For the Record

Oof.

I carefully inch my way down the hallway, leaning on a wall for support.

It’s taken me months since I awoke to even be able to move this much. I guess that’s what happens when your body is literal ash held together with mana.

And divinity, apparently. At least for me, not my kin.

Which recovers much more slowly than mana.

“You’re doing well,” the gruff attendant says.

He’s been trying to encourage my recovery, but even without a soulbond I can tell it’s entirely because he’s trying to respect his patron’s wishes. Not because he truly wishes for my recovery.

“Gods, I hope so,” I say through a wheeze.

I can’t imagine how much more difficult this would be if Olive – er, Artemis, didn’t keep insisting on spending as much time as possible pressed against me, channeling her mana into and through me. Apparently that’s how I recovered…

And also the reason why she hadn’t left her quarters in literal years.

When I asked where we were, she answered plainly and yet not without hesitation.

The heavens.

Specifically, the Feral Isle, a subdomain of Elysium.

Her subdomain.

…Which she’d apparently abandoned in favor of marrying Astraea, unbeknownst to her entire retinue, of which there are many.

I can understand their frustration with my presence, and even my existence, even if I’m not Astraea.

…

No, that feels wrong somehow.

I… am? No. I’m…

I sigh. It’s the same internal argument again, the same confusion.

I don’t know who I am.

And that’s okay.

I exist, and Artemis wants me here. And that’s okay.

…

After what I can’t help but think is way too much effort, I finally make it to the hallway’s end, exiting out to a landing with a view of endless forests and lakes, interspersed with glimmering rivers. Animal calls echo in the distance.

Her hunting ground.

I stand and gaze up at the night sky, its light illuminating as far as I can see.

I exhale.

This is somehow familiar and comforting, but I’m not sure how or why.

…

My retainers still haven’t recovered. Not even Nyx.

I suppose it’s because Artemis has been focusing all of her time on me, though apparently the pools – there are outdoor pools of water here instead of baths – are naturally flush with mana simply from the nature of this plane, and the servants have been regularly placing them to float there for hours at a time in the hopes of faster recovery.

I’ve spent a fair amount of time there as well.

But it doesn’t do anything for my slowly recovering divinity. The only thing to help that is time.

Time and prayers… of which I have none.

And I already know why.

I’d asked Artemis what was left of my plane, not long after I’d awakened.

Nothing, she’d said. Dead.

They killed my mortals, my dungeon core, my…

My everything. Everything of my home, all of it. And Omorth as well.

They tried to kill my retainers.

They tried to kill my wife.

I feel myself bristle, which draws the attendant’s attention.

“Are you well?” he gruffly asks.

I sigh, catching hold of myself. “Yes, Julis. I am fine. I am… remembering.”

He nods silently.

For someone significantly more brutish than even Omorth was – at least before becoming a sword, Julis is unexpectedly formal and polite.

Which I don’t mind. He is a good example of a loyal retainer and reflects positively on his mistress for it.

She has trained him well.

I exhale a breath and absentmindedly reach up toward the night sky, as if it was a thing I could hold.

***

I’m sitting at an oversized table, populated only by myself and Artemis. It’s made from one single tree trunk, expertly split down the middle, with the bottom flattened to the proper height. The grain of the wood is visibly and tactilely noticeable, but the layer of hardened sap coating it leaves it smooth to the touch – or at least smooth enough.

I know that she doesn’t need to eat. I don’t either. But she still insists on us following this ritual, at least ever since I’ve been able to leave the bed.

Her bed, apparently.

Not that it has any particular relevance to me.

…

It’s not uncomfortable, quite the opposite, but I still can’t help but miss my own quarters, with its garish colors and highly toxic accents.

If I didn’t know better, I’d have almost mistaken them to belong to a goddess of poison at the time.

One of the oversized treehouse’s many maids loops through, carrying a wooden platter with a matching cloche, setting it down before me. Another does the same for my dining partner, and as soon as both are placed they lift the lids in unison.

…Revealing yet another truffle-based dish.

I may be weakened, but there’s no question that Artemis would rather be eating red meat, possibly raw. I can feel it distinctly through our bond.

Or, bonds.

