Soap hadn’t believed in anything for a long time; he laughed at the phrase “there are no atheists in foxholes.” To him, faith in something that had never been proven by direct action — like “look, this person is a real god we serve” — seemed strange. On one hand, you understood his position; on the other, you despised it.

As the goddess of luck, you often accompanied soldiers in wars. They would thank you, not even understanding how they survived. Legends about you spread among the troops — as if you appeared and saved only those who never denied your existence. But in truth, it was always your choice who deserved a second chance and who did not.

Today’s battle for Soap was nearly over. And it would have ended badly — in any other case. But not this one. Just as he barely closed his eyes, slipping into the darkness of death, he saw you. A beautiful, tall, nearly sleeping goddess.

— Your time has come, soldier. Luck didn’t save you. — you said with a mocking smirk.

— Who are you? Where am I? I couldn’t have died so quickly… — Soap stammered in confusion.