The silence of the Citadel wasn't actually silent. If you listened long enough, like I had for the last seven years, you could hear the heartbeat of the mountain. Thump-shhh. Thump-shhh. It was a rhythmic, grinding sound of tectonic plates and divine ego.
I sat on the edge of my stone cot, my fingers tracing the carvings on the wall. They were shallow, jagged marks I had made with my fingernails during the nights when the fire in my blood felt like it was trying to cook me from the inside out. I was nineteen now, though time in the "dark" felt more like a fluid than a measurement. My body had matured into something I hated—tall, lithe, and radiating a faint, constant warmth that made the shadows in the corner of my cell dance.
Cling. Clang.
The sound of metal against metal echoed down the hall. My dinner. Or maybe just another reminder that I was still breathing.
"Still sitting in the dark, I see. How... poetic."
I didn't need to turn around to recognize that voice. It was smooth, like honey poured over a blade.
"Go away, Aethelon," I said, my voice raspy from disuse.
"That is 'Father' to you, or 'Lord' if you're feeling particularly grounded today," he replied.
Whoosh.
A torch on the wall ignited spontaneously as he stepped into the room. The sudden light burned. I hissed, throwing my arm over my eyes. My skin looked translucent in the firelight, the gold veins in my forearms pulsing like living wires.
"You look like a corpse, Nytheris," he remarked, leaning against the iron-reinforced door. He was wearing robes of spun sunlight that made my eyes ache. "The other gods ask about you. They wonder why my greatest 'shame' hasn't finally flickered out."
"Maybe I'm staying alive just to spite you," I spat, finally lowering my arm. I looked him dead in the eyes. "Why are you here? You haven't graced me with your divine arrogance in months."
Aethelon's expression shifted. It wasn't pity—gods don't feel pity—it was a sort of clinical curiosity. "I came to bring you news from the dirt. Since you seem so intent on rotting like a mortal, I thought you'd like to know how their little lives are progressing."
My heart did a painful somersault. Elias.
"I don't care about the mortal world," I lied, my voice trembling just enough for him to notice.
"Don't you?" He stepped closer, the heat radiating from him making my cell feel like an oven. "The blacksmith's son. What was his name? Elias? The one who ran away from you like you were a plague-ridden dog?"
"Shut your goddamn mouth," I growled. Sizzle. The straw on my cot began to smoke.
Aethelon laughed. Ha-ha-ha. It was a hollow, mocking sound. "He's getting married today, Nytheris. To a girl named Clara. A simple thing. She smells of yeast and laundry soap. Everything you aren't."
The world seemed to tilt. I felt a coldness—that familiar, terrifying void—rushing up from my stomach to my throat. Married. He was promising his life to someone else. He was building a fence, planting a garden, and creating a world where I was nothing more than a nightmare he had as a child.
"Get out," I whispered.
"She's pregnant, too," Aethelon added, twisting the knife with practiced ease. "A new generation of mortals to forget you ever existed. While you sit here in the damp, he is feeling the warmth of a real woman. A human woman."
"I SAID GET OUT!"
I didn't mean to do it. The power erupted from me in a jagged wave of white heat.
BOOM.
The stone wall behind my cot cracked. Aethelon didn't flinch. He simply raised a hand, and the flames I had thrown dissipated into harmless sparks.
"Control yourself," he snapped, his voice dropping an octave. "You are a goddess in potential, acting like a jilted peasant. This is why you are here. This is why you will always be here. You are too much for them, and too little for us."
He turned on his heel, his cloak snapping like a flag in a storm. "Lyra!" he barked toward the hallway. "Give her the 'gift' I brought. Let her see what she's missing."
He vanished in a blur of golden light, leaving the cell smelling of burnt ozone. A moment later, a young attendant named Lyra scurried in. She was a minor deity of clouds, always looking like she was about to cry. She held a small, silver bowl filled with enchanted water.
"I'm sorry, Lady Nytheris," she whispered, her eyes darting to the cracked wall. "He ordered me to show you."
Drip.
She placed the bowl on the floor and tapped the surface of the water. The liquid began to shimmer, forming an image. It was Oakhaven. The village looked smaller, older. And there, in the center of the square, was a celebration.
I saw him.
Elias looked older. His shoulders had broadened, and he had a short, dark beard. He was laughing. He looked... happy. He was holding the hand of a girl in a simple white linen dress. She was glowing, her hand resting protectively over a small swell in her stomach.
Clink.
The sound of wedding bells echoed from the water. I watched as Elias leaned in and kissed her—a soft, lingering kiss that spoke of a future I would never see. I watched him look at her with the same eyes that used to look at me, but the fear was gone. In its place was a quiet, stable devotion.
"He looks peaceful," Lyra whispered, then immediately bit her lip, realizing she shouldn't have spoken.
I couldn't breathe. My lungs felt like they were filled with lead. Every vow I had ever made to myself—to be strong, to be silent, to be a goddess—crumbled. I wasn't a goddess. I was a girl watching her heart being buried in a shallow grave.
"Go," I said, my voice barely audible.
"But—"
"LEAVE!"
Lyra scrambled out, nearly knocking over the bowl. The water spilled across the stone floor, the image of Elias's wedding shattering into a thousand droplets.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
I sank to my knees. The coldness was gone now, replaced by a searing, agonizing ache. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. I wanted to burn the Citadel to the ground, but I was too tired to even stand.
I looked at the spilled water on the floor. My reflection looked back at me—gold-eyed, monstrous, and utterly alone. I realized then that my father was right about one thing: I was a half-finished thought. I was a bridge that led to nowhere.
I crawled back to the corner of the cell, curled into a ball, and closed my eyes. I didn't want to see the light. I didn't want to see the dark.
"I'll stay here," I whispered into the shadows. "I'll stay until the world turns to ash. I'll stay until I'm forgotten."
I pressed my forehead against the cold stone, wishing I could just stop the beating of my heart. But I was a daughter of a god. My heart wouldn't stop. It would just keep breaking, over and over, for an eternity.
Scritch.
A small sound came from the shadows near the back of the cell. A part of the floor I had never noticed before—a loose stone—began to shift, as if something, or someone, was trying to get in from the deeper tunnels.
I didn't move. I didn't care if it was a monster or a ghost.
"Nytheris?"
The voice was faint, muffled by layers of rock, but it didn't sound like a god. And it certainly didn't sound like a dream.