Chapter 83: Rage Of The Goddess

Meanwhile, Sethrak was already moving. With soldiers dashing after him, dozens of them.

Sethrak's claws dug into Alaric's collar, yanking him up with raw, unfiltered rage. 

"You think I've forgotten?" Sethrak growled, his voice shaking, his pupils razor-thin. 

Alaric didn't respond. 

Sethrak slammed him into the nearest tree, the impact causing the bark to explode outward. Before Alaric could recover, Sethrak *ripped* him from the shattered trunk and hurled him into another, the force sending cracks spider webbing through the wood. 

"You think I don't remember what you did?!" Sethrak roared, his voice a mixture of fury and something deeper—something raw and broken. 

Alaric barely had time to stagger before Sethrak was on him again. 

He drove his knee into Alaric's ribs, the sickening sound of bones giving way filling the air. He followed up with a vicious elbow strike to the jaw, snapping Alaric's head to the side before grabbing him by the throat and *slamming* him down into the forest floor, dirt and debris flying into the air. 

"You tried to take advantage of Zyphira," Sethrak spat, his voice venomous. "She was a child!" 

Alaric coughed, blood spilling from his lips, but his expression remained disturbingly blank. 

Sethrak wasn't done. 

He raked his sharp fingers down Alaric's chest, cutting through flesh like paper, carving deep, jagged wounds into his skin. The golden flames licking at Sethrak's hands seared into the wounds, the scent of burning flesh filling the air. 

"Do you know what it's like," Sethrak growled, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous, "To never once think about yourself? To never have dreams? To never have goals?" 

Alaric said nothing. 

Sethrak's grip tightened. He lifted Alaric and threw him. 

Alaric's body crashed through a thick tree, snapping it in half before slamming into the rocky hillside beyond. Blood trailed behind him, staining the ground in thick streaks. 

Sethrak marched forward, his golden flames intensifying, his claws twitching with rage. 

"I never had a choice," he muttered, his voice shaking. "I never had time to care about what I wanted. I spent my whole life worrying about Zyphira. About keeping her safe. About making sure she didn't..." 

His breath hitched, his jaw tightening.

"...didn't break." 

Alaric sat slumped against the boulder, blood dripping from his mouth. His once-opulent robes were now completely tattered, his body battered and torn. 

But his expression remained cold. 

Sethrak's fists clenched. The golden flames consuming his hands flared violently. 

"I let her drink herself to sleep every night," he admitted, his voice quieter now. "I let her bury herself in anything that could make her forget. I thought… I thought if I let her do it, I was helping her. That if she could just forget, then maybe…" 

His jaw tightened. 

"But I was wrong," he whispered. "She wasn't healing. She wasn't living. I let her drown herself in a false escape, all because I thought it was better than the alternative. I could've helped her..put a stop to it. My dumbass thought I was helping her. 

He exhaled shakily, his eyes burning. 

"But Zyphira isn't meant to forget." His voice hardened. "She's meant to fight. She's meant to be something in this world. And I—" 

He took another step forward. 

"I spent so long trying to protect her that I never realized I was just holding her back." 

Alaric finally lifted his gaze. 

Sethrak's teeth bared in fury as he lunged. 

His fist collided with Alaric's face, the golden flames bursting outward from the impact. The force sent Alaric through the boulder behind him, his body tumbling violently across the dirt before coming to a stop. 

Blood coated the ground. 

Alaric's body was motionless, his form slumped, his head tilted downward. 

But there was no expression on his face. 

No pain. 

No anger. 

Nothing. 

Sethrak stood over him, his breaths ragged, his golden flames still flickering in the cold night air. 

Sethrak stood over his father, fists clenched, his breath ragged. The golden flames around his hands had dimmed, but the rage still burned within him. 

He raised his fist and brought it down—again, and again. Each strike sent blood splattering across the dirt, Alaric's body jerking with every impact. The once-mighty king didn't resist, didn't move to defend himself. He just lay there, allowing his son to unleash every ounce of fury he had buried for years. 

Sethrak's punches slowed. 

Behind him, the sound of hurried footsteps approached—Zyphira. 

She was running toward him, her breath uneven, her arms tensed as if unsure whether to stop him or let him continue. But something in her movements made him pause. 

'Why…? Why am I not doing anything…? If he kills him before I get to say anything…am I wrong? What would I even say..? I contemplated this when we first reached Jörvaldr…and I still can't really come up with anything…' Zyphira thought.

