Unlike the dead Evilus members who never knew what killed them, some people hiding in their houses—peeking cautiously through curtained windows—had witnessed everything with crystal clarity. What they saw left them breathless, hearts pounding with a mixture of awe and the first fragile stirrings of hope they'd felt in months.
When the ambush had erupted from the shadows, the watchers had feared the worst. How could even a goddess survive such a coordinated assault? But then they witnessed something that would be seared into their memories forever—spears of sacred light materialized above the attackers, radiant and terrible in their beauty. What should have been a gruesome, bloody massacre instead became something almost elegant in its finality. When those spears of divine judgment touched the Evilus members, there was no gore, no screaming, no suffering. The attackers were simply... erased. Vaporized into nothingness, as if they had never existed at all, leaving not even ash behind.
The goddess hadn't even slowed her pace. She continued her journey toward the Tower of Babel as though the attempted assassination had been nothing more than a brief gust of wind—barely worth acknowledging. The watchers continued observing her with fascinated eyes, wondering what kind of deity could command such absolute power with such casual indifference.
But then, something unexpected happened that made every observer lean closer to their windows in confusion and curiosity.
The goddess suddenly held her pace, her armored form going still. Then, with surprising gentleness, she dismounted from her magnificent white steed. The watchers exchanged puzzled glances, silently questioning what could have possibly caught her interest enough to make her stop.
They watched as she turned and entered what appeared to be an ordinary alley—one of the countless dark, forgotten corners where Orario's poorest and most desperate tried to survive. Five minutes passed in tense silence. Then the goddess emerged, and what the watchers saw made their hearts clench with emotions they couldn't quite name.
In her arms, held with infinite gentleness and care, was a little girl who couldn't have been more than five years old. The child was heartbreakingly malnourished, her tiny frame swimming in filthy rags that barely qualified as clothing. She was clearly one of the "gutter rats" from the slums—the orphaned street children that most of Orario's citizens had learned to look past, to ignore, children whose disappearance would go unmourned and unnoticed by a society too wrapped up in its own troubles to care.
But this goddess cared.
She held the child with a protective tenderness that seemed impossible coming from someone who had just erased dozens of assassins without hesitation. Her posture was defensive, guarding the small girl as though she were the most precious treasure in all the world. Slowly, carefully, she placed the child on her horse before mounting behind her, one armored arm wrapped securely around the fragile body.
Question marks multiplied in the minds of every watcher. Why would a goddess of such obvious power and authority concern herself with a nameless street child? What were her motives? What kind of deity was this Rhongomyniad? They filed away every detail, trying desperately to understand this enigmatic newcomer who defied all their expectations.
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**[Aestoria's Perspective]**
After disposing of that trash, Aestoria had continued her march without bothering to glance back at where the bodies had fallen—or rather, where they had been erased from existence. But not long after, something caught her attention. Her golden eyes, which had remained focused ahead with unwavering purpose, suddenly shifted toward a dark alley branching off from the main street.
There. In that forgotten corner where refuse gathered and hope went to die.
She stopped abruptly, dismounting with fluid haste that made Dun Stallion snort in surprise. Her boots hit the cobblestones, and she rushed toward what had drawn her divine senses—a tiny figure huddled against a crumbling wall, so small and still that she might have been mistaken for a pile of discarded rags.
A little girl. Barely clinging to life. Withering in silent agony.
The child's breathing was shallow and labored, each breath a struggle. Her body was covered in bruises, cuts, and the telltale signs of prolonged starvation and neglect. Tears had carved clean tracks through the grime on her hollow cheeks, but she cried silently—she had learned long ago that no one would come if she screamed. She was dying slowly, painfully, and utterly alone.
The little girl had already accepted her fate. She only wanted it to end soon, for the suffering to finally stop. She had stopped praying for rescue weeks ago. There was no kindness in this world for children like her.
But then—warmth. Impossible, blessed warmth reaching toward her through the cold fog of approaching death. Strong but gentle arms gathered her up in an embrace that felt like every good dream she'd never dared to have. A soothing woman's voice, more beautiful than any melody, reached her ears like a lifeline thrown to a drowning soul.
Before the girl could fully register what was happening, Aestoria slowly, carefully removed her lion-emblazoned helmet. Golden hair spilled free, catching the dim light like captured sunshine. Her face was revealed—achingly beautiful, but more than that, filled with a warmth and compassion that hit the dying child like a physical force.
"Don't worry, darling," Aestoria whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she gazed down at the precious little life in her arms. "You won't be alone anymore."
As she spoke, divine energy flowed from her into the child—gentle waves of healing magic that washed away the pain, closed the wounds, purged the sickness and infection from her ravaged body, filled her empty stomach with nourishment. The girl felt life returning to her limbs, strength flowing back into muscles that had begun to atrophy.
She was certain this must be a dream. A beautiful, cruel dream that would vanish any moment, returning her to that cold alley to die. But then she felt it—the squeeze of a hand holding hers, the solid sensation of metal armor beneath her cheek, the steady heartbeat of the woman holding her. This was real. This was actually happening.
The realization hit her like a dam breaking. All the fear, all the loneliness, all the desperate longing for someone—anyone—to care whether she lived or died came flooding out at once. Her small body shook with the force of her emotions, and tears streamed down her face—not tears of pain this time, but of overwhelming relief and joy and something she'd never truly felt before: safety.
Only one word could escape her trembling lips, repeated over and over like a prayer finally answered: "Mama! Mama! Mama!"
She clutched at the beautiful woman—this stranger who felt more like home than anywhere she'd ever been—with desperate strength, terrified that if she let go, this would all prove to be an illusion. She prayed with every fiber of her being that if this was a dream, she would never, ever wake up.
Aestoria felt her heart clench at those words, at the desperate trust in that tiny voice. She gathered the child closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her grimy head, and whispered back with the full weight of her divine authority: "I who govern over reality and dreams shall hear your plea, my precious child."
It was both a promise and a decree, sealed with power that rippled through the fabric of existence itself.
The little girl's eyes fluttered closed, consciousness finally slipping away—not from death this time, but from the simple, overwhelming relief of finally being safe. She fell asleep in her new mother's arms, clutching tightly to the armored goddess, a tiny smile on her lips for the first time in her short, brutal life.
Aestoria stood slowly, cradling the child with infinite care. Fou chirped softly on her shoulder, nuzzling against the girl's matted hair with gentle affection. The goddess returned to Dun Stallion, carefully positioning the sleeping child on the horse's back before mounting behind her, one arm wrapped protectively around the small body.
She urged her mount forward, this time at a faster pace. The Tower of Babel could wait a few moments longer. First, she needed to ensure this child—her child now—was properly cared for, cleaned, fed, and given a real bed to sleep in.
As they rode through the streets, Aestoria's golden eyes blazed with renewed purpose. She had come to Orario to purge evil and restore hope. She hadn't expected to become a mother within hours of her arrival, but looking down at the peaceful face of the girl sleeping against her, she knew this was right. This was exactly where she was meant to be.
And gods help anyone who tried to harm this child. They would learn that the End could come in many forms, and for those who threatened her family, it would come swiftly and without mercy.