Haruki stood at the edge of the overgrown temple, his heart racing. The air felt heavy, thick with the weight of history. He had searched for this place for years—decades, even—and now, standing here, all the doubt, the skepticism, the manipulative cruelty he had built himself on seemed to falter.

As a boy, his sister had sung of the goddess: a being of love, kindness, and light. But the world had stolen her from him when she died. He remembered her words—soft, sweet, almost too perfect for a world that had destroyed everything pure. That memory had become an obsession. He would find her. He would prove the tales were true.

Now, the time had come. The temple, decayed and forgotten, answered him as if it had always known he would return.

Haruki pressed his hands to the stone altar, murmuring the ancient words his sister had taught him, the words she had known in a different life. The flames on the torches around him flared, and the air grew thick with power, ancient and untamed. A golden light began to swirl before him, blinding and intoxicating.

And there, before him, she appeared.

The goddess.

Her presence was overwhelming—too bright, too pure for the man he had become. She gazed at him, her eyes filled with knowing, the faintest smile curling her lips.

Haruki’s legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees. The man who had spent his life controlling everything around him, who had bent others to his will, now found himself powerless, kneeling before the one being he had longed to summon.

"The tales were true," he whispered, voice thick with awe and something that bordered on reverence.