Still gripping his father's collar, Sethrak's voice cracked as he cried out— 

"…What about me?" 

Zyphira slowed to a stop. 

The soldiers all came, and King Alaric heels his hand up at them, telling them, "Do not come any closer, as your king commands it."

They did stop, and nodded with sweat beading from their foreheads. Of course they wanted to at least keep their weapons and magic pointed, just for safety measures.

Sethrak's grip tightened, his claws digging into the torn fabric of Alaric's robes. His shoulders trembled as a single tear slipped down his cheek, disappearing into the bloodstained dirt below. 

"Why was I such a bad brother?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Why did I have to be so ignorant before?" 

His chest heaved. 

"You did this to me," he growled, shaking Alaric slightly. "You made me feel like I had no place in this world. You made me believe I couldn't have dreams or aspirations because I had to be her protector. You took everything from me—everything!"

'But why does it fee like I regret watching over her?! I don't wanna think that…I fucking don't!'

His fist pulled back again, ready to strike. 

But then— 

His eyes locked onto his father's. 

For a moment, the past bled into the present. 

Sethrak remembered those eyes. Those same brown eyes, once filled with something else—something dark, something lustful. 

The same eyes that had looked at Zyphira all those years ago. 

His rage reignited. 

A violent snarl tore from his throat— 

But instead of striking his father, Sethrak swung his fist downward, slamming it into the ground with a thunderous impact, letting out a scream, The earth beneath them cracked from the sheer force, dirt and debris exploding into the air. 

He let out a ragged yell, his voice filled with frustration, pain, and something deeper. 

Silence fell over the battlefield. 

Nearby, Draeven and a few soldiers stood watching, their faces unreadable. Some of the soldiers still clutched their weapons, unsure whether to intervene or simply let the moment unfold. 

But Gunthr and his guild made a run for it quickly, leaving the area.

Sethrak didn't look at them. 

He turned away from Alaric, his gaze locked onto the ground. His hands trembled as they curled into fists. 

"Maybe… maybe it's my fault," he muttered. 

Zyphira's breath hitched. 

Sethrak exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Maybe I should have just let go. Maybe if I had forgotten about it all, I wouldn't have to become a Tyrant. Not that integer it though. The Tyrants are better annoying bastards then you'll ever be."

He let out a bitter laugh. 

"I ran to Yuuna and the Tyrants because I didn't know how to be a good brother. I let my pride get in the way. I never asked anyone how to properly care for someone. I thought if I watched how the Tyrants worked, I'd understand. Maybe even learn."

His fingers dug into his palms. 

"I acted like I had everything figured out. I put on this face for people, this arrogant, untouchable mask—because if I didn't, they'd see what was really going on. I saw how much I've been failing. It sucked…I acted prideful so much that I let it become my personality.."

Slowly, Alaric moved. 

Sethrak turned just in time to see the former king rise to his feet. 

His movements were slow, unsteady. Blood continued to drip from his wounds, staining the remnants of his royal attire. 

Then, Alaric turned his back to them. 

Sethrak's eyes narrowed. 

That's when he saw them. 

Old stab wounds. 

Scars that ran deep, crisscrossing his back like a history written in flesh. Some had faded over time, but others were fresher, as if reopened again and again. 

Alaric's voice broke the silence. 

"After that night," he began, "I sent search parties. Every day. Every night. For months." 

Sethrak and Zyphira both stiffened. 

"I looked for you," Alaric continued, his voice calm, but not devoid of emotion. "I searched until I realized… maybe it was better this way." 

His shoulders rose and fell with slow, measured breaths. 

"For years, I felt nothing but sadness. It consumed me. I became stricter with the kingdom. I ruled with a heavier hand. I thought if I could control everything, I wouldn't have to think about what I had lost. This kingdom has always been a kingdom of worth, to prove yourself to Vuben, to yourselves, and to me. I felt like a Tyrant myself. After much thought, I figured my worth wasn't as valuable as I sought it out to be. For me to try and take advantage of a child? My own daughter? How much value was I worth? If I was a piece of gold, would it be rotten? Or would it be flawless? It would've been neither. It wouldn't have even been brought up, brought up to sell, nor to melt. There is gold in this world that has no value, and I realized..even if I am a vessel of a dragon god, then I'm no better than a piece of dirt."

Sethrak's fists clenched. 

Alaric slowly turned back to face them. 

