CHAPTER 230: NO GOD{2}

Liora had been waiting for Aria to return, her restless eyes fixed on the grand temple hall even as she tried to conceal the storm building inside her. She had watched with astonishment as the last traces of the monster’s remains were swept away, the great shape-shifter dissolving into nothing as though it had never existed at all. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and iron, though the temple attendants moved quickly to erase every mark of the battle.

What unsettled her most, however, were the whispers that followed in the wake of the event. Whispers that spread like wildfire through the marble pillars and high-vaulted ceilings of the temple halls.

The new messenger... she could see them.

That was what they said. That was what they repeated in hushed, reverent tones that grew louder with every passing breath. The new messenger, the chosen one, the one blessed by the god of light—so they called her sister. They were in awe that Aria could spot the shape-shifting monsters, something no priest, no guard, no healer, and no self-proclaimed holy man had ever managed.

Liora’s lips pressed into a thin line as she listened, her unease deepening the longer it took for Aria to return.

Harriet and Rymora stood silently at her side, both stiff and unmoving. All three of them waited there, watching, listening, waiting for the endless tide of whispers and praise to pass.

But the storm did not pass—it only thickened, louder, brighter, almost suffocating. The voices swelled with awe, with worship, and even with desperation. Aria’s name carried through the crowd as though it belonged to a saint, carried not by priests but by ordinary people who needed something, someone, to cling to.

And then, at last, the inner temple doors opened.

Together, they spotted Aria walking out.

Her pace was faster than usual, her steps sharp and deliberate. To those who didn’t know her, her face might have seemed calm, carved into the cold neutrality of someone above it all. But to Liora, to anyone who had grown up beside her, it was painfully obvious—Aria was furious. Her shoulders were rigid, her jaw tight, and her eyes carried the storm of someone holding back a thousand words.

Down the long stairs she came, her white cloak trailing behind her, her gaze fixed on them.

The moment she reached them, she didn’t waste a breath.

"Let’s go," she said, her voice firm and leaving no room for argument. Her eyes lingered on Liora, though she knew Harriet and Rymora would follow without being asked.

Liora, however, froze. Confusion tightened her chest as her expression revealed her reluctance. She stared at her sister, trying to make sense of her words, but when Aria began striding forward, Liora had no choice but to fall into step beside her. Aria’s pace did not slow.

"Go? We can’t leave yet!" Liora blurted, her tone sharper than she intended. She fixed her gaze on Aria as they walked, silently pleading with her eyes, reminding her without words why she had come.

But Aria did not look at her, her mind clearly elsewhere.

Liora’s patience cracked. Her voice trembled with desperation as she pressed harder. "I came here to find a cure, remember?"

The words slipped out with more urgency than she wanted to show. Her chest tightened, the burning hunger clawing at her insides growing worse every hour.

The bloodlust had not faded—it had only deepened, gnawing at her, threatening to consume her entirely. And she knew, with terrifying certainty, that the moment they left the temple, she might not be able to resist it anymore. She might give in. She might drink blood. And if she did, she had no idea what she would become.

Her steps faltered, her nails digging into her palms.

"Aria!" she hissed under her breath, snapping the word like a whip, forcing her sister to finally turn her head. Relief swelled inside her when Aria’s gaze finally met hers.

"They don’t have a cure," Aria said in a low voice, the words clipped and weighted with restrained anger. She clearly wanted to say more but cut herself short, realizing how dangerous it was to speak in a place surrounded by so many ears. Guards walked close, people pressed in from all sides, and the air was thick with fervent voices.

"Wait. I’ll explain," Aria whispered quickly, her tone assuring yet heavy, leaving Liora no choice but to nod. For now.

Together, they followed the guards out.

But outside, the scene was even more chaotic. Past the towering gates of the temple, the crowds had multiplied. People surged forward like a tide, pressing against one another in desperation to catch a glimpse of Aria, to reach her, to touch the one they now hailed as chosen. The guards struggled to hold the masses back, their arms raised to form barriers, their blades flashing in warning. Yet even they knew—it was almost impossible to separate the people without violence.

Aria’s jaw tightened. For a fleeting moment, she considered offering to heal some of them. The thought stirred in her chest, a natural reflex, but she dismissed it almost as quickly as it came. Healing one would only bring ten more. Healing ten would bring hundreds. And all of it would dissolve into chaos again.

