The forest floor was damp with morning dew, its earthy scent clinging to Victoria's lungs as she stood in a small clearing, hands trembling.
The pendant burned faintly against her chest, as if alive, as if aware of what she was about to attempt.
She had never trained her power. She had never dared. Every time it erupted, it tore through her life like a storm, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. For eight years she had avoided it, buried it beneath routines of farmwork, smothered it with silence and denial.
But denial would not save her now.
The Tyrant Prince was coming. Damien.
And if she faced him powerless, if she faced him broken, then he would take her.
Victoria closed her eyes and steadied her breath. Focus. Don't run from it this time.
She lifted her palms. The warmth within her chest stirred, then crawled to her hands like a living current. Her skin shimmered faintly, veins glowing faint gold beneath the surface.
At first, the sight filled her with awe. But awe quickly twisted into fear. Her pulse raced, the glow flared, and suddenly the current surged out of her control.
A shockwave of light exploded from her palms, rattling the trees. Leaves tore free, scattering like frightened birds. A nearby boulder cracked down the middle with a sharp snap.
Victoria stumbled backward, heart hammering. "No, no, no—"
The glow burned brighter, feeding off her fear. She dropped to her knees, clutching her hands. "Stop!"
The light sputtered… and finally, mercifully, faded.
Smoke curled from the split boulder. The clearing stank of scorched earth.
Her chest heaved. Sweat clung to her skin despite the cool morning air.
This was what she feared most. Not Damien. Not even capture. But herself.
She sat there for a long time, shaking, the memory of the burned farm vivid in her mind.
But she couldn't stop. Not now.
She rose again, wiping her face. "Try again," she whispered.
For hours, she practiced.
She tried to summon small amounts of mana, to control the flow. She tried to direct it into her fingertips, to shape it into something harmless. But every time, it slipped from her like water through clenched hands.
When she tried to calm it, it vanished completely, leaving her exhausted and empty. When she tried to grasp it too tightly, it exploded outward, destructive and wild.
She screamed in frustration after one attempt blasted a tree into splinters. The sound echoed through the forest, raw and ragged.
"This isn't beauty," she gasped, tears streaking her ash-stained cheeks. "This isn't a gift—it's a curse."
But the pendant glowed warmly against her chest, as if to disagree.
"Then show me!" she shouted at the sky. "If you really are a Goddess, show me how to use it! Don't leave me like this!"
Her voice broke, and she dropped to her knees in the dirt, clutching the pendant until her knuckles turned white.
But no voice answered. Only silence.
Only the soft rustle of leaves.
By dusk, Victoria was too exhausted to stand. She slumped against the cracked boulder, staring blankly at the orange-tinted sky.
Her body hurt. Her mind hurt worse.
How could she hope to resist Damien if she couldn't master even a fraction of her power? How could she stop the Tyrant Prince, whose armies bent kingdoms to their knees, when she couldn't even stop herself from burning her own farm?
She pressed her forehead to her knees, whispering, "Damien… what will you see when you look at me now? A monster? Or just the same slave you left behind?"
The memory of his younger face haunted her—the warmth in his eyes, the way he had once called her his best friend. The way he had promised, I'll protect you.
That boy was gone. She knew it. But still, a part of her ached to believe he might return when he saw her.
She hated herself for that hope.
Night fell. Stars glittered above, cold and distant. Victoria lay in the clearing, unable to sleep, staring at the sky. Her body buzzed faintly with mana even at rest, like the earth itself thrummed beneath her skin.
But she was too tired to fight it. Too tired to fear it.
She let the glow rise gently, softly, like embers instead of wildfire. For the first time, it didn't explode. It hovered around her, a delicate shimmer, like fireflies dancing in the dark.
She held her breath, afraid to move, afraid to break the fragile control.
The aura wrapped around her in a soft veil of golden light, illuminating the trees. The leaves glistened, the water of the stream sparkled as if dusted with jewels.
It was beautiful.
Her eyes filled with tears—not of fear, but of wonder.
So this was the Goddess's power. Not destruction. Not terror.
Beauty.
For one perfect moment, she felt whole.
Then a branch snapped in the distance.
The glow shattered. The aura died. Her heart lurched.
Victoria sat upright, every muscle tense.
She waited. Listened.
Bootsteps. Distant, muffled, but unmistakable. More than one. Heavy. Ordered.
Her stomach turned to ice.
They were close.
She scrambled to her feet, clutching the pendant. Her pulse hammered as the faint glow in her skin returned—not from training this time, but from fear.
"Damien," she whispered into the dark.
The storm had almost arrived.
And she was not ready.