Vaelthir did not answer immediately.
Her grip around Constantine's throat had already loosened, but her eyes still burned with restrained fury, as if the mere mention of that being had stirred something deeply ingrained within her.
"…you shouldn't have said that," she muttered at last.
Her voice did not carry the sharpness of a threat. Instead, it sounded like a rule—one repeated so many times it had become instinct.
Constantine inhaled slowly as the pressure on his neck faded. His breathing steadied within seconds, his composure returning just as quickly as it had been disrupted.
Yet his gaze never left her.
"…you know it," he said calmly.
Vaelthir's jaw tightened.
For a moment, it seemed as though she might lash out again. But instead, she exhaled, long and controlled, forcing whatever emotion had surged within her back beneath the surface.
"…everyone knows it," she said.
That answer caught Constantine off guard.
Not visibly—but internally.
Vaelthir tilted her head slightly, as if recognizing his silent reaction.
"Not clearly," she added. "Not completely. But enough to hate it."
The word lingered between them.
Hate.
Not fear. Not reverence.
Hate.
"…why?" Constantine asked.
A quiet, humorless laugh escaped her.
"…because it deserves it."
She stepped back, creating a small distance between them—not out of caution, but as if preparing herself to speak of something unpleasant.
"…it had a name once," she continued.
She paused briefly, her expression tightening.
"…no one remembers it anymore."
Constantine's eyes narrowed slightly.
A god… without a name.
"…but the stories remained," Vaelthir said, her voice steadier now, more controlled. "Fragments. Warnings. Things elders pass down so children know what not to speak of."
She glanced at him again.
"…it was never like the other gods."
A faint, bitter smile formed on her lips.
"…it didn't rule."
"…it didn't guide."
"…it didn't protect."
A brief pause followed.
Then—
"…it played."
Constantine remained silent, allowing her to continue.
"…with humans," she added.
Her gaze sharpened slightly as she observed him.
"…and not kindly."
There was no need for elaboration. The implication alone was enough.
"…rune magic," she said next.
At that moment, the system flickered faintly in Constantine's vision.
[Keyword Detected: Rune Magic]
Vaelthir continued, unaware of the silent notification.
"…it created it."
That statement connected too many things at once.
"…as a joke," she finished.
Constantine's eyes sharpened, just slightly.
"A joke?" he repeated.
Vaelthir nodded once.
"To it, yes."
Her lips curved faintly, though there was no amusement in her expression.
"…giving humans the ability to summon beings they were never meant to touch."
A pause.
"…Netherworld royalty."
Constantine did not need to imagine the consequences.
He had already witnessed them.
Veyrath.
Destruction.
Death.
"They despise it," Vaelthir said quietly.
"Not just humans."
Her gaze darkened.
"…the Netherworld hates it even more."
A faint tension settled in the air, as though even speaking of that relationship carried weight.
"…because now," she continued, "creatures far beneath them can drag them into this world like tools."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"…like toys."
Constantine said nothing.
But the word lingered.
Vaelthir studied him for a moment before continuing.
"…that thing was clever," she said.
"…witty."
A faint exhale followed.
"…and cruel."
Silence filled the space again.
"…people don't worship it," she added after a moment.
Constantine tilted his head slightly.
"…because they hate it?" he asked.
Vaelthir shook her head.
"…because they're afraid."
A pause.
"…afraid of what it might do if they tried."
Her expression hardened faintly.
"…or worse… if they failed to satisfy it."
Unpredictability.
That was the true danger.
"…and yet," Constantine said quietly, "you called it your world's god."
Vaelthir did not hesitate this time.
"…it is."
There was no reverence in her tone.
No pride.
No devotion.
Only acknowledgment.
Silence returned.
Then Vaelthir spoke again, her voice quieter now, almost reflective.
"…I don't know everything."
She looked away briefly, as if searching through distant memories.
"…I was born five hundred years ago."
A small pause.
"…most of what I know comes from stories."
Her expression shifted slightly.
"…old stories."
"…the kind elders tell children so they remember what to fear."
Constantine listened without interruption.
"…they said," she continued slowly,
"…that it wasn't always like this."
His eyes sharpened.
"…what do you mean?"
Vaelthir hesitated for the first time.
"…it wasn't always ugly," she said.
The words settled heavily between them.
"…it was cursed."
Constantine remained still, his attention unwavering.
"…but not by someone else."
She turned her gaze back to him.
"…it chose it."
That changed the nature of everything.
"…why?" Constantine asked.
Vaelthir shook her head slowly.
"…no one knows."
A pause followed.
"…no one alive, at least."
Silence stretched again, quieter this time, more contemplative.
"…but after that," she continued,
"…everything about it changed."
Her voice lowered.
"…its name was taken."
"…its form was twisted."
The faint green glow around them seemed dimmer, as if the very space reacted to the words.
"…and it was left with a curse."
Constantine did not move.
He did not speak.
He simply listened.
Vaelthir's voice dropped to a near whisper.
"…an eternal one."
She met his gaze directly.
"…an ugly god…"
A pause.
"…who lives in ugly things."
Silence followed.
Complete.
Unbroken.
The words lingered in the air, heavy with meaning.
Constantine's gaze shifted slightly, unfocused for just a moment.
A memory surfaced.
A small shape.
Still.
Watching.
A frog.
Then—
It was gone.
His expression remained unchanged.
Calm.
Controlled.
Unreadable.
But somewhere deep within his mind—
A connection had already begun to form.