The forest had never felt so heavy.
Victoria knelt in the ruins of her farm, fingers sifting through blackened soil where green shoots once stood. Her body still ached from the surge of power that had torn her life apart, but it was her heart that hurt the most. Eight years of peace, gone in a single night of chaos.
The air smelled of smoke and charred wood. The ash clung to her hair, her skin, even the hem of the simple dress she wore. Her animals were gone, scattered or dead. The cabin—her safe place—was nothing more than a skeleton of beams jutting out from the ashes.
Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her chest. The pendant burned faintly, pulsing with a rhythm that was not her own.
The Goddess's gift. Her curse.
She shut her eyes and let the stillness wash over her. But the stillness was wrong. The woods were not calm. The birds had fled. The usual hum of insects was absent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
Danger.
Victoria opened her eyes sharply, her senses prickling. Something unseen, far off, yet heavy as a storm cloud, pressed on her. It was like the forest itself whispered to her, urging her to move, to run.
She rose to her feet slowly, clutching her arms around herself. "No… it can't be…"
But deep down, she knew it could.
The intruders would talk. The men who escaped would tell their tale. The world would know there was a woman in the woods who wielded unnatural power. It would not take long for word to spread beyond bandits and mercenaries. Lords would hear. Kings would hear.
And—her breath caught in her throat—he would hear.
Damien.
The name was a wound she had never allowed herself to touch. For eight years she had locked it away, buried beneath farm chores, beneath the rhythm of tending chickens and pulling weeds. She had told herself he had forgotten her, that the boy she once knew had grown and moved on.
But now…
She felt him. Not his presence, not yet—but the shadow of it, stretching across the miles. A cold certainty settled in her chest. Damien would come.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She couldn't afford to be weak. Not now.
The next day, Victoria wandered further into the woods. She carried little with her—only a water flask, a small pack of dried food, and the pendant that never left her neck. She could no longer stay near the ruins of her home. It was too exposed, too vulnerable.
The forest was her ally now. Its trees bent protectively above her, their branches whispering in the wind. But even here, she felt the storm brewing closer.
When she reached the stream, she knelt and dipped her hands into the cold water, splashing her face. The reflection that looked back at her was a stranger—hair wild and ash-streaked, eyes glowing faintly even in the daylight.
She recoiled.
"No… stop," she whispered, clutching her temples. "Don't come out. Not again."
But the light within her stirred, as if mocking her. It danced at her fingertips, shimmering faintly before fading again.
The Goddess of Beauty had chosen her, or cursed her. Yet the power was uncontrollable—bursting in moments of fear or rage, destroying everything she loved.
How could she possibly stand against Damien if she couldn't even master herself?
That night, sleep would not come. Victoria sat high in the branches of an old oak, keeping watch over the forest floor. The stars glittered coldly above, and the moon cast silver across the leaves.
She thought of Damien.
The boy who had saved her in the dungeon. The boy who had promised to protect her, who had held her when she was scared, who had been the only light in a dark, cruel world.
She longed to believe he was still that boy. But something deep in her heart told her otherwise.
Time changed people. And eight years was a long time.
"Have you forgotten me, Damien?" she whispered into the night. "Or have you become something worse than the world we hated?"
The forest gave no answer.
By dawn, the sense of danger had sharpened. It was no longer a whisper—it was a drumbeat, steady and ominous. Her pulse quickened with it, as though her body already knew what approached.
Victoria climbed down from the oak, her bare feet sinking into the soft moss below. She touched the pendant again, feeling its heat.
"Please," she murmured. "If you truly are a Goddess, guide me. I don't know if I can face him."
The light in the pendant flickered, then dimmed. No answer.
Her jaw tightened. If the Goddess would not help her, she would help herself. She had survived slavery. She had survived years of hiding. She had survived her own powers tearing her life apart.
She would survive Damien too.
Or she would die trying.
Far away, through the trees, a faint sound carried on the wind. The thud of marching boots.
Victoria froze, her breath catching.
The storm had arrived.
She pressed her back against the rough bark of a tree, her eyes narrowing. Her whole body trembled—not with fear this time, but with something sharper.
Resolve.
For eight years, she had hidden, believing peace was possible. But peace was an illusion. The world would never let her live quietly.
Her farm was gone. Her life was gone. And now, Damien was coming.
She would not hide anymore.
The forest around her seemed to listen, the leaves rustling as though in agreement. The mana inside her stirred, eager, restless.
Victoria clenched her fists. "So be it," she whispered. "If the Tyrant Prince wants me, he will have to face what I've become."
And with that, she stepped deeper into the forest, leaving the ruins of her life behind.
The storm was coming closer.
And she would meet it head-on.