You were shivering.

There was no breeze in the tent; there were all the walls closed as to keep the warmth in; there was the fabric of your tunic, protecting your legs from the cold grassy ground, as you kneeled; there were your sleeves, reaching mid-forearm. And yet, goosebumps had risen on your skin.

And you were shivering.

You were shivering under his gaze, unable to look up to meet his eye, well-aware you shouldn’t anyway should you like to keep your life.

You were looking at the ground then; and yet, you saw it.

Saw him.

He was observing you with a smile worthy of the demons of the underworld; a servant of the king of the lawless, faithless land.

A year ago, Anwir the so-called True, had led his army of mercenaries and taken the land, murdering all the loyalists he could find and declaring himself the King. His men, armed to their teeth with swords and gold, had ravaged the kingdom, stealing gems, land, homes and lives, just like they always had back when still called outlaws rather than fake nobility.

Men more savage than animals; less merciful too.

Your temple, having been harbouring a few rebels, had been taken two days ago.

Under the watchful eyes of the gods and goddesses you served, you had witnessed two days of agony, hunger and death. Bloodbath. Harsh laughter in the face of life leaving the eyes of many, driving the sword deeper, more blood oozing out and soaking the holy ground, returning back to earth where all life was born.

Good women of fairness and faith.

Good men of bravery and justice.

All gone to keep the survivors docile; all gone on cruel men’s whims.

You were not sure whether to consider yourself lucky to be among the survivors, forced to bear witness to the bottom of humanity crawling out and play. You knew the names of all the fallen; you almost wished you didn’t. You prayed for them to find peace anyway. If you prayed for a piece of their souls to return and haunt their murderers too, no one needed to know.

You were not sure whether to feel lucky to have survived and bear witness; but you did thank the gods for being able to see Steven alive at least.

A good man, your Steven; not strong of body but so kind and fierce of soul, a brilliant mind helping the rebels not by swinging a heavy sword, but by building strategy. Not that his predicament had ever stopped him from picking fights he could not win, even as sometimes he had, his spirit more powerful than his own or his opponent’s muscles.

You’d know of all his fights.

He had been around; you had treated his wounds. Cuts and bruises, swollen knuckles on hands barely bigger than yours, delicacy roughened by hard work; always prepared to help, day or night, even if he risked nearly coughing out his lungs when straining himself too much.

He was still alive; and perhaps you could only thank your prayers for that. Your diligent prayers, your service to the goddess, service of a pure woman even as the longer you spent in Steven’s company, the more impure your thoughts were turning, the longings of your heart aligned with those of your body.

But Steven was kind, sweet, brave and determined to fight for good of others; were those not values of a man worthy of love?

Were those not values of a man worthy of protection?

“What is it ya’ want, little priestess?” Cassius’s rough voice reached your ears, bringing you back to the present; the cold, lonely present in the company of four rugged men, three of them idle in the chairs lined with fur and a goblet of wine in hand as if watching a fool’s performance during a feast. “Ya’ held your end of a bargain… and I’m a man of my word.”

Another shiver ran along your spine.

Cassius was not a man you knew well; he was not one of the rebels, but of the outsiders. He was one of the enemies; anyone who spilled blood of innocent people, your people, no less, was. You did not know him – but you had already seen his soul. He was not a man worthy of love nor protection; in fact, he was not worthy of your trust even.

He was most certainly not a man of his word.

And you would have not believed him to be a smidge of sincere had it not been for your prayers. You wouldn’t have believed him had you not been touched by the divine.

Two days ago, in the modesty of your room, praying at the sacredly designated time commanded, terrible cries had reached you, rattling your temple and your soul.

Your prayers had turned frantic and urgent upon the ruckus – and that was when a whisper had soothed you; a holy image materialising in front of your humble human eyes. With a face of an angel of the new teachings and the raw beauty of goddesses of your religion, she spoke to you gently as your lips continued moving soundlessly, pleading for lives and short suffering of those who were to meet their death. She stilled you with a touch to your forehead, strict eyes with wilderness of the powerful ones and a benevolent smile.

You shall be approached with a bargain, little one. And you shall accept it. Accept all the bargain offered, all his conditions; and then ask one in return. Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered and your service shall be rewarded at last.

Her lips barely moved but her voice was the clearest, purest thing you had ever heard.

And so you had listened. Of course you had.

You had lent your helping hand and healing skill to Arwin’s men; to Cassius’s men. You had betrayed your faith in rebels by doing so – but not the faith in the gods you served, not in the goddess.

Be faithful, little one, to me only.

And so you had been.

And true to the goddess’s word, you had been promised a favour – a reward for your service. A favour of your choosing.

There had never truly been a choice to make. Your decision was as clear as the days before the mercenaries arrived and stained daylight with the crimson of good men’s blood.

Your voice was shaking as much as your body was; but the conviction behind your plea was as firm as the ground under your knees.

“Spare a life, good sir. Please.”

You dared to look up briefly upon the silence following your words, met with a raised eyebrow and a wolfish smirk in the corner of the man’s lips. You dropped your gaze in an instant, eyes slipping shut at the rustle of fabric as Cassius took a step closer with a chuckle.

“Oh, little priestess, ya’ should know by now that I’m no good, but all the more of a sir… but don’t ya’ fuss, pretty flower. I won’t kill ya’. I like ya’,” he hummed, the feigned warmth in his voice causing your skin to crawl.

You took a deep breath, your own words tasting foreign, praising and submitting to a man unworthy of respect, let alone of having a human being kneel by his feet.

“Thank you, good sir—sir. I… am not pleading for my life.”

“Oh? And whose life, flower?”

You gulped, his curiosity having a morbid edge like that of little boys tearing away a fly’s wings to see if it’d survive. Your voice wasn’t louder than a whisper.

“The rebel’s—at least one. Sir. Please.”

The sudden boisterous laughter made you wince, sharp like knives and coppery like the blood they had spilled for their own amusement. You did not dare to look up, but you could feel Cassius exchange amused glances with his henchmen, laughing as well, before he turned back to you, still kneeling humbly despite your heart quaking in fear, humiliation and anger.

“Oh my sweet little priestess… I offered ya’ a favour, not a fuckin’ treasure,” he spat, another burst of laughter shaking the tent. “I meant a good warm meal, a bit of wine to light up your stuck-up pretty ass. A soft, warm bed, maybe with a man to keep ya’ even warmer… a life? You’ve barely done nothing at all.”

You gritted your teeth, blood boiling in your veins as you resisted curling your hands into fists at his mocking and blatant lies.

You had done plenty. You had saved at least two lives of his wicked men and improved another three. You had saved them despite the fact it went against your loyalties and any common sense, treating them with careful healing touch and kindness they did not deserve.

The images flashing through your mind at his sneering were unholy and downright blasphemous; spitting into his face, nails digging into his skin, fingers pushing against his eyeballs to make him feel a fraction of you felt – and yet.

All you could do was to swallow your outrage.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest, the goddess had said.

And so you kept your voice humble, eager even, the tremble in it perhaps easily mistakable for shyness or fear.

“I can do more, sir, I— I can keep healing your men-“

“Oh ya’ will, flower. Favours or not, ya’ will keep serving us if ya’ wanna live,” Cassius said, a barely hidden threat. “But… I gotta say – ya’ got my attention. I’m curious now. Who’d ya’ have in mind?”

Your heart, already having been racing, thundered in your ribcage.

… and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest.

You had one single person in mind, selfishly so; yet you waited for a beat, casting your glance aside, now truly shy.

You opened your mouth, no sound coming out, worried of their reaction; but you had to be brave.

Steven was brave. He was the bravest man you had ever met and being worthy of him, saving him, meant you had to borrow some of his strength in the face of evil.

Quite literally.

The rustle of fabric clued you and yet, you startled when rough fingers slipped under your chin and pushed, forcing you to meet Cassius’s piercing eyes, his face mere inches from yours, stale breath stinking of beer and wine and sweat washing over you. 

“Who, pretty flower? Whose life ya’ came to bargain for?”

