The dawn came sharp and gold, cutting through the fog like a blade. Dew glimmered on every leaf and petal, and the air carried a strange sweetness — the scent of sudden bloom.
Aiden stepped outside, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and froze.
The field behind his cottage—once wilted and gray from early frost—was alive. Rows of wheat swayed gently in the breeze, blossoms shone with impossible color, and herbs that should have taken months to mature now shimmered under the morning light as if blessed by the sun itself.
He knelt, running a hand through the glowing wheat. "This can't be…"
Liara stood at the doorway, silent. Her face was unreadable, though her fingers clutched the edge of the frame. The light from the field reflected in her eyes, and for a moment, she looked almost as she once had—divine, radiant, and terribly fragile.
Aiden turned to her. "Did you—?"
She shook her head quickly. "I didn't mean to. Sometimes… it slips through."
He understood enough. Her presence, her power, even diminished, carried echoes of the celestial. It had touched the soil itself.
Aiden smiled faintly. "Then maybe the forest really has blessed us."
But far from the cottage, in the heart of the village, whispers began to gather like storm clouds.
By noon, the first rumor took shape.
"Did you hear? The useless heir's barren fields are blooming again.""Impossible. Not even the elder mages could fix that land.""They say he made a pact in the forest. That something's living with him now."
By dusk, the rumor had grown teeth.
"A demon girl," someone hissed. "Seen near the shrine. Pale as moonlight, eyes like gold. Fox eyes.""My cousin swore he saw her shadow with nine tails.""Then it's true—he's keeping a monster!"
Fear spreads faster than fire. And by the time the moon rose, the village was already preparing torches.
Liara felt it long before the first footsteps approached—the pull of hostility, the taste of dread. Fear was a familiar thing; it carried the same chill as the heavens' judgment once had.
She and Aiden had been tending the hearth when the first sound reached them: distant voices, sharp as knives.
Aiden stiffened. "Stay here."
"What's happening?"
He glanced out the window, his expression darkening. "Villagers. Too many of them."
Liara followed his gaze. Down the winding path, figures emerged one by one, carrying pitchforks and crude weapons, their faces twisted with fear disguised as courage. The flames of their torches swayed like hungry eyes.
"They think I've done something," he said.
She felt the faint pulse of energy under her skin, like embers threatening to ignite. "They've come for me."
Aiden turned sharply. "No. They don't even know you."
But she did not answer. She knew how mortals worked. Fear needed no truth, only a target.
The first shout came as they reached the edge of the field.
"There! The witch's land!"
Another voice followed. "Bring her out, Aiden! We won't let a monster curse our crops!"
Aiden stepped outside before she could stop him. The torchlight painted his face in gold and shadow.
"She's no monster," he called out. "There's no witch here—only me. The crops are mine to tend, my life to live. Leave us be."
The crowd murmured, uncertain. But fear demanded fire.
An older man stepped forward—the blacksmith, whose son had fallen ill last winter. His face was twisted with bitterness. "Don't lie, boy! We've seen the signs—lights in the forest, beasts turning restless, the shrine glowing at night. You've brought something down from the stars!"
The word hung heavy in the air: something.
Not someone.
Aiden's fists clenched. "Even if there were, would you rather hunt what you don't understand than let it live in peace?"
The man spat. "If it isn't human, it doesn't belong."
The crowd roared in agreement.
Liara's pulse thundered. She could feel it—the heat of the torches, the rhythm of panic. The same rhythm that once echoed in celestial halls when the gods had turned on her.
Monster. Omen. Unholy.
The same words. The same fire.
She couldn't bear it again.
While Aiden argued, she slipped through the back door, her bare feet silent on the cold earth. She fled toward the forest, toward the one place she knew would still remember her — the ruined shrine.
The forest swallowed her in moments. The torches faded behind her, replaced by the soft shimmer of moonlight.
The shrine was as she'd left it — cracked stone, overgrown vines, the broken statue of the fox deity staring at nothing. But now it pulsed faintly with her energy, like a heartbeat buried in the earth.
Liara knelt before it, clutching her chest. Her golden eyes dimmed, her breath shuddering.
"Why?" she whispered. "Why must every world fear me?"
No voice answered. Only the rustle of leaves, the distant echo of shouts, and the faint hum of old power deep beneath the ground.
She pressed her palm over her heart, feeling the faint pulse of the divinity she'd given to Aiden. It glowed faintly beneath her skin, a reminder of what she'd lost—and what she'd chosen.
"Monster," she said softly, the word breaking in her throat. "That's what they called me there, too. The heavens, the gods, even my own kin. All because I was born with too much light."
Tears streaked down her face. Each drop shimmered faintly as it fell, sinking into the moss.
"I only ever wanted to heal. To create."
A breeze stirred, brushing her hair aside. The statue seemed to watch her then, its hollow eyes glinting faintly in the dark.
"Maybe this is my punishment," she whispered. "To bring life—and be hated for it."
She wrapped her arms around herself, trembling as the night deepened.
Back at the cottage, the villagers finally began to retreat. Aiden had stood firm until his voice was hoarse, until even the most furious among them hesitated. But when they left, it was not in peace.
They left with a promise.
"We'll be watching you," the blacksmith said. "If the witch returns, she won't see another sunrise."
When the last torch disappeared into the trees, Aiden turned toward the dark. The emptiness inside the house hit him like a wound.
"Liara?" he called. No answer.
He grabbed a lantern and set off toward the shrine.
Liara didn't look up when he found her. She sat before the ruined altar, knees drawn to her chest, hair tangled by the wind.
Aiden set the lantern down beside her. The soft light flickered across her tear-streaked face.
"They think I'm a curse," she whispered. "That you're cursed because of me."
He knelt beside her. "Let them think what they want."
"You don't understand," she said bitterly. "I've heard their words before. Long ago. In a place far above this one."
He said nothing, only watched her, waiting.
Her voice trembled. "The gods called me a monster too. I was born with power they feared. They tried to seal me, to break me. And when I fell… I thought maybe here, among mortals, I could start again. But they're the same."
Aiden reached out, taking her cold hand in his. "They fear what they don't know. But I know you. You saved me."
Her eyes lifted to meet his. "And now you'll pay for it."
"I'll decide what I pay for," he said quietly. "And you're worth it."
Something in her chest cracked then—not from pain, but from the unbearable weight of kindness. The same warmth she had once given him now bloomed within her, fragile and human.
The moonlight spilled over them like silver rain. Around them, the forest hummed softly, the earth remembering the power she once carried.
Liara closed her eyes, leaning against his shoulder. "You shouldn't stay near me."
He smiled faintly. "Then I'll be foolish a while longer."
And under the watchful eye of the broken fox statue, the fallen spirit and the "useless" heir sat together—two beings the world had misunderstood, finding solace not in what they were, but in what they had become.