Page 20 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor’s Destiny (Time for Monsters)

T he ship lurched violently; the jolt sent the lantern swinging overhead, its dim light casting wild shadows along the wooden walls of the cabin. The storm raged outside, waves slamming against the hull with a force that made the entire ship shudder, groaning under the weight of the sea's fury.

Roweena pressed herself against the wall, and her fingers clutched the edge of the bunk so hard that her knuckles were white. I watched the bodice of her dress move up and down in quick succession as her breathing increased. Her entire body trembled—not from the cold, but from something deeper.

Fear.

I had known fear before—tasted it in the air, thick with the stench of blood and desperation, had seen it in the eyes of warriors who knew they would not live to see another sunrise. It was an instinct, a survival response, a weakness that separated mortals from gods.

The only time I had ever suffered from it was during my first battle, when I was still a man, still foolish enough to believe death was something to be feared.

But fear died that day.

It burned away beneath the roar of clashing steel, drowned in the cries of the fallen. And in its place, something else took root—a hunger, a knowing, a certainty. Battle was everything. The fight, the skill, the relentless pursuit of mastery. It became a game, one where wit, strength, and sheer will determined who stood victorious and who bled out in the sand.

I never feared death again after that first battle. It had merely been an appetizer. A taste of something I craved for the rest of my life. I had tasted it, laughed in its face, and walked away the victor.

And so I won. Again. And again. And again.

Because I could. Because I refused to be anything less than what I was born to be—a victor!

But... this?

This small, trembling woman pressed against me, seeking comfort where others had only ever sought mercy. This wasn't a battle. Not a war. Not a test of strength or a game where the victor walked away and the weak perished.

Roweena was not an enemy to be conquered. And yet, as she clung to me in the storm-tossed cabin, I felt something I had not felt since that first battle. Something I had long since thought dead.

Not fear. No, never that.

But the unmistakable knowledge that something inside me was shifting. Changing. And I asked myself if I would walk away the victor this time.

Because this was different. She was different.

Vaelora had never feared anything. She had been brought into existence as a goddess, untouched by a mortal's weakness, unshaken by the weight that mortals carried every day. She had never trembled in fear beneath my hands, never gasped for breath, never sought comfort in another's presence—not even mine.

But Roweena did. And against all reason, I found that I did not mind. More so, against all logic, against the very core of who I was, I felt the need to soothe her.

The ship pitched again, and she lost her grip, her balance stolen by the violent motion of the sea. Before she could hit the floor, I caught her. She crashed against me, her breath warm against my chest, her fingers fisted in my tunic. She was small, so small, fragile in a way so different from Vaelora, even though their bodies were the same. I expected her to pull away—to recoil, to curse me, to shove at my chest in another feeble attempt to defy me, but she didn't.

Instead, she clung to me.

Her forehead pressed against my collarbone, her body shook harder with every passing minute, and her breath was shallow and ragged. I shouldn't have felt anything—I was not a man. I was a god, a being forged for war, for destruction, for conquest. My purpose had never been to soothe, to comfort, to protect.

And yet, I tightened my hold.

"Easy," I murmured, a foreign word on my tongue. "You're safe."

She let out a shaky breath, but there was no relief in it. She was still fearful, like a rabbit facing a jackal.

Another violent jolt sent us rocking sideways, and I turned, bringing her fully into my arms, pressing her against me as the ship fought against the storm's wrath. She trembled, and her hands still gripped my tunic as if letting go would send her into the abyss.

"I hate this," she whispered, her voice so small, so unlike the woman who had challenged me at every turn.

I didn't know how to respond. Storms reminded me of battle, they were a raw, unrelenting power—something to be endured, something to be respected, but never feared.

But she wasn't a warrior. Or a goddess. Not now.

So I lowered my head, my lips near her temple. "No harm will come to you."

Her breath hitched.

"I swear it to you."

I felt it, the way her body stiffened for a fraction of a second before some of the tension melted away. Her fingers slowly unclenched from my tunic, resting against my chest now.

For the second time, I thought that Vaelora would never have done this. Vaelora had been a force of nature, distant, untouchable, immortal. She never wavered.

Roweena was a storm of a different kind—not violent and commanding, but wild and human, fragile but unyielding, soft yet unbreakable. A new, foreign emotion twisted inside me. A sensation I didn't have a name for.

It was more than protectiveness. It was a need to shield her, to keep her, to possess her in a way that went beyond body and claim.

It was a dangerous emotion. Because I liked it. I liked her. I liked her fragility. Her fear and courage. She made me feel different.

The ship groaned again, but the worst of the storm had passed. The worst of this storm, at least. She lifted her head slightly, and her cheek brushed against my chest. I felt the heat of her skin, the dampness of the storm as it clung to her hair. Her wide, uncertain eyes met mine, and something in my chest tightened.

