Page 37 of Rise of the Gods: Vardor’s Destiny (Time for Monsters)

The years moved by like the blink of an eye.

With each passing day, I felt the presence of the goddess, not increasing, but molding into me. She was no longer something separate, something ancient and distant. She was me, and I was her—mortal and divine, ruler and mother.

Strangely, with all the love I feel now, I am still a goddess—still able to rule our small kingdom unfailingly with Vardor at my side.

And yet, everything is different.

The balance in our land has not only been restored but increased, because now my decisions aren't made with logic alone. Right and wrong are no longer absolutes, no longer dictated by a cold, divine hand. I consider the emotions of mortals and the struggles of those who worship us, and it makes me a better goddess.

A true queen.

Four sons were born to us, like I had predicted. Vaelrik, Dravon, Soryn, and Zevren.

They are growing into their own legends.

Vaelrik, the eldest, is order incarnate. His golden gaze misses nothing, his mind is as sharp as any blade. He carries himself with unshakable control, commanding both storm and battle with the ease of one who has been born to lead. His presence alone is enough to steady an army, his word enough to command the faith of thousands.

Dravon, the second, is war itself. Unlike his eldest brother, who calculates and plans, Dravon fights with his heart. Bloodfire runs in his veins, an inheritance from both his parents. His rage can tear through mountains, his axe splits even the strongest demons in half. And yet, beneath his battle-worn exterior, he carries the deepest loyalty, the fiercest love.

Soryn, the third, is the whisper in the dark. A ghost among men, a shadow among gods. His silver eyes gleam unnaturally, and his power allows him to move unseen, slipping between the light and the abyss as if he belongs to both. His daggers are forged from the same metal that will seal Malzhaedon's fate, capable of striking not just flesh, but the soul itself.

And Zevren, my youngest, he is only two. It is too soon to tell of his powers, but I know one thing—he will never belong to just one world. He is the fastest, the most untouchable, and yet he is destined to become something more. I feel it in my bones and in every cell of my body.

My sons.

My little demigods who know both love and duty.

I gift them everything a mother and goddess can give them. Vardor teaches them everything they need to know about mortals and battle. About our little paradise and the world that is being ravaged above.

As a mother, my heart bleeds at the thought of what they must do one day. As a goddess, I will send them out and hope they prevail. They are stronger than Vardor or I have ever been. All I can do is trust that we will prepare them enough.

But that is still in the future.

For now, they are still my sons.

For now, they are still here.

For now, the world has not yet called them to war.

We live beneath the surface, but we are not hidden. Our underground empire thrives, safe from the destruction Malzhaedon's armies rain down above. Our people flourish. Our numbers grow steadily as survivors, warriors, scholars, and believers make the journey into our lands, choosing to worship not only Vardor and me but our sons as well.

Ambassadors are sent beyond our borders, into the ruins of the mortal world, whispering of a new age. They speak of a goddess who walked among them. They speak of a warlord who defied the gods themselves. They speak of four sons, forged for war, destined to bring peace. With every prayer whispered, our power grows. The world above is broken, on the brink of extinction.

Many fear us and reject our divinity. But faith is not instant. Faith is built. And we are patient.

I turn my gaze to Vardor, standing at my side, the warlord who had once been my greatest mistake—and my greatest love. His hand finds mine, his black eyes study me, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

I smile and feel the warmth of it spreading through me.

"I love you," he says the words that once frightened me the most.

It still feels like a miracle to me that I can finally return those words to him and feel them, body, heart, and soul. "I love you too."

I will never get enough of seeing that smile on his face.

"Zevren is our last," I say reluctantly, watching our two-year-old toddle toward us.

"I know," Vardor replies, holding my gaze, and I read the truth in them. He does know. "I've felt your powers grow since his birth."

I nod. Part of me is sad that this chapter of my life is finished, but I am thankful to have been given it at all.

A shadow passes over the openings, enveloping our beloved city into twilight. Foreboding fills me. Vardor's arm around me tightens. As always, he reads my mind, my fears. He leans closer, murmuring, "They're not ready for us yet."

I tilt my head, letting my fingers lace with his. "But they will be."

Because one day, the world will need gods again.

And when that day comes, we will rise.

THE END

I hope you enjoyed Vardor and Roweena’s story.