Chapter 11

She thought she would be torn to pieces at any moment. He radiated a violent energy stronger than what one might feel from a mindless rampaging beast. And yet, contrary to the feral aura flashing across his face, the man merely sat still, locking eyes with her.

There was no escape. Though his massive body remained motionless, his ashen eyes carried all the chaos of a storm. It felt like staring into a whirlpool churning beneath a deceptively calm surface. If she turned her back, he would rip out her throat. If she averted her gaze, she would surely die. Mariax had always had a sharp instinct when it came to survival—and it rarely failed her.

But she couldn’t just keep staring at him forever. Even if this moment felt frozen in time, time was indeed passing. In a few seconds, the man’s stunned mind would recover, and he’d begin to think again. The difference in power between them was obvious. Mariax believed the only reason he hadn’t attacked yet was because he was still assessing the situation. She had to act before he reached a conclusion. With no retreat left to her, there was only one direction to go—forward.

Watching both his posture and his gaze, Mariax took a step toward the man. Her next options would depend entirely on his reaction. But even as the distance between them shrank, the man didn’t move a muscle. He simply sat, still as ever.

Mariax wondered if even that powerful hero might be confined within the ordinary limits of a human being. That no matter how strong he was, a human was still a human. Just as Lawidy had once said.

She had seen strong men cling to feeble gods. Status wasn’t defined by strength alone, but by the difference in kind. Mariax understood well that most humans viewed gods as vastly superior beings. If that was why this man couldn’t bring himself to attack her, then it might be best to act more like a god. A divine presence. She had a vague sense of what that entailed.

With stiff, trembling limbs, she slowly raised her dagger to the man’s throat. It was only when she saw him smile that she realized her judgment had been wrong.

“You have beautiful eyes.”

The man, who had spoken those sugary words, now had a dagger buried in his chest. She could still feel the sensation of piercing through firm muscle, breaking bone, and reaching a wildly beating heart. The scent of blood stinging her nose, the hot, sticky liquid soaking her hand, and the curve of his lips smiling even in that state—all of it lingered. It wasn’t her own heart she’d pierced, and yet she remained eerily calm. That’s where her memory cut off.

And when she came to, that very same man was lying beside her in bed.

Mariax looked at the sleeping man. Far from appearing ill, he looked healthier than he had the day before. The sight of him bleeding out now felt like a dream.

Even a thousand-year-old frost giant would die if its core were shattered. Even a god would usually die if its heart were torn apart. Even mindless monsters feared death. But this man neither died nor feared. Could such a being really be called human?

Mariax shook off the tangled thoughts. Pale morning light filled the room. Once the sun rose, humans would begin to stir and roam. Time to rescue Ulri and Ba’en was slipping away by the second.

She fidgeted under the blanket wrapped tightly around her body, trying to free herself, but stopped when she felt movement and looked up. Her breath caught. Their eyes met at close range. When had he woken up? His gaze showed no trace of sleep.

He wasn’t asleep at all.

His sharp, gray eyes stared at her. In the dawn light, they looked like fog on a rainy day—or a well-forged blade. A chill crept over her, curling her toes. The only relief was that his gaze no longer held the murderous intent it had yesterday.

The man slowly sat up. The sheet slid down his sculpted abs. Propping himself up with one arm, he sat loosely and looked down at her—studying her now, like an observer. Mariax was frozen, like an animal caught in a trap.

“Hm…”

He exhaled, then placed a hand around Mariax’s slender neck. He wasn’t choking her, merely holding her gently—but even that made her face go pale.

“What is it, really…?”

The savage aura from the day before was gone, but that didn’t mean she could relax. He looked like someone who could snap another’s neck without ever displaying hostility. His hand was large, strong, hot, and hard. Mariax felt as though it wasn’t a hand on her neck, but a weapon. Her body tensed.

“What are you?”

