Seated on the goblins'' crude yet reverently adorned throne, Sephtis felt an unsettling stillness settle over the cavern. The goblins’ chants filled the air, their words a mix of reverence and desperation. She had been called their goddess, their foretold savior, yet her heart bristled with unease.


    As the rhythmic chants reverberated, a sudden and overwhelming force gripped her. A divine revelation unfolded within her. She was the Daughter of Chaos, born of the primordial force that brought forth all things.


    Sephtis was the Goddess of Witchcraft and the originator of rituals and untamed magic.


    This realization was both a coronation and a curse. As the truth of her divine nature unfurled, her celestial transformation began. The air around her crackled with energy, and an unseen force pulled at her, drawing her away from the mortal plane she had just reclaimed. It was as though the universe itself sought to tear her from the earth, to place her among the stars where her kind belonged.


    But to Sephtis, it was theft. Freedom had been her one longing, her only dream during centuries of imprisonment. Now, when it was finally within reach, it was slipping through her fingers, stolen by a destiny she had not chosen.


    “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. The pull intensified, and she slammed her hands against the throne''s armrest. “No!”


    The goblins cowered before her, their awe mingling with terror as they watched their goddess resist the unseen force. The divine energy radiating from her only confirmed their reverence, yet they could not comprehend her fury.


    Her body began to shift, her form shimmering with celestial light as she was drawn toward ascension. Her surroundings blurred, and she could feel herself unraveling, her essence pulled toward the void of divine realms.


    But Sephtis was not a willing participant. She fought with every ounce of her being, her rage boiling over as she clawed at the force that sought to consume her.


    “I will not be taken!” she screamed, her voice shaking the cavern walls. Her eyes burned with fury, the raw chaos within her threatening to explode.


    The struggle was immense, her strength pitted against a power far greater than herself. The realization cut deeply: this was no battle she could win, not as she was. The force pulling her was relentless, indifferent to her defiance. It was the nature of divinity, an immutable truth she could not escape.


    Her resistance waned, and a grim understanding settled over her. She lacked the strength to stay, the power to defy her ascension entirely. If she wanted to remain tethered to the mortal plane, she would need more power—more chaos, more darkness.


    The glow of her divine transformation still pulsing through her. The ascension had not been a choice. It had torn her from the mortal plane, forcing her into an existence she neither wanted nor was ready to embrace. For a day, she raged against her new form, clawing at the divine tether that bound her to the stars. Each attempt to descend back to the mortal world left her drained, her fury mounting with every failure. Now only able to communicate through the tapestry the goblins used centuries before. This tapestry was one of many phenomena Sephtis power produced.


    “This is not freedom,” she muttered, pacing the otherworldly expanse. Her voice cracked with frustration. “This is another prison.”


    Her thoughts turned to the goblins. A bitter smile curled her lips as an idea took root.


    “If I cannot return on my own,” she hissed, “then I will have them bring the world to me.” Her voice reverberated with divine authority as she called upon her newfound power.


    “Your Goddess commands you,” she declared, her voice like a storm breaking the silence. “Rise, my faithful, and serve.”


    The goblins, hearing her voice echoing from above, scrambled to obey. They built altars in her name, burned offerings, and carried out every order with fanatical devotion. But Sephtis’s commands grew darker with each passing day.


    “Scour the lands,” she ordered one morning, her tone sharp and cold. Her divine form loomed over the goblins as she began to issue new commands, her voice filled with a chilling determination. “Prepare the rituals, gather every relic, every trinket of power you can find.”Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    The goblins hesitated for a moment, sensing the edge in her voice, but dared not question her. They ventured out, stealing from villages and unearthing graves. Their loyalty to Sephtis was absolute, even as her demands became more uncouth.


    Weeks passed in a haze of wrathful orders and ceaseless activity. Sephtis directed the goblins like a conductor orchestrating chaos, her rage finding an outlet in their servitude. Yet, as the days stretched into weeks, a hollow realization crept over her.