He inhaled deeply at your silence, licking his lips as his gaze flickered down to your mouth as if he wanted could pull at your lower lip and suck the name straight from your tongue. The imagery made your stomach churn, his predatory eyes a promise he would do exactly that unless your spoke.

“Steven, sir. He-“

Cassius dropped your face with the loudest bark of laugher yet, almost hysterical, head thrown back.

“That bag of skin an’ rattlin’ bones? Bit a waste, ain’t it, flower? I let him live, the next winter takes him!” he chuckled darkly, nausea tickling your stomach at the very suggestion, tears prickling your eyes, casted down – in humiliation and genuine worry.

Steve had had issues during some of the harsh winters in particular. He’d come to your temple or you’d come find him to help. Bucky, his closest friend, was usually already there, trying to tend to him, always saving a warm smile for you despite the worry written in his features mirroring yours.

“Why him, mm? What’s a pretty thing like ya’ care ‘bout ‘dat bastard?”

You stared at the ground with intent, lips pressed tight. The answer was obvious, to everyone – it must have been. You had been stupid to come here, setting yourself up for their judgement; but you had had faith. The goddess herself had advised you, a touch of divine feeding your trust into this evil in the form of a man having the ability to do you a favour.

You had to persist. You had to; one did not serve the gods for rewards, but for their favour to be given to others. Like your Steven.

Dirty rough fingers pulled at your chin again, harsher than before, eyes of a demon staring into your soul and reading the answer it was looking for with a dark glee.

“Well fuck me. Ya’ sweet on him, pretty flower? Damn, they really teach ya’ to be merciful, huh?”

Something burned inside you, flames licking your insides; for Steven, for the mocking, for the disrespect for life and for your calling – and yet. The voice of the goddess gave you strength to withstand the rage that threatened to tear you from within.

You held Cassius’s gaze even as your own swam in angry tears. “Please, sir. Please, spare him-”

He scoffed and snapped your head to side, walking away, exchanging a wordless conversation with his right-hand man.

You dropped you gaze again when they looked at you, folding your hands in front of your lap, a gesture of submission; if it wasn’t submission for him but for the goddess, he did not need to know.

Your faith would carry you through; it had to.

You sent a soundless, wordless prayer, your eyes slipping shut.

Accept all the bargain offered, all his conditions; and then ask one in return. Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered and your service shall be rewarded at last.

Patience. Patience was a virtue.

This godawful man awoke sinful thoughts rather than virtues ones, but one must preserve. One must-

His dark chuckle had your eyes snapping open, your heart trembling.

“That’s a lot to ask, flower. What’d ya’ offer in return?”

Breath hitching, your hopes rising, you supressed a smile, sending a silent thank you to forces beyond human, mind whirling with ideas even as you had already offered plenty.

“I-“

“No, no, you’re in no position to bargain. I’m gonna choose for ya’…” he interrupted you, the glee in his voice revealing he had never had the intention to give you the luxury of choice. You held your breath. “I think I choose you.”

Your heart skipped a startled beat, the most filthy implication in his voice twisting your insides with disgust and icy terror all at once.

You prayed to be wrong. You were wrong. Surely, your thoughts had no doubt been infected by the poison these men spread all around them, twisting the path your mind went in attempt to understand the chaos they caused, the blood they spilled. Surely, he did not mean-

“S-sir?”

“I want you,” Cassius repeated, approaching you once more, the smile in his voice careless and whimsical just like the one he wore when he had driven his sword through your sister in servitude when she had refused to help his men. “You’re a pretty little thing, all pure and all… faithful. Bet ya’ never had a guy have his way with ya’, did ya’?”

Blood crystalised in your veins, your chest filling with lead, every beat of your heart painful. Words stuck to the roof of your mouth along with your tongue, lips turning numb as you tried to protest.

“S-sir-“

“Answer me, pretty flower,” he ordered, his touch terrifyingly gentle as he ran his hand over your scalp, before he gripped and tugged painfully, forcing you to meet his animalistic lust in eyes. “Did ya ever have a man claim ya? Split ya’ open on his fat cock?”

You couldn’t swallow the small cry of pain as he tugged again, could not supress the tremble in your jaw as you stared into the perverse, hungry void of his wide-blown pupils.

“Tell. Me.”

“N-no.”

He smiled, dark satisfaction on his face as he pressed the thumb of his free hand to your cheek, following the wet trail of the tear that had escaped.

Your skin crawled, every single nerve in your body screaming to try and pull away, to rush to the nearest body of water to cleanse yourself of the mere touch of the filthy animal that called itself a human being. But he held you firmly; and he had a pack of monsters just like him at hand.

Even if you had tried to fight, you’d have lost hopelessly.

“Good. Looks like I can already make ya’ cry real pretty, flower… and I will,” he promised, the little air you allowed yourself to inhale burning like acid in your lungs. “That’s my bargain then, little priestess. His life for your cunt. Take it or leave it.”

You churned at the coarse language alone, let alone at the idea of allowing him to touch you any further, let alone-

The NO was never so desperately loud in your skull, in your skin, in your blood.

And yet. Yet. 

Accept all bargain offered.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest.

Was that truly the price to be paid? Was that truly what a goddess, a celestial being, would ask of you? To give your purity to this… sad bloodthirsty caricature of man? Could she?

But what of Steven? What of faith? What of your innocence, sacredly kept for the gods, which you might have, might have in your sinful thoughts, been considering giving to sweet Steven, a good, beautiful man, a fighter, a protector at heart. Your Steven, who watched with soft eyes and tender smile as you carefully treated his wounds, who’d brush over your knuckles in thank you, his split lip hovering over the back of your hand-

“But ya’ should know, pretty flower,” Cassius hummed, his fingers releasing your hair, brushing over your throat, moving the hem of your tunic lower to press against your collarbone, down to your sternum, his touch like a disgusting brand you weren’t sure you could ever erase, “now that you’ve told me… if ya’ say no… he’ll be dead by mornin’.”

“No!”

You were moving before you knew how, leaping to your feet, rage bubbling over, fresh tears springing.

NO!

They would never hurt Steven, you wouldn’t let them in hundred ye-

Sharp pain exploded in your arm and shoulder, your knees hitting the ground again, your free hand barely steadying you as your fingers dug into the ground, another cry torn from your lips; your other arm was twisted behind your back and pulled up to cause the most pain possible, tugged at to have fresh tears stream down your cheeks.

The scene was rewarded by chuckles from the audience as Cassius snarled into your ear, like a wild animal snarling at its prey to scare it into submission. 

His mouth was on your ear, a flicker of tongue tasting the salt and sweat on your cheek, causing you to shudder in his violent grip, your prayers urgent and empty for you knew not what you were praying for anymore.

“Careful, little priestess. I can be a good sir, or a real bad one. Be a good little flower and maybe I’ll spare that pathetic child of man… be a bitch and I’ll treat ya’ like one. Will fuck ya’ like a bitch in heat right on his dead body.”

You shook your head, biting your tongue so hard you tasted blood, frantic heartbeat in your chest, in your temples, in the centre of your pain. Your chest heaved with sobs at his mocking ‘no? Well then-‘ and you shook your head harder, a plea for him to stop, to wait spilling from your lips as your mind cursed.

Cursed at the goddess who had chased you into the claws of a merciless animal.

Be faithful, little one, to me only, her whisper echoed in your head, kind and almost mocking now, and I shall fulfil your deepest desire, protect what you hold the dearest. Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions; and ask one in return.

Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

I shall protect what you hold the dearest.

You turned your teary gaze to the heavens, your sight obscured by the roof of the tent, the pain from your arm shooting up your neck.

Usurper. Animal. Monster.

What other bargain should you have expected? They seized and wrecked and spilled blood in gallons. Had they been any less wicked, they might have offered you to fall on their sword in exchange of not forcing the same on Steven.

Gods, Steven.

Should you accept, Steven might live.

Should you refuse, he was dead for certain; his body probably displayed for the crows to feed on, an example of what happened to those who denied the will of Cassius’s men.

