"Fancy a chat?"

  Merchecna adjusted her glasses and smiled, setting her book aside with an elegant flick of her wrist. The oversized knit of her turtleneck sweater draped effortlessly over her frame, shifting slightly as she moved comfortable yet refined, as if she had stepped out of time itself.

  Before I could fully process what was happening, I found myself back in that familiar lounge chair, surrounded by the towering bookshelves of Merchecna’s personal rotunda library.

  I sighed, still taking in the breathtaking details of the place. No matter how many times I ended up here, its beauty never failed to impress me.

  "I suppose it’s time we did," I replied, adjusting into a more comfortable position.

  Merchecna smirked, tapping a finger against her cheek as she leaned forward.

  "So, you've taken on a freeloader, have you?" she mused, her tone light but unmistakably teasing. "I was quite thorough in ensuring she had already checked out, yet somehow, she clung to life by a thread and barged her way back in."

  I stiffened slightly. So she had noticed.

  She folded her arms, watching me with an amused glint in her eyes. "Considering you didn’t have to explain a sudden personality shift to her family, something that would have been glaringly obvious the moment you took over, I’d say she’s still marginally useful, for now."

  I let out a dry chuckle. "I see that Brigid’s pious prayers have been a one-way street. Considering she was supposed to be your saint, you don’t seem to have much love for her."

  Merchecna exhaled through her nose, a mixture of amusement and something else, something more distant.

  "That’s not entirely true," she said at last. "I’ve known Brigid beyond her present life. She has always been the rare, selfless sort who would carve out her own heart to save another. She’d probably even put it in a little box, gift-wrap it, and top it off with a ribbon."

  She let out a wry laugh, shaking her head.

  "She’s that kind of soul, stainless and innocent to a fault. And I have to admit, however reluctantly, that even if her personality doesn’t resonate with me, she is, in every way, deserving of sainthood."

  Merchecna’s expression darkened, her voice carrying a weight I hadn’t heard from her before.

  "Unfortunately, her doom is sealed. She lacks the attributes needed to survive these times. I’d be worked to the bone, casting miracle after miracle to shield her from the Horde’s arrows, dragging her from the flames of the pyre every time some zealot decided to burn her at the stake."

  Her gaze met mine, piercing and sharp.

  "She would have an endless stream of enemies, both within and beyond. And with her complete disregard for self-preservation, she’d become a comically tragic figure, perhaps even more so than Joan of Arc from your world stream."

  She let out a dry laugh, shaking her head.

  "Trying to clean up after her would be the death of me."

  I crossed my arms. "Then I will bear the responsibility for her actions, since I was the one who took her in and bound our fates."

  Merchecna arched an eyebrow at me, her lips curling into a smirk.

  "Oh?" she mused. "I didn’t expect you to be so eager to stick your neck out for her. I thought you were colder than the teddy bear you're starting to resemble."

  I stiffened at the comparison, irritation prickling at my skin, but before I could fire back, she rose from her ornate desk.

  "You must have heard by now," she murmured, her steps slow and deliberate as she advanced, "that I am a child of both light and darkness. And saints like Brigid?" A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "They’re usually far too saccharine-sweet for my taste."

  Her eyes gleamed with mischief as she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

  "Now that the two of you are paired off like anmitsu and matcha, maybe things might still work out."

  She tilted her head playfully.

  "Like in a parfait… if I added some shaved ice from above…"

  Before I could process her words, she leaned over me, her long, silken hair cascading down, framing my vision like a curtain of twilight.

  And then, her finger traced the curve of my lips.

  I tensed.

  My heartbeat betrayed me, hammering wildly in my chest.

  Merchecna giggled, pulling back just enough to watch my reaction, her golden eyes shimmering with amusement.

  I willed my expression to remain neutral, but the slight curl of her lips told me she wasn’t fooled.

  With an elegant snap of her fingers, an ottoman materialized out of thin air. She settled onto it gracefully, crossing her legs as if nothing had happened.

  I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my hair.

  This goddess… was toying with me.

  I shot her a sideways glance, wondering, not for the first time, how Brigid’s impression of her could be so ridiculously off the mark.

  "On that note," Merchecna continued, her voice carrying its usual teasing lilt, "even though it seems she’s accepted you, you haven’t exactly made much progress on the grand mission I gave you, to save the world and enlighten humanity."

  She chuckled, a rich, amused sound, as if my mediocrity was her evening’s entertainment.

  "You’re really taking your time observing that one minuscule little village."

  I sighed, leaning back in my chair. Here it comes.

