Bound by Mortality

He jerked faintly beneath her touch as she began the Spirit Tether ritual, using the blood drawn from his paralyzed throat. Around her, the snow stirred unnaturally—no wind, yet it spiraled, like it danced to some ancient, forgotten rhythm. The bonfire flared suddenly, casting erratic shadows across the camp.

She shut her eyes.

And then—she felt it.

The spiritual energy of nature began to circle her, slow and deliberate, like thousands of invisible threads brushing against her skin. It wasn't gentle. It slid over her pale body like frost-laced silk, sending shivers crawling down her spine. Her fingers twitched from the contact.

> "By soul unbound, by name erased... take my wound as offering.

My breath as bond... I give my name to seal this pact—answer me or curse me forever,"

she whispered, her breath fogging in the cold.

The energy—wild, ancient—pierced into her. Not softly. It surged through her chest, shot down her spine, and rattled through her bones. A biting chill settled beneath her ribs, then flooded her bloodstream like winter itself had possessed her.

Then—

Everything shifted.

Her mind spiraled inward.

She was no longer in the snow.

She stood in a hollow space. A void. Darkness stretched in every direction—no walls, no stars, no floor. Just emptiness.

And thunder. Endless thunder, distant but loud enough to echo across nothing.

She opened her eyes. Her breath quickened. Her brows furrowed slightly, lips parting.

> 'What a scene…' she thought, eyes scanning the dark.

Then a voice echoed through the void—low, amused, male.

> "Interesting. It's been ages since a god with half a soul and no core summoned another."

She spun toward the sound, but no figure met her eyes. Only more shadow. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once.

Then—

A snap.

Light burst.

A figure took shape.

He stood tall—taller than her. His robes shimmered like moonlight trapped in silk, the silver thread flowing around him like water. His long silver hair spilled down his back, glowing faintly. His eyes—one opal blue, the other golden and burning—held a divine calm. Ancient markings traced his skin, pulsing faintly beneath his collarbones and wrists like living runes.

> "Half soul?" she repeated, tilting her head, eyes sharp and fixed on his. "What do you mean by that?"

A soft hum, almost a chuckle.

> "You bear the mark of division. Something severed you—though you may not recall it. Your energy flickers... not whole, not broken. Just incomplete."

She took a step forward. The void didn't ripple beneath her feet.

> "I don't care for riddles," she snapped, voice tight with strain. The weight of the ritual still throbbed through her veins. "I didn't summon you for prophecy."

> "No," the god said with a faint smile. "You summoned me… for chains."

He stepped forward, robes flowing behind him like a mist.

> "Your body is weak. Can you endure long enough to receive help? These chains... they're not ordinary. And yet—you wear them."

She didn't flinch.

> "This body is mortal. I can't sense the energy you feel in them."

> "Ah… I see," he said softly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No core. No divine sense. Half soul…"

He sighed. "That makes sense."

He raised one hand. Symbols glowed beneath his skin, pulsing with soft, ancient light.

> "These chains weren't forged for mortals. They were carved in the old tongue. Long ago, they were Once used on the Asura."

> "If it's the same as the ones from then… why bind them to mortals like slaves?" she asked, voice dipping into uncertainty. "I doubt, maybe it's just a replica with same Energy"

> "Or Maybe Not. The chains used on the Asura are legend now. But the energy I feel from this, I cannot mistake that. Except... something in the world has shifted."

She clenched her fists. Her face was unreadable.

> "Greed always finds a way. They'll get destroyed by these relics before I can even get revenge."

His mismatched eyes glowed softly.

> "The world does not forget power. It only buries it—until something desperate enough digs it back up."

He turned slightly.

Behind him, something shimmered.

A flicker of silver—a serpent, thin and ethereal—slithered silently into the air between them.

> "I can't break your chains myself. I'm only spirit, and even that fades quickly. But she—" he nodded toward the snake, "—was mine in life. She answers to you now."

The serpent circled near her wrist, tongue flickering at the metal.

> "Use her wisely. She'll only serve you once."

She watched the creature, then glanced at him.

> "Thank you."

A faint smile curled on his lips—the kind of smile worn by those who've lived too long to remember whether they deserve gratitude.

His eyes softened as he looked at her—not with pity, but a kind of ancient understanding. The kind only those who've watched worlds die could carry.

"This body is only a vessel, bound by mortality… but not beyond repair. You still carry the ember of what you were. Reignite your Soul flame with the Ash fire. That spark will lead you to your divine sense. A thousand years of suffering isn't nothing—you've lived long enough to forge at least one strand."

She looked up, surprised.

"You've been watching…"

He stepped closer. The air chilled.

"Nuwa," he called softly.

Her breath hitched. The name echoed through her like a chord struck too hard.

'That name... no one's called me in ages. Not even me.'

Nuwa… That's my spiritual name. He knows me!'

Her eyes widened, not just from recognition—but from fear. 'If he knew that name… what else did he know?'

"You know me," she said quietly. Almost accusing.

Her breath caught.

"I do," he said aloud. "And yes—I know alot more things about you than you can imagine."

Her eyes widened. She didn't look away.

"The gods… They no longer walk this world. But they aren't dead. They're sealed. We cannot interfere with the circle of life. We can only… watch."

> "Then tell me," she said, voice cold. "Are the gods aware the world they bled for might fall… by my hands?"

He didn't speak.

She chuckled dryly.

> "It must be a hard question to answer."

Then, quietly:

> "Never mind. You said you can't interfere. I just hope you don't stand in my way before I finish what my heart burns for."

> "We hope for a miracle," he said quietly.

And with that—

He vanished.

She gasped as her body snapped back into reality. She Felt a warm energy in her palm, she opened her hand.

She stared at the serpent, its silver body coiled gently in her palm. For a second, her smile faltered. Her chest ached.

Please… just work.

"Let's see what you can do," she whispered, almost to herself.

She patted its head gently. The snake slithered off her palm and into the chains.

She felt it instantly.

The cold metal vibrated faintly, and a soft, silver light ran along its surface—not bright enough for others to notice, but just enough for her.

Then—

Snap.

The chains cracked.