Where were gods and goddesses while you little humans faced that?

Ask him to swear on his life, to swear on my name.

I shall protect what you hold the dearest.

Lips trembling, shivering all over, you squeezed your eyes shut; and begged, barely audible.

What else was left for you?

“Will you swear?”

You cried out as he tugged at your arm again, puling you closer to him.

“What’s that, little priestess?”

“Will you swear, on your life, on the goddess Velessa, that you will not hurt him if--- if I give myself to you?” you rasped, swallowing the nausea at what you were even suggesting.

He eased the grip on you a bit, allowing you to take a deep breath even as waves of agony pulsed through your arm.

Gaze swimming in tears, you caught a glimpse of Cassius’s right-hand man looking at his leader with a smirk.

“I dunno, pretty flower. Ya’ in no position to bargain… though ya’ will be in real nice positions later.”

The four men, still simply watching as if it was performance for the gods themselves, sipping their godsdamn wine, laughed crudely.

Your body could no longer shiver.

You swallowed loudly; your pride, your dignity, your cries of outrage.

“Please. Please, I will be good.” Rage burned through your very soul as much as your humiliation. But you knew your position. You knew there was no escape; a single, sad attempt on a bargain, the most important one; for if you were to be damned, you might as well make sure you got what you had come for. “I can be truly good, sir.”

“Hm… and ya’ want me to swear, d’ya’?”

“Yes, good sir. Please.”

He dropped your arm with a sniffle on your part, the waves of pain and relief crashing down on your very being, your free arm cradling your injured one to your body with tender touch.

Cassius clicked his tongue.

“Alright, I will. I will. I am a man of faith and of my word, after all.”

You could scoff and wish for the man who shall lie to choke on his own tongue; you did not believe him to be either of those.

But you let your cursed faith guide you. You had been touched by the divine, a gentle press of fingers to your forehead shining like a light within you. May it protect you in the darkest dark times – you had to believe in that.

What else was left there to do?

“But I have a condition too.”

The wickedness in his voice; the wicked excitement in his gaze, shining like gold that tempted men to sin.

Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions; and ask one in return.

What else what there?

“What is your condition, sir?” you whispered, resigned.

He smiled; and you shivered again.

You had never seen a smile so purely evil in your life; and in the past two days, you had already seen all too much.

He leaned all the way to your face, wet lips touching the sensitive skin under your ear, a flicker of tongue to taste your skin again.

“He’ll watch.”

Air left your lungs at once, absolute terror seizing your already weightless body barely keeping steady.

“W-what-“

“He’ll watch your pretty teary eyes glaze over when I ruin ya’, when I spread that tight-”

“No-“

Cassius pulled back, shrugging without care in the world; but his eyes glimmered with dark satisfaction.

“No, then. The offer’s off the table. Sharpen my sword, boys-“

“NO!” you cried out, shaking all over, all strength having left you as you thought you might jump to your feet – but gave up before even trying.

You knew what would follow; you had seen it already. The result was the agony still pulsing through your arm all the way to your fingertips.

The despair, disgust and pain had drained you; your body, your heart, your soul. Your faith.

Accept all bargain offered, all his conditions.

Goddesses were all-knowing, all-seeing. Had she seen this? Could she have truly asked this much of you?Was this a trial of your faith? One that would save Steven but took away your everything, your chance to serve to your faith and him all the same?

“Make up your mind, pretty flower. We’re wasting time here. I’ll count. Five, four, three, two-“

“Yes.”

You breathed the word before you could think twice; what else was there to say?

One word. Three letters. Hollow. Just like you bodily vessel. Worthless; but all you could offer.

“Oh?”

“Yes. If you’ll swear on your life, on the goddess of Velessa, that you will not hurt Steven, then yes. I accept.”

He cocked his head to side, breathing in deeply, licking his lips as his gaze trailed over your body; you did not shiver.

Not anymore.

His dark smile did not faze you anymore.

You were not sure anything could.

“Smart little thing,” he praised, eyes locked on your rising and falling chest. “Go wash yourself, pretty flower. Wear something nice and white… I want him to see. Meet ya’ in half an hour, right here.”

You nodded, a puppet on a string of a higher power. A pawn.

You rose to your shaky feet, the pain in your arm dull, and walked away, knowing that the next time you’d enter, the true horror was to start.

There was ache.

There was numbness.

They came like waves crashing into each other at shore as you lied curled on the ground, bloody and boneless. Ruined. Soul trembling in the maze of your mind, blank like a canvas of horror stained entirely in red.

There were windows in your temple, a masterpiece fabled to be a work of a glassmaker so talented he must have been gifted by the gods, having been whispered the formula beyond human understanding, his hands led by too mighty of a power to comprehend a mere mortal. The stained windows casted such intense red light over certain parts of your temple that the sculptures erected in honour of the deities and the floor seemed to be dripping with it. The day you had seen the temple’s floor dripping with blood instead, you had foolishly thought there was no red darker than that.

You had been wrong.

Crimson was all you could see, the darkest shade of red.

A shade perhaps otherwise only known to gods, should you ever think such blasphemy.

But had you not earned at least a fraction of the right to curse the deity you could no longer serve? Had you not earned a moment of being arrogant enough to think you had been offered a twisted divine sight?

You had decided to give and to serve; you had been ripped apart instead.

Stolen innocence. Stolen dignity. Stolen purpose.

A stolen life.

The world was stained in the darkest red not even your tears could dilute and with the irony of fate, you were grateful for that – for the bloodlike darkness and tears made your vision blurry, shaky and nearly blind.

It was better than to see a single part of your wrecked body. It was better than to see Steven, unable to meet your eye.

You wished Cassius had not spoken a word. You wished he had not revealed your bargain with such wicked glee in his voice, wished you couldn’t hear Steven’s breathless no.

But Cassius had told him. And he had taken as much pleasure in it as he had taken in—

You wished Cassius would have choked on his own tongue before he could have spoken; because then Steven might simply loath you, think you evil or disgusting and judge Cassius all the same.

Instead, the last he had been able to look you in the eye, teary and full of murderous rage as two men built like mountains held him on his knees while the third one pressed a blade right to his throat, all you had seen was regret and loathing aimed at himself.

He wished you hadn’t done this to spare his life.

But you had.

You had and he bore witness along with Cassius’s henchmen and his right-hand man merely sitting there and watching like it was the most amusing performance of his miserable fucking life; four monsters and one man witnessing your humiliation, blood and mud now seeping into the white fabric of your tunic.

Stolen innocence. Stolen dignity. Stolen purpose.

A stolen life.

And for what?

You were trembling as Cassius walked to your no-longer-secret love, not having bothered to tuck himself back into his pants; the manic indulgent smile on his lips was painfully clear in your vision as he licked his fingers still coated in your slick and blood, causing Steven look away. He too, seemed to be shaking; or perhaps that was merely your world quaking in its very basis was shattering along with you.

You let your eyes slip shut, tears cold on your feverish face.

“Sweet like fuckin’ honey, your little priestess. Bet ya’ wish ya’ were me… did ya’?” Cassius stated rather than asked, a shuffle of fabric and a hiss followed by his voice dropping lower. “Answer, you little bastard. Did. Ya?”

“No.”

“Really?” the monster in human skin cackled, voice dripping with the very crimson you saw all around you. “‘Cause lemme tell ya’, you’d talk real fuckin’ different if ya’ felt that snug little-“

“I’d never do any— no. I didn’t. I’d never hurt her,” Steve snapped, words shaky – but not with weakness, you realised, your lower lip trembling at the fierce honesty in his voice. It was anger; it was anger so fiery Cassius might burn in the eternal fires for all the wrongs he had done in life and would consider it mercy in comparison to the scalding heat and devastating sincerity of Steve’s rage.

You found a little light flickering through the bottomless void of crimson of your world; there was no mistaking whom Steven hated at the moment, hated from the very bottom of his otherwise gentle soul. Not you.

Gods, not you. Never you.

