The silence after a divine battle is different. It's not empty — it's heavy. As if the entire world were holding its breath.
After the arena, we spent the rest of the day trying to pretend everything was fine. Trying, of course.
Torin, the tavern owner, nearly had a heart attack when he saw us appear in the middle of the hall with scorched clothes.
"Again? I just fixed the roof!"
"Look on the bright side," said Vespera, dropping into a chair. "This time we didn't bring monsters."
"Just trauma," I muttered, collapsing onto the table.
Elara sat next to me, pale, clutching her grimoire. "What happened up there… it was real, right?"
"If it wasn't, that nightmare had amazing special effects."
Liriel had been silent since we came back. Leaning against the counter, she stared at a cup of wine without drinking it.
That was a bad sign.
"She's been like that since we returned?" I whispered to Elara.
"Uh-huh. And the wine hasn't evaporated yet, which is weirder than everything else."
I stood and walked over to her.
"Hey. Are you gonna tell me what's going on, or are you just gonna keep staring at that drink until it answers for you?"
It took her a while to look at me. When she did, her eyes were different — lighter, as if they reflected the sky.
"Takumi… the portal Celine opened is still active. Even without her sustaining it. It's growing."
"Okay. That's bad. But we can close it, right?"
"Not without a cost."
Elara overheard and came closer. "Cost as in how much?"
"As in me."
The silence was instant. Even Vespera, who had been in the corner trying to steal a pie from the counter, stopped.
"What do you mean 'as in me'?" I asked.
Liriel took a deep breath. "The portal was created with unbalanced divine energy — mine and Celine's. It has to be neutralized with the same essence. One of us has to sacrifice ourselves to seal it."
"No way," I said immediately.
"Takumi—"
"Don't even start. We've already gone through a curse, a cloud prison, a drunk angel, and a death arena. And now you're talking about sacrifice?"
"It's not talk. It's destiny."
Elara crossed her arms, nervous. "There's no such thing as fixed destiny. There's always another way."
"Not when the imbalance comes from me."
She stared into nothing for a few seconds, as if hearing something distant.
"Celine opened another rift somewhere on the continent. I can feel the call."
"You're not going alone."
"I have to. And you can't stop me."
"Wanna bet?" said Vespera, grabbing her bow.
Liriel smiled softly. "No arrow can stop a determined goddess, dear."
Three hours later, we were crossing the plains of Ardel. The sky was cracked — literally. Golden fissures streaked the horizon, spilling light as if the world itself were bleeding.
The air vibrated. It was beautiful and terrifying.
"So this is the portal?" I asked.
Liriel nodded. "At the center of those pillars. The ancient altar that linked worlds."
"Convenient," muttered Vespera. "Nothing like an apocalyptic backdrop for a beautiful sacrifice."
Elara was serious, flipping through her grimoire frantically. "Maybe there's a way to redirect the flow — divide the burden among us."
"You'd die, Elara."
"So what? You would too."
Liriel placed a hand on her shoulder. "You've got a whole lifetime left to complain about me. Don't waste it now."
The ground began to tremble. The portal opened fully — a spiral of golden and purple energy, sucking in wind, dust, and fragments of stone.
From within came whispers. Voices from other planes. Voices that shouldn't exist there.
"It's getting too pretty to be safe," said Vespera, nocking an arrow. "What's the plan, boss?"
"I go in. Close it. You run."
"Bad plan," I said.
"It's the only one."
Before I could respond, she walked toward the center of the altar. The wind lifted her hair, and the light from the portal reflected off every silver strand.
"Liriel!" I shouted.
She turned, smiling — a tired, but genuine smile. "Take care of them, Takumi. You're better at it than you think."
"Don't give me lines like that — it sounds way too final."
"Because it is."
She raised her hands. The sky roared. Chains of energy began to form around her.
Her body emanated light — intense, pulsing, almost painful to look at.
