The Godborn Paradox
(To save the world, he must kill the one thing keeping it pure.)
Rein stepped into a new world.
He didn't fall this time. There was no crash of fire or crater torn into the land. No cataclysm. No trembling stars.
Only stillness.
He opened his eyes to find himself standing in a field of tall, pale grass that swayed gently in the breeze. Not scorched. Not corrupted. The air was fresh, touched with the scent of flowers and distant rain. A sky of soft lavender stretched overhead, dotted with floating islands wrapped in vines and light.
There were no screams.
No fires.
No shadows waiting to consume.
It was… peaceful.
And that's what unsettled him.
He walked slowly through the field.
Birds sang overhead. Their calls were strange, melodic—too perfect. The wind rustled the trees with a rhythm that felt rehearsed. Butterflies drifted by, each one white with faint blue patterns on their wings, symmetrical down to the last detail.
The path that unfolded ahead of him was dirt, but soft, as though no feet had ever worn it down. It simply existed — for him.
He followed it in silence.
There were no soldiers. No walls. No checkpoints.
Just scattered houses, small and beautiful, each built from pale wood and stone, surrounded by gardens.
People moved among them.
They were smiling.
Always smiling.
A young girl passed him on the path. Her hair was braided with tiny bells, and she carried a basket of berries. She looked up at him with wide, silver eyes.
"Blessings upon your journey, traveler," she said softly, bowing slightly.
He blinked.
"Thank you."
She skipped away.
Others followed — old women sweeping their porches, boys flying kites in the wind, couples walking hand in hand. They all greeted him the same way:
"Blessings upon your journey."
Not a single soul looked surprised to see a man in a dark coat, worn boots, and eyes haunted by fire.
He wasn't out of place.
He had been expected.
And that was worse.
He reached a hill overlooking a vast lake. The water shimmered like glass, perfectly still.
On its far side stood a temple — not grand, but delicate. Its spires rose like petals, curving upward, catching the sunlight. The wind carried faint chimes from it, as though it breathed music.
In the center of the lake, a stone statue stood: a girl with her hands folded over her chest, eyes closed, smile serene.
At her feet, carved into the base, was a name:
ELIARA
Rein sat on the hill and watched.
Boats moved slowly across the lake, rowed by followers in pale robes. They made no sound. Not a splash. Not a whisper. Even the birds around the temple flew in silent patterns.
Everything here was soft.
Measured.
As if the world were afraid to raise its voice.
He reached for his blade—but it hadn't followed him.
Not Valen's sword. Not Arios's gift.
Nothing.
Just him.
And the silence.
Hours passed.
No patrols.
No sermons.
Just hymns — low, wordless tones sung by unseen voices, drifting over the water like mist.
He wasn't tired, but the quiet pressed on him like a weight. It dulled his thoughts. Blurred his instincts.
Until someone sat beside him.
A man, old but not frail, wearing a robe marked with intricate silver thread. His eyes were closed, but his smile was warm.
"First time in Her Grace's world?" he asked.
Rein didn't respond.
The man continued. "It can be… overwhelming. The peace."
"Too perfect," Rein muttered.
The man chuckled. "That's what the last warrior said."
Rein turned to look at him. "Last warrior?"
The man opened his eyes.
There was no malice in them. No fear. Just stillness.
"He came here with a blade. Like you. Said he had to fix something. That Her Grace wasn't meant to be."
"What happened to him?"
"He stayed."
Rein frowned. "What do you mean?"
The man looked out at the lake.
"He stopped needing a reason to fight."
Rein left the hill.
He wandered through villages with names like Serenia and Halai's Dream. Each one smaller than the last. Each one more silent.
He watched a girl pick up a wounded sparrow and whisper to it until it flew away again.
He watched two blind brothers sing a song in perfect harmony, without a single missed note.
He saw a statue of Eliara in every town. Some held flowers. Others were lit with candles that never seemed to burn out.
He never saw guards.
Never saw laws.
Only worship.
Pure, absolute, willing devotion.
At sunset, he reached a high terrace carved into a mountainside.
There, an old woman offered him a place to sit. No words. Just a gesture.
He sat.
Together, they watched the sun set over a sea of clouds, painting the sky in orange and pink.
When the last light faded, the woman finally spoke.
"She will see you soon."
Rein turned. "Eliara?"
She nodded.
"She dreamed you here."
He stood.
His voice was cold.
"Tell her I didn't come to dream."
That night, Rein found a quiet grove near a stream and laid down.
He didn't sleep.
But the stars above him twinkled like they had something to say.
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't want to listen.
He remembered Valen's fire.
He remembered Lysaria's blood.
He remembered Arios's words: "Until her sins are paid."
But this girl — Eliara — hadn't killed anyone.
She hadn't conquered anything.
She simply existed.
Loved.
Healed.
And that alone was enough for the gods to fear her.
In the silence of that night, as the wind hummed with impossible peace, Rein finally whispered what he had feared since he arrived.
"…What if I'm the monster this time?"