“Fuck, you’re even more pathetic than I thought… ‘never hurt her’,” Cassius echoed mockingly, scoffing. “Bullshit. And too bad… ‘cause I have. I will again. And again… and again. Should get cozy where ya’ are, ‘s gonna be a long day ‘n night.”

With a sharp intake of breath, your dull heart jumping with a jolt of terror, you snapped your eyes open. You met Cassius’s glance from where he stood directly against still kneeling Steven, his exposed manhood inches from Steven’s face, distorted with a mix of emotion so vile your shame easily swallowed the rising tide of horror at Cassius’s promise.

“I mean, she’ll be less sweet, less tight too… but a flower so pretty... She needs seed to fuckin’ glow-“

Steven tried to spring to his feet the very same moment you recoiled on instinct, your boneless limbs protesting and failing.

Much like you, Steven moved but two inches up before he was slammed back to his knees with twice the vigour, arms locked behind his back, a snarl so animalistic you’d never imagine it leaving his lips twisting his mouth.

Cassius clicked his tongue; a sound as ominous as a cracking formation of rocks about to bury alive the unsuspecting innocent soul walking by.

Your sucked in a startled breath as Cassius cocked his head aside, one corner of his mouth, still stained with your blood, rising up in violent delight as he leaned forward, face inches from Steven’s.

“Fierce baby lion, aren’t ya, boy? Too bad… wild animals gotta be put down.”

Your silent apathy broke the moment his right-hand man rose almost lazily to his feet, reaching for the sword laid on the table, pulling it from its sheath and taking three long strides that shook the ground under your knees to pass it over to his master.

Your heart leaped to your throat, the choked single syllable uncomprehensible as you tried and failed to scramble to your wobbly feet, ending up on all fours, tangled in your own tunic, shocked by how painful it felt to move when all that mattered was now at stake despite everything you had just endured.

No.

No, no, no, not on your watch, not under the eyes of all the cursed gods and goddesses who had PROMISED, who had-

“You promised!” you rasped as you pushed to your feet again, succeeding to crawl at best – so, so far, the distance miles long as Cassius straightened and tested the weight of the sword in his hand as if it was the first time he ever carried it.

And had you not seen with your own eyes that he had ripped away a human life before, you might have believed that was the case; the greatest cowards always had others do their dirty work, sitting in the luxurious seat in the front row to oversee the destruction they had commanded.

“Oh pretty flower, the promises I’ve made and broken,” he hummed with a gleeful smile as he glanced at you before curling his wrist, the sword making a terrifying circle as he took a step back.

A blinding rage flushed your veins with enough strength to keep you upright at last, to have your voice be heard all the way to the gods themselves perhaps, a scream to all the mighty deities who must intervene, for you, you alone, you were too slow, too weak, too-

“You swore on your life! You swore on-”

“And death can come fuckin’ take me if she wants,” Cassius spat, “I’d like to see her try.”

“NO-!”

In a world where those who’d died merely turned to eternal sleep, your scream would have been piercing enough to wake them, a battle cry begging them to come to your aid.

It this world, under the eye of cruel gods and wicked goddesses, it was only enough to burn raw through your throat and nearly tear your eardrums.

And yet it didn’t hurt.

That didn’t hurt.

Because your scream was not a battle cry; it was a wail forceful enough to bring you back to your knees as the sword was driven straight through Steven’s ribcage, instantly staining his shirt with blood, the sticky gurgly sound something you’d never forget no matter whether you’d continue to walk the Earth for an hour or a decade.

The broken wet gasp leaving Steven’s lips as Cassius pulled out the blade out with vigour and his henchmen released Steven at last was cut off when he did not have a moment to support himself on his hands and the blade pierced him a second time.

The sob tore your chest apart but it did not matter; your heart was already in shreds, beating all over your body, every beat an agony unknown.

Steve’s eyes were on you as he fell limp to his side, all tension leaving him; and the look in his beautiful blue eyes with the sweetest drop of green had your violently trembling hand cover your mouth.

There was no accusation. No blame. No loathing nor disgust.

Only forgiveness.

An undeniable prove of the kindness he carried in his heart, even as it stopped beating, a prove forever etched into his features as his gaze misted over; a soft statue in its eternal beauty, the most sacred deity of all, a depiction of a virtue the filthy demons standing above it were not even worthy to look at.

But neither were you.

This was all your fault.

You had been foolish. So incredibly naïve in your blind faith; faith in a goddess who might have as well had been the messenger of the demons themselves, leading you astray, tempting you with personal gain and punishing you for giving in, ripping away what you held the dearest.

What good was your faith now?

You squeezed your eyes shut but it didn’t erase the image burned into your mind for eternity, the sheer terror to haunt you for the rest of your days.

The sobs torn from your ribcage hurt. Your muscles were spasming and you couldn’t stop it, you couldn’t breathe, because it burned and burned and burned and you should be praying.

Praying for Steve’s sweet soul.

But all you could do was to curse, with every fibre of your useless worthless being, to curse the deities and demons and humans alike, nails digging into your scalp so hard you thought you might be drawing blood.

Blood, blood, blood, everywhere, at Steve’s lips-

“The fuck?”

Your eyes snapped open on instinct, a little spark of life in your bones at the naked surprise in Cassius’s voice.

Your ragged breath stuck in your ribcage, a choked sob hitching in your throat. Your lips parted, head spinning as the ground beneath your knees seemed to evaporate, reeling mind coming to a halt.

Oh gods.

She was here; in all her celestial beauty, wildness and pulsing power which only a fool and faithless bastard could mistake for a an Earthly woman.

She stood there almost motionless above your Steven – above your Steven’s body – looking straight into Cassius’s face, an unnatural jerks to her movements as she cocked her head to side at his surprised smile.

“And where did ya’ come from, pretty thing? Who are ya’?”

Her smile sent a violent shiver through every fibre of your being, the righteous rage erased all at once, replaced by fear of power much greater than you; fear of the Gods you had cursed over and over, the worst blasphemy of all, thoughts of a worthless little human, nothing more than an ant under their boot.

How the monster standing toe to toe with her could not see what she was was beyond you.

Even with your gaze drowning in tears, even with the humility commanding you to lower your gaze, you could not tear your gaze away from the scene – a perhaps perverse need to watch whatever was to unfold. The unmatched hunger in his eye, the wicked glee at more flesh appearing to be claimed by him, another pure thing to rip apart; the ice-cold deceiving calm, a touch of a benevolent smile on her lips.

“Why, little man,” she spoke softly, Cassius’s protest silenced by another jerky but tender touch to his cheek as she straightened again, the colour of her irises beyond what you could describe, hypnotizing him and all his men alike as they did not dare to move. “I came to collect my bargain.”

Barely a second for a breath of hope for you – and then a sickening wet crunch.

Horror struck you like a lightning, hand flying to your mouth as the shriek rippled from your lungs.

Cassius was no longer smiling; in fact, he was no longer moving beyond a pathetic twitch of his limbs, eyes wide open and unseeing, his mouth tragicomically hanging open.

The entirety of the goddess’s forearm was stuck in his chest as she had punched her way through as if it was feeble cloth and not flesh and bone, her small feminine hand sticking out of his back soaked in blood and clenched in a fist as it gripped on a suddenly still heart.

“Oh gods-“

One effortless move of hers and Cassius had been turned into a heartless soulless caricature of man he had always been on the inside.

You whispered a breathless prayer as you lowered your head in submission at last, your peripheral vision stubbornly focused on the gory scene. The men who had witnessed your humiliation stood frozen in mute horror as they, too, bore witness to blood dripping down their leader’s torso, soaking the unholy ground.

All the while the goddess continued to simply stand there with terrifying calmness, her almost sweet smile slowly twisting into a snarl as she leaned closer to Cassius.

“You, you inane little rat, swore on your life. On my name. And you broke your promise,” she hissed, eyes sparkling with violent delight outmatching that of Cassius’s by eons, “and the moment you did, your own dark priestess’s protection cracked like your funny little ribs and veins just now. You’re mine.”

She jerked her hand back with another sickening crunch, the lifeless body falling to the ground already soaked with Steven’s blood; the heart – gods have mercy – swiftly followed suit.

