She didn't understand how he could be so devoid of ambition. They were legends, monarchs - living gods, deities over mankind! They ruled over beings too powerless and flawed to govern themselves - a kindness to mortals, a favor given for nothing but adoration and praise.
What wasn't theirs for the taking? Nothing, she assured herself. But when she told him, he refused to meet her eyes.
"Not so, my love," he'd murmur in that quiet voice of his. "Remember your beginnings."
Beginnings? She didn't understand. She had always been a goddess. Right?
Of course I have. She dismissed her husband's words.
He must have seen the confusion in her eyes, because he froze, just for a moment, then turned away.
She was the ruler of the firmament. What was not to be proud of? She was beautiful and beloved, permanent perfection.
She never felt her end approach.
Silent, sadistic, Nightmare's corruption overpowered her easily. She had no time to scream, but she realized what was happening - she had always been proud of her sky, but never a tyrant - under Nightmare had conquered her.
Her mind didn't last long enough for her to apologize to the one she had not realized was trying to save her until it was far, far too late.
She smirked, proud of her skyborn empire. I don't know why I ever thought I needed him. He only ever wanted me to be weak - a delicate flower rather than a fearless warrior-queen!
She believed herself entirely. Nightmare had taken the Queen of the Winds, and it would not easily release her.
And then, with neither fanfare nor warning, she fell asleep.
And from that sleep, Garukhan awoke, released from the chains of her caged and enslaved mind, and - for the first time in centuries - she laughed with joy. "Whatever this sleep is," she cried, "I am free! Maybe I am no longer able to act, but I can think freely!"
With that, she did something she had never done, for one reason or another.
I'm so sorry, my love.
Eons later, a band of seven managed to defeat the Thaumaturge Laureate.
Barely a moment later, ancient immortals escaped a near-infinite sleep.
Nightmare-Garukhan had barely opened her eyes before she was in the sky. She did not look back, only rode the wind to her shrine.
It was gone.
The walls of her temple, too - she stared, enraged, before calling winds to carve her holy symbols into where her altar had been.
Minutes later, she had a shrine and engraved walls. It was but nothing to a goddess, but it would suffice - she had the whole of the sky, after all.
All she needed now was a priestess. A Maraketh warrior priestess would be preferable -
There, she thought, she will do.
She called to the woman with her mind, employing psionic suggestion to 'convince' her to submit.
Come to me.
The mortal's mind never stood a chance, Nightmare-Garukhan knew.
Come, Kira. Bring your sekhema and come to me. You are my chosen, dekhara.
Yes, my lady, Kira's mind surrendered.
Good, my priestess. Bow before me, for I am Garukhan.
A few months later, goddess and priestess fought against blade and bow, against sword and spell, against flame and frost.
The goddess could not understand how these mortals were not dying, or even simply bowing. She was a goddess! She had power, respect! She was immortal, invincible!
She was Garukhan, she told herself. She knew she was. So why didn't it feel true?
Her steps slowed, uncertain.
And in that moment, the assassin's blade pierced her blackened heart.
Nightmare faded first, disappointed with a host who had proved herself weak.
In Garukhan's last moment, only one thought sparked to life.
Thank you…