He waits for me in the aftermath.
Where the masquerade once danced, only ash now whispers.
But he is untouched.
Unburnt.
Unbothered.
A god draped in silence and serpents.
His name is forbidden. His smile worse.
He calls himself only
"Mercy."
Mercy doesn't offer blessings. He offers deals.
He doesn't demand worship. He buys it.
And today, he wants me.
"You've killed your past," he says, circling me like a storm given skin.
"But what's left in you now?"
"Power?" His finger brushes the edge of my aura, and lightning hisses.
"Or hollowness?"
I don't answer.
Because he already knows the truth.
I've become something more than myth.
But in the burning, I left behind Desire.
Connection.
Emotion.
I am worshiped, feared, adored.
But I haven't felt anything real since I burned the girl.
"I can give it back," he says.
Not love.
Not safety.
Feeling.
Joy, rage, hunger, lust vulnerability.
Everything I scorched to become untouchable.
His price?
Simple.
Break the balance.
Tip the ancient scales that hold the world in place.
Release something beneath the Veil something sealed by gods older than time.
Something that wants to love me back.
"What's the point of being powerful," he whispers,
"if nothing can ever touch you again?"
And for the first time in centuries, I hesitate.
Not from fear.
From temptation.
Because what he offers isn't weakness.
It's dangerous hope.
And even gods can't predict what I'll do next.
Not even me.