Ahyona looks about nineteen today.
Old enough to know better, young enough to remember what it feels like when the world ends and nobody notices. Her realm shifts around her—colors pulsing with every small change in mood, light softening, sharpening, never quite staying still. It feels like sitting inside a heartbeat.
She gestures to the couch across from her. I sit. My hands are already cold.
For a while, she just watches me. Not the way the gods watch mortals, distant and amused. She watches like a surgeon watches a wound. Calm. Precise. Looking for where to cut.
When she finally speaks, her voice is gentle.
"Why did you change your name?"
Not How are you?Not Tell me what happened.
Straight to the jugular.
I swallow. "I thought we were going to talk about… other things."
"We are," she says. "This is part of them."
I stare at my hands. The faint glow of my runes under my skin. My fingers curl in on themselves.
"I didn't want to be Anastasia anymore," I say. It feels flimsy the second it leaves my mouth.
"Why not?" Ahyona asks.
Because she died.
The thought comes too fast, too sharp. I shove it down. "It didn't fit," I say instead. "Not anymore."
One corner of her mouth lifts, almost a smile. "Try again."
I let out a humorless breath. "You're very annoying, you know that?"
"Yes," she says calmly. "Why did you change your name?"
I close my eyes for a second.
"I was born Anastasia," I start. "Somewhere near Russia. I don't remember the village. I remember snow. A cracked window. My mother's hands." I swallow. "Anastasia means resurrection."
"You knew that," she says.
"I did." I huff out something that isn't quite a laugh. "I thought it was poetic. Fitting. I died, over and over, and they kept pulling me back into something new. New body. New role. New rules. New owner. Resurrection." My jaw tightens. "Never mine."
"Who did you become?" Ahyona asks.
"Whatever they needed," I say. "The priests. The gods. The clients. The temples." My mouth twists. "Your priests."
She flinches almost imperceptibly, but doesn't interrupt.
"They carved me," I continue. "They rewrote my nerves. They smoothed out my mind when it got… too loud. Every time I started to crack, they patched me with magic and told me it was healing. 'You're calmer now. You're better. You're useful again.'" I laugh, sharp and humorless. "I was a very well-adjusted commodity."
The realm darkens for a moment, then steadies.
"And Annie?" Ahyona asks quietly.
My chest tightens.
"Malvor started calling me that," I say. "At first because he thought Anastasia was too formal. Too heavy. Too… me." I shrug. "Annie was soft. Easy. Cute. It annoyed me."
"But you kept it," Ahyona says.
"I grew into it," I admit. "Or I grew around it. I don't know." I stare at the shifting floor. "Annie laughed. Annie teased him. Annie drank his coffee and wore his robe and rolled her eyes when he was dramatic. Annie could sleep in his bed and pretend the world wasn't broken."
"And you?" she asks.
"I made Annie," I say, voice thinning. "Piece by piece. Smile by smile. Joke by joke. I built her like armor and then forgot to take her off."
I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
"She was everything I was supposed to be," I whisper. "Soft enough not to scare him. Strong enough to impress him. Quiet enough not to upset him. Steady enough to hold him when he fell apart."
My throat starts to burn. I tip my head back and blink at the ceiling.
"I thought she was the resurrection," I say. "I thought Anastasia died in the temples, and Annie was what came back. A better version of me. A kinder one."
"And then?" Ahyona asks.
And then Aerion.
My stomach twists.
"And then," I say carefully, "three gods decided I was a problem."
I won't say their names. Not yet. They already live in my bones.
Ahyona doesn't push. "Tell me what you know about what happened to you," she says instead.
"I was taken," I say. "From a party. From my life. From my skin." The words feel like chewing glass. "They said it was justice. Punishment. Correction. Whatever term made them feel like they were the righteous ones." I shake my head. "I remember… pieces. Hands. Voices. The feeling of being very small in a room that was too big. And knowing no one was coming."
My voice goes quiet.
"When it was over," I say, "I came home to a god tearing the world apart because he thought I'd disappeared."
Her expression flickers. She knows which god.
"He was already breaking," I continue. "Malvor. My chaos god. He'd gone to the Pantheon. Demanded answers. Made threats. Threw tantrums. They told him it was legal. That he had no right to complain." I laugh softly. "He was still shaking when I came back. So I had to be steady. Had to be calm. Had to be Annie."
"You didn't tell him?" Ahyona asks.
