Asron's steps halted, frozen mid-stride. The moment that name escaped her lips, it tore through him like a blade. Isaki.
His heart lurched. Her face flashed across his mind—her smile, her laugh, the way she once fought by his side. And then… the memory of the dagger. Cold. Unforgiving. Piercing his heart without hesitation.
His chest constricted, a raw ache blooming like fire.
He turned sharply, fury igniting behind his eyes as he stormed back toward the table. "What do you mean by that?" His voice cracked like a whip, edged with rage—but beneath it, something more fragile stirred. Desperation. "Can I know why she did it? Can I… see her again?"
His hands trembled. He curled them into fists, as if trying to hold his pain together.
The goddess regarded him quietly, her expression softer now. "Do my work," she said, her tone smooth, unwavering. "And I'll grant you the truth."
Asron's breath caught. He took a step closer, his voice lowering into something dangerous. "What work?" He leaned in, eyes locked with hers. "But understand this—I won't slaughter innocents for you."
A small, amused smile curved her lips—mystery and purpose entwined. With a flick of her wrist, a crystal floated between them, glowing with otherworldly hues that bent reality itself.
"Asron," she began, voice echoing like a memory, "you've forgotten who you really are. Or perhaps you never knew. Across countless lifetimes, you've stood as the most powerful warrior—unmatched in battle, unbroken in spirit. You are not here by chance."
Her eyes gleamed—not just with admiration, but something darker. "I want you to kill someone for me. Not today. Not tomorrow. In thirty years."
The crystal pulsed in time with his breath, like it knew him. Knew what he carried.
Asron stared at it, suspicion tightening in his gut. "And if I do this... you'll let me return? To my world? To her?"
The goddess tilted her head, voice dropping to a whisper. "Yes. You'll return... and you'll face her again."
The promise wrapped around him like a chain.
He stepped back, swallowing hard. "Why would I want that?" he muttered. "Why see the face of the one who betrayed me?" He turned away, the pain in his voice barely restrained. "Why would she matter now?"
Behind him, the goddess's voice turned to velvet. "You can lie to yourself, Asron. But not to me."
She stepped closer, her words striking like arrows in the dark. "You've endured every wound, every battle, every goodbye... but hers broke you. And still, you ache for answers. You want to hear it from her lips. You want to look into her eyes one last time and know why."
His jaw clenched. The silence between them throbbed with unspoken grief.
"You speak like you know my heart," he rasped. "But you don't understand what I've lost."
"Maybe not," she replied, her voice softening. "But I can offer you a way to face it."
Slowly, he turned back, eyes blazing. "Who?" he asked coldly. "Who do you want me to kill?"
Without a word, she snapped her fingers.
The crystal flashed, and suddenly it was in his palm—cold, pulsing with a sinister light. Shadows twisted around him, whispering fragments of futures not yet lived. The air shimmered, and then the vision struck him like a storm.
Flames. Screams. Cities in ruin. Rivers dyed red with blood. In the center of it all, a single figure stood tall. Fire danced around him, a demon beast at his side, its eyes glinting with endless hunger.
Asron's breath hitched.
"What is this?" he murmured. "Who is that… and why?"
The goddess's expression changed—her playfulness extinguished, replaced by something close to sorrow. "This is a world you've never known. A world held together by delicate threads—each race confined to their own land, each kingdom surviving under a fragile peace."
She paused, voice heavy. "But peace is an illusion. Greed poisons every heart. Power always demands more. Even so, they fought with rules—unspoken ones that kept the world from falling into chaos."
Her eyes fell back to the image. "Until he broke them all."
Asron's jaw tightened, his gaze fixed on the haunting vision before him. "Then who is that?" he demanded, pointing toward the shadowed figure standing amidst the ruin. His voice was cold—too cold. "Who's responsible for all this death?"
The goddess didn't answer right away. Her fingers curled into fists, and for the first time, something in her eyes faltered. "The hero of that world," she said at last. Her voice held no reverence—only bitterness.
Asron's eyes widened. The word hung heavy in the silence. Hero.
"No," he muttered. "That... that's impossible. Heroes don't do this. They're supposed to protect, to fight against the darkness—not become it!"
The goddess's laugh was low and sharp, more pain than amusement. "Still clinging to fairy tales?" she asked, her voice echoing like a whisper in a tomb. "Not all heroes wear shining armor, Asron. And not all monsters are born from shadows."
Her gaze drifted, distant now, heavy with memory. "That hero was born to save their world. Chosen. Blessed. Worshipped. But fate is cruel. Thirty years from now, he'll stand on the edge of his sanity. Despair will crack his heart, and a demon will whisper relief in his ear. Power... at the cost of his soul. And with it, he'll burn everything he once swore to protect."
Asron took a step back. The image of that broken world twisted inside him, and the fire in his chest began to rise. "And what about you?" he asked. "You're a goddess, aren't you? Why not stop him yourself? Or is that too much to ask?"
The goddess's smile vanished. For the first time, she looked... human. Tired. "Because I can't," she said. "He was created by the will of the Creator, the one who stands above even the gods. His fate is sealed in a book I cannot touch. If I intervene..." she looked up, her voice trembling ever so slightly, "...the world shatters."
She stepped closer, her voice low but urgent. "But you—you're not of that world. You're not part of their prophecy, not written in their fate. That makes you the only one who can change it. You can stop him before he loses himself."
Asron's lips curled into a bitter smile. "You want me to kill a hero. A man who was meant to save his world." He shook his head. "What makes you think I'll do it?"
The goddess didn't flinch. Instead, she looked at him—really looked. "Because you know what happens when a hero falls."
The words struck like a blade. Asron's chest tightened. Images flooded his mind: his comrades lying broken and bloodied, the world he failed to save, and above all—Iskai. The way she smiled... the way she betrayed him.
"You think I'll do this out of pity?" he hissed. "Or is this your twisted version of justice?"
Her voice turned soft, like silk hiding a knife. "No. Not pity. Not justice. You'll do it because deep down, you still believe there's something left to save. Because even after everything, there's a part of you that refuses to let another world fall like yours did."
Asron looked away. His fists trembled at his sides. The fire within him raged against the cold truth of her words.
"You want me to save a world by becoming a villain in someone else's story."
The goddess nodded. "Exactly. Even if it costs you everything."
He turned back to her slowly, his voice quieter now, but sharper. "And what makes you so sure I can kill him? If he's beyond even your reach, what chance do I have?"
Her eyes gleamed. This time, not with sorrow—but with dangerous delight. "Because you're Asron. The warrior who defied death. The man who rose from betrayal and still stood tall. You've fought gods... and won. You're the only one who can look a hero in the eye and bring him to his knees."
Asron's expression hardened. The pain in his eyes gave way to something colder—steel resolve.
"Fine," he growled. "I'll do it. Not for you. Not for your world." He turned his back, his voice a whisper of fire. "For the truth. For the answer I never got."
Then he looked over his shoulder, and in his eyes, the promise of wrath. "But if you've lied to me... if this is just another game..."
The goddess smiled again, her joy almost childlike. "You'll tear my realm apart. I know." Her voice danced in the air like smoke. "That's why I chose you."
She raised her hand. The vision dissolved, and in its place, the crystal returned—glowing, ominous, pulsing like a second heart.
"You have thirty years," she said. "Use them well. Because when the time comes... you'll face the strongest enemy you've ever known."