"Are you always this warm?" she murmured.

I exhaled through my nose. "Are you always this small?"

Her lips parted, not quite a smile, not quite a retort, but something in between. The storm was easing, but I didn't release her.

Stranger yet, she didn't try to make me.

The ship still swayed beneath us, but the worst of the storm had passed. The violent roar of the wind had softened to a distant howl, the rain was now a gentle patter against the wood, like a drumbeat fading into silence.

Roweena's trembling had lessened, but I could still feel the slight shudders rippling through her as if her body had not yet convinced itself the danger was gone. I liked how she felt in my arms. How she made me feel.

I leaned down and noticed how her eyelids fluttered heavily, how she leaned against me without realizing it, as though her body had surrendered to the need for rest while her mind still fought to remain wary. She was exhausted.

Slowly, carefully, I scooped her up, lifting her from the floor with ease. She let out a quiet gasp but didn't resist—not this time.

"You need sleep," I said, my voice lower, softer than it usually was.

She didn't argue, only murmured something too quiet to hear, her head tipped against my chest. I carried her across the small cabin, the lantern's glow flickered and created shadows that danced across her delicate features.

When I lowered her onto the narrow bunk, she stirred, blinking up at me with hazy, drowsy eyes.

"I don't—" she started, but I brushed stray strands of hair from her face, and whatever protest she meant to voice faded on her lips.

"You are safe," I murmured, my fingers lingering just a little too long against her cheek.

She swallowed, and for a moment, she only looked at me as something unreadable flickered in those storm-swept eyes.

"Go to sleep, Roweena, we're safe now," I said, the words coming easier than I expected.

She hesitated, "You can't promise that."

I exhaled slowly, watching her, watching the weight of everything she had endured press down on her like a burden too heavy to carry alone.

"I can," I replied. Because I knew the storm had spent itself. It hadn't been summoned for us. What she didn't understand was that she was mine to protect. I was homed in on all the dangers around us, even nature.

Her lashes fluttered once, then again. Finally, her breathing slowed, and she sank into the mattress as sleep pulled her under. For a moment, I stood there and simply watched her as I memorized the rise and fall of her chest, the way the lantern's glow softened the tight lines of tension on her face.

Vaelora had never needed comfort.

Vaelora had never let me hold her like this.

I turned away, moving to the chair in the corner. I wouldn't sleep, but I could keep watch as I had always done. Watch over this strange woman Vaelora had chosen to be her vessel. A woman who looked like Vaelora but was so different.

I had never known Vaelora to be fragile.

The two of them were one and the same—Roweena and Vaelora—and yet, as I looked at the woman before me, I found myself struggling to reconcile them as such.

Vaelora had been immortal, unshakable, a force of existence itself. She had walked through war and destruction without so much as a flinch, had commanded the heavens and the earth without fear or hesitation.

Roweena was... human.

She trembled. She bled. She feared.

She sought comfort in my arms, something Vaelora had never done, never needed. Vaelora had been untouchable, unknowable, a goddess of war and order.

Roweena was alive in a way Vaelora had never been.

And I did not know what to do with that.

She was not weak, no. Even in her fear, there was something defiant in her, something unyielding. But she was also something Vaelora had never been—vulnerable. And for the first time in my existence, I felt the weight of my duty differently.

I was not merely a warlord standing at the right hand of a goddess.

I was her shield. Her sword. Her keeper.

And yet, if I woke Vaelora, what would become of Roweena?

Would she be gone, erased as if she had never existed? Or would she become something else entirely—something I could no longer hold like this, no longer touch, no longer protect?

A flicker of movement pulled me from my thoughts.

Roweena stirred and her breath hitched as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks. Her brow pinched slightly, as if she were fighting the pull of sleep. Then, her gaze found mine.

For a heartbeat, she did not look at me as Roweena.

She looked at me as Vaelora.

Recognition flared in those blue-violet eyes, raw and aching, like a lost soul seeing home for the first time in centuries.

"Vardor," she breathed, her voice like a whispered prayer.

The sound of it nearly broke me.

I clenched my jaw, something sharp and foreign twisted inside me. This was what I had wanted. What I had waited for. For her to remember. For her to return to me.

And yet...

When she blinked again, the recognition faded. Confusion flickered in her expression as she looked around the cabin, her lashes heavy with exhaustion.

She exhaled a soft, broken sigh. "I'm so tired."

I swallowed and forced my voice to remain steady. "Rest, little one."

Her eyes blinked a few times before they drifted shut and her breath evened out once more. I sat there, clenching my fists, allowing a war to rage inside me louder than the storm had outside before. It was my duty to take her to the temple and awaken Vaelora. I needed to bring my goddess back. Yet, even as I remembered my duty, a whisper of doubt coiled in the darkest parts of my mind. Because for the first time, I was not entirely sure I wanted to let go of Roweena.