"Some of it," I say. "Not enough." My lips press together. "There is no version of that story that doesn't break him. So I gave him… the edges. Not the center."
The realm dims again.
"And you?" she asks.
"What about me?" I say, sharper than I mean to.
"Who was there for you?" she asks.
The question snags something deep in my chest. I laugh. It's a broken sound.
"No one," I say. "I had work to do. He was falling apart. The Pantheon was on the verge of war. There were runes to activate, deals to make, gods to appease. I didn't have time to fall apart."
Her eyes soften. "So you didn't."
"So I didn't," I echo. "Not then. Not ever."
We sit in silence for a moment. My heartbeat feels too loud.
"Asha," Ahyona says slowly, "do you realize you've never mourned anything?"
The words land like a hammer.
"I—what?" I manage.
She doesn't look away. "You lost your childhood. Your home. Your autonomy. Your body. Your name. Your humanity. Your safety. Your illusions. Your version of love." Her voice stays soft. It makes it worse. "And every time, someone needed you to be fine. So you were."
I want to argue. I can't.
"You never mourned being taken from your family," she continues. "You never mourned becoming a shrine worker. You never mourned the runes. You never mourned the way my temple's healers were told to smooth your mind instead of listening to it." Her jaw tightens slightly, guilt flashing under her eyes. "You never mourned the night three gods decided you were less than human."
My eyes burn.
"You survived," she says. "Over and over. But you never grieved."
The tears spill before I can stop them.
"I didn't have time," I whisper. "Someone always needed something. The priests. The clients. The gods. Malvor. There was always another crisis. Another disaster. Another thing that would fall apart if I did."
Ahyona's voice is quiet. "So you became the one thing that was never allowed to break."
My chest caves in on itself.
"I don't know how to mourn," I say. "I don't know how to stop. If I stop, everything I've been holding up will fall."
She leans forward. "Everything already fell, Asha. You just refused to look at the rubble."
A sob rips out of me, sudden and sharp. I press my hands to my face, but it doesn't help. Tears pour hot and relentless.
Ahyona waits. She doesn't move closer. She doesn't look away.
When I can finally breathe, she speaks again.
"Tell me about Yara."
I let out a weak, watery laugh. "Of course we're doing this."
"Yes," she says simply.
"I made a deal with her," I say. "Like I did with the others. Runes, power, sex. Transactional. I thought that's all she wanted. Fun. Distraction. A beautiful mortal to play with."
"And the night with her and Malvor?" Ahyona asks.
My stomach lurches.
"It was supposed to be fun," I say. "He was excited. She was radiant. I told myself I was fine. I smiled. I played my part. I made it beautiful. That's what I do." My voice cracks. "Inside I felt nothing. Or too much. I don't know. It was like I wasn't there."
"Dissociation," Ahyona murmurs.
"I remember seeing her afterward," I continue. "Watching him. Watching me. Like she was measuring something. And then Malvor fell asleep with his arm around me, saying my name like a prayer, and I realized… Annie was never going to be enough to protect me."
My hands shake.
"I went to Luxor after that," I whisper. "Not to hurt Malvor. Not to prove anything. I just… wanted to feel something I chose. Something I could control. And I wanted to hurt myself. To confirm what I already believed."
"That you were ruined," Ahyona says softly.
"That I was unworthy," I correct. "Of him. Of love. Of softness. Of… hope."
The word hangs there between us.
She doesn't miss it. "Why did you choose Asha?" she asks again.
"Because Annie died," I say. Tears slip down my neck. "And Anastasia was taken. I didn't want a name someone else gave me. I wanted one I claimed. One that meant something that couldn't be carved out of me."
"Hope," Ahyona says.
"Hope," I echo. "Not the gentle kind. The kind that survives anyway. The kind that's stubborn and ugly and refuses to stay dead."
For a moment, the realm brightens. Just a little.
Then Ahyona's expression shifts. Her eyes go distant, calculating, like she's putting pieces together in her head. When she looks back at me, there's something new there. Anger. Not at me.
"Asha," she says slowly, "there's something you need to understand about what happened to you. About the tribunal."
Cold slides down my spine. "I don't—"
"You were mortal," she continues, voice steady. "And in our system, three gods sitting in agreement forms a tribunal. A legal body. Their word is law. Their verdict is final. There is no appeal."
My heart sinks. "I know they said it was legal," I whisper. "I just thought that was—posturing. Justification."