"I let my servants pierce me every year as punishment," he admitted. "For what I did. For what I almost did to your dear sister. My dear daughter.."

Zyphira's expression remained unreadable. She had stopped scratching her arm, but her fingers twitched slightly, as if resisting the urge. 

She thought, 'He has to be lying…right? He's smart, and he's always been good at it..this isn't going how u thought it would…I can't say I hate it…'

Alaric's gaze softened just slightly. 

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he said, almost to himself. "I thought… I was preparing her to rule. That if I made her a woman at a young age, she would be ready to stand by your side as a co-ruler." 

Sethrak's stomach churned. 

He felt sick. 

Alaric inhaled deeply. 

Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he raised his hand. 

He drew blood from his thumb, then wiped it across his neck. 

A solemn oath. 

"I swear—I am sorry for everything." His voice was steady, unwavering. "And if you wish to kill me for what I've done… then do it. I would feel at peace knowing it was you who ended my life." 

Silence. 

Sethrak and Zyphira stood motionless. They knew this blood oath has been there for years, those who mark their own necks with blood meant: if they are lying and they know it themselves, they had to allow the person their lying to, to end them. 

Neither spoke. 

Neither moved. 

For years, they had dreamed of this moment. 

But now that it was here… 

They felt something else entirely. 

'The fuck is happening…?'

Sethrak stood there, fists clenched, his breath heavy. His golden flames flickered, casting an eerie glow against the bloodied ground. Alaric's words rang in his ears—his father, standing there, his back exposed, covered in scars both fresh and old. 

The silence between them stretched, thick with tension and something deeper. 

Then Sethrak exhaled, his voice low, almost a whisper. 

"You think saying you're sorry changes anything?" 

Alaric didn't turn around. 

Sethrak took a step forward, his hands trembling. "You say you punished yourself. That every year, you let them pierce you, that you became stricter with your rule, that you felt something." His voice wavered between fury and something dangerously close to sorrow. "But you don't understand, do you?" 

His jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. "You don't understand what you did to me." 

Alaric remained silent. 

Sethrak's breath hitched. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the memories surged forward—unbidden, raw, and unrelenting. 

Sethrak's fingers twitched. His claws flexed, his golden flames flaring slightly before dimming again. 

"You made me feel like I didn't exist," Sethrak said, his voice hoarse. "Like I didn't matter." 

Alaric exhaled slowly but didn't turn to face him. 

"You ruined me," Sethrak continued, his voice gaining strength, his words carrying the weight of years of silence, years of restraint, years of pain. "I never got to be a child. I never got to dream, to think about what I wanted to be, because I couldn't afford to. I had to protect Zyphira. I had to make sure she was okay, even at the cost of everything else." 

His claws dug into his palms. "You think I wanted to become this? You think I wanted to be the kind of person who doesn't know how to live for himself?" 

His breathing was heavy now, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Every day, I woke up thinking about her. Every night, I wondered if I had done enough. If she was safe. If she was still her. I was so busy making sure she didn't break that I never realized..." 

His voice faltered. 

"...that I was breaking too." 

Alaric finally turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at his son from the corner of his eye. 

Sethrak let out a bitter chuckle. "I never told her, you know? I never told Zyphira how angry I was. How much I wanted to just stop caring. But I couldn't. Because if I let go, if I stopped worrying about her, then who the hell was I? What else did I have? What kind of brother would I be?"

He shook his head. "I let her drink herself into oblivion because I thought—it's fine, right? As long as she's not thinking about it, then maybe she won't feel it. I let her throw herself into distractions because I thought I was helping." 

His fists clenched. 

"But I wasn't helping. I was just letting her drown in a different way." 

His voice cracked slightly. "And the worst part? I didn't even know how to stop it." 

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to meet his father's gaze; The words hung between them, heavy and unshakable. 

Sethrak's shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on him. "I thought if I acted like I had everything figured out, if I made myself untouchable, then no one would see the truth." 

He looked down at his hands—the same hands he had used to beat his father senseless just minutes ago. 

"But the truth is—I don't know who I am without my anger. Without my guilt. Without her."

Alaric remained still. 

Then, slowly, he turned around. 

Sethrak's eyes narrowed as he took in his father's face—bloodied, bruised, but still unreadable. 

He looked up at the sky. 

