"What if I made a terrible mistake?" was the question Irene had always thought of. It was the question that spiraled into her head like a never ending headache. It was a question on top of more questions, but with no answer in return.
The valley below was quiet, but not peaceful. Irene stood at the edge of her balcony, the wind tugging at the hem of her robe like a child asking for attention. Her wings remained folded, not out of modesty, but restraint. She had learned long ago that even light could be weaponized.
The river shimmered in the distance, a silver thread stitching together lands that refused to be unified. The lilies bent toward it, unnaturally, as if listening for secrets. Irene watched them and wondered if they knew more than she did.
I am the goddess of everything, she reminded herself again. But the words felt ceremonial, not comforting. She had once believed that title meant she could protect, guide, shape. Now it felt like a crown forged from obligation and regret.
Her children were growing into strangers. Monsters... Her husband had become a silence she could no longer interpret. Their separation still lingering in their hearts.
Broken.
And she—she was becoming something else. Something she didn't recognize.
The shouting began before breakfast.
"Allis, you're reckless!" Ellina's voice rang through the stone halls, sharp and precise.
"And you're insufferable!" Allis barked back. "You think rules make you better than everyone else?"
Daemon's voice thundered from the dining hall. "Enough!"
But Irene was already moving. She entered the room like a storm wrapped in silk, her presence halting the chaos for a breath.
Ellina stood with feathers bristling, her eyes molten gold. Allis had his hand on his katana, jaw clenched, eyes glowing faintly violet.
"You will not fight in this house," Irene said, her voice low but laced with divine command.
"They started it," Allis muttered.
"No," Irene replied. "We all did."
Daemon looked at her then, really looked, and he saw the exhaustion in Ire's eyes. The same exhaustion he had carried for decades. The same exhaustion their children inherited.
Later, Irene wandered the garden alone. The roses were blooming, but their scent was muted. She knelt beside a white blossom and touched its petals, remembering the one Ellina had crushed as a child. She had cried for hours, believing she had ruined something sacred.
Irene had told her then, "Beauty is not fragile. It is fierce."
She wasn't sure she believed that anymore.
She sat on the stone bench beneath the old willow tree, the one Daemon had planted after their wedding. Its roots had cracked the ground, its branches tangled with vines. It was beautiful in its defiance.
Like us, she thought. Like what we used to be.
She closed her eyes and tried to remember the sound of Daemon's laugh. It had been rare, but real. She had loved that sound. She had loved him.
She still did...
That afternoon, Irene walked through the market square. Angels bowed. Demons nodded. Children stared in awe and fear.
She heard the whispers.
The rumors.
And the criticism.
"She's still with him?"
"Why hasn't she left?"
"Should have left him from the start."
"The twins are dangerous."
"She's losing control."
Irene kept walking. Her wings remained folded, her expression unreadable. But inside, the words punched her in the gut.
She stopped at a stall selling incense and picked up a vial of jasmine oil. The vendor—a young demon with nervous eyes—trembled as he handed it to her.
"Thank you," she said softly.
He blinked. "You're… welcome, Lady Irene." He bowed swiftly.
She walked away, the scent of jasmine trailing behind her like memory.
Later that night, she found Allis in the training yard, his blade slicing through the air with precision and fury. His movements were sharp, economical, beautiful in their violence.
He didn't notice her at first. When he did, he paused, breathing hard.
"Mother," he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
"You fight like you're trying to prove something," she said.
"I am."
"To whom?"
He didn't answer.
She stepped closer. "You are not a monster, son..."
He looked at her, eyes dark. "Then why do they keep calling me one?"
She reached out and touched his cheek. "Because they're afraid. And fear makes people cruel."
He nodded, but she saw the doubt still lingering.
"Just keep being yourself..." Ire added.
"Just be yourself..."
That same night, Ellina was in the library, surrounded by scrolls and tomes. Her wings were folded neatly, her posture perfect.
Irene watched her from the doorway.
"You study like you're preparing for war," she chuckled, too bitter to sound real anymore.
Ellina didn't look up. "I am."
"Against whom?"
Ellina's quill paused. "Against failure."
Irene entered and sat beside her. "You don't have to be perfect, sweetie."
Ellina's jaw tightened. "I do. Because if I'm not, they'll say it's because of him. Because of you."
Irene felt the sting of truth. "You are not a product of scandal. You are a miracle."
Ellina finally looked at her. "Then why does it feel like a curse?"
In the middle of the night, Irene and Daemon stood in the hallway, the moonlight casting long shadows between them.
"You're slipping away," she said.
"I'm holding on," he replied.
"To what?"
"To us."
She stepped closer. "Then fight for us. Not with me."
He reached for her hand. "I... never stopped loving you."
She pulled away. "Then why does it feel like you did?"
He didn't answer. He never did.
He couldn't.
Or he won't...
At sunrise, Irene stood at the balcony once again. The valley was still restless, but she was not.
She watched the lilies bend. She watched the river shimmer. She watched the citadel cast its shadow.
And she whispered to the wind:
"I am the goddess of everything. And I will never break."
"Never..."