Your stomach churned, bile rising to your throat, an unvoluntary wince to your neck as you were sure you could not unhear the wet smacking sound in all your lifetime; no doubt very short lifetime you’d be given before the all-knowing all-seeing goddess moved to punish you for all your shortcomings. For having lost faith, for blasphemy, for all the curses you had sworn on her name and those of her fellow deities.

But she had promised to protect him! a small grief-struck voice in the back of your head protested desperately, a prayer leaving your lips at last, for Steven at least to find peace in afterlife. If you did not grant the same courtesy to the demon who had taken your beloved’s life, well – it was but a little sin to add to a long list, wasn’t it? What more did you have to fear?

What was fear anymore? What did it matter?

Ruined for your temple, ruined for your love; the man for whom you’d given it all up lying lifeless on the nature’s floor. Death like Cassius’s might be a mercy for you.

Mercy.

Gods have mercy on Steven’s soul.

Gods have mercy on a priestess who had once believed too much and let herself be led astray.

Gods have mercy, please, oh please, have mercy-

The space of the tent turned so impossibly still it distracted your prayers.

The monsters among men forged by war stood frozen at the imagery as bloody as those their own hands had once committed; stood unmoving but straight and tall like soldiers. Until, as if in response to your thoughts, they dropped to the ground with a deafening snap of the bones holding them upright, their bodies suddenly as twisted as their minds and souls.

Fresh wave of horror and humility swept over you, your eyes squeezing shut. You pushed your head lower in a bow as you heard a shuffle of fabric out of this world approaching you, your hands trembling as they hung connected in your lap, shielding your stained tunic.

You did not dare to speak.

You were not sure you’d be able to find your voice even if you knew what to say.

“Look at me, little one.”

The unearthly bright fabric of her skirts with deep crimson ornaments stilled in front of you as she stood and slid her hand under your chin before you could as much as wonder if the command was yet another trial, an impossible one, as one must listen to the orders of gods and goddesses – but must also display humility and submission. She tipped your head back, her unnatural gaze boring into yours, her smile vile and kind at once, the touch of her other hand tender.

A shiver rocked your whole body, tears streaming down your face as she cradled your cheek with her blood-soaked hand. Drawing four lines down your skin all the way to your throat, barely avoiding your trembling lips, she cocked her head to side; the visceral fear at the memory of how she had done almost the very same to Cassius before driving her hand through his chest was a funny feeling as it reeked of relief and mercy indeed.

“I am merciful, little one. But I am a goddess. I can give and I can take. Your dedication might be to healing, but we were once warriors walking the Earth. And your war has only just started…” she softened her voice into a whisper, with benevolence the powerful ones, in your experience, tended to lack.

She leaned closer, almost crouching to your level, your gaze trapped in hers until her eyes slipped shut and her forehead touch yours lightly, an air of the divine you breathed in growing suffocating in your chest, your own eyes fluttering shut, heavy with tears and all the pain witnessed and withstood in the past days. And yet, you felt hollow.

Hollow and so, so godsdamn exhausted.

“But you are tired now, aren’t you? You did so well, little one. You must rest now.”

All life seemed to be sucked out of you as she breathed in, her lips so close they were almost touching yours; she whispered a command.

And your body, a former priestess, a mere human body, obeyed.

Your trembles subdued, your muscles losing all tension. Your limp body slid to the ground, gingerly so, curled on your side, chest rising and falling with peaceful breaths in an instant.

The goddess rose to her full height and smiled gently at your serene expression, before her gaze moved to Steven’s motionless body.

The corners of her lips curled up; had you been conscious, you would have not been able to tell whether in a smile or in a smirk.

To serve the gods and goddesses was what one should assume was a calling. It was – your calling. The higher purpose of life – for you were a woman of faith.

Being a priestess, however, your role among nobility or commonfolk alike reached beyond praying, sacrificing and healing – you were also meant to serve as a guide.

In the times of darkness, it was your mission to heal both body and mind, to help navigate the lost souls out of the maze of their thoughts and to ease their suffering. In the time of new teachings emerging, it was your mission to learn and understand, to help navigate the lost souls through their confusion, to build bridges and reconcile the old and the new, to bring peace to the minds of those who struggled with guilt and fear.

As a priestess of goddess Velessa, you were naturally all but loyal to your religion, but as a healer and a guide, you took interest in the new teachings. In those of love and forgiveness, of virtues and sins, of rewards and punishments for eternity and of atonement. In those not effortlessly reconciled with the ideas of the past.

It was not an easy path to walk; but by gods, such was the divine calling of your life.

Or at least it had been.

The musings on your faith reemerged slowly; and yet not slower than you returned from the strangest sleep of your life.

Your hazy mind was flickering with confusing images; your aching body a cruel reminder that those images – some of them at least, those of horror, pain and losses so profound your heart still felt as if it laid shattered in many pieces in your heavy ribcage – were true.

A reminder that one was not touched by a deity without consequence; one was not turned from mere human into a god simply by being blessed enough to encounter a god walking the Earth.

Much like old teachings, the new ones, too, spoke of rare occasions of encountering the divine; in the new teachings, those often took form of angels – messengers, servants and warriors of God, creatures of human form with the power near that of the old gods.

As you were pulled back into the waking world, opening your eyes with lashes heavy with tears, you came face to face with a manlike form which must have been one of those messengers. An angel. A golden halo of hair softening his sharp robust features, a strong jaw as if carved from marble, an elegant slope of his nose casting shadows easily overshone by the sky-blue of his irises with a minuscule but all the warmer speckle of greenery. Large in frame, his shoulders would have likely barely fit the doorway of your modest chamber, his waist strikingly narrow in comparison, strong thighs all but inches from your still lax hand as he sat by your bedside.

With such sight, you thought – as arrogant as it was of you to think that you, in your sins and blasphemy and curses spilled, would be graced for the second time – that he must have not been a mere messenger. All about him whispered of being a warrior. A guardian angel perhaps, watching over you with a gentle wrinkle of worry between his brows, the soft furs against your back and the covers over you doing little to disguise the true warmth radiating off him; warmth, kindness and vague familiarity one felt if they began to recognize the landscape surrounding their home upon returning from long travels.

The strangest thing was that this man – this man-like vision – seemed to be watching over you with profound sentiment.Watching you.

Air stuck in your throat at that realization, your heart stumbling in your chest.

You scrambled to sit up swiftly as you blinked away your tears, shame filling your very soul at the idea of what an image you must have made for; unjustly sharp memories of how you had been turned into such pitiful sight sliced through your body like a knife.

And yet. Yet.

The pain seemed so meaningless compared to that in your shattered heart.

The angel’s frown deepened as you gathered the covers with haste, realizing that not only you had been brought to wherever you were, but also had been changed into a clean tunic – and likely bathed. Neither of which you could recall.

“Are in much pain? Should I call for a healer?” he asked gently, an air of a kindness of strangers one was barely-ever met with anymore hovering around him. “You’re safe now. I promise.”

“Where am I?”

Your voice was raspy from misuse or perhaps from the dryness settling in your mouth. You licked your lips absently, noting the man’s frown deepening with concern, his tender gaze making you shiver, your heart hammering achingly against your ribcage – but no longer from fright.

As your frantic gaze roamed around the room, you understood why your companion would be concerned if you didn’t recognize the space; where his voice and his eyes whispered of something safe and only vaguely familiar, the environment you knew like the back of your hand. It was one of the chambers in the housing of your temple, used for isolating those whom you and your sisters tended to and whom you believed to be taken by infection and fever.

Your shoulders slumped a fraction, even if for a brief moment.

Perhaps your sisters had brought you here; perhaps the angel-like man was not a divine vision as much as he was a dream produced by your fever. You had learned a long time ago, however, that even those illusions tended to be messengers, ones of mind and soul, little blessings to guide the wounded and ill – and one would be wise to hear them out.