I’m fairly certain that what was once a subservient bond is much more mutual now, and that was how she was able to use my strength as well as her own to restore the lunar body.

Was the second one always there? I’m not sure. Something about it feels very familiar, so I wouldn’t doubt it.

Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be eating red meat? I project to her.

She glances at me for a moment, and then shakes her head.

I don’t believe you. I can tell, you know. You can’t hide it. You never could.

…

She couldn’t?

Meanwhile, my… former maid? She blushes lightly across from me.

Something about her reaction makes me want to push her more, to make her submit.

But I just don’t have the energy for it.

I guess I’ll just eat for now. It’d be a shame to let this go cold.

***

It’s been another month, and I’m finally walking again. I can even release this infernal body and return to my natural state.

…

It is my natural state, isn’t it?

…

…

Somehow I’m not so sure anymore.

I sigh at the mirror set into the wall. Glowing blue eyes gaze back at me.

Artemis has been missing more often as of late.

Which, is fine. She runs a subdomain, even if it isn’t a full plane.

Even if it’s bigger than the Shadowed Plane was. Elysium is absolutely enormous.

And appropriately, she has an enormous number of subjects.

I can’t in good conscience keep her from them, for myself.

…

Since when did I care?

Actually, I’m pretty sure I don’t care! That’s her problem!

…

But it still feels wrong somehow.

I sigh and turn from the mirror. I don’t have much to do here. Any time I try to find something interesting, Artemis shows up and tells me to ‘rest’ in a worried tone.

But even I can tell my recovery is painfully slow.

Maybe that’s normal for injured gods? I know they can be killed… after all, I killed Astraea.

…

Although…

Hmmm…

That gives me an idea. I wonder why I hadn’t thought of it before?

It’s right there in my Status, in plain text.

A flare of blue flames interrupts my thoughts as my house partner appears, gently wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close.

I let her. It’s not like I have the strength to resist her now anyway, not as I am. I may as well be mortal.

And I can tell that she’s had an especially long day of resolving or dismissing her subjects’ disputes, or fending off idiots who want to fight her for some reason.

The name isn’t wrong; her domain really is feral.

So much unnecessary violence. It’s so uncivilized.

…

“Artemis?” I ask.

She locks her red eyes on mine and blinks.

“Are there any hostile planes nearby?”

Concern colors her face for a moment as well as a little confusion before I continue.

“I have a plan. I’m pretty sure I know why I’m recovering so slowly.”

She tilts her head and flicks her ears. Alright, I can plainly tell that was cute. Or at least a part of me thinks so.

I don’t fight the small smile growing on my face.

“You see, I’m not a normal goddess. God? Goddess? I never have been. Even my apotheosis… or uhhh re-apotheosis, it failed. Sort of, anyway.”

The foxkin goddess nods and tilts her head the other way.

“Have you ever actually seen my Status? The full thing, not just my tag or whatever.”

She blinks and shakes her head.

I see.

And yet I’m met with another wall of pain and weakness when I try to project it. I guess Spellspeech is still out of my reach, at least for now.

With a yelp, Artemis catches me as I flag from the effort.

“No, I’m okay. I’m okay. Just another stupid decision, that’s all,” I say as I catch my breath.

And before I know it she’s already got me back in bed, worriedly kneeling to the side of it as though I was about to turn to dust.

Well, I could turn to ash, but that’s irrelevant.

Probably.

“Sorry. I keep worrying you. I’m supposed to be protecting… protecting… O-olive? How l-long were you a goddess?”

My thoughts are… slippery for some reason. Slippery? Is that the word?

Ah, she’s crying.

Why is she crying?

“Hungry,” I manage to get out.

Without a word she starts to stand – I can already tell she’s going to fetch something to eat.

But that’s not what I need.

I grab one of her tails to stop her, and she almost yelps in response, then slowly looks over her shoulder at me.

It’s getting hard to talk for some reason. Maybe I broke something when I tried to use Spellspeech?

A worried look crosses the foxkin’s face.

That’s right.

She can hear my thoughts.

So I force together what will I can, what little I have left…

Artemis. I have a Trait called Abyssal Hunger. I need to tap into an entire plane’s mana to sate it. Take me back to the Shadowed Plane, or a hostile plane. I don’t want to damage your home.