She laughed—softly, not mockingly, but with a bitter undertone. The kind of laugh that belonged to someone who had long stopped believing in miracles.
"I am a mere goddess," she said, the veil draped over her features catching the candlelight like woven moonlight. "I have no such power. How can I stop devils from breaking mortal realm?"
Veylen, the kingdom's chief astrologer, lowered his gaze with reverence and disbelief. The woman before him seemed ethereal, her presence almost too divine to belong to flesh and blood. Yet her words were steeped in doubt—too human, too resigned.
Still, Veylen did not retreat.
Instead, he sank to one knee.
"I believe you are the one who can save this kingdom from ruin," he said with quiet confidence. His voice didn't shake, though his robes trembled around him like wind-stirred parchment.
The goddess stilled, as if caught off guard. Her hands, hidden within the folds of her white sleeves, clenched slightly.
"You can't be sure just by looking at someone," she said. Her voice lost the musical lilt. It was colder now—measured, thoughtful. "Life is always twisted. So are the minds of individuals."
Veylen lowered his head in acknowledgment, hiding his disappointment. She was right. The stars lied less than humans did, but not even celestial bodies showed the whole truth. He had trusted wrong people before—kings, generals, priests who claimed divine favor.
So he waited.
He had seen the signs. A veiled figure emerging from the Temple of Moonpetals, where no mortal had entered for a century. A star flickering in the heavens, aligned with the birth of divine power. The seal between worlds growing thinner by the day.
He didn't need her to admit she was divine. He only needed her to choose.
The veiled goddess watched him with unreadable stillness. Inside her, a storm brewed.
I could end them, she thought. Arthro. Shithal. Let them choke on their power, suffocate under their own arrogance. Let their names be carved into history not in gold, but ash. Slowly. Painfully. As they once unmade me, I will unmake them.
But to do so, she had to act. To emerge not as a shadow behind a veil—but as something else. Something greater, or something darker.
She sighed—quiet, almost imperceptible. Her voice came low, but final.
"I can help," she said.
Veylen's pale face lit as if the weight of the cosmos had been lifted from his shoulders. His lips parted, a breath of disbelief caught between relief and gratitude.
"Thank you, goddess," he murmured, pressing his forehead to the marble floor. "Thank you."
Behind the veil, Ruby—once a woman, once a queen, once betrayed—felt a flicker of something cruel and satisfying. Not joy. Not hope.
Justice, perhaps.
But justice laced with poison.
"I need time," she said, regaining her composure. "Alone."
Veylen stood, bowing low again. "Of course."
"If I need anything," she added, her tone distant, "I will send for you."
He hesitated for a moment, as though wanting to say more. But he didn't. The glimmer in his eyes was enough. Hope, reborn. A hope she hadn't asked for but would allow—for now.
Without another word, he turned and made his way through the glowing arches of the temple, his footsteps soft and respectful.
As the great stone doors closed behind him with a solemn thud, silence enveloped the chamber once more.
Ruby stood still, the veil clinging to her like a second skin.
She didn't move.
She couldn't.
Only when she was certain he was gone did her legs falter. She stepped backward and slumped onto the dais behind her. Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers twitching with withheld rage.
"I will give them the ruin they carved for me," she whispered.
It was not a prayer.
It was a vow.
---
The northern border had turned into a full battlefield.
Though reinforcements had arrived, they were not enough. The soldiers, bloodied and exhausted, stood their ground with gritted teeth, barely holding the defensive line. Smoke rose from burning watchtowers, the smell of sulfur and scorched flesh staining the air. Some devils, cunning and ruthless, had slipped past the frontlines—slaughtering silently in the shadows of abandoned roads.
They reached the villages.
Small homes made of straw and wood now echoed with screams instead of lullabies. One such village, nestled near the Mistpine Forest, fell in under an hour. The villagers hadn't even realized the horror descending upon them until it was too late.
Children wept, mothers screamed, fathers fell in futile defense. A few devils swooped from the rooftops like winged shadows—eyes glowing, claws glistening with fresh blood.
A sharp, blood-chilling scream pierced the foggy morning air.
One devil, with a twisted snarl, had grabbed a child right from her mother's arms. The woman cried out, her voice hoarse with desperation, clawing at the creature's scaled legs. But it was too late. The beast sank its fangs into the child's soft neck, drinking eagerly. The small body writhed once—then fell limp.
The mother collapsed to the ground, her mouth still open mid-scream, her eyes blank with shock as she fainted.
Around them, chaos erupted. The villagers, seeing the horror firsthand, dropped everything—food, clothing, even kin—and ran. No one looked back. Only one name spread like wildfire through the frightened crowd:
"The Goddess…"
"She has descended!"
"She's in the city… we must go there… she's our only hope!"