  "And what would you have me do?" I shot back. "Proclaim myself as your emissary before the entire village? Unless you plan on backing me up with heavenly rays and a choir of winged angels doing loop-de-loops above my head, I’m pretty sure they’d just declare poor Brigid a basket case."

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I narrowed my eyes at her.

  "And that’s if they don’t lock her up in the loony bin or worse, declare her a witch and burn her alive."

  Merchecna laughed dismissively, waving off my concerns as if they were nothing more than an overactive imagination.

  "You do have a penchant for the dramatic, I see," she said, shaking her head. "No, no, I’m not saying you should rush things, but let’s say you did out yourself… oh, I wouldn’t mind tossing down a miracle or two."

  She grinned.

  "Go ahead! Flaunt my authority! If nothing else, it’d be amusing."

  I groaned, rubbing my temples. "Aren’t you a capricious goddess? How did you even end up with such a stuffy title as ‘Goddess of Knowledge’? Despite your looks, you don’t strike me as particularly coy or bookish."

  That only earned me a giggle, a dangerous, knowing giggle.

  "Are you stereotyping me?" Merchecna pouted playfully, her golden eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh, I’m simply heartbroken by your insensitivity. Poor me!"

  She threw a hand over her forehead in mock despair before abruptly snapping forward, pressing a finger against my nose.

  "A word to the wise: be gentle with goddesses who can call down bolts of lightning with a flick of their finger."

  Her teasing tone took on a sharper edge.

  "I’m not easily offended, but some of the others?" She smirked. "They’re a little like... how do you say in your world? Strawberries?"

  She leaned in closer, her voice lowering.

  "And you’re going to be the one getting squished in the end."

  I swallowed.

  Merchecna laughed again, straightening up as she flicked a stray strand of hair from her face.

  "Among Brigid’s people, knowledge is a double-edged sword, wielded for both good and evil," she continued, slipping seamlessly into her lecturer’s tone. "And we gods, who derive our power from the collective beliefs of the worshipping masses, are shaped by the very mortals we rule."

  She adjusted her glasses.

  "I was born of Neith and Ecna, and because Dad and Mom are polar opposites, war and death versus wisdom and life—humans desired a mediator to bridge the gap between them."

  She placed a hand on her hip, her expression softening for a fleeting moment.

  "Nevertheless, our family finds common ground in a strong sense of righteousness and justice. They may not get along well, but I’m still their only precious daughter, and they will always spare the time of day for me."

  I exhaled. "That’s... surprisingly wholesome."

  Merchecna smirked. "What? You think gods just sit around bickering all day? We have family dinners too, you know."

  I shook my head, deciding not to comment further.

  "Anyway, aside from all that, I have to admit, medieval life is mind-numbingly boring," I confessed.

  Merchecna tilted her head, a quizzical look crossing her face.

  "I’ve noticed you tend to retreat into yourself to daydream while you let Brigid operate on autopilot, as though she’s on some sort of cruise control," she remarked. "That must get pretty tedious."

  I rolled my eyes. "And what do you suggest?"

  Merchecna grinned slyly, like a fox.

  "Oh, I think I could make a few tweaks to your brain to make your life a little more tolerable."

  I stiffened. "Hold on, what?"

  "In your days of training for that memory championship, you used a memory palace as a mnemonic device, right?"

  I blinked. "Yeah... wait, how do you… ?"

  She ignored my question, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

  "If I enhance the temporal regions responsible for spatial and sensory visualization, while amplifying the sensory isolation you experience when you immerse yourself in your memory palace… then you'd have a mortal’s version of my magical creation abilities."

  I froze.

  "Wait. Are you saying… ?"

  Merchecna beamed confidently.

  "I think you’ll find it quite convenient!"

  My mind spun as I tried to process what she was suggesting.

  I thought back to my training, when I had worked to become a memory expert, committing the order of a shuffled deck of cards to memory in mere seconds. A Memory Palace, a mental construct where I stored information as vivid, concrete images.

  It worked by visualizing a journey through an imaginary house, where each room held a different mnemonic symbol.

  For example,

  An ace of spades?

  I’d picture myself walking into a room where a World War II flying ace was holding a spade.

  A structured mental framework that turned abstract information into tangible, visualized memories.

  And now...

  Was Merchecna seriously suggesting she could enhance it to work like magic?

  I swallowed, a mix of excitement and apprehension churning in my stomach.

  "Would you care to demonstrate?" I asked cautiously.

  Merchecna’s golden eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  With a snap of her fingers, she chirped, "Certainly!"

