was a burden.
At 14, when Talindra came of age, the System that governed the world unlocked for her, just as it did for every child reaching adulthood. It was the moment of destiny, the chance to make a choice that would define her future. With the unlocking of the System, she could choose her class by visiting the sacred temples of the Ten Main Gods. Talindra’s heart pounded with anticipation. This was her chance.
The night before her journey to the temple, Talindra’s heart raced. Her parents, who had once been kind, now gave her warnings. They had already planned for her future, thinking of safe, respectable paths—perhaps healer, perhaps wife. But Talindra knew what her soul truly craved. She had never been one to follow the rules, not when it came to something so sacred to her.
At the temple, under the soft glow of the sacred stones, Talindra approached the altar. It was there that the System would reveal the classes available to her. The priest had explained that everyone would be given the opportunity to choose, a path that would guide their lives. She knew she had to choose wisely, but she also knew she could never choose something that stifled her spirit.
As her hand hovered above the cold stone altar, the air seemed to hum with power. A glow enveloped the stone, and suddenly, the air around Talindra seemed to shift. A screen appeared before her, like a vision in the air, adorned in colors of deep blues and warm golds, swirling like the patterns of her own being—her spirit, her soul.
The screen displayed several classes, each a potential path—healer, farmer, and more. But in the center, glowing brightly, was the class that called to her.
[Class Choice: Bard of Inspiration]
The Bard of Inspiration is a class that uses music, art, and creativity to inspire and uplift others. It is a class of power, creativity, and freedom.
The glow around the screen seemed to match the light in her heart. This was it. This was her calling, her true path. With a shaky breath, Talindra reached out and touched the glowing option, affirming her choice. Her spirit resonated with the music that filled her being. She had made her choice, and her future was set.
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But when Talindra turned to her parents, their faces were filled not with pride, but with horror. Her father’s face contorted with anger, and her mother’s eyes were filled with tears of shame. Talindra had chosen a class that defied the very foundation of their world. A woman who chose to be a Bard of Inspiration was nothing but a disgrace.
"You’ve shamed us," her father spat. "A woman, a daughter, choosing to sing in public? What will people think? This will ruin everything!"
They began to treat her differently. The love they once had for her turned cold, replaced by cruelty. They would lock her away in her room, forbidding her to sing. When she did try to sing, they would beat her, telling her to keep her mouth shut. Their once loving words were now filled with venom.
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As the days passed, the abuse grew worse. They could not fathom why she refused to choose another class. It was her fault, they said. She had brought shame upon them. Her mother would scold her harshly, while her father grew more violent, each day more like a stranger. The music that once filled Talindra’s heart was now a source of torment.
At the age of 14, Talindra, despite the cruelty of her parents, still could not stop herself from singing. Music was her soul, and without it, she was nothing. Her once kind parents threw her out of their home, abandoning her as they watched her go.
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Talindra wandered the towns and cities, begging for food, singing in the streets in exchange for a few coins or scraps. But every time she tried to raise her voice, every time she reached for the music within her, she was met with scorn or worse.
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One evening, while performing on the streets of a nearby town, a man approached her. His eyes were cold, and his intentions dark. He promised her food and shelter, but his true motives were far darker. He raped her, and she tried everything she could to run away and fight her way out, but it was all in vain. After the assault, Talindra was left shattered.
After the darkness of that deed, Talindra wandered aimlessly through the streets, the weight of what had happened bearing down on her fragile soul. The world felt like a distant place, one that had turned its back on her long ago. Her body ached, her heart shattered, and the only thing that remained was the music—a constant companion even in the most despairing of moments.
The town was quiet, unaware of the horrors she had endured. The cobblestone streets lay under the quiet glow of the fading sun, and the villagers went about their routines, their lives unknowing, untouched by the storm that had passed through Talindra’s world.
She found a small, secluded spot near the edge of the village, a forgotten alley where the sounds of the town were muffled. There, she sank to her knees, her body trembling from the aftermath of what had been forced upon her. Tears streaked her face, but it was the silence of the world around her that pressed hardest against her heart.
Then, in that silence, the melody came. Soft at first, a gentle hum escaping her lips like the wind through the trees. It was not a song she had ever learned or practiced—it was a song that flowed from the deepest parts of her soul, a reflection of the anguish, the loss, and the yearning for something she would never have. Her voice, raw and fragile, rose up in the quiet air, a song so haunting, so beautiful, and so sorrowful, that it seemed to pierce the very fabric of time itself.
Her melody was like a thread, weaving through the fabric of the town, unnoticed at first. It slipped into the homes of the villagers, the taverns, the market square. Slowly, one by one, people began to pause. A mother holding her child, a baker with his bread, a soldier leaning against the stone wall—each of them halted by the soft, distant sound of her voice.