This dreamed figure, whoever he was, was bringing kindness – and while he had said that you were safe, it was not his words that convinced you of such. It was his soothing presence, his aura of a protector, deeply ingrained into his flesh and bones and those sincere eyes that made your heart ache and flutter all at once.

“I—thank you,” you whispered, your greatest aches but an echo for a moment, giving way to reluctant curiosity. “Who are you?”

Your question charmed a sad smile on his handsome face, the same emotion reaching his eyes. His voice softened further.

“I do not blame you for asking,” he muttered, gaze casted down as he reached to brush a non-existent strand of hair off his forehead, the all-too-familiar gesture like a sharp twist of a knife in your stomach. “I can barely recognize myself. Even Buck nearly tripped over his own feet when he suddenly needed to look up when talking to me and walking.”

Your chest stilled with a wild stumble of your heart, pain and hope exploding in your lungs. Your lips parted, fresh tears springing from your eyes, your mind sent reeling.

Impossible.

This was impossible.

He was but a fever dream, he must have been, but even as that – this was not your Steven. He couldn’t be. This was--- but the gesture, ‘Bucky’, his softness and his voice, even if with an unfamiliar depth, yes, but-- your Steven—your beloved had a large spirit and a kind, enormous heart, but he was little in frame, and he was--

-dead.

Your Steven was dead.

You had seen it happen with your own eyes, seen it happen with your own regrets and the profound realization that in your misguided attempt to save him, you were the very cause for the sword piercing though his--- gods, there had been so much blood, and he must have died in so much pain and yet he had not seemed to blame you, not blame you even now, in a foreign an yet familiar form-

Was this what Steven’s spirit looked like, residing in his sickly body all along?

Was that what he would have been should the gods grace him with better health and not only brilliant mind and the most beautiful of souls, which were gone, almost by your own hand?

“Gods, please don’t cry-“ the man whispered as if he felt your suffocating pain and all-consuming guilt himself, his hand quick to reach for yours, engulfing it easily, its warmth instantly seeping into your skin, a sob bubbling up your throat as your head spun with all the things you had loved about your Steven mirrored in this man. He even looked like Steven indeed, even if he did not. He was some form of Steven, you had no doubt, as surreal as it was.

And his touch felt so, so real, too tangible to only be a conjuring of your, even if perhaps feverish, mind. His presence was undeniable.

Had he come to haunt you?

Or was this your afterlife?

“S-steven? What--- did I… am I dead?”

He winced, shaking his head quickly, his other hand too moving to hold yours, now enclosed between both of his rough but gentle palms.

“No, no, acushla, you live--- your faith carries you through… and it saved my life too,” he whispered, meeting you gaze once more, the warm blue irises you should have recognized at once boring into your eyes with emotions so deep and so tangled you only seemed to recognize one, the one least probable to appear in anyone’s eye when looking at you, especially now.

Especially after what you had bargained, what you had lost, what Steven—

A violent shiver ran down your spine, your mind stuttering as your voice did.

Saved his life?

“But- but how--- you-“

Steven – the mirage of Steven, the spirit, your Steven? – breathed in, lips parting, no words coming out as he seemed to struggle to find the right ones. His expression was, once again, so absurdly familiar on the less-than-familiar face that an instinct to reach out and assist him somehow had your free hand twitch.

You winced when the door was thrown open, a new figure stalking in; this time, a perfectly familiar face, exactly as you remembered it, a wordless confirmation of you being entirely awake and lucid, the realization slowly sinking in.

The man holding your hand – Gods, his eyes, his gestures, his voice still as warm as when you had tended to the wounds he had gained by rushing to protect innocents, your hand held as tenderly as when he had once dared to brush his lips over your knuckles in a thank you – turned to his closest friend, allowing you to admire his profile in mute awe.

Beautiful. By gods, your Steven had always been beautiful and now, even with annoyance and light scold twisting his expression, it seemed as if his appearance was reflecting his fierce soul.

Your hand twitched in his when he spoke, trying to hold onto his touch when he began – and swiftly ceased – to retreat his touch. His entirely tangible touch.

He was real. By gods, he was by some miraclereal, alive, despite the agonizingly sharp memory of his empty eyes boring into your soul kindly--- he was right there by your side, alive and well, if not healthier than before, having grown a good foot and half taller and many pounds heavier with muscle.

Even as the stunned how echoed in your mind, you sent a thankful confused prayer from the bottom of your heart, several tears escaping the well of your eyes.

“Buck, come on. She’s just woken up, into complete madness no less-“

“And you’re a dumbass who cannot explain shit to her, ‘cause you get all tongue-tied around her and it seems to matter little if you’re a small punk or a freakin’ giant,” Bucky uttered, sighing as he closed the door and focused his gaze on you, his features softening a fraction. “You prayed. You made a sacrifice Steve refused to elaborate on. The goddess came to collect and to reward. She gutted Cassius, completely massacred the hirelings-“

“BUCKY!”

Steve snapped his head to the other man so fast it brought a memory of four necks being snaped as if by a mere twitch of a hand, deadly-still distorted bodies falling to the ground, a gore image of a heart, gods have mercy, torn out of a body,of blood dripping off of her hand, her snarl and smirk and benevolent smile as she touched you and painted your cheeks with the blood of the very man who had ripped apart your dignity and purpose, and Steven--- Your Steven, motionless, eyes as kind as always but so, so empty-

Bucky continued as if unbothered by the horror-like images he brought to your mind.

“-she healed Steve, made him all brawny and huge and blessed him with strength to lead the rebels to return order to the lands. People already began stacking behind him as they should, so he’s now our strategist and the Captain of the troops. The end. Except, you know, they are awaiting his orders and instead, our dear newly-elected captain is here, ‘cause he’s a completely and utterly smit-”

“Gods, Bucky, please-“ Steven whispered hastily, earning feigned confusion on Bucky’s part, the man turning his hands palms up innocently as if he wasn’t the reason for your head spinning, your heart thundering in your tight ribcage as you tried your damnest to grasp at the meaning of the words that seemed beyond your comprehension.

“What? --Alright, fine, I’m out, I’m out…” Bucky muttered, turning back to the door as if offended, with one last meaningful glance at Steven and then you. “Move your ass though, Rogers, they’re waiting for ya’. … Your Grace.”

The door clicked shut behind him before you could muster up a response, Steven remaining stiff for several frantic beats of your heart, only then nodding as if he felt as stunned as you were.

He had not released your hand for the entirety of the absurd scene.

You were glad for it, beyond grateful; for as you turned back to him in mute awe, suffocating relief having found home in your ribcage as the truth of Bucky’s words began to settle, Steven’s touch grounded you in the madness your reality had become.

He cleared his throat, the sound nearly defeating in the silent room.

“I, uhm, I apologize about Buck. He… was blunt, but not wrong,” Steven sighed, the full extent of his words not reaching your mind, for it was too busy accepting the fundamental fact still.

The Goddess. She had kept her promise: she had protected what you held the dearest. Moreover, she strengthened Steven’s body to protect him further. She… had killed the highest ranking Arwin’s men in the area – because saving your Steven and turning him into a tangible epitome of a warrior had also served another purpose, one she had perhaps had in mind all along.

Your war has only just started, she had said.

She had blessed him with strength of a body – the only one he had lacked until that moment – so he could lead your people into a better future.

She had turned him into the epitome of hope.

“She truly did save you…” you breathed, your gaze instinctively flickering to his ribcage where two of wounds oozing blood had been, hand twitching with the need to see their absence with your own eyes.

Did the pain echo in his body still? Did scars remain where his flesh had been cruelly torn, or had they been healed?

It mattered little, you supposed.

But as Steven slowly nodded in confirmation, a patient smile shyly lifting the corners of his lips, the aches in your body reminded you that whether he carried his scars or not, you knew that you did.

Your relief was pushed away by another suffocating feeling, chasing fresh tears into your eyes. Shame.

It was a delightful truth that the goddess – even a rather twisted way – had kept her promise. She had. It had only cost you everything.

It was such a blasphemy – you scolded yourself, sending another prayer for the mercy shown by the goddess to whom you, now tainted, could no longer serve – forcing yourself to swallow your tears, your free hand curling into fist as your lips twisted in an attempt at a genuine smile.

