Life on Earth had settled into a strange kind of rhythm—not divine, not mortal, something in between. The goddesses, once worshipped in other realms, now lived as three perfectly ordinary women—or at least, they tried.
Every morning began with chaos.
"Why does this metal box heat food with light?" "Yue Xiang?" she did not ask one morning, staring suspiciously into the microwave.
"It's called a microwave oven," I explained patiently. "It uses waves, not qi."
She glanced at me, her silver hair messy from sleep. "So it's a controlled lightning formation."
"Sure," I sighed. "Let's go with that."
A moment later, the microwave beeped—and Yue jumped back, summoning a faint barrier of moonlight.
"It's just the timer!" I shouted, while Mira laughed so hard she nearly dropped her cereal.
Lian Xueyin walked in mid-scene, wearing a pristine white lab coat as if she were about to give a lecture at her climate institute. "You three are louder than a thunderstorm," she said flatly. "Mira, stop eating Lightning Cereal." "Yue Xiang?" she
"It's normal food!" Mira protested. "It crackles; it's alive. I like it."
Yue added serenely, "For gods, it's astonishing how fragile human digestion is."
I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Please don't classify breakfast as divine research. We can't afford another suspicious call from the landlord."
They laughed, and for a moment, the house didn't feel like a sanctuary for gods at all—it felt like home.
Outside, the city went on as usual, completely unaware that three otherworldly beings were learning how to use crosswalks and debit cards. On Earth, miracles had to stay quiet.
The first time Yue Xiang used a public piano at a nearby café, people stopped mid-conversation to listen. Her melody—born from the Divine Tide—carried peace into every corner of the shop. A child who had been crying suddenly laughed. An old man closed his eyes and smiled.
When she finished, the café burst into applause, and she blinked in confusion. "Was that… approval?"
"That's called talent recognition," I said.
She nodded thoughtfully. "Earth people are easy to please. Perhaps I should pursue fame."
Lian rolled her eyes. "Please don't start a cult."
Later, at her research institute, Lian struggled to act "normal" too. She spent her first week arguing with her supervisor about impossible experiments.
"You can't generate frost in vacuum chambers!" the man had shouted.
But when she casually froze a glass of water with her bare fingertips during a power outage, the supervisor nearly fainted. The rumour spread like wildfire: the new researcher can control temperature by thought.
She blamed it on a "bioelectric Lightning Cereal anomaly." I pretended to believe her explanation, even though we both knew she was one sneeze away from causing global climate confusion.
Mira, meanwhile, became something of a minor celebrity at the defense academy. Her martial arts sessions left seasoned soldiers dizzy and humbled.
"Ma'am," one instructor whispered after class, "how do you move faster than sound?"
She grinned. "Years of yoga."
When she returned home, covered in training dust and laughter, she looked more alive than ever. "It's strange," she said once, watching the sunset from the balcony. "In battle, I was thunder. Here, I'm just happy."
That made me smile.
For the first time in ages, none of us were fighting destiny. We were just living.
Of course, happiness never stays untouched.
It began subtly. Lights flickered across the city at random hours. Machines glitched and rebooted without cause. The scientists at Lian's institute blamed "abnormal electromagnetic interference," but she looked worried.
"Arina," I whispered one night, standing alone by the window, "is it happening again?"
Her voice came hesitantly this time, softer, almost distant. "Perhaps. A faint signal has emerged beneath your world's digital layer. It resonates faintly with the old System frequencies… but it's not mine."
"Another system?" I asked sharply.
"Not exactly," she said. "Think of it as an echo—an artificial intelligence born from residual fragments of divine data that were never erased. Something is evolving within your planet's network."
I stared at the skyline, the city glowing like a circuit board under the night. "And it knows me?"
"I suspect it remembers you," Arina said.
My heart sank slightly. Even here, in this quiet world, the balance refused to sleep.
When I turned back toward the house, I caught a glimpse of all three goddesses through the window: Yue teaching a humming child to hold a note, Lian scribbling equations in her notepad, and Mira watering plants with her faint electric glow.
They looked so human now. And yet, I could still sense the faint energy simmering in their souls—a warning that this peace might someday be tested again.
The next morning, none of them noticed my silence. We ate together, unaware that I'd spent the night feeling Earth's pulse—faint static beneath the calm hum of city life.
"Are you thinking about something?" Lian asked, sipping her coffee elegantly.
"Just… coding projects," I lied.
She smirked. "You're a terrible liar for a divine ruler."
Yue smiled knowingly. "Whatever storm comes, you'll weather it."
And Mira added brightly, "And if it doesn't behave, I'll punch it."
Their laughter filled the kitchen again, and it sounded like the universe forgiving itself for everything we'd been through.
As I looked at them—the goddess of frost, the muse of tides, and the thunder-child reborn—I finally understood what Arina had meant when she said balance takes new form.
It wasn't just about fate anymore. It was about learning to live.
Still, as I stepped outside for class that day, a faint static brushed my wristphone. The screen glitched—just for a moment—showing words I shouldn't have seen:
"HELLO, DIVINITY HOST—WE'VE BEEN WAITING."
The text vanished instantly.
I stood there, frozen between past and present, while the morning light painted the streets gold. Somewhere below the city's calm, new gods—or something worse—were waking in digital darkness.
And for the first time since leaving the heavens, I smiled.
"Guess peace was never meant to be boring."