  In the blink of an eye, the scene around me shifted.

  No transition. No warning.

  One moment, I was in Merchecna’s library.

  The next…

  I stood before the majestic, glowing gates of Disneyland’s iconic castle.

  I blinked. What the…?

  It was exactly as I remembered. I had visited this theme park years ago and, more importantly, I had used it as the foundation for my Memory Palace.

  I had always envisioned my visual tour starting at the castle gates. But unlike the real Disneyland, the rooms inside didn’t follow the official floor plan.

  Instead…

  I changed them. I shaped them.

  This entire space was mine to control.

  And now...

  Merchecna, standing beside me, motioned toward the massive castle doors.

  “Go ahead and explore to your heart’s content!” she declared, her voice carrying a hint of amusement.

  With a deep, resonating creak, the great doors swung open—just as they always did when I began my memory walks.

  I stepped through.

  And,

  I was home.

  Not in a Disneyland castle.

  Not in some fantastical realm.

  But in my studio apartment.

  The same one I had finally purchased after years of nomadic programming work, scraping together enough for a down payment.

  A wave of nostalgia hit me.

  Damn.

  It had only been… what? A month? Two months since that ill-fated trip that ended in my accidental death?

  And yet, standing here, it felt like I had just returned from a long journey, only this time, I had no bags to put down or clothes to unpack.

  Out of sheer habit, I opened my bar fridge.

  Inside…

  My favourite premium brew.

  Hadn’t I emptied this fridge and turned it off before I left?

  I grabbed two cans, popped one open, and casually tossed the other to Merchecna.

  She caught it effortlessly, already lounging on my couch like she owned the place, flipping through channels on the TV with an air of disarming familiarity.

  She didn’t hesitate, cracking open the can with a smooth flick of her fingers.

  “Let’s see… which channel…? Ah, how about this one?” she mused, scrolling through the cable options before settling on a travel documentary about Japan.

  I stared.

  Wait.

  I had watched this exact episode before, months ago… back when I was trying to keep up with my Japanese language studies.

  “Hold on,” I said, narrowing my eyes. “Can I access the latest episodes? Like, the ones that are airing right now?”

  Merchecna grinned knowingly.

  “You’re quick on the uptake,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “Let me clarify the limitations of your Memory Palace.”

  She gestured at the TV.

  “As the name implies, everything here is being pulled from your memories.”

  “Oh, look at this!” Merchecna teased. “Remember how you got distracted by a work call at this exact moment?”

  A pause.

  The TV flickered.

  The program suddenly skipped ahead by a few minutes, as if someone had pressed fast forward.

  “That’s why you don’t remember what happened.”

  I groaned.

  “Isn’t that a bummer?” she added with a playful smirk.

  I sighed, taking a long sip from my cold can of lager.

  Ah. Bliss.

  I leaned back, exhaling contentedly. “Still, I’ll take it for what it’s worth. There’s plenty to be thankful for, despite its drawbacks.”

  Then… a thought hit me.

  I turned to Merchecna with a raised brow.

  “Since this isn’t technically real, that means getting drunk is optional here, right?”

  She laughed.

  “Did you think I’d be drinking in the apartment of some unfamiliar guy if it weren’t?”

  I nearly choked.

  Merchecna’s golden eyes glittered mischievously, and for a moment, I was reminded of a certain pop song warning about the hellish emotional rollercoaster of dealing with girls like her.

  I really, really hoped she didn’t have a blank space on her naughty list to write my name into.

  Instead of responding, I let out a sigh of resignation and took another sip.

  Merchecna flipped through channels again, eventually landing on…

  An anime.

  Not just any anime.

  One of my old favorites.

  A brutal, high-intensity story about a katana-wielding vampire girl who hunted monsters for humanity.

  I hadn’t seen it in years, but as the opening scene played out, I remembered every moment.

  Merchecna, meanwhile, was completely absorbed.

  She sipped her beer, eyes practically sparkling as she watched the first gory action sequence unfold.

  Blood splattered.

  Limbs flew.

  The female protagonist cleaved through a dozen abominations in mere seconds, her katana flashing like a streak of moonlight.

  And then,

  “Ohhh! That was delightfully gruesome!” Merchecna beamed, leaning forward with an almost childish fascination.

  I blinked.

  “…Wait. You’re into this kind of thing?”

  She turned to me, grinning from ear to ear.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  … Huh.

  So, the Goddess of Knowledge had a taste for ultraviolence.

  She is, after all, the daughter of Neith, the God of War.

  Didn’t see that one coming.