The stars were distant pinpricks of cold light, indifferent to the pain that weighed down the earth below. Sethrak's breath slowed, his fists unclenching as his arms hung limp at his sides. His thoughts swirled, chaotic and relentless, like a storm he couldn't stop. 

'Why can't I just end this?' He thought, his eyes narrowing. 'Why can't I just kill him? After everything he did, after everything he took from us… why does this feel so... wrong?'

The words Alaric had spoken earlier echoed in his mind like a haunting refrain. "I am sorry. And if you wish to kill me, I will accept it."

Sethrak clenched his jaw, his teeth grinding as the memories clawed their way to the surface. 

For years, Sethrak had built himself around his hatred. It was the foundation of everything he had become. Every fight, every battle, every step he had taken—it had all been a means to an end. A way to finally have the strength to destroy the man who had ruined their lives. 

But now, as he stood there, something else was gnawing at him. 

'Why is revenge a privilege… while adversity isn't?'

The thought came unbidden, and it hit him like a blow to the chest. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, his fists clenching again as he tried to shove the thought away. But it wouldn't leave. 

'Why do I get to stand here, thinking about whether or not to kill him, while Zyphira had no choice but to live with what he did? Why do I get to choose revenge, while she had to choose survival? Why is revenge something I can take but everything else has been taken from her?'

His nails dug into his palms, hard enough to draw blood, but the pain didn't ground him. It only made the knot in his chest tighten. 

And then, another thought slipped into his mind, one that made his stomach twist. 

'Why can't I be more like him?'

The moment the thought formed, Sethrak froze. His breath caught in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. 

'What the hell am I thinking?'

He shook his head, trying to banish the idea, but it lingered, persistent and cruel. 

'Why can't I be more like him?'

It didn't make sense. It shouldn't make sense. After everything Alaric had done, after all the pain he had caused, how could Sethrak even think about wanting to be like him? 

But the scars on his father's back flashed in his mind again. The way Alaric had stood there, unmoving, unflinching, as if he had already come to terms with his sins. The way he had apologized, not with excuses or defenses, but with quiet acceptance. 

'He's made peace with himself,' Sethrak thought bitterly. 'He's come to terms with who he is, with what he's done. And me? I don't even know who I am.'

The thought hit him harder than any punch ever had. 

He closed his eyes, and an image came to him—unbidden, vivid, and haunting. 

He saw himself walking through a rotten, desolate land. The sky was black, the ground beneath his feet cracked and oozing with decay. He held Zyphira's hand as they walked, her fingers small and fragile in his grasp. But as he looked down, he saw his own body beginning to crumble. 

His flesh was peeling away, piece by piece, revealing the rot beneath. His bones were blackened, brittle, breaking apart with every step. 

Zyphira didn't say anything. She just kept walking, her pace steady, her hand gripping his tightly. 

And Sethrak? 

He didn't stop. 

Even as his body fell apart, even as the rot consumed him, he kept moving forward. Because he didn't know how to do anything else. 

He opened his eyes, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. The image lingered, burning in the back of his mind. 

'Why am I like this?' He thought, his voice silent but desperate. 'Why can't I be better? Why can't I figure out how to let go of all this?'

He looked at the sky again, his gaze searching the stars for answers he knew he wouldn't find. 

'I thought joining the Tyrants would make me strong. I thought it would teach me how to be the protector she needed. But it didn't. It just gave me another mask to hide behind. But I still..don't regret joining them.'

He clenched his jaw, his throat tightening as he fought back the tears threatening to spill. 

The thought sat heavy in his mind as he lowered his gaze. 

His father's words, his scars, his apology—they all lingered, pressing on him like a weight he couldn't shake. 

Sethrak exhaled slowly, his sharp fingers twitching at his sides, already slick with his own blood. His claws had dug into his palms too deeply, but he barely felt it. His golden flames flickered weakly, his body caught between action and hesitation. 

He looked at his father, his expression unreadable. 

'Maybe if I just do it,' he thought, his voice silent but heavy in his mind. Maybe if I kill him, I'll suppress these thoughts. 'Maybe I'll move forward. Maybe I'll finally figure out what I'm actually good at besides warfare..'

His grip tightened. 

'Everyone is born with a gift, right?' He thought. Something different than just magic. Something natural. Maybe—maybe if I do this, I'll finally understand what mine is.'

But then, his own words echoed in his head. 

"What about me?"

The thought hit him harder than he expected. 

His breath wavered as he raised his claws. His father didn't move. He just stood there, waiting, accepting. 

