Page 77 of Goddess of Light

I raise my hand.

Too late.

In that instant, an Old God I’ve never seen before erupts from the dark—a looming silhouette of chitin and tendrils. It moves too fast. One dreadful slash, and Tapio’s scream cuts through me. A wet crack, a splatter—then silence. The Old God vanishes as swiftly as it appeared, leaving nothing but dripping gore and empty space where Tapio once stood.

I surge forward, grasping at nothing. Tears sting my eyes; I had the power to save him, but fear held me back. Now, he’s gone. He’s gone, torn apart in seconds.

“No,” I whisper, hands shaking. “No!”

But my useless words are swallowed by Tellervo’s awful scream as she collapses to her knees beside what remains of her father.

“Hold the line!” someone shouts nearby. Everything becomes a blur while my heart lurches in horror. My own father’s voice rises in strange syllables, and I glimpse faint glowworm lines of ward magic taking shape. Rasmus joins him, their chants blending. Together, they push back Zelma’s crushing shadows and Thaerix’s shrieking winds—not banishing them entirely, but carving out a bubble of safety. Soldiers stumble into this pale sanctuary, gasping with relief.

But the relief doesn’t reach me.

I stand at the edge, shaking, guilt clawing at my throat. Tapio is dead because I froze. The wards flicker around my father and Rasmus, my father barking orders, Lovia’s blade flashing, the Magician twisting galaxies beneath his hood. They all rally as best they can.

Ilmarinen appears, bloody and breathless, clutching the sampo. “I must try now! The ley line’s here!” he yells. My father, battered and grim, nods. Ilmarinen sets the sampo down, runes glinting, and I stand there, hollow, replaying Tapio’s death again and again. I can’t stop seeing it.

My father and Rasmus deepen their chant, straining to hold this fragile bubble of calm as the skeleton army hammers at the wards. Soldiers brace for another strike. The Magician mutters about fate. Lovia paces, staring down the enemy, blade at the ready.

A soft chime from the sampo cuts through the chaos. The ground trembles, energy racing up my legs as the sampo’s crystalcore swirls with color, tapping into the ley line. The Old Gods sense it—Zelma’s shadows tremble, Thaerix’s vortex howls in panic, skeletons rattle forward. The wards waver.

“Hanna!” a voice cries out. I can’t tell who, but I know I’m needed. My fear still grips me, but I force out a faint glow of warmth, just a drop of sun. It fuses with the ward, holding back spears and clawing hands. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.

Ilmarinen works frantically. The ground cracks, ley energy sparking like fireflies. The Old Gods recoil; Zelma’s eclipse loosens, Thaerix’s winds falter, skeletons stumble.

For the first time, hope surges.

Then, the sampo’s glow flickers. Ilmarinen curses, adjusting the spheres. A crack appears in the crystal, and he tries to steady it, but it’s too late. The sampo vibrates, fractures webbing across its surface. “I can’t hold it!” he shouts, leaping back.

A flash of multicolored light blinds us, hurls us to the ground. I gasp for air. When my vision clears, I see skeletons collapsing into bone piles, Zelma’s darkness thinning, Thaerix’s vortex narrowing to nothing. The Old Gods, momentarily sealed away by the broken sampo’s surge, are sucked into the cracks, vanishing underground. Silence falls, broken only by ragged breathing.

We did it.

The sampo worked.

We survived.

But at what cost?

Tapio is gone. Too many soldiers have died. Despite working enough to disable the Old Gods, the sampo is shattered, leaving the ley line half-fixed, our victory incomplete. Ilmarinen kneels amidst crystal shards, trying to gather them with shaking fingers. Soldiers groan and wipe sweat from their brows, some of them waking up from the sleep Zelma put them in. My fatherand Rasmus, drained, lean on each other as the Magician stands apart, silent.

Did he see this all?

Did he know?

I push myself up, numb, limbs shaking. Tellervo’s anguished cries burn into my soul. She sees me, eyes blazing with accusation. “Hanna!” she sobs. “You could have saved him!”

My throat locks. I have no excuse. I’m not a Goddess—I’m a coward. My terror killed him as surely as that Old God’s claws. She turns away, cradling her father’s staff, hatred radiating from her every sob. The forest itself seems to cry along with her, branches shaking violently, leaves and needles falling to the ground like tears.

I drop to the cold ground and fold inward, hugging my knees, tears sliding silently down my face. I’m the Goddess of both the sun and death—and I failed. I had one chance to save Tapio, and I froze, choking on fear. Now, he’s gone, and I’ve lost more than an ally. I’ve lost trust, confidence, and perhaps the right to call myself their savior.

Tuoni comes to my side, hauling me up to my feet and putting his arms around me. He holds me tight, telling me it wasn’t my fault, that I did the best I could, but I don’t believe a word he says. I’m not sure he believes it either.

As the camp tends to wounds and grieves, I remain hollow and ashamed. The Old Gods retreated for now, but there will be others in our future. The path to Shadow’s End remains perilous, the ley lines broken, my courage and conviction beyond shattered.

I don’t know how to face them—or myself.