[Warning: Old Draft]
Argider swayed on her feet, the world tilting dangerously as the remnants of whatever unholy power had just nearly broken her apart still clung to the air. Her divine seal was cracked, her body a battlefield of pain and exhaustion, and her mind? Blissfully, stubbornly refusing to process what had just happened.
Unfortunately, her wives had already processed everything for her.
"Nope," Esralda declared, stepping forward with all the certainty of a woman who had made up her mind. "She's done. Ti for forced rest. Again."
Before Argider could even blink, strong arms scooped her up.
Argider flailed. "PUT DOWN—"
"No," Esralda replied, as if it were the simplest answer in the world.
"This is ridiculous! I can still—"
"Be stubborn and collapse in the middle of sothing important? Yes. That is exactly why we're doing this," Faeralys said, adjusting her glasses with a look that scread 'I told you so.'
Fialova, lounging with a glass of wine she had definitely conjured out of nowhere, smirked. "Oh, let her struggle a little. It's entertaining."
The struggling? Completely pointless. Argider was summarily carried off, all resistance ignored.
Argider was tucked into bed with military precision.
It was not optional.
Esralda stood at the bedside, arms crossed, her stance daring Argider to try anything foolish. Faeralys, ever the scholar, was already flipping through a massive to on divine backlash, ready to deliver an impromptu lecture. And Fialova? Fialova was far too pleased about all of this.
"You should just give in, darling," she cooed, leaning over with a grin. "Think of the attention you're getting."
Argider, deadpan, muttered, "I'd rather fight a god."
"Oh, but you already did," Fialova purred, fingers tracing circles on the sheets. "And look where it got you."
Since rest was non-negotiable, her wives took full advantage of the situation.
Esralda, the relentless caretaker, ensured Argider was fed, hydrated, and completely immobile. Any attempt to move was t with an unimpressed stare and the simple question: "Do you want to make it worse?"
Faeralys, ever the intellectual nace, insisted on examining Argider's divine seal thoroughly. Unfortunately, her thod involved tracing intricate patterns on her skin while murmuring about energy stabilization.
Fialova, the shaless flirt, was having the ti of her life. Every now and then, she let out dramatic sighs, stretched in entirely unnecessary ways, and generally made everything worse for Argider's already-frayed sanity.
Argider? Absolutely. Losing. Her. Mind.
Since divine backlash still left her body aching, her wives decided that a trip to the hot springs was mandatory.
Argider crossed her arms. "This is excessive."
Faeralys, adjusting her glasses, responded with complete seriousness, "It's dically necessary."
Fialova smirked. "And aesthetically pleasing."
This ti, it was even worse than before.
Esralda, sleeves rolled up, washed her hair with deliberate care, making sure Argider felt every second of it.
Faeralys ran a soothing hand along her back, murmuring about healing properties, letting her touch linger.
Fialova? She simply stretched in the water, watching the chaos unfold with absolute glee.
Argider? 100% defeated.
Just when Argider thought she might finally catch a break—
Boom.
A ssenger arrived, frantic and breathless.
The entire continent was in absolute disarray.
The High Priests? Still hysterical.
The Scholars? Still spiraling.
The Rival Nations? Still at war.
The Common People? Now forming multiple cults.
And the mysterious figure from before?
They left a ssage.
"We'll et again soon, my dear Argider. Try not to fall apart before then."
Argider? Done. Absolutely done.
Fialova, grinning, swirled her wine. "Oh, don't look so stressed, love. I, for one, am thrilled to see what happens next."
Argider groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead. "I am going to throw myself into the sun."
***
Argider slumped over the grand table of their shared chambers, groaning into her arms as the weight of existence pressed down upon her mortal—or perhaps now slightly divine—shoulders. "I swear, if one more world-shattering disaster lands on my plate, I am launching myself into the nearest star."
"No, you're not," Esralda said without even looking up from where she was ticulously sharpening her sword.
"I might."
"No."
Faeralys, comfortably seated with a to on divine fluctuations open in her lap, sighed. "You wouldn't even reach escape velocity in your condition. Your divine seal is still unstable, aning you'd incinerate before getting anywhere close to the sun."
Argider lifted her head just enough to stare at her. "That was entirely too detailed."
"Would you prefer I calculate the exact velocity needed?" Faeralys asked, already flipping another page with an absentminded hum.
