Arlen wiped Caelus’s blood from Dryas’s wooden sword with a casual flick of his tongue. Power surged through him — another relic now within reach.

  “Next is Ianthe,” he muttered, expression empty but eyes burning.

  Dryas followed quietly. She admired him — the monster with a wounded heart — but she didn’t dare speak it.

  They returned to the slums. Caelus’s domain had already dissolved into nothingness, erasing all trace that a god once ruled there. Dryas looked back only once, her chest tightening… then she hurried after the boy who had just rewritten her entire existence.

  Night fell. Silence. No words. No thanks. Just exhaustion from war against heaven itself.

  Morning arrived — and Arlen was already gone.

  Dryas sprinted after him, shoes barely tied, breath frantic.

  “Arlen—! Why are you leaving me? I’m coming with you!” she shouted, voice trembling yet determined.

  He didn’t turn.

  “You’re not a goddess anymore. And I don’t kill humans.”

  Cold. Sharp. Final.

  “The only reason we travelled together was because you were a target. That’s over. Live here. Help them. You’ll be safe. On the battlefield, you’d just slow me down.”

  His boots continued forward without hesitation — further, further into the trees — like she didn’t exist.

  Dryas froze. Tears splashed onto dirt.

  She wasn’t immortal now. Just fragile flesh and trembling bones.

  She dragged herself back into the village, a ghost of last night’s heroism.

  The slum chief spotted her. “Didn’t you leave with that boy?”

  “He… doesn’t need me anymore.”

  Her voice broke. “I will only hold him back. I’ll stay here.”

  The old man sighed, then chuckled — gentle but firm.

  “You’re the goddess of nature, aren’t you?”

  She flinched. “How did you—?”

  He tapped his head.

  “Humans aren’t as blind as gods like to think. We survive. We adapt. You taught us how to grow, how to heal. That doesn’t vanish just because you lost some divine sparkle.”

  Dryas stared, speechless.

  “You believe you’re useless now? Foolish child.”

  He placed a warm hand on her head.

  “There are things only can do. And that boy? He’s drowning. Rage, trauma, purpose — all tangled. He needs someone who can remind him what life looks like beyond blood.”

  Her eyes widened. Her heart ached. The old man’s gentle words reminded her of Caelus.

  “Go,” the chief whispered.

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  “Not as a goddess. As Dryas.”

  She wiped her tears, nodded, then turned with sudden resolve.

  Arlen walked away alone.

  But Dryas would not let him alone.

  She ran into the forest again — toward the monster who saved her… and the boy who desperately needed saving.

  “Stop!”

  Dryas sprinted through the trees, branches brushing her arms as she chased him.

  “I’m coming with you. I’ll learn. I’ll fight if I must. And I can help you talk to Ianthe. Please… don’t leave me behind again.”

  Arlen turned — expression carved from ice. “I already said don’t follow me-”

  That’s when the forest moved.

  Animals emerged from the foliage, tails wagging, wings fluttering.

  Fruit-laden vines dangled toward her.

  Trees bent, offering shade like loyal guardians welcoming their queen home.

  Dryas gasped.

  “…Even without my divinity…”

  Her hand touched a blooming flower that embraced her fingers like an old friend.

  “They still… see me as their goddess.”

  Arlen’s eyes widened.

  A prickle ran down his spine.

  Not power.

  Not immortality.

  But devotion born from love — not fear.

  He forced his expression neutral again.

  “Fine. You can come. But stay out of my way when I kill Ianthe.”

  Dryas nodded, wiping the last of her tears.

  She didn’t know what she could offer him yet — but she’d figure it out.

  They continued into the woods.

  “To kill a goddess ruling a country, we need intel,” Arlen muttered.

  “And there’s only one old man who knows every secret the gods want hidden… Solon.”

  He sighed. “But getting there will take days—”

  A black portal split the air behind them. A familiar voice spoke:

  “You need a lift, Arlen?”

  Nyx stepped through, her presence cold, eyes steady on him.

  “You’ve been spying on me?” Arlen narrowed his eyes.

  “Orders,” she shrugged. “Queen Cornea wants an answer before I take you anywhere.”

  She stepped closer, voice firm.

  “Have you found what you’re looking for? Have you chosen who you’ll be?”

  Arlen took a breath. His fists tightened.

  “I don’t know what to do with gods like Dryas yet. Maybe some deserve mercy. Maybe others deserve worse. But Chronos…”

  His voice sharpened like a blade:

  “I will tear him down. I am — and will remain — the God Slayer.”

  Nyx’s lips curled into an approving smirk.

  “That answer will do. Welcome back Arlen.”

  She extended her hand.

  “Come. Both of you. The Queen awaits.”

  Arlen took her hand without hesitation.

  Dryas stepped closer, gripping Arlen’s sleeve like a quiet promise.

  In a blink —

  They vanished into darkness,

  racing back toward the sanctuary of sacred relics

  and the next step of Arlen’s merciless crusade.

  The obsidian gate spat them out into the familiar dark expanse of the Sanctuary’s entrance…

  …and Cornea was already waiting.

  She stood with one hip cocked, arms folded — a wicked grin cutting across her lips.

  The moment Arlen appeared, she slid behind him like a serpent claiming its prey, one arm wrapping casually — possessively — around his waist.

  “The way you held the Throne of Life hostage…” she whispered against his ear, voice dripping with pride and hunger,

  “…was .”

  Her tongue traced a playful line beside his ear.

  Arlen stiffened.

  Nyx looked away with a flinch.

  Dryas blushed, then glared in a mix of jealousy and discomfort.

  Cornea’s eyes flicked to Dryas — a silent taunt.

  Dryas inhaled sharply and stepped forward, voice a little too loud:

  “L-Let’s get inside… and finish what we came for.”

  Cornea chuckled — a low, satisfied, dangerous sound — then released Arlen, letting him walk ahead.

  Inside, Solon awaited at the heart of the Sanctuary — leaning on his cane with his timeless smile.

  “Welcome back, boy.”

  His gaze flicked to the odd ensemble behind Arlen.

  “I see you’ve brought quite the entourage this time… The Demon Queen. A depowered Nature Goddess. And the strongest general of the Hollow Court.”

  He tapped his cane lightly, amused.

  “You never fail to entertain these old bones.”

  He faced Arlen fully, tone turning curious:

  “Tell me, God Slayer… which sacred relic do you seek now?”

  Arlen didn’t answer immediately.

  His eyes sharpened — cold and calculating.

  “I need another relic, yes…

  But first…”

  He stepped closer — close enough that Solon could see the growing darkness in his gaze.

  “I need information. Tell me everything about the sacred relics…

  the ones held by Chronos and Mortis.”

  He looked into the eyes of the living relic like scanning him inside out – both the human and demonic eyes were fixed on Solon, awaiting his response.

  The room stilled.

  The true war… was now beginning.