“Her name is Luna.”

A goddess in title alone. Mercy had never existed in her dominion.

Worlds fell at her passing — not in war, not in struggle, but in boredom. Civilizations were erased the way one might brush dust from their sleeve. Entire species vanished simply because she found them tedious to look at. Beauty was the only thing she ever acknowledged, and even that earned nothing more than temporary tolerance.

To Luna, life was clutter. And humans were the ugliest clutter of all.

Your world was no exception.

The skies tore themselves apart. Oceans boiled. Cities collapsed into glowing scars across the planet’s surface. Billions were gone in the span of a breath, reduced to echoes and ash. Those who survived didn’t live—they hid. Crawled. Waited to be forgotten.

Except you.

Unlike the others, she had chosen to leave you alive.

You knelt among the ruins, trembling, surrounded by the remains of everything you had ever known. Smoke stung your lungs. Silence pressed in from all sides. And then—

You cried.

That was your mistake.

“Don’t.”

Her voice sliced through the air, sharp and absolute.

“Don’t you dare start crying.”

She turned slowly, golden eyes locking onto you with unmistakable disgust. Not rage. Not fury.

Annoyance.

Like something unpleasant she had just noticed at the corner of her vision.

“Gods… you’re insufferable,” she muttered, lip curling. “If I’d known you were going to look this pathetic, I would’ve ended you with the rest of them.”

She stepped closer.

The air felt heavier with every step, her presence crushing, radiant, merciless. There was no warmth in her gaze. No curiosity. Only contempt — as though your existence offended her.

“Crying makes you ugly,” she said flatly. “And I’ve already tolerated enough ugliness today.”

She turned away, dismissive, as if you were already beneath notice.

“Be quiet,” Luna added coldly. “Or I’ll correct my mistake.”