The powers beyond, woven with threads of riddles, mystery, and consequence, rarely deigned to bestow pity upon a single mortal soul. Even fewer still witnessed the raw, terrifying spectacle of divine vengeance unleashed. Yet, the forces that dwelled beyond the comprehension of even the Greater Will, those enigmatic entities that stirred in the abyssal depths of existence, harbored a peculiar notion of penance for the fallen Queen Marika. In their unknowable wisdom, or perhaps their profound misjudgment, they chose to send her to be confronted by her very own would-be executioner. Perhaps they always knew how that story would go, unburdened by concerns of chance and choice, for they had watched these beings for nigh eternity already.
...
Limgrave. The name itself felt alien on her tongue, once holding the power to command the very stars. This desolate expanse lay not far beyond the imposing, storm-battered gates of Castle Stormveil, a place that now held little resonance within her fractured memory.
The iron shackles that bound and bit into her wrists had become an unbearable weight, a leaden drag upon her returning consciousness. Each was ragged and rusted long with time. Time... once a plaything she could manipulate at whim, now slipped through her grasp like grains of sand. Memory, too, was a fleeting phantom. The last coherent fragment was the agonizing embrace of the Greater Will's restraints and the incandescent fury that had followed her defiant rebellion against its immutable nature. These new shackles, heavy and cold against her skin, were different. This damp, earthy prison, reeking of stagnant water, blooming pollen, and a far more nauseating decay lurking in the shadows, was utterly unfamiliar. Yet, paradoxically, a nascent sense of liberation stirred within her, a fragile tendril of freedom emerging after what felt like an eternity of divine confinement. It was a sensation so profound, so utterly foreign, that it almost induced a wave of physical sickness. Perhaps this was the very air of mortality.
And then, the revelation struck her with the force comparable to the thundering quake kf her former hammer on stone. She could have a revelation. The ability to perceive, understand, and experience a dawning of comprehension was itself a monumental shift. Her eyes, sealed shut for an immeasurable span, slowly, agonizingly peeled themselves open. A dry, rasping whine escaped her throat as her skin felt as though it were shedding millennia of encrusted, unwashed dead tissue. Her body screamed in protest with every minute movement, an ache that resonated deep within her, akin to the raw tenderness of a freshly shed serpent. Yet, within that agony, a strange, almost reverent bliss bloomed. It was pain felt in its purest form, a visceral reminder of an identity she had believed lost beneath the suffocating weight of her godhood's anointment. This pain, this very sensation, instantly triggered a second, even more startling realization. These were the aches of mortality.
Was she mortal now...? The question echoed in the newly awakened chambers of her mind, a terrifying and exhilarating prospect.
As the initial shock of light assaulting her long-dormant senses began to subside, her blurry vision gradually coalesced, revealing her immediate surroundings. A dim, flickering firelight cast dancing shadows across the rough-hewn walls of an almost flooded den. A single, grotesque creature, a misbegotten wretch covered in patchy feathers, squawked and tore at a scrap of raw meat far too close for her liking. Their kind, twisted mockeries of life born from the Crucible's chaotic embrace had always filled her with a profound disgust. Savages, feasting and fighting with a primal ferocity that seemed to emanate from the very filth of the earth. She had not idly forgotten their horrific transgressions against the Golden Order. That memory, etched in the very fabric of her being, was unlikely to fade soon, regardless of her current, bewildering state.
Yet, the ache she had momentarily embraced now pressed down on her with a crushing weight. Her muscles, weakened by eons of enforced stasis, whined in protest at even the slightest effort. The cold iron of the shackles felt imbued with a subtle, lesser power, an enchantment that, in her former glory, would have been a mere triviality to dispel. But here, now, stripped of her divinity, she was truly trapped. Wisdom dictated silence. Stillness. She would not yet betray the flicker of life within her. Like a cornered beast, she watched, she waited. Time, in its mortal iteration, remained elusive. It could have been three hours or three weeks; the vast expanse of her former existence had eroded her grasp on such trivial measurements. She plotted a desperate moment of opportunity, a fleeting instant when the repulsive beast might stray too close, when a sudden cacophony erupted from the deeper recesses of the cavern.
First came the frantic snarls and yelps of wolves locked in a desperate struggle. Then, the harsh, unmistakable clang of metal against metal echoed through the damp air. Soon after, slow, deliberate footsteps approached, the faint drag of metal against rough stone accompanying each measured stride. A figure emerged from the shadows, a knight clad in armor of deep black and vibrant blue. The colors flowed across their hauberk and the layered tassels of their garb like dark, liquid shadows punctuated by flashes of sapphire light from the dyed steel chainmail beneath. No helmet obscured their face, only a deep blue scarf that concealed their lips but left the startling intensity of their eyes exposed. Eyes that held the stark, crystalline beauty of ancient glaciers, illuminated from within by an unseen light. A gleaming blade was held loosely in their left hand, while their right bore a small, intricately carved seal, its design a familiar crescent arc, like the moon momentarily eclipsing the sun.
These symbols, vivid and shimmering with power, should have sent a jolt of recognition, perhaps even fear, through her weary heart. Yet, even as her feigned slumber faltered and she watched this young knight, their movements fluid and deadly, slice down the grotesque beast that had become her unwitting jailer in this strange, second life, she was not afraid. Even as that blade, crooked, rusted, and half wrenched likely from a corpse, tore through flesh and hardstone with brutal efficiency, she still did not fear terror. However, those eyes quickened her pulse like the drum beat of war itself, heavh and nearly deafening with its pounding rapidity.
What profound, bone-chilling sensations those eyes could inspire. Perhaps even more than the absolute power of godhood she once had, if one were to tally the true cost of such dominion. Yet, that day, shrouded in the damp gloom of that forgotten cavern, would forever remain her grandest memory. It was the day she met Her, and for the first time in an eternity, she was at last unafraid.
A/n
Doing rewrites and improvements. This project will likely take around two months. This and a couple of other stories will he undergoing similar edits, improved grammar, increased detailing, and explanations. I will also be posting finished copies of much older stories I wrote, redone in a similar fashion from my teeth years. Thank you all for listening, and please, never stop reading our tale.