Elara tried to run to her, but an invisible barrier stopped her.
"Liriel, stop! You don't have to do this!"
"Yes, I do. I caused the imbalance. And now I'll restore it."
"Then I'm going with you," I said, stepping forward.
"Takumi, don't—"
"I already decided. You're not going alone. I'm your adventurer, remember?"
She stopped. For a moment, the glow dimmed.
"You don't understand. The portal consumes life energy. Humans don't survive."
"Then you can resurrect me after. That's what goddesses do, isn't it?"
She laughed softly. "You're the dumbest mortal I've ever met."
"And you're the most stubborn goddess that ever existed. So we're even."
I stood beside her, the wind almost pushing me back.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Not even a little."
"Perfect."
The ritual began. The ground shone with golden runes.
The wind turned sharp, the light nearly blinding. Liriel held my hand — warm, pulsing with energy.
"Takumi... if I disappear, don't let them forget me, okay?"
"You'll have to settle for putting up with me forever, because I'm not letting you disappear."
She smiled. And then the portal exploded into pure light.
The feeling was indescribable. Like being torn from your own body and put back together in different pieces.
I heard voices. Saw memories that weren't mine — the birth of stars, the first breath of a god, the silence before time.
And amidst it all, I heard her voice:
"Thank you for reminding me what it means to be alive."
The energy swallowed us whole. And the world went dark.
I woke up among ashes and soft light. The plain was calm. The portal was gone.
Elara and Vespera were collapsed, but breathing.
I searched for Liriel. Nothing.
"Liriel?" I called, my voice cracking.
No answer.
The wind blew gently, and I saw a golden necklace lying among the stones — the same one she had worn since the beginning.
I picked it up, clenching it in my hand.
"She... did it."
Elara opened her eyes, groggy. "Where is she?"
"She closed the portal. And... she's gone."
Vespera sat up, rubbing her head. "She's not the type to 'be gone.' I bet she's drinking in another plane."
"I hope so," I murmured.
The sky was clear for the first time in weeks.
But something inside me felt hollow.
Two days later, we were back at the tavern.
Torin, as always, was complaining.
"You vanish, the world almost ends, and then you come back like nothing happened."
"It's our charm," Vespera replied.
Elara sat in the corner, trying to read, but her teary eyes gave away that she missed her too.
I kept staring at the empty chair beside me.
Every laugh, every fight, every bit of her sarcasm seemed to echo in the air.
And then, something happened.
A golden beam passed through the window and landed on the table. Out of nowhere, the necklace I'd kept began to glow.
A soft voice echoed:
"I told you I wouldn't leave you, Takumi."
The necklace opened — and a small blue flame floated above it, taking her shape, translucent but smiling.
"Liriel?" I whispered.
"Not entirely, but enough to annoy you for a while longer."
Elara dropped her book. "She's... here?"
"More or less," Liriel answered. "Part of me stayed on the mortal plane. I guess I got used to you all."
Vespera grinned. "Even the afterlife couldn't stand you alone, huh?"
"Silence, archer."
I could only laugh. A laugh that mixed relief and disbelief.
"So you're not dead?"
"Technically, I'm a partially conscious energy entity."
"In short?"
"Glamorous ghost."
Torin, behind the counter, sighed. "Great. Now I have to serve drinks to a spirit."
That night, the four of us — or rather, the three and a half — sat on the tavern porch.
The starry sky was peaceful.
Liriel, floating beside me, looked up.
"You know, maybe Celine was partly right. Gods lose themselves when they forget what it means to feel."
"And you remembered."
"Thanks to you. Even if the price was... high."
I looked at her. "So, what now?"
She smiled. "Chaos never ends, Takumi. It just changes form."
And in that moment, I realized that even without a body, she was still the center of our group.
Her light — small but alive — illuminated everything we had become.
And maybe, just maybe, her sacrifice hadn't been a loss.
Maybe it had been the beginning of something much greater.