This time, his question—until now vague—was aimed squarely at her. Mariax moistened her dry throat with saliva, parched from shallow, rapid breathing.

What am I? She tried to brush aside the first unworthy phrase that sprang to mind—“half-baked”—and instead aimed to craft a dignified answer. If she could make herself appear like a grand and noble god, maybe he wouldn’t strike her so easily.

A god of Heimdrix, bringer of blossoms, the great and beautiful, merciful god of the northern spirits…

Mariax hesitated. What version of “her” would seem most exalted? To find the answer, she searched the man’s eyes. Mariax was good at reading people’s emotions and thoughts—a skill honed only by the weak. But in his eyes, there was nothing. Nothing but herself reflected in those blade-like gray irises.

More time passed. Mariax mistook the tightening pressure of anxiety on her throat for the man’s grip growing stronger. Unable to bear the strain any longer, she blurted out an answer without meaning to.

“…Mariax.”

Even she hadn’t expected that response. He surely hadn’t asked just to know her name. As she took a slow breath, something flickered in the man’s otherwise cold and emotionless eyes. His eyebrows lifted, and he gave a slight smile.

“I see. Mariax…”

Mariax stared at him blankly. Her name, spoken from a stranger’s mouth, sounded oddly foreign.

There weren’t many who addressed her by name. The god who used to say it the most had been asleep for over a hundred years. Even Lawidy, whom she met occasionally, called her only “half-baked” or “you.” And of course Ulri and Ba’en, always by her side, never said her name. To them, she was a great god—how could they dare utter a god’s name? So “Mistress” had long become the norm. Occasionally, they’d call her “the most beautiful and glorious mistress in the world.”

Over a century had passed, and even the existence of her name had begun to blur. Now this man had called her Mariax. She never imagined a day would come when a human would speak her name aloud.

But that wasn’t the only unexpected thing. Ever since she crossed the frozen river, she had been unable to predict a single thing about her fate. This was no longer the tiny shrine where the same days repeated.

What will happen now? Will this man eventually kill me? Mariax couldn’t even guess the form the coming misfortune would take.

They said nothing further, each watching the other in silence. Time passed. The faint shadow that had clung to the man’s face slowly faded. The sun was rising. Just like the days she used to welcome in her little room, morning had come here as well.

In that moment, Mariax turned her head, momentarily forgetting the overwhelming presence of the man. Sunlight poured beneath her lashes. She blinked.

And there it was—a morning she had never seen before. Beyond the window, snow-covered mountains glistened in white as they quietly welcomed the new day.

***

Stepping through the door, Gart offered a morning greeting. “Good morning, Three Thousandth.”

Three Thousandth immediately spilled the rich tea he had been sipping.

“How careless.”

The words and handkerchief that followed, both offered with a smiling face, were insufferable. Frowning, Three Thousandth wiped his mouth with a sleeve instead. The useless handkerchief naturally found its way back to Gart’s pocket.

Three Thousandth looked Gart up and down. He had never looked particularly healthy, but today he seemed strange in a different way. Even as the skeptical gaze scanned him, Gart sat in someone else’s chair, pouring tea from someone else’s pot into someone else’s cup. At ease, calm—so much so that Three Thousandth’s eyes narrowed.

The curse coiled inside Gart was vicious. From the moment it manifested, it had never left him and only continued to grow. It had no limits and did not age. Even its dormant presence was burdensome, but when it awakened, it raged like a wild beast, delivering pain like venom biting into his insides.

Yesterday had been such a day. When the irregular cycle returned—sometimes every few days, sometimes every ten—Gart would ensure no one came near the building he was in. The smile that masked his sharp, violent temper vanished, leaving him like a mad monster. He would slice, kill, destroy, and burn anything that annoyed him.

That’s why this was strange. Just yesterday, he had sensed Gart’s divine energy trembling violently. Yet barely a dozen hours later, here he was, calmly enjoying his tea in the warm morning light.