Steven was alive. You must find joy in that for it was the greatest blessing of all, for that was what your bargain had been for, after all.

What a true delight and blessing that was, oh merciful goddess, how you did appreciate seeing him breathe freely, how you wished to lay hand over his chest to feel the vigorously beating heart, so wonderfully, stubbornly alive-

Gods, why at the same time did it have to hurt so deep within you that you could not seem to reach the source and press to find relief-

“That’s good,” you choked, your gaze evading Steven’s, instead raking over his broad shoulders, his bulging arms, the image, while beautiful, barely comprehensible. Gods, he was so large now, larger than life itself… and you. You. Less than nothing left.Your voice was barely louder than a breath. “But she, uhm… she did not heal me, did she?”

Steven did not have to speak to answer.

You had once pulled shards of ceramics from him abdomen when he had gotten to a brawl – the memory sharp as it was one of rare moments he had allowed you to see that despite his fighting spirit and stubbornness, he did understood and felt pain, much like any other human being. And yet –his expression that night had not been nearly as pained as it was now, his jaw set tight, his eyes slipping shut after a moment as if he could not bear the sight of you when he replied.

The fact alone burned down your spine and left ashes behind, ones you tasted on your tongue.

He could not bear the sight of you. That was just how filthy he saw you now.

“I do not think so, no. I… what you did-“

“It was worth it.”

You spoke the words before thinking of it twice, only to realise the truth in them before you could even think to take them back and reflect on all the kinds of pain your actions had caused you.

It burned and stung, and could rip you apart and by gods, it did – but how could it be anything but worth it?

Seeing Steve now – alive and well and strong, his body reflecting the brilliance of his soul… Oo doubt even those who had been overlooking his importance and potential were willing to follow him now, appreciate him as they should have for years. It had to be worth it.

And waking up, you had thought an angel, a godlike figure, blessed you with their presence; a messenger, a warrior. A symbol of hope. They too must have thought that upon setting their eyes on him: a symbol of hope to those who had long lost their will to fight. And on the other hand, Cassius’s men, gone: the symbol of tyranny and pain toppled over and knock down from its pedestal, shattered to million pieces to give way to celestial light.

Hope.

For the hope alone your sacrifice would have been worth it.

What was your little heart and broken soul in comparison? Your lost purpose in a world where lost souls roamed to find the temple you had once been allowed to serve in?

What was your pain in comparison to the masses?

Insignificant. A grain of salt in a wound of a bleeding land.

After all, you were meant to live a rather secluded life, a life of quiet servitude; ruined for both, men and your temple, your isolation would merely grow. Should the gods be merciful, you may be allowed to continue serving in the outskirts of the land, in the woods; if not to anyone else, then to the very goddess who had chosen not to heal you.

Your calling was never meant to be selfish; your calling only ever was to aid others and to serve deities and their purpose.

You had served a purpose. Even as fresh tears gathered in your eyes as in defiance, you must believe in your heart and soul that there could not have been a greater purpose to serve than this.

The most tender caress to your cheek, gathering the tears which had spilled over, brought you back to the room from the faraway woods and images of loneliness. Steven whispered your name, his eyes glassy as his fingers shifted to cradle your face with gentleness you had barely ever dared to dream of, your very soul trembling and drawn towards his welcoming warmth.

“Oh acushla machree, I—I never knew… I hoped, like a fool, that one day you might--- and now…”

Your breath hitched.

The realization struck sharp in your not yet mended heart, sudden pain exploding as if it was being torn in half.

All tongue-tied, Bucky’s words echoed in your ears; hoped like a fool, Steven’s raspy voice added. Completely, utterly smitten, a haunting voice joined, whispering what Bucky must have wanted to say before your beloved cut him off.

Machree, your achy heart echoed, the word the sharpest sting of all.

Acushla – a vein, as you had found in the wise texts – was what Steven had been calling you for quite some time, your belief being he had found a special respectful name for his healer in the language of his ancestors. Machree, however… machree meant that one of the texts you had consulted and dismissed for it had only tempted you and awoken inappropriate hopes had been right to speak of a sentimental meaning tied to the word acushla, used as a soft yet passionate endearment.

For machree meant my heart.

Acushla machree. The vein of my heart; the reason for my living. My beloved.

Why. Gods, why-

Your lower lip quivered so your whole body wouldn’t, tears burning a path down your cheeks, seeping into Steven’s hand still laid on your cheek.

Your Steven had hoped. He had hoped, thinking himself a fool, a fool for--- you. A part of his gentle heart had belonged to you.

You had suspected as much. You had hoped so too, with all your heart, wishing to hear him say these words for months and months if not years – only to be cursed to hear them now, praying to be able to forget them when they no longer mattered. Not with Cassius’s having ruined you and thus destroyed your chance at love.

The price of your sacrifice even higher than you had believed burned bitter on your tongue, leaving frost-bites behind, your will suddenly struggling to convince your crushed ribcage that it all had been worth it.

You could not bear the pity and regret in Steven’s beautiful blues, casting your gaze down.

“And now it does not matter,” you finished his thought, nodding slowly, the absence of his touch as his hand fell limply to his side like the harshest winds of winter. “I understand.” I wish I didn’t. “I would not expect nor hope for anything else from anyone.” Not even from a soul as pure as yours. “Let alone from the man who will at last be seen as the hero he is. You have much brighter future ahead of you, will have no shortage of-“

“What are you talk--? No!” Steven blurted out, the sudden urgency in his voice making you snap your eyes up, only to read utter confusion and exasperation in his face, both of his hands moving to hold your hand once more.

“I--- What I mean to say is--- I am so sorry for what you endured… and I understand if you cannot forgive me for not being strong enough to prevent it, more so when it was because of me, I-”

“No, that’s---  for you, Steven. Not because of,” you assured him hastily in return, the fractured smile on your face passionate, even if brief. “You are worth it, Steve. I wish… I wish I not only hoped but knew sooner how you felt, for I feel--- I wish I was not tainted the way I am.”

His voice was soft as he whispered your name like it was a prayer in its own right, a prayer and a source of pain all the same, the very same sentiment blooming in your chest.

“You are not—no. You are as precious as ever.”

Oh your sweet, sweet Steven. Fierce and loyal and kind, the fairest of them all, his soothing words charming another heartbroken smile on your trembling lips as he squeezed your hand.

“You do not have to—I know the ways of the world, Steven. I’m worthless n-“

You never got the chance to finish the sentence as his hands, incomprehensibly fast, moved to cradle your face in both of his large palms, the fierce affection in his gaze stealing your breath.

“No. You are no less worthy than a day ago, no less precious or less… loved,” he added, his voice falling into a whisper, his calloused thumb tender as he swept away the tears from the corner of your eye, a shiver rushing through your body along with traitorous hope you stumped with vigour for it hurt to have hope and have them crushed. “My heart is yours, has been for a long time and always will be. And… should you forgive me one day and allow me, I will prove it to you too. With all I am and all I could ever become.”

Gods let him have the world, you sent a silent prayer as you struggled to breathe, every word falling from his lips as tender as his hold on your face and as firm as his grip on your foolish heart. Gods grant me strength to not give into temptation to accept his endless kindness, for my own gain would be his loss.

“I—I do not wish to trap you-“

I wish for nothing more than to be yours-

Steve shook his head again, releasing your face only to reach into the pocket of his pants – a pair a size too small for him, one Bucky might have borrowed him for none of his old clothing could possibly fit him – carefully pulling out a folded parchment, gingerly opening it and laying it on your lap.

Your heart stumbled in your chest as your gaze instinctively fell on the slightly smudged ink, a single word lighting up your mind: breathtaking. For that was exactly what it did to you, seeing yourself – yourself with in a blasphemously goddess-like beauty – drawn in perfectly purposeful, affectionate lines.

It was your portrait. Portrait of which you had no doubt had been drawn by Steven himself, for he had once shyly admitted to having taken liking in art – his ink-stained fingers gently grasping your hand in thank you when you treated him on numerous occasions had only confirmed it.