Sethrak prepared himself, And just before he could strike— 

Two arms wrapped around him from behind. 

Sethrak's breath hitched as he felt Zyphira press herself against his back, her grip tight, almost desperate. 

"I'm sorry," she whispered. 

Sethrak's body tensed. His claws trembled. His golden flames flickered, then dimmed. 

He gasped slightly, not from pain, but from something deeper—something raw. 

Zyphira's grip didn't loosen. 

"I should've been there for you," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Like you were for me. I should've… I should've considered what I was doing to you. I should've noticed what it was doing to us." 

Sethrak's throat tightened. 

Zyphira kept speaking, her voice steady, but layered with emotion. "I was ignorant. I thought I was the only one suffering. I thought—if I drowned myself in distractions, if I made myself forget, then maybe it wouldn't hurt as much." 

She exhaled shakily. "But what really kept me alive… wasn't the distractions. It wasn't the drinks I had, or the recklessness, or the pretending." 

Sethrak furrowed his brows slightly. 

"I guess it was hope," Zyphira admitted softly. "Hope that things would get better. That you'd be okay. And I never told you that, did I?" 

Sethrak's jaw clenched, but he remained silent. 

"I see it now," she continued. "I see you now. After seeing you like this… after seeing what all of this has done to you… I get it. I get that I wasn't the only one hurting." 

She swallowed hard. "I should've seen it sooner." 

Sethrak let out a slow breath, his fists loosening slightly. 

Silence stretched between them for a moment. 

"And the forbidden feelings I have for Xyenn," she admitted, her voice quieter now. She let out a small, almost embarrassed laugh. "I've been watching him—watching the way he deals with everything, the way he fights like every day is his last. And I thought… maybe if I got closer to him, I'd learn how to be like that. To help the both of us…"

Sethrak slowly turned his head, his expression unreadable. 

"I've been working on it," Zyphira continued. "Illyana's been helping me. Her peaceful magic—it helps. But… it's not infinite. I know that now." 

Sethrak exhaled through his nose, considering her words. 

Then, after a long pause, he finally spoke. 

"So," he muttered, his voice low, "you've given up your foolish feelings for Xyenn? Knowing he's with Yuuna?" 

Zyphira tilted her head slightly, a small, amused smile tugging at her lips. 

"I can't get over him that easily," she admitted. 

Sethrak's eye twitched. 

Zyphira chuckled. "I love Yuuna. She's my best friend. But watching Xyenn..." 

Before she could finish, Sethrak immediately grabbed her ear, yanking it with a sharp tug. 

"Ow—HEY!" Zyphira yelped, swatting at his hand. 

"You're seriously out here catching feelings for someone who's taken?!" Sethrak growled, his tone shifting into something far more comedic. "She'll DEVOUR YOU! YUUNA IS A GODDESS, HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN?!"

"It's not like that!" Zyphira whined, trying to pry his hand off her ear. "It's just a weeee little crush! Not that serious! Let go, you damn brute!" 

"You better not be planning to do anything stupid—" 

"As long as you know about it," Zyphira huffed, still trying to break free, "and we keep it amongst ourselves, then it's fine—" 

A sudden voice interrupted them. 

"We know about it." 

Both of them froze. 

Slowly, Sethrak and Zyphira turned their heads. 

Draeven stood there, arms crossed, his expression completely neutral. 

Gunthr and his guildmates were beside him, all watching with varying degrees of amusement. 

Draeven looked at Gunthr, "Hey, when did you guys get back?"

Gunthr replied, "We heard yelling, and were being nosey. We'll be outta your hair in no time."

Zyphira's eye twitched. 

Then, in a split second, her expression morphed into something *feral*. She **bared her sharp teeth**, her eyes flashing dangerously. 

"YOU BETTER NOT SAY A DAMN WORD!" she screeched, her voice carrying across the battlefield. 

The guildmates immediately took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender. 

Sethrak sighed, finally letting go of her ear. 

Zyphira huffed, crossing her arms. 

Sethrak ran a hand down his face before finally turning back to Alaric. 

His father stood there, still watching, still waiting. 

'The love between them still resides..I'm just glad they've been with each other all this time..'

Sethrak inhaled deeply, his eyes burning with something quieter now—something not quite forgiveness, but not quite hatred either. 

"I don't forgive you fully yet," he said, his voice even. 

Alaric nodded slowly, as if he already knew that would be his answer. 

