Facing the onrushing bone claw like a tidal wave of ivory, Aphelia didn’t dodge. She slid a step, drew her giant bow, and whispered odd syllables like wind under a door. The claw ballooned in her gaze, a mountain of death rushing in, and for a breath it looked like she’d be swallowed whole.
The claw slammed down with avalanche force. Stone shrapnel sprayed like stinging rain. Dust boiled up and flooded the cavern like a gray sea, even blinding the towering Ghoul King in his own storm.
Sight meant nothing to a skeleton lord. Soul-sense rippled out faster than light, a field of cold currents sweeping the dark. This Ghoul King was only a stolen husk; the banshee inside was a mistress of spirits. Her soul domain spread like frost racing across glass.
A heartbeat later, the banshee inside shrieked, a blade of pain ripping her voice. She clutched phantom eyes; the giant body howled with her, bone claws clamping the empty sockets like doors slammed shut. The reason was simple as noon sun burning fog—the archer woman was terror made visible.
Aphelia let a thin smile curl like a crescent moon. She kept her stance, lowered the bow, and aimed for the heart of the chest. In her heterochromatic eyes, that hollow cage became a great sphere, webbed with countless threads like a spider star. In that bound core sat the banshee’s true body.
The fallen claw had only skimmed past Aphelia, rasping against a clear barrier like wind on glass. Her armor had unfolded, plates breaking apart to orbit her like pale moons. Beneath, the close-fit silver robe flared, and countless Runes glimmered like fireflies in mist.
Those Runes held the barrier like a crystal lake, and even the Ghoul King’s brute tide couldn’t crack that near-invisible wall. Every impact rippled and died, never touching Aphelia—credit to those circling plates, a shield of steel petals.
She drew the bowstring to its limit, breath steady as night water. At her fingers, a gold-and-red flame-hafted long arrow formed, ember by ember. Twelve dusky Runes rose around her like stones in a ring. As the arrow took shape, the Runes lit one by one, until the third brimmed like a cup about to spill.
Die.
She loosed. The gold-red arrow became a roaring beast, a lion forged of dawn, and it leapt for the chest core with a hunger to swallow sky and earth. The roar shook the cavern like thunder torn from mountain, and it snapped Hercules awake from his chaos—his soul jarred free like a ship from a whirlpool.
That roar carried a shock to the spirit, a cold hand on the back of the mind. Hercules tore out of the fog inside him, drew breath like air after drowning, and sprinted for the rift’s mouth. What he saw there burned itself into him like a brand.
A figure like a Valkyrie stood grounded as a peak, bow singing in her hands. The gold-red beast of an arrow pounced on the towering white skeleton, drilled through ribs that looked unbreakable, and pierced the core. The banshee inside went from scream to ash, scattered like soot in sunrise.
The whole gray cavern lit with gold-red light, dawn poured into stone. Facing that colossal Ghoul King, Aphelia had done only one thing—she fired one terrifying shot.
Oh my, saying “lifelong memory” makes me shy~
On a certain world, the Stellar Goddess Aphelia sat on a castle terrace like a nest at the highest branch. No stairs climbed up, no ropes reached down. Wards circled the edge like glowing thorns, a place meant for the rare and the trusted.
Across from Aphelia sat the boy she once rescued, now a handsome youth with a hawk’s eyes and court clothes that flowed like water. He smiled as he spoke, warmth rising from him like morning.
That youth was Hercules.
Lady Aphelia, I mean every word. You may not remember, but to me it was unforgettable, a horizon burned into my mind. If legend asks what a Valkyrie should look like, that day you were the answer.
Hercules praised without gilding, his voice steady as a hearth. He knew the Stellar Goddess—Aphelia—disliked empty flattery, so he offered only truth. To him, Aphelia was the figure that cast the longest shadow in his life—once a Huntress Queen, now a goddess of the stars.
All he had now, he owed to Aphelia like a spring owes its source.
A peaceful planet, a peaceful world—sky clean, waters clear—and no more raids from the so-called dark world. Only necessary predators and a few legendary beings walked the edges like distant storms. For humans, this world fit like a well-cut cloak. Under Hercules’s quiet guidance, progress moved at a measured pace, because each time industry swelled to a level that threatened the planet, Aphelia would have to reset the world like cooling hot iron.
It wasn’t a game’s restart button. For the Stellar Goddess, reshaping a planet was work, but not a labyrinth. Even so, Hercules didn’t want her worrying over his house. In his heart, he treated Aphelia as an elder sister—was, and hoped always would be.
All right, all right. You’re the king of this planet. Keep your image clean, or the little rats in the dark will nibble your crown. I won’t be tidying up riffraff for you~
Aphelia spoke without a care, smiling like starlight on water. She nudged her empty cup forward. Hercules, properly “understanding,” poured tea with a steady hand and set out delicate pastries like small clouds on a plate.
Today was their planned “gathering.” In Aphelia’s words, as the maker of this world, she was obliged to know how her “creations” lived. Hercules knew it was just her tough shell talking. Her care for him and their old friends stretched across ages like threads of light—never broken.
Hmph… What rats? This life, I’m in my prime, young and strong, a bow bent to full draw. I’d just taken the throne when I already crushed and warned a batch. If anyone stays blind, I don’t mind hammering again.
Hercules snorted, a spark of iron in his tone. He’d planned for this meeting for a long time. His handpicked guards and assassins lay hidden around the royal city like a net of shadows. Elite knights and infantry ringed the palace like stone and steel. Against ordinary folk who hadn’t grasped true power, it was more than enough.
Mm~ Seeing you live this well, I can breathe easier. How was your last life, when you reincarnated among the legendary beings? Did that menagerie feel interesting?
Aphelia smiled and nodded, calm as a night sky. Every life on this planet was her making. From her vantage, they were resources that moved in cycles, like rain returning to sea. Ending one span wasn’t annihilation; it was laying them on the wheel again, sending them downstream.
If there’s another turn of the river, how can you call it death?
That was how Aphelia thought. Aside from old friends and those close to her, she treated all creations the same—a field of stars where none outshone the law. Long ago, she carried a weight in her heart. But sitting in a god’s seat for long changes the grain of thought like water carves stone.
The change was inevitable. If she had stayed as she was, the sheer number of lives passing through her hands would’ve shredded her with guilt. For the sake of friends who once bled to lift her to the godseat, Aphelia had raised several planets in this universe, homes like lanterns in the dark—her return gift.
Still… many had fallen behind her on the road.
She sighed, a leaf turning in wind, and looked across at Hercules, waiting for his answer.
Well… At first, I just wanted to understand what the legendary beings think. Their camp was chaos, a swarm without a queen. When I stepped in, I couldn’t even tell why they gathered.
Hercules gave a sheepish smile, like sunlight scratching at cloud. Entering that camp had stunned him. Their ways were not human; their lives beat to a different drum. It took him a long time to mold himself to that hive.
