The cabin was too quiet after the men fled.
Anya sat on the floor, her arms wrapped around herself, trembling as though she'd run a hundred miles. The faint glow in her skin had vanished, leaving her drained, but the memory of their faces—terrified, entranced—lingered.
She wanted to believe they were gone for good. That they would take their fear and never return.
But deep down, she knew better.
Men like that never gave up a prize once they thought they'd found it.
Her eyes strayed to the fields outside, the rows of beans and herbs, the chickens, the goat in its pen. Eight years of work. Eight years of peace. And now… it was slipping through her fingers.
"Please," she whispered into the empty room, clutching the wooden pendant at her neck. "Just let me keep this life."
The Goddess didn't answer. Only silence.
By evening, the silence broke.
The goats bleated first, restless, stamping at the ground. Then came the sound of heavy footsteps—many this time, not just two. Voices drifted through the trees, louder now, confident, mocking.
"…told you, she's worth a king's ransom…"
"…doesn't matter if she glows, she's still flesh and blood…"
"…wait until the lords hear we've caught her…"
Anya's blood ran cold.
She blew out the small oil lamp and pressed her back against the cabin wall, straining to listen. The men weren't bothering to be quiet this time. They wanted her to know they were coming.
Her heart pounded. She couldn't fight them all. There were too many—five, maybe six. And she couldn't run; they'd see her the moment she stepped into the open.
Her hands shook. The mana inside her stirred restlessly, sensing her fear. She clenched her fists, forcing it down.
"No," she hissed under her breath. "Not again. Not here."
But the door crashed open before she could think.
Men spilled inside, torches lighting their faces—rough, hungry, their eyes gleaming with greed. The two from before were among them, pointing. "There! That's her! Don't look too long—she'll try to twist your head!"
Anya backed into the corner, her breath sharp. The glow started to rise in her skin again, unbidden, her pulse racing with it.
"Stay back," she warned, though her voice trembled.
They laughed.
One lunged forward, grabbing her arm. The contact was like striking flint—the light flared from her skin, burning his hand. He screamed, recoiling.
The others rushed her.
"No!"
The word tore from her throat, and with it, her control shattered.
Light burst from her body in a violent wave, blinding and hot. The cabin groaned as beams cracked, dust raining from the ceiling. The men staggered back, shielding their eyes. One dropped his torch, which set the floor smoldering.
Anya gasped, clutching her chest. The glow surged brighter, spilling out of her like wildfire. Flowers in the windowsill erupted into full bloom, then withered instantly under the heat. The very air shimmered, heavy with a sickly-sweet fragrance that made the men gag.
She fell to her knees, her vision swimming. "Please… stop…"
But the Goddess's gift did not stop.
The men cried out as vines burst from the wooden walls, wrapping around their legs, pulling them down. The beams of the cabin cracked and split, roots forcing their way through the earth.
Her power was everywhere—wild, uncontrolled, magnificent and terrible.
One man swung his axe at her in desperation, but it shattered mid-swing, the metal corroding to dust in his hands. He screamed, falling backward.
The others scrambled for the door, shoving each other in their haste to escape.
"Monster!" one shouted. "She's not human!"
Their words cut deeper than the axe ever could.
Anya curled into herself, shaking violently. The glow blazed around her, burning holes in the wooden floor, crawling up the walls. She couldn't stop it. She couldn't breathe. She was destroying everything—her home, her animals, her life.
"No, please—"
The roof collapsed.
Flames consumed the cabin, the vines shriveled to ash, the chickens screeched in terror. Anya screamed with them, her voice lost in the roar of the inferno.
Then—silence.
The fire didn't spread. The light faded. The cabin was gone, reduced to smoldering ruin. The farm was scorched, the goat pen splintered, the fields blackened. Only the forest beyond stood untouched, as if the destruction had been contained to the place she loved most.
Anya stood in the ashes, barefoot, her skin streaked with soot. Her pendant still burned faintly against her chest. Tears streaked her face, but the light in her eyes glowed cold and sharp.
Her home was gone. Her peace was gone.
And now, the world would know.
The men who had escaped would spread their story: of a woman bathed in divine light, a runaway slave with the blessing of the Goddess herself. They would call her a monster. A weapon. A prize.
Anya lifted her gaze to the night sky, her fists clenched.
"Eight years," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Eight years I hid. Eight years I built a life."
The stars glittered above, indifferent.
"No more hiding," she said, her voice steadier. "If they want me… then let them come."
But even as she spoke, her heart ached. Not for the farm. Not for the cabin.
For Damien.
She had promised herself never to return, never to endanger him with what she had become. But now… she wasn't sure she had a choice.