But for the first time in years— 

Sethrak felt like maybe he was finally on the path to figuring out who he really was. 

Alaric nodded, and looked at Zyphira, but Zyphira slightly looked away. She didn't know what to say yet.

Alaric said, "It's come to my attention you and your Tyrants have been searching for Kassius. Kassius Velmire."

Sethrak nodded, "Mhm."

"We have tried your method. Kassius had given us his own horn just in case. Kassius is one of those young men who will do anything for some coin. And that's how he ended up here. He was a kid who took on my requests on the quest board in the middle of the city, and I saw potential in him, and I took that opportunity. I paid him good, I was gonna make him the captain of my knights. After seeing how much power he had, easily wiping out enemies, I knew he could be my front runner for the upcoming war."

"Let me guess, you used him as another soldier to protect this place if Haldrek or Ezrael ever came across it?"

"Indeed I did. That's why when people found out about the cursed region, I'd inform everyone that it was an abomination of war, from Ezrael and that my strongest soldiers are easily taking care of them, which kept them at ease. But I never wanted for them to freely know unless it got out of hand."

Draeven stated, "I-I remember you telling us it was the abominations…but what is it really?"

"I don't know. The cursed region..Kassius is in there, after I sent him on a mission to rescue a band of knights. And he hasn't come out. I know what Ezrael's abominations look like, those creatures you saw aren't abominations. Their..otherworldly. I also knew if I told the truth to my people, some eager fools would try and explore. There's many people in this world who are like this. And yes, I did lie to your group about the abominations, because people in this city still have good ears, no matter how low my voice was."

Draeven gasped, saying, "I might be wrong..but maybe he's in the astral world? That's why the Lysfødt can't get in contact with him? Two completely different worlds that are in the same realm."

"I've heard only rumors of the astral world, a place where necromancers can travel to with their magic. I don't know how they do it, but they do it. But it's a weird set of darkness and weird creatures that your theory could be correct."

"I know it is.."

'I've been there before…haven't I? Of course they don't know that..but I often dream of it. All the time..'

Sethrak said, "He was supposed to come with us to kill King Haldrek, but things are iffy now.."

Alaric lowered his head, "I've been lying to my people about this, 

The tension in the air was shattered by the sudden arrival of a knight, his golden armor gleaming even in the dim moonlight. He rode in atop a sleek mechanical steed, its legs hissing with bursts of steam as it galloped toward them. 

The knight dismounted in one fluid motion, his golden cape billowing behind him. His hair, dark and tied neatly back, framed a sharp, clean-shaven face. His expression was frantic, his eyes wide with fear as he approached Alaric. 

"Your Majesty!" he shouted, his voice ringing with urgency. "You must return to the kingdom immediately!" 

Alaric, still struggling to his feet, growled low. "What is it? Speak!" 

The knight hesitated, his hands trembling at his sides as he tried to find the words. Finally, he blurted out, "It's… it's Freina!" 

Alaric's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. "Freina?!"

In Alaric's head, the dragon god of wealth and gold, spoke, saying, "The hell is an elder god doing here?!"

The knight nodded rapidly, his voice shaking. "She's in the capital, Your Majesty. In Svarthelm!" 

Alaric's gasp was audible, and the blood drained from his face. He turned to Sethrak and Zyphira, his expression grim. 

Svarthelm, the heart of Alaric's kingdom. The city was a sprawling masterpiece of medieval fantasy architecture with steampunk flourishes. Tall, spiraling towers gleamed with golden runes, while intricate railways carried floating steam-powered platforms between buildings. The streets were paved with moss-covered stone, winding through an array of vibrant markets, lavish estates, and industrial workshops. Yet, amidst the beauty, chaos reigned. 

Overhead, the dragon goddess Freina hovered in the air, her presence casting an ethereal glow across the city. Her form radiated divine energy, her silhouette both awe-inspiring and humbling as she floated effortlessly above the tallest spires. 

She held a massive bow in her hands, an otherworldly weapon that seemed to hum with life. Its design was intricate, matching her goddess nature perfectly. The bow's frame was carved from rich, ancient wood with veins of glowing green light running through it, pulsating softly like a heartbeat. Spiraling vines of gold and silver entwined the bow, their leaves shimmering with a faint iridescence. At its center, where the arrow was nocked, sat a crystal orb that refracted light into a thousand colors, casting dancing patterns onto the clouds above. 

