Gregor's eyes narrowed fractionally—the closest thing to surprise he ever displayed. "The heroine becomes the villain."
"Tale as old as time," the goddess agreed with a theatrical sigh. "Power corrupts, good intentions pave roads to hell, et cetera, et cetera."
"This heroine," Gregor said, his mind already calculating angles, approaches, weaknesses. "If she's powerful enough to threaten existence, she won't be easy to eliminate. In my line of work, I relied on tools. Weapons. Intelligence networks."
His eyes met the goddess's cosmic gaze without flinching. "What advantage will I have against someone with magic?"
The goddess's smile returned, sharp and predatory. "I was hoping you'd ask."
She snapped her fingers again, and a glowing lattice of symbols appeared in the air between them—runes, sigils, and emblems arranged in tiers, connected by threads of luminous energy.
"The Skill Tree of Cannadah," she announced. "Every soul is born with one. Most get one, maybe two. You, my little assassin, get significantly more."
Gregor studied the glowing matrix with the same intensity he'd once applied to building schematics and security protocols. The symbols pulsed with color-coded energy—gold for S-rank, silver for A-rank, bronze for B-rank, copper for C-rank, and iron for D-rank.
"Choose wisely," the goddess advised, drifting to hover cross-legged beside him. "These will determine how effectively you can complete your contract."
Gregor's eyes scanned methodically, assessing each option with cold precision.
'Enhanced Perception, S-rank.' His finger touched the golden rune, which flared in response. 'Critical for target acquisition and environmental awareness.'
'Mana Manipulation, A-rank.' Another selection. 'Necessary for operating in a world where magic is the primary weapon.'
'Shadow Step, A-rank.' The silver sigil pulsed. 'Stealth capabilities are non-negotiable.'
'Poison Mastery, B-rank.' A bronze emblem glowed under his touch. 'Familiar territory. Multiple elimination options.'
'Weapon Affinity, A-rank.' Another silver rune activated. 'Adaptability in combat situations.'
'Perfect Memory, B-rank.' The bronze symbol brightened. 'Intelligence gathering and analysis.'
'Killing Intent Concealment, S-rank.' The golden sigil thrummed with power. 'Essential for approaching a target with enhanced senses.'
'Physical Enhancement, B-rank.' Bronze light flared. 'Baseline requirement for operational effectiveness.'
The goddess watched, her trio of eyes blinking in asynchronous patterns. "Fascinating choices. Most pick flashy combat magic or regeneration abilities."
"I'm not most people," Gregor replied without looking up from the skill tree. "I'm an assassin. My job isn't to overpower—it's to eliminate before power becomes relevant."
"And Essence?" she prompted, waving her hand to conjure three elemental symbols—a flame, a stone, and a droplet of water.
"All of them," Gregor stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.
The goddess raised an eyebrow—all three, actually, the third eye's brow arching independently. "Ambitious. Most can only handle one, maybe two essences without their magic circuits overloading."
"You said I'm not from this reality," Gregor countered. "Different rules apply."
She studied him for a long moment, then threw back her head and laughed, the sound sending ripples across the void. "Oh, I chose well with you! Very well—all four elements it is. Fire for destruction, Earth for endurance, Air for stealth, Water for adaptability."
The essence symbols merged with Gregor's form, sinking beneath his skin in a brief flare of multicolored light.
"Now," the goddess said, suddenly businesslike, "for the logistics. You'll be reborn into House Nightshade, a noble family with a prestigious lineage but dwindling fortune. They have connections to the royal court but operate primarily from their provincial estate."
Images flashed before Gregor—a stone manor house surrounded by shadowed forests; a stern man with silver at his temples and a dueling scar across one cheek; a woman with midnight-black hair and eyes like chips of amber.
"Lord Thaddeus and Lady Isolde Nightshade," the goddess explained. "Your new parents. They've been trying for an heir for seven years without success. You'll be quite the miracle baby."
"And the target?" Gregor asked, unmoved by sentiment.
"Lilith was born to House Fireheart—your future family's allies, ironically enough—during yesterday's Twin Moon Eclipse. The next eclipse will occur on her eighteenth birthday." The goddess's expression grew solemn. "She must be eliminated before then. Once she comes into her full power during the eclipse, even I won't be able to predict the outcome."
"So I must kill the heroine before the Eclipse," Gregor said, confirming.
"No...no...no!!" The goddess said. "You can't kill her until she has killed the hollow king!! She is the only one with the power to do so!"
Gregor nodded, the gesture as close to acceptance as he ever came. "Timeframe established. Target identified. Parameters clear."
"Excellent!" The goddess clapped her hands together, reality fracturing around the edges with each impact. "One last thing—you'll retain your memories and skills, but they'll unfold gradually as your new body develops. Can't have an infant performing knife tricks in the cradle, after all. Might raise awkward questions."
She leaned forward until her face was inches from his, her third eye closing as the other two bored into his. "Do we have a contract, Assassin?"
"We do," Gregor confirmed, his voice devoid of hesitation.
"Perfect!" The goddess straightened, her form beginning to blur at the edges. "Oh, and do try to enjoy your second life a little, won't you? Cannadah has some spectacular sights—shame to miss them while you're busy plotting infanticide."
Before Gregor could respond, she snapped her fingers a final time. The void collapsed around him, compressing into a single point of light that expanded into blinding brilliance.
-------
The first sensation was cold—a shocking contrast to the warmth of the void. The second was confinement, pressure from all sides as muscles he didn't yet control contracted and pushed. The third was sound—voices, distant yet clear, urging and commanding.
"Push, my lady! The babe is crowning!"
"The bleeding—it's too much!"
"Hold on, Lady Isolde! Just one more!"
Pain lanced through his new, undeveloped consciousness—not his pain, but his vessel's, his mother's—as his awareness flickered between the liminal space of before and after.
Then—light. Harsh, blinding. Cold air against wet skin. The indignity of rough hands maneuvering his fragile form. The humiliating reality of absolute helplessness.
"A boy, my lord! The Nightshades have an heir!"
Through blurry, unfocused eyes, Gregor saw them—the faces from the goddess's vision. The stern man, now pale with concern and relief. The dark-haired woman, exhausted and sweat-soaked, reaching with trembling hands.
"Give him to me," Lady Isolde whispered, her voice hoarse. "Let me see my son."
Gregor felt himself passed from the midwife's calloused grip to the gentle embrace of the woman who would be his mother in this life. Her amber eyes, bright with tears, studied his face with naked adoration.
"Look at him, Thaddeus," she breathed. "He has your chin. And such intense eyes, even now."
Lord Nightshade moved closer, his hand—massive from this infant perspective—coming to rest on his wife's shoulder. "What shall we name him, my love?"
Lady Isolde smiled, tracing a finger along Gregor's cheek. "Kieran," she said softly. "Kieran Nightshade."
'Kieran,' Gregor thought, his infant brain struggling to contain his adult consciousness. 'New name. New body. New world.'
But the same mission. The same skills. The same cold, methodical determination.
Somewhere beyond mortal perception, a goddess with three eyes watched and smiled.
Lilith Fireheart was already dying. She just didn't know it yet.