I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Her hand was steady, the blade poised to end his life with the slightest flick of her wrist. Ajax hadn\'t expected this—hadn\'t sensed her approach.

She could kill him where he stood. And yet, she didn\'t. Her restraint was barely contained, but she knew the consequences of such an action. Killing a Greek king, even one as hated as Ajax, would bring the full wrath of the greeks, their armies or maybe the Gods who blessed him.

"Release your filthy hand from her," Sienna ordered.

Ajax\'s grin didn\'t falter, though the muscles in his arm relaxed, his grip loosening from Aisha\'s throat. Slowly, he raised his hands in mock surrender, still savoring the situation even as he was forced to yield. "As you wish," he said, his voice low and dangerous, as if daring her to strike anyway.

Aisha gasped, her chest heaving as air flooded back into her lungs. She coughed violently, the red marks of his fingers still imprinted on her neck as she struggled to sit up, her body trembling from both the attack and the sudden release.

"Move away," Sienna ordered, her blade pressed harder against Ajax\'s neck, the sharpness of the steel biting into his skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood. Her tone held an authority Ajax hadn\'t heard in years, an authority that made even his own blood chill for a second.

Ajax\'s eyes flicked between the two women before looking at Sienna.

This one was different. Stronger than Aisha. Sharper, deadlier, and far more willing to spill blood if provoked.

She could kill him. But she wouldn\'t—not yet. Ajax knew the cost of a fight here, and though he could overpower her, the wounds he\'d sustain wouldn\'t be worth it. Not now. Not with the others nearby.

"Fine," he said, stepping back, the mocking smirk never leaving his lips. His towering form retreated, but the hunger in his eyes remained, lingering on both of them. "But I\'ll remember this." He touched the thin cut on his neck, wiping the small bead of blood with his thumb before leaving jumping above the three dead bodies of his comrades.

Sienna didn\'t let her guard drop, the sword still held steady, tracking every step he took. Only when Ajax had moved far enough away did she lower her blade.

"Are you alright?" She asked, turning her gaze to Aisha.

Aisha\'s breath hitched as she touched her neck, the lingering sensation of discomfort tightening around her throat like a noose. "Y-yes... thank you..." she murmured, her voice barely audible, her fingers trembling as they traced the invisible marks left by her earlier struggle.

Sienna stood in front of her, her icy gaze cutting through Aisha\'s silence with cold precision. Though her face remained calm, there was no mistaking the irritation simmering beneath the surface. "What were you doing alone in those beasts\' territory?" she demanded, her tone sharp as a blade. "You know how dangerous they are, and yet you wandered around as if you didn\'t care."

Aisha remained mute, her eyes downcast, unable to meet Sienna\'s fierce stare. She could feel the weight of her judgment, the unspoken disappointment hanging in the air between them.

Sienna crossed her arms, her voice hardening even further. "Were you even trying to escape, Aisha?" The question cut through the silence like a whip.

Sienna wasn\'t a fellow hero of the Light Empire—she was someone who had trained alongside Aisha, someone who knew her strengths, her limits. Together, they had trained against the Divine Knights, pushing their abilities to their limits, and Sienna was well aware that Aisha had the power to get out of most situations.

She could have fought back, could have slipped away before the situation became dire. Yet... she hadn\'t.

It was as if, for a brief moment, Aisha didn\'t care what happened to her.

The silence stretched between them, and Sienna\'s patience was wearing thin. Aisha\'s silence, her refusal to explain, only made her frustration grow. "You\'ve faced worse, Aisha. Why didn\'t you fight back? Why let yourself get to that point?"

Aisha\'s lips parted, but no words came out. She didn\'t know what to say—how could she explain what she barely understood herself? Maybe, just maybe, if her mind hadn\'t been consumed, as it always was, by him, she could have done something. Could have reacted faster, could have avoided the danger. But her thoughts always seemed to drift back to him. Always.

No.

She knew it was no excuse. If it had been Courtney, she wouldn\'t have hesitated—Courtney would have burned everything to ash without a second thought, consequences be damned. But Courtney\'s rage was different, driven by something raw and unrelenting. Nathan\'s loss had ignited a fire in her, one that fed her every step. She burned hotter, wilder, for him.

Aisha, on the other hand, was drowning in her thoughts of Nathan. While Courtney used her grief as fuel, Aisha sank beneath it, consumed by an endless, quiet despair. It had made her stronger in some ways, but not like Courtney. It hadn\'t set her aflame. It had turned her cold, empty.

And then there was Sienna.

Sienna was controlled madness. She mourned Nathan too—more deeply than anyone else—but she channeled that pain into her training, sharpening her skills until she became the strongest hero of the Light Empire. It was her constant thoughts of him that fueled her, but they never crippled her like they did Aisha. She was honed to the edge of madness, but never past it.

But Aisha? Aisha was a different story altogether, and it was clear that Sienna\'s patience was wearing thin with her.

Sienna shifted, the coldness in her eyes softening for just a moment before her lips parted again. She hesitated, perhaps debating whether to say what was on her mind. But in the end, she chose not to. Instead, she turned toward the entrance of the tent. "Don\'t be late. I won\'t come for you again."

Without waiting for a response, Sienna stepped outside, the flap of the tent closing behind her with a soft rustle.

Aisha sat still, her hands resting on the rough surface of the wooden table beside her. Her fingers curled into fists, her knuckles turning white as she squeezed tighter and tighter.

"N...Nathan..." she whispered, her voice raw and broken, the sound barely escaping her constricted throat. There were no tears in her eyes, but the pain was carved deep into her expression. Her face twisted with anguish, the hurt so intense it threatened to break her entirely.

He had stolen her heart…and then vanished from her life.

How could she ever forgive him for that?

Nathan, because of his absurd LUCK had left too deep a mark on her soul. He had no idea, no awareness of how much he had impacted her. How much of herself she had lost the day he disappeared from her world.

No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much time passed, Aisha couldn\'t forget him. He haunted her every thought, every moment of silence, until it was all she could do not to scream from the weight of it.

Did she really not care anymore? What difference would it make if something happened to her? Nathan wasn\'t there. He had been gone for so long, and in his absence, nothing felt real—nothing mattered. As long as she was alive, what did it matter what became of her body, her strength, her purpose? It was all hollow now, a shell of what once was.

The ache of his absence consumed her, numbing her to everything else.

"Aisha."

The sound of her name, spoken softly but firmly, startled her from her spiraling thoughts. Her gaze, which had been fixed blankly on the floor, lifted slowly. She turned, her body moving almost mechanically, to face the source of the voice.

A shadowed figure stood at the far end of the tent, partially obscured by the dim light and heavy fabric walls. But even in the darkness, she recognized the outline of the armor he wore—the Spartan armor. The same armor she had seen earlier, watching silently as the flames consumed the woods.