Makeh's words did nothing to reassure me.
A replacement. The word curdled in my stomach the longer it sat there.
Not heir. Not a successor. Replacement. Something meant to be slotted in when I cracked beyond repair.
My mouth pulled into a crooked sneer before I even realized it, the expression carving itself onto my face like instinct.
So that was it.
All this time—the suffering, the blood, the crawling back from death's throat more than once—and the goddess still kept a spare like a broken shield tucked behind her altar. Just in case.
I felt something sour swell inside my ribs. Something ugly. Something dangerously close to grief. I masked it the only way I knew how. With derision.
"Well," I scoffed, folding my arms. "That's comforting. Nothing says divine confidence like a backup plan with eyes and a pulse. Also gives me peace to go about my other business."