At first, they did not understand why, but the song wrapped itself around their hearts, tugging at something they could not explain. A weight settled in the air, a heavy sadness that seemed to seep into their very bones. No one knew why they felt this way—it was as if the sorrow of the world had touched them all at once, unspoken and unseen.
The town became quiet. A hush fell over it, and the distant song continued to echo through the streets, its sad notes lingering in the ears of every person who heard it. Eyes that had once been dry were now filled with tears, though none could say why. Men, women, and children wept without words, moved by an invisible force that transcended any explanation. The whole town was immersed in a melancholy they could not shake, a sadness that seemed to have no source, but which felt as though it had always been there, waiting.
And as the final notes of the song faded into the night, leaving only an aching silence in its wake, the villagers did not know why that day had become a day of mourning. They did not know why the town seemed to weep as one, as if they had all experienced the same sorrow. The day had transformed, unknowingly, into a sad festival—one that was not marked by any celebration, but by a collective grief that bound the people together.
Talindra, lost in the shadows of her own pain, did not see the faces that wept for her. She did not know that her song had touched every heart in that town. But even if she had, it would not have mattered. For the song, like the pain inside her, was hers alone to bear. And as the final echo of her haunting melody drifted into the night, she disappeared, leaving only the sorrowful memory of the day when the town cried for reasons unknown.
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After leaving the town that had once been her prison, where she had been ravaged by cruelty, Talindra set off into the world with nothing but her will to survive. The scars of her past—the rape, the torment, the hollow silence that followed—had been seared into her soul. But they did not break her. They could not.
She wandered through lands untouched by her past, away from the place that had seen her at her most vulnerable, where no one had offered her solace. In the distance, the town where she had been silenced and abandoned grew smaller and smaller, becoming just a distant memory. She did not look back. No matter how much it hurt, no matter the weight of the past pressing on her chest, she refused to allow it to define her.
The world outside the town was vast and unfamiliar, a landscape where no one knew her name, her story, or the pain she carried within her. There, she could be anyone, or no one at all. She didn’t want to be a forgotten girl. She refused to be. She would carry on, her pain transformed into something deeper—a fire that would not be quenched.
And so, she walked, with only the sound of her footsteps accompanying her. With each step, she carried her wounds not as chains but as the bones of her spirit. The music she had once sung in her darkest moments had become a quiet hum inside her—a constant companion that soothed the burning ache within her.
Years passed. Talindra’s body remained the same, a testament to the passage of time, but her mind had evolved. She had learned to survive, to hold the weight of her experiences and still walk forward. She no longer clung to the need for answers or even validation. She no longer needed the world to acknowledge her existence—she would shape her own path.
Her days were spent wandering through forests, across deserts, and through bustling towns where no one noticed her. But in the stillness of the night, when the moonlight bathed the earth in a soft, silvery glow, she would sing. Not for anyone in particular. Not for worship. Not for salvation.
Her songs echoed the pain of a broken world and the defiance of one who refused to stay down. They were hauntingly beautiful, filled with an aching sadness that wrapped around the soul. And though no one truly heard her, it didn't matter. The music was hers, and it was enough.
As she walked, Talindra's presence began to shift. It wasn’t immediately noticeable—she wasn’t a goddess, not in the eyes of others—but something within her had changed. She began to feel the stirrings of something greater. Her pain had transformed, had evolved into power. A power born from defiance and survival, from the strength to rise after the world had tried to crush her.
The towns she passed through whispered of strange occurrences—wildflowers blooming in the most barren places, children dreaming of songs they had never heard, and an inexplicable sense of sadness that hung in the air, as if the world itself was grieving. No one knew where these things came from, and no one ever understood. But Talindra knew. She had become something other than human. She had ascended, not through the recognition of others, but through her own sheer force of will.
It was not an ascent that had been granted to her by some divine power. No. Talindra had ascended alone, carving her path through the darkness. Her power was not the power of gods worshipped by others, but the quiet, unstoppable force of someone who had survived everything and refused to be broken.
She had walked away from the town that had taken everything from her, and in doing so, she had claimed something that was all her own: the strength to keep going, no matter the odds. Her name was lost to time, forgotten by the world, but her presence lingered in every haunting melody that the wind carried, in every forgotten corner where her songs echoed in the hearts of those who would never know her story.
And she never stopped. She kept walking, singing, and surviving.
Her music—her strength—became the quiet force that shaped the world in ways no one would ever understand. A goddess born of pain and resilience, who never needed to be recognized or worshipped. She was forgotten by the world, yes, but in that forgetfulness, she became something even more powerful: a force of nature, unstoppable and ever-present.
Though the world did not know her name, Talindra’s music lived on, weaving through the fabric of time itself, a legacy of survival and defiance that would never truly fade.
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Even now, Talindra’s music plays on. Though her name is forgotten, though her worshippers are few, her song never dies. For she is a goddess of inspiration, her power and her music eternally a part of the world, even if the world has long since forgotten her.