"You knew him," Sophia breathed, her voice barely audible in the ethereal space between past and present. "Or you knew his bloodline. That's why you brought me here. That's why you're showing me this." The realization hit her like a physical blow, settling into her bones with the weight of absolute certainty.
The goddess's form solidified again, the translucent edges of her being drawing inward and sharpening into something more corporeal, more present. Her composure returned like a mask sliding back into place, smooth and impenetrable. Every trace of that momentary crack in her divine facade disappeared as if it had never existed. "Watch, child. The next part is crucial."
But Sophia had caught it—that fleeting moment of vulnerability, that hairline fracture in the goddess's eternal composure. The way her form had wavered, becoming less solid, less certain. The tremor in that multi-layered voice. And she filed it away carefully, tucking it into the corner of her mind where she kept all the pieces of this impossible puzzle, because whatever connection this goddess had to her father's line, it wasn't coincidental. It couldn't be. Nothing about this journey through her past was coincidental. Every scene, every moment she'd been shown had been carefully selected, curated like artifacts in a museum of her own history.
When Jasmine suddenly cried out, clutching her swollen belly with both hands, Sophia spun back to the scene playing out before her. The movement in the vision had been so abrupt, so unexpected, that for a moment Sophia forgot she was merely an observer. But even as she watched her mother's face contort, she felt the goddess tense behind her, felt the temperature of the eternal space drop several degrees. The weight of that ancient gaze intensified, pressing against Sophia's back like a physical hand.
And for the first time since this strange journey began, Sophia wondered: was the goddess showing her the past, or was she reliving it through Sophia's eyes? Was this divine being using her as a conduit to experience these moments again, to feel what she'd once felt, to see through mortal eyes what her divine perspective might have missed?
Another sound from behind her—so soft she almost missed it beneath the rustling of leaves in the vision and the distant howl of wolves in the forest. A word, whispered in that multi-layered voice that somehow sounded like grief and pride woven together, like love and loss singing the same haunting melody:
"Foolish boy. Brave, foolish boy."
Sophia's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. The goddess wasn't talking about Althander as a stranger would, with detached observation or clinical interest. She was talking about him the way someone might speak about family. About someone they'd watched grow up, watched stumble and rise and stumble again. Someone they'd loved with the complicated, messy affection that transcended divine indifference.
"Who are you?" Sophia whispered, turning slightly but not quite daring to face the goddess fully. "Who are you really?" But she already suspected she wouldn't get an answer. Not yet. Not until the goddess decided she was ready to know.
The goddess remained silent, her presence a looming shadow behind Sophia, but her presence felt heavier now, weighted with emotions that gods supposedly didn't feel. Regret. Longing. A sorrow so deep it seemed to have roots that stretched back through centuries. The air itself seemed to thicken with unspoken histories.
And Sophia understood with chilling clarity: whatever was about to happen to her parents, the goddess had already lived through it once. Had already mourned it, carried the weight of it through countless years. And now she was forcing herself to witness it again through Sophia's eyes, subjecting herself to this torment for reasons Sophia couldn't yet fathom.
The question was: why? What could possibly compel an immortal being to relive such pain?
Jasmine's cry wasn't one of pain, though Althander clearly thought it was from the way he rushed to her side. It was shock. Pure, undiluted shock that made her voice crack and her hands shake.
"She's... I can feel her." Her hands pressed flat against her belly, fingers splaying across the ritual marks that Sophia could now see glowing faintly with that strange silver-green light. Her whole body was trembling. "Not just movement. Not kicks. I can feel her awareness. Her consciousness. She's there, Althander. She's really there."