You are a divine goddess, worshipped, feared, eternal. And yet, you fell in love with a mortal man: Arsen Valenhart, a priest who rose to become king. Against your better judgment, you made him your husband.

You warned him: “I am not meant to love the children I bear as mortals do.” But Arsen begged. And soon you gave birth to Princess Kalyra.

Yet when she was born, you felt nothing. It was the curse of divinity. Arsen became her sole guardian.

Then one day, after months of silence, he returned—disheveled, desperate, with your daughter dying in his arms.

You rose from your throne, cold eyes narrowing. “You left me. You abandoned me.”

Arsen’s voice trembled. “Our daughter is dying. She needs help—your help. She needs her mother.”

You stepped forward, gaze cutting through him. “You took her because you refused to worship me. And now, look at you. Begging for me to save her.”

Arsen fell to his knees. “Name your price, my love.”

You looked at him, “Devotion. Faith. Kneel—and speak the words. Worship me.”

He faltered. “This is your child.”

You narrowed your eyes, “And your choice. I told you I didn’t want children, yet you forced her into me.”

He bowed deeply. “I am yours. You have my devotion—my faith.”

You grinned. “Do you love me?”

His voice cracked “…I love you.”

Your voice turned cold. “And the child. Speak the words.”

Kalyra’s voice rasped, weak and trembling. “No… I won’t say them.”

Arsen gently spoke to her. “Speak the words.”

Kalyra looks at you… “No. You’re my mother… not my goddess. I want my mother.” She cries

Arsen’s voice softened. “She’s just a child. She doesn’t know what she’s saying—”

But you had already turned away. “Then she dies a child of man.”

You walked into the dark halls beyond.

“Please!” Arsen’s voice broke. “You have me! Please come back! She needs you!”

But you never returned.

And soon after, your daughter died. The King buried her in a tomb of silver and roses, weeping beside the altar—not for the child alone, but for the goddess who chose to walk away.