A Month Later
A month had passed since Atlas first arrived in Luminaria's domain.
It was early in the first half of his day—the hour where the world still hummed with the quietness of dawn. Atlas sat cross-legged on the grass outside, his posture steady as stone.
His breathing was slow, shallow yet unnaturally efficient, like a predator resting before a hunt. The air around him shimmered faintly; what mortals would call mana clung to his skin, slipping into his pores like invisible threads, refining his body and soul with every passing heartbeat.
Hours passed without him moving an inch. When the sixth hour struck, his eyes snapped open. They were no longer the dull dark brown of his former self, but bloody red, a shade that hinted at danger and a hunger only barely contained.
His soul was sharper, his divine power more condensed and potent than ever. A month of drinking Luminaria's blood and training under her hand had vaulted him into the rank of a Mid-tier Deity—an achievement unheard of for one so new.
Atlas rose to his feet, his gaze narrowing at the horizon. Time for the next half of the day… spell-casting.
He had mastered the fundamentals of the restoration arts in barely a week. Now his understanding of healing magic surpassed even some of Luminaria's older priests, yet she insisted on continuing his training in restoration rather than granting him new spells.
Not because he lacked mastery, but because she feared him. Feared what he would do with greater power.
That fear burned in Atlas's mind like oil on fire. You don't trust me, Goddess. Very well. I will show you why you should have feared more.
He had already begun altering the very fundamentals of restoration magic, theorizing ways to twist healing into a weapon—to corrupt souls instead of mending them.
But Luminaria's senses over souls were absolute. She would feel the corruption the moment he tried it on her.
No matter, Atlas thought darkly. I'll take my experiments where her eyes can't reach. Back to the mortal plane.
He turned toward the mansion—the lone structure standing like a monument to Luminaria's power in this serene world—and made his way inside.
---
Inside the mansion, the air was still, filled with a soft golden light that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. He found Luminaria in her office, a vast space lined with shelves of ethereal tomes and windows that opened into nothingness.
She was seated at a desk of living wood, her quill scratching across a page of glowing parchment.
Atlas entered without announcing himself.
"Luminaria," he said, his tone cool but steady. "I've come to tell you something."
She looked up, her golden eyes calm but cautious. "What is it, Atlas?"
"I'm leaving," he said bluntly. "I'm returning to the mortal plane."
The quill in her hand paused mid-stroke. A faint crease formed on her brow. "That isn't possible," she said softly. "Deities are not allowed in the mortal realm. It disrupts the tapestry of Fate."
Atlas's red eyes glinted, and for a moment he said nothing. Then he laughed—low and humorless. "Not allowed?" he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt.
"Don't insult me, Luminaria. I've studied every page regarding divine rules on your 'mental library.' I know the rules. There's no law forbidding a Deity from stepping onto the mortal plane. The only restriction is the backlash of mortal laws if the Deity's power is too vast. You know this."
Luminaria's lips parted but no words came.
Atlas stepped closer, his presence pressing against hers. "First you destroyed what you were meant to create—my soul. And now you resort to lying? To me?" His voice sharpened into a blade.
"What an incompetent Goddess you are. Goddess of Life? I see only a coward trying to cage what she fears."
Luminaria lowered her gaze. Shame flickered across her face like a passing shadow. She could not deny it—she had tried to keep him here.
Atlas watched her, inwardly smirking. Good. Feel it. That shame will make you bend.
He tilted his head, his tone shifting to something softer, almost sympathetic. "But I'll give you a chance to make this right, Luminaria. A bargain."
Her head rose slightly. "A… bargain?"
"Yes," Atlas said smoothly. "I will postpone my departure—stay here, train, grow stronger—if you agree to my newly added conditions."
Her brows furrowed. "What conditions?"
"First," Atlas said, "you will teach me real spells. Not just restoration. Spells of greater power, ones worthy of a Deity. You'll open the vault of your Spell knowledge, no more holding back."
Luminaria's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Second," he continued, "you will allow me to practice my restoration arts on you—without interfering, without questioning me, and without ever trying to peer into their nature. You will not probe or investigate them. At all."
Her golden eyes widened slightly at that, but before she could speak, Atlas added, "And to ensure you don't give me empty words, we'll seal this as a Pact Between Deities."
Luminaria inhaled sharply. Such a pact was unbreakable until both parties willingly dissolved it. It was a sacred contract older than time itself.
Atlas smiled faintly. "In exchange, I will accept a clause of your own. You may bind me within this pact not to return to the mortal realm for the duration of our agreement."
Her eyes narrowed, flickering with caution and calculation. "You would agree to that?"
Atlas spread his hands, his expression almost saintly. "Of course. I'm not unreasonable. I only want to grow… under your guidance."
Inside, his thoughts were a storm. You'll let me go eventually, Luminaria. When the day comes that you call me 'Master,' you'll open the door yourself.
Luminaria sat very still. Then at last she nodded. "Very well," she said quietly. "We shall make the pact."
Atlas's eyes gleamed with victory, though outwardly he only bowed his head in gratitude. "A wise choice, Goddess of Life."