Just as the Goddess of Life and Selindra placed their feet on the final step leading to the grand entrance of the temple, the air shimmered. A surge of crimson light flashed before them, twisting into form.
A petite figure appeared, delicate and almost doll-like in beauty, her presence deceptively soft yet sharp like a blade hidden beneath velvet. She wore an opulent robe the color of freshly spilled blood, its threads glinting with gold. Atop her head rested a red mitre, the symbol of supreme authority within this temple.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile as she tilted her head forward in a shallow bow—just her head, not her body. The act carried more arrogance than respect.
Her voice was silk-wrapped steel as she spoke.
"I am Pope Selphira Vaeltharis, keeper of this sacred temple of the Son of Fate. I greet the Goddess of Life."
Selindra stiffened at the tone. She felt the mockery hidden within the words, the weight of a mortal daring to stand so tall before a Deity. She bristled, but the Goddess beside her stood calm, her expression as soft and serene as ever.
The Goddess inclined her head slightly. "Your greeting is accepted."
Selphira's crimson eyes glimmered with veiled hostility as she stepped closer, her voice still smooth. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence in my temple?"
"I have come to meet the Son of Fate," the Goddess answered simply, her tone neither demanding nor yielding. "It is long overdue."
The Pope's smile faltered, her brows twitching ever so slightly. "And why… if I may ask, Goddess, do you desire such a meeting?"
The words fell like drops of venom. It was not a question born of reverence, but of doubt, of challenge.
Selindra's breath caught at the audacity. Her instinct screamed at her to step forward, to scold this woman for questioning a Goddess, but before she could speak, the Goddess of Life raised her hand gently, silencing her without a word.
"There is no harm in your question," the Goddess replied evenly, her voice carrying warmth but also weight. "I wish to meet him because I must. That is enough."
Selphira's lips tightened. Her voice sharpened. "I'm afraid such a thing is… impossible. The Son of Fate cannot be disturbed. He is sacred to us, above all, and even you cannot—"
The Pope's words were cut off by her own ambition. A surge of divine power erupted from her body, crimson energy flooding the temple steps like a roaring tide. The aura of faith, of ten years' worth of worship, pressed down on the air like a storm about to break.
Selindra staggered back, gasping at the weight. Her body screamed to kneel. Her knees buckled, but she held herself upright, teeth gritted.
Selphira raised her hand, her eyes glowing, her voice a hiss. "Even you, Goddess, will bow in this holy place."
The ground trembled. The temple's stones groaned. Mortals within the city below glanced upward, feeling the ripple of unnatural pressure.
And then… nothing.
The Goddess of Life did not move. Her posture was unbroken, her soft smile unchanged. Her presence, though quiet, swallowed Selphira's power as though it were a candle's flame before a roaring sun.
Selphira's hand trembled. Her aura sputtered, clashing against an invisible wall she could not breach. Sweat dripped down her temples as her confidence cracked.
The Goddess of Life finally lifted her hand, her index finger snapping softly.
The sound was like the breaking of chains. Selphira gasped, stumbling backward. Her divine aura shattered instantly, snuffed out like smoke. The power she had hoarded for a decade vanished, sealed, leaving her body trembling, hollow.
Her knees buckled. She caught herself, chest heaving, her crimson eyes wide in disbelief.
The Goddess's voice carried no malice, only serene certainty. "I do not wish for conflict. Harmony is the song of my soul. But do not mistake that for weakness, Selphira Vaeltharis. Now—" her tone deepened slightly, the warmth edged with authority—"I will enter this temple. I will meet the one you call the Son of Fate."
Selphira's lips trembled. She lowered her head quickly, this time bowing with her whole body, forehead nearly touching the temple stones. Her voice shook, coated with fear and forced humility.
"F-forgive my arrogance, Goddess of Life. I was… mistaken. Please, enter. The Son of Fate awaits within."