Fialova, lounging across a plush chair with feline ease, smirked. "Darling, if you truly must hurl yourself into sothing, I suggest my arms instead. Much safer. Much softer."
A pillow promptly flew across the room and smacked her in the face.
Before Argider could escalate her dramatics further, a sharp knock echoed through the room. A young ssenger entered, looking appropriately terrified as he held out a sealed letter.
It was not just any letter.
It bore the royal crest.
"Oh no," Argider muttered, dread curling in her stomach.
"Oh yes," Faeralys murmured, a wicked glint in her eyes as she plucked the letter from the ssenger's trembling hands. She broke the golden seal with a precise flick of her fingers and began reading aloud.
"By royal decree, Saintess Argider and her esteed companions are to attend an ergency summit to discuss the recent celestial phenonon."
"Absolutely not," Argider deadpanned.
"The invitation is not optional."
"Even worse."
Esralda crossed her arms, her expression unwavering. "We have no choice. Ignoring a royal summons would cause an international incident."
Argider rubbed her temples. "Great. So now I have to sit through hours of self-important nobles debating whether I'm a divine miracle or a cosmic mistake."
Fialova twirled a lock of her hair, grinning. "I vote for cosmic mistake. Much more entertaining."
The next battle she faced? Clothing.
Esralda insisted on armor. "You are still recovering. You need protection."
Faeralys pushed for ceremonial robes. "You are the Saintess. You should look divine."
Fialova, predictably, suggested sothing scandalous. "She should wear sothing with a plunging neckline, sheer fabrics, a hint of danger—"
Argider smacked a hand over her face. "I hate all of you."
Ultimately, they reached a compromise. Esralda's protection ca in the form of delicate, enchanted silver embroidery woven into the fabric. Faeralys ensured the robes were elegant, ethereal, and befitting a Saintess. And Fialova? She got thigh-high slits, because of course she did.
When they arrived at the royal court, the suffocating silence confird all of Argider's worst fears.
Nobles, scholars, priests, and foreign dignitaries all turned to stare at her as if she were so rare beast paraded for display. The High Priest was the first to approach, his voice trembling with fervor. "Saintess Argider, we must discuss the aning of your recent… incident."
"Do we?" Argider muttered.
The royal advisor stepped forward. "The celestial disturbance has left our scholars baffled. The gods have not responded to our prayers, and yet… you bear the mark of sothing beyond divine comprehension."
"Lucky ," Argider said flatly.
A foreign ambassador bowed deeply. "So believe you are a herald of new divine law. Others… whisper that you are the end of the old gods."
Esralda stiffened, her hand resting on her sword. Faeralys's expression darkened. Fialova rely looked delighted, as if watching the opening act of a particularly dramatic play.
Argider sighed. "And I believe I should have stayed in bed." Continue your adventure at My Virtual Library Empire
Before she could endure further questioning, the air in the hall shifted.
The torches flickered.
A chill crawled down her spine.
And then—
A voice. Familiar. Amused.
"Oh, my dear Argider."
Silence crashed over the room as they appeared.
The sa figure from before. The one who had shattered reality, whispered forgotten truths, and cracked her divine seal.
Nobles panicked. Priests began chanting hurried prayers. Guards drew their weapons.
Argider closed her eyes. "I hate my life."
Fialova, ever the nace, leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Oh, but it's so fun to watch."
The figure took a slow step forward, their presence unsettlingly at ease. "I promised we'd et again, didn't I?"
Argider glared. "You could have chosen not to fulfill that promise."
They chuckled. "Now, where's the fun in that?"
Esralda imdiately stepped between them, hand gripping her sword. "What do you want?"
The figure tilted their head, their expression unreadable. "Why, only to talk." Their gaze settled back on Argider. "After all, dear Saintess, you and I have unfinished business."
The air in the hall was thick with tension.
Fialova smirked, licking her lips. "Well. This just got interesting."
Argider groaned, rubbing her temples. "I'm going to need more wine."
Just as Argider is about to demand answers from the mysterious figure, the ground rumbles. The palace trembles. The sky outside? Now a swirling ss of unnatural colors.
The scholars scream. The priests faint. The nobles try to flee.
And the figure? They just smile.
"Oh, Saintess," they murmur, stepping closer. "You didn't think you were the only anomaly, did you?"
Argider? Staring. Processing. Dreading.
Esralda's grip tightens on her sword. Faeralys is already flipping through her to. Fialova? She just grins.
"Well," Fialova hums, "this should be fun."
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