"Oh dear, what have we here?" the goddess mused, gazing at the boy before her. How tenacious, how valiant, how strong he was for a human. But it didn't matter. He was facing her now as he fell.
She peered into his dreams, curiosity blooming in her chest. It was, perhaps, the longest dream she had ever willingly partaken in. It hadn't started as part of her plan, but it had become the one that brought her the most joy.
The goddess had learned love.
And with it, she had learned pain.
That had been a few millennia ago.
She looked down at him, sorrow in her eyes. She understood how he felt even now; she understood. It was a confusing feeling, this ache inside her. But she knew what had to be done.
"I understand," she said quietly. "Then I won't let you suffer anymore."
She would end it. Not out of bitterness, hatred, or anger, but mercy. She would make it quick. Her hand would pierce his heart, and he would rest peacefully in her arms.
But he refused.
"That won't work," he said, sidestepping the strike. She watched him with quiet sorrow.
"Don't make this difficult," she said simply.
"I always have. Sorry," he replied with a lopsided smile.
A soft laugh escaped her lips despite herself. Emotion twisted in her chest, far deeper than she expected. How does a mother kill her own child?
She had considered sending the shadow but he would fight it to the bitter end. No, she had to do it herself. She would make it painless. But she hesitated.
"I don't know what to do with you," she admitted.
He shrugged. "Maybe… let me go? Most mothers do."
She let out a gentle laugh. "Well, I guess they don't care as much as I do."
Reality twisted, warping around him. The tunnel closed in. The world began to crumble.
"So you're going to kill me?" he asked. "What if I go to hell?"
"Oh, you won't," she said with certainty, even as he struggled to keep standing while the world compressed around him.
"You're going to crush me to death."
"Of course not. Just trap you," she said matter-of-factly.
"I'm actually scared of small spaces," he muttered.
She gave him a look. "It's not good to lie. Especially not to your own mother."
"...Sorry."
"Better," she murmured.
He clung to the shrinking space, the pressure around him unbearable. And yet, he looked up at her with those stubborn, defiant eyes.
"Can you… not kill me, though? Pretty please?"
"..."
There was silence for quite some time before she spoke.
"How difficult this is… do you understand?" she asked, her voice trembling with vulnerability.
"Of course," he laughed softly, looking at her.
"Then why laugh?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"That's a secret," he replied simply, continuing to block her attacks even in such a confined space.
"You're strong."
"It's not that."
The tunnel was tight, narrow, and suffocating, painted in hues of red. The air was thick with the metallic tang of blood. The walls felt like flesh, pulsing subtly. Most would've been horrified, but Tobi remained unbothered.
"You're so brave," she said, her voice tinged with melancholy.
"That I am," he answered with quiet candour.
"You have always been brave, though, haven't you...
Why is my son so brave?" she asked, her voice breaking.
She looked at him, her baby. How could she do this to him? Her heart clenched. The goddess was hurting, though she didn't want to admit it. She didn't want him to hurt but she didn't want to kill him either. It was all so terrifying.
She remembered that dream. How long ago had it been since she entered his mind for the first time? So many dreamt of riches, glory, freedom… But in his mind, she found nothing.
A white, soulless void.
The boy wore a mask of bone with only two hollow eyes, dressed in black rags. He was nobody. That was all he believed he was. All he thought he could ever be. And in that void, there was a shadow, an embodiment of death that followed him relentlessly.
That was what he believed he was too.
But deeper than that, buried beneath the sorrow, was something else.
A dream.
A yearning so intense, so heartbreakingly pure, that even the goddess could feel its warmth. It was desperate, silent, and had been hidden under years of pain. All he wanted, needed, was for someone, anyone, to feel that ache. That yearning to be seen, to be loved.
And someone did.
He didn't realize it yet, but it had become everything to her.
That yearning, how precious.
He was so precious.
So very strong. So very amazing. After all the suffering he endured, he still clung to something deep inside him. Something he protected with all his heart:
A white lily, cradled in his hand.
How precious it was to him. How pure.
She looked at him this naive, stubborn, beautiful boy and hugged him ever so gently, refusing to ever let him go.
He froze, completely still, stunned. Even the shadow behind him faltered, unsettled. He looked up at her and for the first time in his life, he cried.
She held him close, arms wrapped in silence, and for the first time, she lulled him gently, a soft lullaby meant for the boy who had never known love.
The boy who was never meant to receive it.
The boy who believed he was born to be alone
a nobody, an echo, a shadow slipping through the cracks of the universe.
An outcast forever wrapped in his own solitude.
But now…
Now he had reached a place where warmth could find him.
A place where love was real, not imagined.
And so
she raised him.
Not as a god raises a creation,
but as a mother raises her child.
With care.
With wonder.
And with love that stretched across eternity.
Oh, how adorable he was. His tiny cries. The way he clung to her like a vise.
She hadn't expected to, but she had fallen in love with him.
With the infant. The nameless boy.
But not anymore. He would never be nameless again.
She gave him what he deserved.
He was Tobias Renholm, her precious child. Her everything.
How precious he was.
He clung so tightly, and she held him just as fiercely. She was his shield, his warmth, his world. She kissed his forehead and made a silent vow:
No matter the danger, she would protect him.
Because she was his mother.
And she had promised.
To protect him forever long he lived and whatever happened.
That's why that day, the day the lily withered, was the day she saw her son truly break.
After years of hardship and suffering, that was the moment he lost everything. The shadow took hold, and a deep, merciless darkness overtook his heart. He lived to see everything crumble, every hope, every dream turned to dust beneath his hands.
And by the end of it, there was no satisfaction.
No peace.
Only pain.
A pain so vast, so consuming, it eclipsed all else. And she, his mother, couldn't protect him from it.
She never forgave herself for that.
So now, she would finish what had begun. Not out of cruelty, but mercy so she wouldn't have to see him suffer like that again.
Tears fell silently from the goddess as she continued forward.
The hunter looked at her and stepped closer.
As her hand came to pierce his heart, it stopped.
It simply rested there against his chest, unmoving as he reached out and gently held her.
She no longer stood as a goddess. She was just a woman now.
The world around them had changed, no longer dark, no longer pulsing like flesh, no longer stained with blood. It was warm. Familiar. It was the home where she had raised him. Cozy, loving, and gentle. Her perfect world.
She stood before him with black hair, soft brown eyes, and tears slipping silently down her cheeks. Not a divine figure. Just his mother.
Drawings of the nursery he once dreamed of lined the walls, his imagination etched into every corner. Photos captured their quiet moments, snapshots of a life she had built for him in this place of her own making. A life where he had been loved.
Where he had truly been hers.
In this place beyond time and space, in this quiet world of her own making, she stood still. She was the goddess of dreams, and yet, she had trapped herself within this one.
A dream.
"You've grown," she said hoarsely, her voice barely above a whisper.
"That I have," he murmured softly.
"I'm sorry," she said, truly and honestly.
"I never blamed you," he replied, his voice gentle.
"But I do," she wept.
There was a silence. Long and tender.
Then, softly, he spoke.
"Thank you, Mom."
In that moment, it was enough.