Maryal was taken aback by the request. Raiking had once confided in her, during a rare moment of vulnerability, that Gods were concepts given form and did not reproduce.
Had she discovered a way to defy their inherent nature? Maryal wondered.
"How can I assist?"
The Goddess answered with action. She conjured two small, floating lanterns from thin air and placed them gently on the wooden table.
"These contain the essence of our souls."
Maryal observed the lamps closely. The first contained a swirling, golden nebula that radiated warmth; Creation. The second held a dense, viscous darkness that seemed to absorb the surrounding light; Destruction.
"I will create a pill. After you take it, your body will act as the vessel to unite these conflicting forces. You will then carry our child."
Confusion overwhelmed Maryal. She had anticipated assisting in some ordinary way—perhaps by offering a drop of blood or caring for a foundling. But to use her own body as a harbor for divinity?
Despite the shock of this method, a deeper question troubled her.
"Why me?"
"Are you sure you want to know the truth?"
Maryal nodded slowly.
"Even if it makes you question every moment you spent with him?"
The warning only strengthened Maryal's determination.
"Yes."
In response, the Goddess raised a finger. A sphere of pure white light formed at her fingertip. She touched Maryal's forehead.
The cottage disappeared. The garden vanished. Maryal was no longer seated in a chair; she was floating in the primordial gallery of the Beginning.
---
[The Vision]
She observed the Inception of Existence.
The Goddess of Creation emerged from the void, weaving the cosmos like a tapestry, sparking stars with her touch, and imbuing life into the dust of countless barren worlds.
She witnessed the Dawn of Silence.
After eons of solitude, the Universe sought balance.
The first male deity opened his eyes, assuming the title of Raiking, The God of Death.
Unlike the Goddess, his touch was not for molding clay but for reducing it to dust. Wherever he ventured, civilizations met their end.
Once he completed his purging, he would retreat into a deep slumber, waiting for the garden to overgrow so he could tend to it once more.
She saw the First Encounter.
Fascinated by her opposite, the Goddess visited his resting place and awakened him prematurely.
This began their initial conflict.
Maryal witnessed eons pass in mere moments.
After countless battles, they realized they were two sides of the same coin; he excelled in strength, she in endurance. They were destined to coexist, unable to be without one another.
They ceased their futile conflict. Hostility transformed into companionship, and friendship blossomed into love. Their shared emotions led to eternal unity.
She observed the First Division.
Raiking, softened by her love, hesitated to take life.
He implored the Goddess to abandon their duties—to retreat to a tranquil planet and simply exist. But the Goddess chose Responsibility, cherishing the mortals too deeply to abandon them.
Unwilling to continue a life of endless killing, Raiking surrendered his title. He journeyed to a blue star and withdrew into seclusion.
Then, Maryal saw the First Heartbreak.
The Goddess was displeased with his decision.
She believed his arrogance prevented him from appreciating the beauty in mortal fragility.
She wanted him to understand why she chose Responsibility. Thus, she cursed him. She wove a spell into his timeline:
Every 1,000 years, he would encounter a mortal so extraordinary that even a heartless God would be compelled to acknowledge their worth.
Finally, She witnessed the First Destiny.
Even the curse proved inadequate for her. In her impatience, the Goddess defied the Cosmic Laws to create her own: The Law of Destiny.
She bound Raiking's soul to a prophecy, ensuring that one day, he would meet a mortal so fragile, so broken, that he would willingly sacrifice his immortality to save that person.
---
[The Cottage]
The vision abruptly came to an end.
Maryal gasped, her eyes snapping open. She found herself back in her living room.
She glanced at the Goddess. The reverence she once felt had dissipated, replaced by a deep, aching pity.
"Do you honestly think I am that... vulnerable human? The one the prophecy speaks of? Is that why you want me to have this child?"
"I'm not sure," the Goddess admitted, pausing to take a sip of water. "I can't say if you are the 'Fated One' meant to end his reign or simply another link in the curse."
She placed the glass back on the table.
"But what I do know is that you stand out more than the ten who came before you."
Maryal pondered over the ten others.
"What sets me apart from them?"
The Goddess surveyed the room. She observed the peeling paint, the modest furniture, the absence of magical artifacts.
"You are the first person he chose not to impose his will upon."
Maryal pondered the Raiking she knew. He was indeed arrogant and powerful. Yet, he never compelled her to cultivate. He never forced her to abandon her garden. He respected her vulnerability enough to let her be.
Was he kind to me because of the curse? Maryal questioned herself.
"What are you aiming to accomplish with this child?" Maryal asked.
"Raiking was prepared to give up everything for me," the Goddess replied softly, her divine exterior beginning to crack under pressure. "Out of selfishness, I wanted both him and my Duty. When I realized I couldn't have both, my foolish anger pushed him away. By bringing this child into the world, I hope to start mending what I have broken."
Maryal had a lot to ponder. She was resolute in not repeating the Goddess's mistake of making hasty decisions.
"I'll need some time to consider this."
"Very well," the Goddess said as she started to dissolve into particles. "I will return tomorrow."
---
The cottage was steeped in silence, yet the impact of the revelation lingered, almost palpable in the atmosphere. Maryal felt an urgent need to be outside; she craved the crisp air and a moment to reconcile the Cosmic Monster she had envisioned with the gentle, awkward man she knew in reality.
She drifted into the front garden, allowing her feet to guide her aimlessly along the dirt path. She was uncertain where to begin sorting through her thoughts, but she hoped that continuous movement might eventually lead her to some answers.
Her wandering led her to the forest's edge, near the path that wound towards the village outpost. Raiking frequently traveled there to sell wood and furs.
As she reached the treeline, an unexpected memory surfaced.
It was one evening last winter when Raiking had gone out to gather firewood. Upon his return, he wasn't merely carrying a bundle; it seemed as if he was carrying an entire forest. A stack of logs, large enough to resemble a small carriage, rested casually on his shoulder—a feat beyond any mortal, especially one not engaged in cultivation.
When Raiking emerged from the trees and saw her waiting by the gate, arms crossed, his face did not reveal the alarm of a deity caught by an adversary, but rather the guilt of a child caught sneaking treats before dinner.
He was acutely aware of the rule: No cultivation in the house.
In his rush to appear "normal," he abruptly stopped the flow of mana that fortified his body.
Instantly, the laws of physics prevailed. Without the supernatural strength to sustain the weight, his knees buckled. The mountain of timber toppled, burying the God of Death beneath a heap of oak and pine, surrounded by a flurry of snow and sawdust.
Maryal watched as a single hand emerged from the pile, offering a thumbs-up.
The memory of Raiking submerged in wood faded away, leaving her with the familiar, empty forest.
"What would his adversaries think if they witnessed such a scene?" Maryal mused quietly, a soft laugh escaping her lips as she shook her head and continued her walk.
Her steps took her to the edge of Silver Lake. The water lay perfectly still, a mirror reflecting the moon overhead. This was the spot where Raiking used to catch their dinner.
She remembered sneaking through the underbrush, trying to outwit his divine senses to catch him cheating. She was convinced that a being of his prowess would simply command the fish to jump ashore or heat the water to save time.
Yet, to her astonishment, he never did.
He would sit there for hours, holding a simple bamboo rod, his gaze fixed intently on the bobber with the same unwavering concentration he likely applied to battles among the stars. His dedication to such an ordinary task often left her frozen in place, content to observe him from the bushes as the hours slipped away.
It was a tranquility she had hoped would last forever.
"But we cannot always have what we desire," she whispered to the cold, still water.