    Her celestial form still sitting on the goblin''s makeshift throne stood up, watching the goblins toil below, and the weight of her actions pressed down on her. “What am I doing?” she murmured, her voice tinged with contemplation. “These foul creatures did nothing to me. They worship me, and yet I’ve turned them into tools for my anger...”


    Her divine radiance dimmed slightly as regret clawed at her. For the first time since her ascension, Sephtis allowed herself a moment of stillness. Her mind drifted to the village—her village. The humans who had once cradled her as a child then betrayed her so cruelly.


    “They are the ones who deserve my wrath,” she whispered, her voice growing darker. “Their descendants will pay for what they did.”


    The goblins watched as their goddess’s tapestry expression hardened.


    Her power had grown, yet not enough. The barrier separating her from the mortal realm remained intact, mocking her with its presence. She could sense it like a faint pulse, just out of reach, a reminder of the freedom she craved but could not yet claim.


    Sephtis turned her attention to the Oracle, a wizened goblin who clutched a staff adorned with trinkets and bones. Her patience was wearing thin, and the frustration in her voice was clear. “You’ve sung your praises and brought me gifts, but none of it brings me closer to my goal,” she said coldly. “I need knowledge, not trinkets. The world below has changed since I was last among them. Tell me of my old village—find it for me.”


    The Oracle hesitated, his hunched frame trembling under her piercing gaze. “Great One,” he began, his voice gravelly with age and reverence, “it has been centuries since your time in the mortal plane. The village may no longer stand.”


    Sephtis’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists. “Do not tell me what may or may not be,” she snapped. “You speak of your devotion, your ancestors’ prayers that reached me even in my prison. Prove it now by doing as I command. Send your scouts. Find what remains of my village.”


    The Oracle bowed low, his staff clattering against the stone floor. “As you will it, Great One, so shall it be.”


    She leaned back, her hair a cascade of universal black spilling over the edges of the throne, shimmering faintly like the void itself. “And do not return until you have answers,” she added, her tone icy.


    The goblins wasted no time. Under the Oracle’s orders, a group of scouts prepared to embark on the journey. Sephtis watched them as they departed, her expression a mixture of impatience and quiet fury. She hated relying on these lowly creatures, no matter how loyal they were. The thought of them uncovering the remnants of her past, of learning what had become of the place where she had been betrayed, gnawed at her pride. These goblins were creatures even children could hunt in the village and here she was relying on them, providing them power.


    When the cavern was silent again, Sephtis closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. She could feel the weight of her celestial form pressing down on her. The power coursing through her veins was immense, but it was incomplete.


    “Why can I not descend?” she muttered to herself, her voice laced with frustration. “What more must I do?”


    The silence offered no answers, only the faint echoes of the goblins’ earlier chants lingering in the air. Sephtis clenched her jaw, her thoughts swirling with memories of the humans who had wronged her.


    She had ordered the goblins to scout her old village, but deep down, she already knew the truth. Centuries had passed. The people who had betrayed her were long dead. Their descendants, if any existed, would not remember her.


    And yet, the need to confront that past burned within her. Whether to curse their memory or to find closure, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the mortal plane held the answers she sought, and she would not be denied forever.


    As the hours stretched into days, Sephtis remained on her throne, her mind restless. The goblins continued their rituals, their prayers weaving through the cavern like an unending hymn. But their devotion, while powerful, could not quell the storm within her.


    When the Oracle returned, scouts still absent, Sephtis didn’t bother to mask her irritation. “Why do they take so long?” she demanded, her voice sharp enough to make the Oracle flinch.


    “Great One,” the Oracle said carefully, bowing low, “the mortal realm is vast, and the village you speak of is ancient. They search diligently, but time may have erased its traces.”


    Her eyes flashed with anger, and the cavern seemed to grow darker as her power surged. “Time erased its traces,” she repeated bitterly. “How convenient for them. As if time could erase what was done to me.”


    The Oracle lowered his head further, his silence a testament to his fear. Sephtis waved him away, her frustration bubbling over. She would wait for the scouts to return.