"It wasn't," she says quietly. "To the Pantheon, what they did to you was legally sanctioned divine justice."
Something inside me tries to curl in on itself and disappear.
"So that's it?" I manage. "That's the great truth? It was legal?"
Her gaze sharpens. "Legal," she says, "is not the same as just."
The words hit hard enough to make me physically flinch.
"You were a mortal woman," she says. "They were three gods. They decided you were guilty of something—disobedience, disrespect, being too close to chaos, whatever lie they dressed it in. They used the law to violate you. That is not justice. That is power."
My vision blurs.
"The others," she continues, quieter now, "didn't know the details. They saw Malvor's tantrum. They saw Aerion's seal. They saw the signatures. They saw 'tribunal' and assumed righteousness. They trusted the system."
She exhales, and it sounds like she's swallowing glass.
"I was one of them," she says. "I knew it was wrong. But I didn't know how wrong. I didn't know it was you. Not… like this."
Tears spill hot and furious.
"So I was legally broken," I say. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"No," Ahyona says. "It's supposed to make you angry at the right people."
I stare at her.
"For your entire life," she says, "you've aimed all that anger inward. At Anastasia. At Annie. At the body that survived. At the girl who didn't scream. At the woman who kept smiling." Her voice softens. "But you were never the guilty one, Asha. Not once. Not in any of it."
My breath shudders out. I can't stop shaking.
"And Yara?" I force out. "What about her?"
Ahyona's lips press together. "Yara has always liked to see what people are made of," she says. "She pushes. She tests. She breaks surface calm on purpose."
"Did she know?" I ask. My voice is barely a sound.
"She knew you were cracking," Ahyona says. "She knew Malvor was blind to it. She knew you were wearing Annie like armor. She wanted to see who you were without it."
I feel sick.
"So the threesome—"
"Was not an accident," Ahyona says. "Not entirely. She wanted you exposed. Not your body—your truth."
My nails dig into my palms hard enough to hurt. "She used me."
"She tested you," Ahyona says. "It was cruel. It was reckless. It was Yara. But Asha—" Her gaze pins me. "You didn't break. You burned. You came back from that night and chose a new name. A new self. You went to Luxor, tried to destroy yourself, and still came home and said, 'I am hope.'"
"I didn't feel like hope," I whisper. "I felt like a grave."
"Graves can grow flowers," she says softly. "You are allowed to be both."
That does it.
Something inside me finally gives way. Not in a sharp, dramatic snap, but in a long, low crumble. Stone turning to dust. Walls I didn't even know I'd built sliding down.
I sob.
Not pretty tears. Not dignified ones. Ugly, heaving sobs that tear through my chest and drag sounds out of me I don't recognize. I fold in on myself and let it happen.
I don't describe what they did. I don't have to. My body remembers. My mind remembers. My magic remembers. For the first time, I let all of them grieve.
For the child sold.For the girl carved.For the mind smoothed and silenced.For the woman no one defended.For the lover who had to be strong when she should have been held.For Annie.For Anastasia.For all the names I wore to keep other people comfortable.
Ahyona doesn't touch me. She just stays. Present. Witness. Anchor.
When the storm finally starts to ebb, I'm exhausted. My throat hurts. My eyes burn. I feel… empty. And somehow heavier at the same time.
Ahyona leans forward, resting her forearms on her knees.
"You have mourned everyone but yourself," she says quietly. "Today, for the first time, you mourned you."
I wipe my face, shaky. "What do I do with that?"
She gives me the softest smile I've ever seen on her. "Now," she says, "we begin to heal you as Asha. Not as an offering. Not as a tool. Not as a god's favorite. As a woman who chose her own name."
My chest aches.
"Hope," I whisper.
"Hope," she echoes. "Stubborn, blazing, furious hope. The kind that survives divine injustice and still refuses to bow."
She sits back.
"Next time," she adds, "we'll talk about where you feel safest. And why, when I say 'earth,' your magic hums like it recognizes home."
Tairochi's name brushes the edge of my mind. Thursdays. Stone. Stillness. Breathing.
I let out a long, unsteady breath.
"Okay," I say. "Next time."
As I stand to leave, Ahyona speaks one last time.
"Asha?"
I glance back.
She holds my gaze. "What happened to you was legal," she says. "But it was not just. And it was never your fault."
For the first time, a tiny part of me believes her.
It hurts.
It also feels a lot like hope.