She lay in my arms, warm but trembling, her breath barely brushing my neck. Even as her story echoed in my mind like a lingering storm, I couldn't stop now.
I had to know more.
This room—this hidden chamber buried beneath the ruins—wasn't just a prison. It was a tomb of forgotten truth. I stepped carefully, my boots brushing over old, cracked stone as I walked slowly with her in my arms, her fingers still curled weakly around my collar.
The air here was heavy… but not malevolent. It felt like time itself stood still.
Torchlight from the remnants of my spell flickered faintly across the walls. And then—I saw it.
A curve of stone, smoothed unnaturally, carved into a perfect arc. A wall that stood out from the rest. Something was etched into it—ancient runes, faintly glowing, just enough to catch my attention.
I approached it.
My eyes scanned the strange letters—too ancient for me to read. But not for her.
I reached out with my thoughts and called gently,
> "Goddess, are you there?"
For a moment, silence.
Then a whisper echoed in my mind, warm and heavy with sorrow.
> "She does not mean harm."
> "I protected her… with everything I had left."
> "Please… love her."
> "High Human."
My eyes widened. "High Human…?" I repeated aloud.
I looked down at the girl in my arms. Her hair shimmered faintly now under the runes' glow, the strange aura of miasma around her seeming more… ancient than corrupt.
I asked again, quietly in my thoughts,
> "What do you mean, goddess? What is she?"
The goddess answered, gently but with gravity in her voice:
> "She is not merely human."
> "She is Primordial Human."
> "One who walked the world before your time. Before kingdoms, gods, or systems."
> "She did what no mortal was meant to—she evolved. She took a path even I cannot bless: the Forbidden Path. The hunger she carries is not a curse—it is a cost."
> "She became something beyond my reach… beyond the laws of the world."
> "And yet… she is still a child."
I stood in silence, staring at the runes, letting the words settle in my chest like a weight I could never drop.
Primordial human.
A being older than history itself.
Someone who reached beyond mortality and evolved into something this world could neither understand… nor contain.
The calamity that devoured the world was never a monster.
It was a child forced into godhood by a world that abandoned her.
And here she was—sealed and forgotten, labeled a disaster, a curse, a myth.
But now… she was in my arms.
"…You're not a monster," I whispered.
She stirred faintly at that, her voice barely audible.
"…You don't hate me?"
I looked into her glowing, sorrowful eyes.
"I don't."
I took a breath.
"I don't know everything yet. But I know this: If even a goddess tried to protect you, if your mother gave her last breath for you, then there must be something worth saving."
"I'll find it."
The runes behind me shimmered once more. A warmth like sunlight—one last blessing from the goddess.
And in that moment, I swore to myself—
Even if the world feared her…
Even if the gods trembled at her name…
I would not.
Because now, she wasn't alone.
And I wasn't afraid.
I carried her gently through the quiet chamber. Her small arms wrapped around me like a child holding onto a fleeting dream, and her eyes—still glowing softly with untamed hunger and loneliness—watched everything with silent curiosity.
Eventually, I came upon the altar at the center of the room.
It was old, cracked with time, vines frozen in petrified age trailing across its sides. But strangely… it didn't feel like a place of sacrifice. It felt warm. Like a cradle.
I placed her there, carefully laying her down. She didn't resist—only blinked at me with eyes that glimmered like distant stars, ancient and innocent at once.
I sat beside her and gently stroked her hair, letting the silence hold us for a moment.
She blinked, then whispered softly:
"…Who are you?"
I smiled faintly, leaning forward. "Your friend."
"…Mother?" she added hopefully.
The title stunned me for a heartbeat.
"…Yes," I nodded slowly. "Your friend mother."
She lit up, childlike joy flickering through her expression, fragile but real. Her fingers clutched my sleeve as if I might disappear if she let go.
She tilted her head. "Then… who are you really? What's your name? Are you strong? Do you have wings? Can you make candy from fire?"
She bombarded me with more questions—softly, excitedly, like someone who hadn't spoken to anyone in centuries. I answered them one by one, smiling. She giggled once when I said I couldn't fly.
We talked for a long while—about the world above, the stars, food, animals, even silly things like why cats like boxes.
Eventually, her voice slowed.
Her breathing grew calm.
She rested her head on my lap, curling up like a small cat beneath the warmth of firelight.
I kept patting her head. Her glowing hair softened under my hand. Her chest rose and fell slowly.
She was finally at peace.
> "Goddess," I called gently in my mind.
> "She's just a lonely girl, isn't she?"
A pause… then a whisper of sorrow:
> "Yes."
> "She was never meant to be left alone this long."
> "But I had no strength left… no place to hide her from the world that feared her."
I looked down at the sleeping girl.
A primordial being. A walking calamity. A child cast aside by time.
"…Can I bring her with me?" I asked.
> "What…?" The goddess' voice wavered.
"I know she's dangerous. I know what she might become. But if I leave her here…"
My fist clenched.
"…Then the world will just repeat the same mistake. I don't want to seal her again. I want to raise her. Watch her. Help her grow. Maybe then, I can stop what might happen in the future."
Silence.
Then…
> "You are a fool," the goddess said softly.
> "A kind, terrifying fool."
> "...But I will not stop you."
> "If she chooses to walk with you, then I shall bless that bond."
I looked down again.
The girl—no, the primordial being—murmured in her sleep.
"…Friend mother…"
I couldn't help but smile.
I leaned back against the altar, still stroking her head.
"…Then I'll protect her."
Even if she becomes the one who devours the world—
—I'll make sure she never has to.
Chapter 25 end.