The words left his mouth.
And the moment they did—
Arin knew flattery would not save him.
Compliments would sound fake.
Excuses would sound foolish.
Fear would smell weak.
So instead—
He dropped.
His knees struck the polished floor of the throne chamber with a sharp echo.
The vast hall swallowed the sound whole.
His head bowed low.
Not theatrically.
Not dramatically.
But completely.
"My Lady," he began, voice steady despite the storm in his chest,
"forgive this insolent human."
Silence.
He continued.
"I am aware… that my existence here is an error. A stain in a realm that was never meant to receive me."
The air grew colder.
"But even so," he said carefully, "you allow me to remain beneath your divine protection."
His fingers tightened against the floor.
"I sometimes question why a being as insignificant as myself is permitted to trouble you."
His voice lowered.
"If my presence burdens your domain… then perhaps it would be better if I remain outside the palace grounds. Even for a few hours."
A breath.
"Not for my sake."
He pressed his forehead to the floor.
"But to ease yours."
The silence that followed was unbearable.
No wind.
No shifting of fabric.
No celestial hum.
Even the flowing constellations above seemed to pause.
Then—
Footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
Unhurried.
They stopped before him.
"You have learned faster than I expected."
Her voice was calm.
Not warm.
Not cold.
Simply factual.
Arin did not dare lift his head.
"Very well," she continued.
"You may leave the palace grounds."
His heart skipped.
"Under supervision."
Hope flickered—
—but he did not move.
Then—
A single finger touched beneath his chin.
It was gentle.
Almost delicate.
And lifted his face upward.
Her eyes met his.
Timeless.
Unfathomable.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Sound vanished.
Light dimmed.
Arin felt it.
Not pain.
Not pressure.
But separation.
His body felt distant.
His heartbeat slowed—
then ceased.
His vision blurred as something inside him began to drift.
Pulling.
Tearing.
His soul.
It was leaving.
"As for calling me frightening…" she murmured softly.
Darkness swallowed the edges of his sight.
His consciousness stretched thin—
fragile—
like glass about to shatter.
"This…"
His very existence began unraveling.
"…is what frightening feels like."
There was no anger in her expression.
Only demonstration.
And just as his being reached the brink of erasure—
She snapped her fingers.
Time roared back.
Air crashed into his lungs.
His heart slammed violently against his ribs.
Arin collapsed forward, coughing, trembling, barely conscious.
His body felt heavy.
His soul felt bruised.
She looked down at him.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Unmoved.
"Oh," she added lightly, almost thoughtfully,
"This one was for the 'scary' part."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"Do not mistake tolerance for mercy."
The air shimmered.
And she vanished.
Silence reclaimed the hall.
Arin lay there, chest rising unevenly.
Alive.
Barely.
But alive.
And for the first time since arriving in Heaven—
He understood something clearly.
The Goddess of Time had not spared him.
She had chosen not to erase him.
And that difference…
Was terrifying.