The arrow itself was just as breathtaking—a shaft of pure light, its tip shaped like a delicate leaf that seemed to sway in an invisible breeze. Gold and green ribbons trailed from its base, swirling around the arrow like spirits as it rested, ready to be loosed. The entire weapon exuded beauty, power, and the weight of something ancient and sacred. 

Below, the streets of Svarthelm were alive with the reactions of its citizens. 

"She's here! The goddess of fertility!" shouted a nobleman, his voice trembling with reverence. 

"What does she want? Why is she here?" another whispered, clutching his wife's hand tightly. 

"I… I've heard tales. They say to see her is a blessing, but why does it feel like a curse?" 

A drunken man staggered out of a nearby tavern, his face red as he pointed up at Freina, laughing. "Well, I'll be damned! She's beautiful! I wouldn't mind her blessing *me*!" 

Others were less bold. "Hide the children!" a mother screamed, dragging her two young daughters into the safety of an alleyway. "We don't know what she wants!" 

"She's a goddess! She doesn't need a reason!" 

Yet Freina showed no signs of aggression, her expression tranquil but heavy with sadness. Tears glistened in her eyes, though she did not sob or break down. Instead, her voice rang out, calm yet carrying an unshakable weight, echoing across the city. 

"Children of this world… listen to me." 

Her words stilled the crowd. Even those who had been running stopped to listen, their breath caught in their throats. 

"Motherhood, fertility, and birth are sacred. They are the foundation of life itself. Without them, there is no future. Without them, there is no you." 

The streets were utterly silent, save for her voice. 

"I am the one who brought humanity into this world. The first dragon, Gabriel, used me as a conduit to create life. Through me, humans, dragonkin, and all other beings were born. You are all my children." 

Her voice wavered slightly, but it did not break. 

"But I am afraid. Afraid of what is to come. Afraid of dying and returning as something hollow… a shell of myself. My children, I do not want to leave you. I do not want to fade into nothingness." 

The crowd below began whispering again, their muted voices filled with confusion and fear. 

Freina's expression hardened, though her tears remained. "A Jotyin—a bratty, arrogant child named Xyenn—has taken from me. He has wiped out the last of my beloved 'special humans'. The ones who were meant to shepherd this world and feed me my deserved power for all the labor I bore birthing you loving creatures! It was painful... And he has consorted with that demon goddess, Yuuna. Together, they have robbed me of everything I hold dear." 

The mention of Yuuna sent a ripple of unease through the crowd. 

"Yuuna?!"

"Who is even Xyenn?"

"Yuuna can't be HERE, right?"

"Some say they saw her walking and smiling out and about!"

"Oh..Freina must be here to stop her! All Yuuna is, is bad news!"

Freina tightened her grip on her bow, raising it slightly. The motion was deliberate, smooth, and filled with grace. Golden-green light flared from the weapon, illuminating the city below. 

"I will take drastic measures to ensure my legacy does not end here. Xyenn will be drawn out, and I will use him to create a new race of dragonkin. A race that will finish what my special humans started. A new race that will do my bidding, and ones who are hard to kill. A baby with a Jotyin..I deserve that for the pain from the labor..I bore birthing all of you that day Kyrrin was made!"

Her fingers glided over the bowstring as she nocked the glowing arrow. The movement itself was mesmerizing, the divine energy radiating from her weapon painting the sky in vibrant hues of green and gold. The air around her shimmered, and the sound of the bowstring being drawn was like a celestial chord, reverberating across the city. 

Freina aimed the arrow forward, her body glowing brighter with an almost blinding light. The ribbons of energy trailing from the arrow swirled furiously, like a storm trapped in a vortex. 

"I do not wish to do this, my children. But I must. For the sake of all life, for the sake of what is to come, I must ensure the Cycle no longer holds me. I will not let death take me and return me as something I am not. I will end this." 

Her voice grew softer, almost tender, even as the power surrounding her intensified. 

"I will draw the Jotyin out. And when I do, I will create a future where I no longer have to worry about the Cycle… or about you. You all will be replaced in due time, but for now, I must draw the Jotyin Xyenn out of hiding, and I will use him to draw Yuuna to me, so I can finish her, and take her heart. Even if I have to ravage through every city."

Her grip on the bow tightened, and the arrow flared with an even greater intensity, its light splitting the sky like a beacon. The heavens above seemed to tremble, the clouds swirling in response to her divine will.