What made it worse was the sight near her carriage. Families pressed close, their faces pale and gaunt, holding sick children swaddled in threadbare cloth. Children coughing, feverish, their skin ashen from hunger and sickness. Their clothes made it clear—they couldn’t afford doctors.

Something in Aria’s chest twisted. She couldn’t walk past them. She couldn’t ignore them.

So she let her power spread.

Slowly, deliberately, she released her light like a wave. It rippled out from her, invisible to most eyes yet felt by every soul. The weakest among them, the children on the brink, stirred as if waking from fever-dreams, their pain dulled, their lungs loosening, their fragile hearts steadied. She knew she couldn’t heal them entirely—not all of them, not at once—but she could alleviate the worst.

The effect was immediate.

The crowd fell silent.

The restless cries and shouts dissolved into hushed awe as the wave of her light touched them. Dozens gasped as though breathing clearly for the first time in weeks. Mothers sobbed into their children’s hair. Fathers fell to their knees in relief.

Aria raised her voice, letting it carry as far as she could. "If you don’t disperse, I’ll stop!"

The guards repeated her words, amplifying them until the crowd echoed with the command.

And they obeyed.

They backed away just enough for Liora, Harriet, and Rymora to reach the carriage. Aria, reluctant to leave them there, prepared to widen her circle of light, but before she could, a guard leaned close and whispered in her ear.

"We do not know how many Zygons are hiding in the crowd," he warned.

The words struck her like cold steel. The thought of her light touching one of those monsters, of triggering its transformation here, among hundreds of innocents—it would be a massacre.

Aria recoiled instantly, drawing her power back to herself. Her hands trembled faintly as she clenched them into fists.

"In a couple of days, I’ll return to the temple," she announced, her voice ringing out. "I will heal for one day."

The guards took up her declaration and carried it to the crowd, who bowed their heads, some weeping, some praising, some merely relieved. Aria wasted no time climbing into the carriage, unwilling to remain a moment longer.

The crowd had grown too large. Too dangerous. Too full of hidden threats.

The driver cracked the reins, urging the tall black horses forward. The people scrambled back, unwilling to risk being trampled, clearing the path in hurried waves.

Inside the carriage, silence fell thick and heavy. Aria had barely settled into her seat when Liora grabbed her sleeve, her nails digging into the fabric, her eyes blazing with restrained fury.

"Explain," she demanded, her teeth clenched, her voice low and dangerous. She was holding herself back by sheer will alone, the bloodlust in her veins a storm she could barely contain.

Aria exhaled sharply, her shoulders sinking. She did not waste time. "There is no god of light."

The words struck like a blade through the air. Harriet, Rymora, and Liora all stared at her, stunned into silence. Their expressions mirrored one another’s disbelief, as though they had misheard her and were waiting for her to correct herself.

But Aria didn’t.

"There is no god of light," she repeated, her voice low but firm. The driver was human—he couldn’t hear them from where he sat—but still she kept her tone hushed, as if speaking a forbidden truth.

"That’s not possible!" Harriet burst out, her voice sharp and full of instinctive denial. She spoke before even Liora could gather her own words.

Liora shook her head furiously. "So what? They have powers, don’t they? I don’t care what they believe or don’t believe. As long as they can heal me, I don’t care what name they call it!" Her voice trembled with desperation, her knuckles white as she gripped her knees.

Aria opened her mouth, ready to argue, but stopped herself. She shook her head and sighed heavily instead.

"Wait," she said quietly, her eyes flicking to Liora. For once, the words she wanted to say were meant only for her sister.

But Harriet was relentless, unwilling to let the matter drop. "What do you mean there’s no god of light?" she pressed, her voice carrying her disbelief. She had grown up a commoner, yes, but even commoners clung to faith. Aria’s home had been too remote, too cut off to be fully devout, but Harriet had grown up among people whose belief in the gods shaped their every breath.

"You’ll figure it out," Aria muttered at last, unwilling to spiral into a debate that would drag on endlessly. She leaned back against the seat as the carriage rattled forward, the horses racing faster toward the castle.

But the tension inside did not ease. If anything, it sharpened.

Liora sat rigid, her hands clenched so tight that her nails cut into her palms having just being told that her hope for relief was non-exixtent. The bloodlust inside her roared like a beast, and it was only by willpower alone that she didn’t bare her teeth. Every second that passed made it harder to hold on, the hunger scraping her from the inside, demanding release.

And all the while, Aria’s words lingered in the air.

There was no god of light.

The truth, sharp and merciless, hung between them like a blade none of them knew how to touch.