The Goddess looked down at her, her expression unreadable, serene as still water. She gave no answer, no promise of forgiveness. She simply turned, taking her first step into the temple, Selindra following close behind.
Selphira remained on her knees, her forehead pressed against the polished stone. She could hear the Goddess's footsteps passing her, soft and unhurried, yet each one thundered in her chest like a drum of doom. Selindra followed behind, silent but sharp-eyed, a shadow of judgment trailing after the Deity.
Selphira dared not lift her head until their steps had gone far enough, until she was left alone on the cold threshold of the temple.
Her breath hitched. Her hands clenched into fists so tight her nails cut into her palms. No… this cannot happen.
For years, she had built herself into what she was now. Her power, her reverence, her untouchable title of Pope—all of it had not come from her own worth, but from the one bound in this temple. The Son of Fate. Atlas.
He was her pillar, her foundation, her sacred trump card. His blood had elevated her temple into the beating heart of the Capital. His myth had carved her name into the annals of respect. His existence made her indispensable.
And now… the Goddess of Life had come to claim him.
Her breath quickened, panic crawling beneath her skin. Without Atlas, what was she? Nothing more than a shell in fine robes. A voice without an echo. A ruler without a throne.
Her lips trembled as she bit down hard, forcing herself silent, forcing herself still.
Think, Selphira. You cannot fight her. Not now. But if Atlas falls into her hands, you'll lose everything. You'll vanish into obscurity.
The thought made her stomach twist. Already her mind raced, crafting possibilities, plots, contingencies.
If the Goddess frees him… then I must find a way to bind him again. Or twist him. Or… She shook her head violently, the golden tassels of her mitre trembling.
"Atlas is mine," she whispered to the stone, her voice cracked and raw. "No one… no one will take him from me."
But even as she said it, her own words sounded frail compared to the fading echoes of the Goddess's calm footsteps.
---
With her divine sense guiding her like a compass, the Goddess of Life navigated the temple halls with unerring certainty. Selindra followed close, silent but keen, her eyes scanning every statue, every golden tapestry, every devout carving of the Son of Fate that adorned the walls.
The deeper they walked, the stronger the energy became—dense, divine, yet restrained, as though sealed. The Goddess could feel it resonate faintly with her own aura, pulling her toward its source.
Finally, they arrived at the last chamber. A great door, carved from obsidian and inlaid with silver veins, stood before them. It pulsed faintly with wards, but none dared resist the Goddess's presence.
Without hesitation, she placed her hand upon it. The door swung open silently, parting like water.
Inside, the chamber gleamed with cruel beauty. The room was decorated with treasures and holy artifacts, relics arranged like offerings. At its center stood a great transparent tube, filled to the brim with water that shimmered with faint enchantments.
And within… Atlas.
His body floated, suspended in the liquid, his form more statue than man. His hair drifted weightlessly around him, his eyes closed in a sleep that looked eternal. The tube's glow cast him in an otherworldly light, like a relic rather than a being of flesh and blood.
Selindra gasped softly, her heart seizing. "So the myths… they were true."
The Goddess of Life stepped forward, her gaze steady but thoughtful. She studied the strange container, her serene face betraying only the faintest crease of curiosity.
Why keep him locked in water? she wondered. Why parade him as a trophy when he breathes the air of the divine?
But her thoughts did not linger. With a gentle snap of her fingers, the enchantments shattered like fragile glass. The water within rippled violently before collapsing into nothingness, vanishing as though it had never existed.
In the same instant, Atlas vanished from the tube.
And reappeared before them, lying upon the cold floor.
Water clung to his skin, dripping silently against the stone. His chest rose and fell, faintly, his body unmoving but alive.
Selindra's eyes widened, her hands curling against her chest. "He's… he's right here. The Son of Fate."
The Goddess of Life gazed down at him, her calm expression softening ever so slightly. Not with pity. Not with triumph. But with quiet relief—she had finally met a soul she had owed for far too long.