I am a light (that's burning out)

She didn't always have to fight.

There were lulls in the Calamity's power, gaps where it would pause in its destruction, shrink and wane and weaken, giving her brief snippets of peace, time to rest and heal before the evil would once again rear its ugly head and she would have to draw upon the Goddess' power once more.

She didn't always have to fight.

Sometimes the Calamity would just stop, and in those moments, she was able to understand why, was able to feel a kindred link with it.

She knew what it was to be tired, to want to curl up and stop and deny fate by inaction, simply refusing to play a part in it all.

But then it would move again, and she would have to gather her strength once more.
__________

The Golden Goddess stood over the battlefield, radiant light spreading from her outstretched hand and burning the approaching monsters. Her chosen hero stood at her side, sword at the ready. He did not shake, he did not cower.

He did not know this fight would be his last.

The Golden Goddess left him in ignorance, left him in peace. He would fight for her to his final breath, even when nobody else was left. Such was the fate of things.

He left his sword behind, the blade she had created for his hands.

(She would create new hands to hold it someday.)

Power, wisdom, and courage; the gifts of her mothers, long since gone. She would not join them, instead casting away her divine form in favour of reincarnation.

She devised a plan to defeat the growing evil, asleep and sealed away.

A vessel to hold her power. A hero to hold her sword. A guiding spirit to hold him steady.

Everything was created to be held.

To be a goddess was to be beheld. To be mortal was to be alive.
__________

The Calamity rose again, and she pushed her power upwards and outwards, from her core to her very fingertips, burning and glowing searingly bright, stretching through the darkness. She had fought for every inch of progress, every moment of suppression, it would not go to waste.

(Not while he was relying on her, waiting to rise and take up his sword once more.)

The lulls in its power were getting shorter, getting further apart.

The land had felt enough destruction. It had enough tragedy and pain and loss to fill a thousand lifetimes, but there were spaces within time where she could sit and stare out beyond the castle walls, beyond the dark cloud hanging over what was left of her life. There were spaces where she could simply sit and be, and watch as life went on and recovered, as pieces fit back together and grief gave way to perseverance.

(People always survived.)
__________

There was a legend of a Great Sea.

A man cloaked in darkness returned after centuries, and brought with him destruction and turmoil.

A hero did not rise.

So instead, the waters did.

The kingdom sank beneath the waves, locked in time and sorrow. A seal, a crypt, a tomb.

A sword, waiting.

There was always waiting.
__________

She had spent beyond a lifetime waiting.