He had drawn you.

He had drawn you as if you were something the most blessed dreams were made of and he had the drawing on him, even now.

“Stev-“

“You should have thought of that before you stole my heart, acushla machree,” he said, one corner of his lips rising in a tenderly shy smile. “But I show you this to make you understand – not to pressure you, for I will never. Ever. I… I would simply like you to understand who you truly are to me.”

Your thunderous heartbeat filled your temples, your fingertips moving to touch the drawing and stopping mere half an inch away for the fear of smudging it – for the fear of the beauty disappearing upon your touch, blinking away tears as not to stain it with the salty droplets.

Gods almighty.

Every single line on the parchment had been made with nothing but love. Steven had loved you, he truly had. He still did. And his words… unlike other men you had encountered, Steven was a man of his word – he did not say things he did not mean. He would accept you as tainted as you were.

He would love you and have you feel his love.

Despite everything.

For despite everything, the drawing in your hand revealed how he saw you; almost celestially beautiful and good.

A resolve inside you cracked with a deafening noise, relief and delight flooding your veins with overwhelming might, stealing your ability to speak a single word.

Mute for what must have been an eternity, you lifted your gaze at last, eagerly.

Steven’s expression had fallen, even as he had clearly tried to hold it steady: a face of a Captain who would lead his troops to restore order to the land, no matter what. The change confused you – but perhaps it should not have. You were silent for too long and Bucky had been here to tell him his presence was expected.

For all his sweet sentiment and promises, he had other duties.

As you fruitlessly searched for words to say in goodbye, in thank you, in love, he nodded curtly, rising to his feet.

“I understand,” he said, his voice strangely hollow of emotion, even as it remained so achingly kind. “Please, take your rest. Someone should be with you shortly to help you, I will make sure of it.”

Now downright bewildered at the sudden change in demeanour, you wordlessly folded the paper to return it.

His smile turned shaky, his left hand gently pressing the drawing to your palm.

“Keep it, please, unless it insults you. I… I can make myself another.”

Insult you? This gorgeous piece of art flattering you like no other, perhaps only insulting the gods in how the image depicted you in a beauty only designed for them…?

“Why would it—” You shook your head. “Why do you carry it with you?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Steven lowered his head, a faint blush – blissfully familiar, one you had more than once seen paint his features before he was touched by the divine – colouring his cheeks.

“I always felt it kept me safe and sane in midst of all this chaos. A little… a little light of hope,” he said, his smile earning a warm sad edge as he shrugged and sighed. “Rest, acush- rest, priestess.”

Nodding once more, he turned away slowly, his shoulders rising with a generous inhale.

The moment he took the first step towards the door, it felt as if a lightning of realization and determination struck you at once, your own sharp intake of breath too loud and too quick – but then you were on your feet, tangled in the covers and stumbling in your haste, caring little you hit your shin for this was not going to happen under all-seeing eyes of the gods, less so on your watch.

Not today, not ever, would Steven think you were rejecting him.

He spun back to you at the ruckus, eyes wide at your sudden fervour which you could only hope echoed the surge of affection flooding your every vein, every nerve, every last inch of your clumsily moving body. Your lack of balance mattered little to you as you all but crashed into his large frame, trembling arms thrown around his neck, face pressed to the crook of his neck in search of comfort and reassurance as much as gifting it in return.

For a single beat of your heart, he stood stunned; and then his arms moved to embrace you, holding you securely to his chest, achingly gentle and blissfully warm.

Your name was but a whisper on his lips, so tender your eyes welled with fresh tears, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his chemise, a silent sob torn from your throat as you allowed yourself to believe and feel; your pain, your heartbreak, the utter hopelessness he had wiped off so sweetly; his breath in your hair, his fierce heartbeat against your cheek, affection radiating off his very soul and calling upon yours.

There was a lump in your throat, too large for you to speak.

You did not need to.

Your Steven simply held you, lips brushing your hair, arms wrapping tighter around you as if he hoped that if he’d held you close enough, he could shield you from all the harm in the whole wide world.

And by gods, he would if he could, he’d stand unmoveable in face of any force that could hurt you, no matter how mighty; you were beginning to understand as much. He whispered as much too, the rumble of his voice in his ribcage comforting against your front.

“I’ve got you, love. You are safe now, I promise, I swear on my damn life I will protect you with all I have from now on, acushla machree, be a man worthy of-“

Oh what a lovable fool your Steven was-

You shook your head and pushed slightly for him to release you, as herculean as the act was to convince yourself to leave his comforting loving embrace. You were offered a glimpse of the apology and the gravity of his oath written in his features – replaced by awe and warm affection the moment you planted your hands on his face, glassy eyes boring into his, too filled with glimmer of unshed tears of past regrets.

“You have always been worthy, Steven,” you declared, uncompromising even in your whisper, eyes flickering all over his face softening upon your praise. “Of everything.”

And most of all, of love.

Gulping, you could not push the last words past your lips; instead, in a selfish and selfless motivation at once, you pushed higher to your tiptoes and slowly, oh so slowly as you feared rejection still, you pressed your cheek against his, the heat radiating off his skin a touch almost if not just as divine as one of the goddess.

Your heart fluttered as he leaned into the touch, a flicker of bravery leading you to carefully brush your lips over his slightly flushed skin next, earning a reverent whisper of your name.

For that was the emotion you had seen on his face all along: reverence. And love.

He nuzzled against your face softly, breathing you in, nose lightly bumping against yours, his breath your breath, bliss and torment, the distance between your lips too short and too immense to bear. One of his hands moved to cradle the back of your head, the tenderest fingers threading through your hair, your name a prayer sweeter than anything you ever tasted.

With surge of courage and impatience, you stole the sound of your name from his lips with yours, kissing him at last.

It was everything and nothing like you had ever imagined, your body lit alive, touched by the most divine forces of all and consumed by celestial bliss.

A sharp intake of breath, borrowing all air straight from your own lungs, Steven’s lips responded in kind, clumsy, tender and eager, hands reluctantly taking firmer hold of you as to never let you go. Tears rolled down your face, of joy barely diluted by the pain of scars left by your ordeal – because for all that had been taken from you, ripped from you by the hands of violent men, it was not this.

Your kiss, it would always be yours and Steven’s alone, should he truly want.

And he must have. He must have, because a sound was born in the back of his throat, his arms wrapping tighter around you to keep steady and close and keep you forever, affection of might you had never dared to dream of whispered and declared by his lips caressing yours over and over with little care for air, imperfect and beautiful and overwhelming, eyes having long fallen shut to see and feel love as it was meant to be felt – with your heart racing with Steven’s, side by side.

In the back of your mind you thought you heard Bucky swear from the doorway, Steven’s lips all the sweeter as they curled in a smile against yours. You did not care for Bucky seeing; you basked in Steven’s light and love instead.

And many, many long weeks after, when Steve tied his life – that of the people-chosen king – with yours through marriage, and he softly laid you on your marriage bed, you cried like you cried the day you kissed; lit up by his tender touch and love, soul stitched together by gentle patience and reverence and so, so achingly joyful and full of faith.

And upon that, in her all-knowing, all-seeing wild beauty, the goddess you kept serving to despite it all, smiled.

S.R. masterlist  // Complete masterlist 

Thank you for reading. I’ve come to bargain for you to let me know your thoughts 🥲💕

This story was… different. I admit I was nervous about posting it because of that.

I think the themes of blind faith, crisis of faith, faithlessness, sin and punishment and forces way beyond our understanding – and perhaps of us only being here as their pawns – were on my mind ever since I wrote the first instalment (Walking Back into My Own Myth) inspired by the collection of epic poems Kytice by Karel Jaromír Erben. This one is simply… a lot less filled with smut and a lot more drenched in blood. I also realised with horror that I am yet to give – even after this story – some love to pre-serum Steve. And so here we are 💕

I do hope you liked this story. I am indeed going to be grateful if you feel like letting me know if you did 🥰

May May be kind to you🌸