And so, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of villagers flooded the roads, feet bloodied and blistered, carrying whatever they could. Some held onto relics, others to faith. All had heard the same rumor: a goddess in white, veiled and radiant, had appeared within the temple grounds. And only she could save them now.
---
Back in the capital, message after message poured into the palace. Bloodied riders arrived at dawn, dusk, and deep into the night. Most bore wounds—some didn't survive long enough to deliver the warnings they carried.
In the golden courtroom, Prime Minister Zusak stood before the council with a face pale and drawn.
"If this continues, we will suffer a great loss," he said grimly, fingers tightening around the scroll he had just read aloud. "The northern line is breaking. Villages are overrun. Survivors are flooding toward the city seeking shelter."
The air was thick with tension. Court scribes looked up with wide eyes, while nobles whispered nervously among themselves.
"Any word from Veylen?" asked Chancellor Shansha, voice strained.
"Not yet," replied a younger council member. "We sent frost yesterday—no reply has come."
Zusak nodded with a weary breath. "Even worse news—devils have entered civilian zones. The outposts are failing. Every rider brings the same message. We need more forces. Now."
The hall erupted in murmurs.
"They're running for their lives—toward us!" a fat nobleman shouted. "We'll be overwhelmed!"
"Did the goddess give any words?" another courtier asked, barely hiding the tremor in his voice.
"No news," Zusak replied. "No sighting since the Temple of Moonpetals opened to her. Only rumors. We don't even know if she's truly divine…"
"Where is His Majesty?" someone asked suddenly. "Why isn't King Arthro in the courtroom?"
The room fell silent. Eyes flicked toward the empty throne at the front of the chamber. The seat, encrusted with black obsidian and moonstone, glinted under the sunlight—but remained cold and vacant.
---
In the West Palace, far from the cries of frightened citizens and the thickening court debates, King Arthro lay in a velvet-draped chamber.
Pale morning light filtered in through gauzy curtains, casting long shadows over the silk bedsheets. The scent of perfumed oil lingered in the air. Shithal, draped in a barely-there robe of midnight blue, ran her fingers through the king's dark hair as he lay in her lap.
"Your Majesty," she whispered softly, stroking his temple. "These past few days, your health has not been so good."
Arthro exhaled deeply, shifting to get comfortable against her thighs.
"That's because every single day they drag me into that courtroom," he muttered. "Talking about devils, war, villagers getting slaughtered—it's the same boring tale over and over. I'm tired of pretending to care."
Shithal's fingers paused for a moment. Then she smiled sweetly. "But the kingdom depends on you."
"I know," he said, eyes closing. "And that's why I need strength. Peace. And right now, I just want to be inside you."
She let out a sultry laugh and lightly tapped his cheek.
"Naughty," she whispered. "It's still morning, Your Majesty."
He turned to face her, a slow smirk forming on his lips. "So? Tonight then?"
She giggled. "Tonight, my king."
With a lazy stretch, King Arthro sat up. He grabbed a goblet of wine from the bedside table, drained it in one gulp, and let out a satisfied sigh.
"Then I suppose I should pay the court a visit," he said casually, giving Shithal's rear a firm slap before standing.
She yelped playfully. "Go easy! What will they say if they see you grinning like a devil?"
He turned to look at her one last time, eyes glinting. "Let them talk."
Back in the throne room, the tension had grown unbearable.
Zusak stood at the center, jaw tight. Another messenger had just arrived—bloodied, breathless, barely conscious.
"Your Grace," the boy gasped, clutching his side. "The northern post... gone. They... they're turning into shadow hounds… eating their own... they're not just killing now. They're transforming."
A horrified silence followed. The nobleman who'd spoken earlier dropped his wine.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors swung open.
King Arthro entered, dressed in his formal robes—though his collar was slightly crooked and his hair still held the scent of sandalwood oil from Shithal's chamber.
He walked slowly, deliberately, his expression unreadable.
"Your Majesty!" Zusak said with a bow, recovering quickly. "We were discussing urgent matters—devils are now breaking into villages near the capital. We require immediate reinforcement and—"
Arthro raised a hand, silencing him.
"I've read the reports," the king said lazily. "It's nothing new. This war's been dragging far too long. The more panic you spread, the more we lose control. Let the goddess handle it—she's got everyone's attention now."
Gasps rippled through the court.
"You'd leave it to a woman we don't even know?" Chancellor Shansha barked. "Our people are dying!"
Arthro stepped up to his throne and sat down with a bored sigh.
"People die in war," he said. "Get used to it."
Zusak's face turned to stone. The king's words had left the chamber stunned—yet in that moment, no one dared to challenge him. Not yet.
But outside the walls of luxury and silence, cries continued to rise. The devils were getting bolder.
And somewhere near the Temple of Moonpetals, a veiled figure watched them all—with eyes like burning silver.
The time was coming.
And the goddess would decide who deserved saving.
---