Beyond His Evil

TWO.

 

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The village head bid me goodnight and retreated to her hut. I turned and walked toward my own, the night air cool against my skin.

There was a time when we didn’t live like this—hidden in the forest, dwelling in huts. Back then, life was normal. I had a father. I went to school. We didn’t have to pray for survival every single day.

But everything changed after the war between the vampires and the hunters. The aftermath was a wasteland of destruction—families torn apart, cities reduced to ash, and dreams left shattered.

I used to dream of becoming a doctor, like my father. Now, dreaming felt like a luxury, something fragile and unreachable. It was as if both God and the Demigods had turned their backs on us. Sometimes, I even doubted their existence, though my mother dismissed such thoughts with a quiet reprimand. All we prayed for now was to see another day.

As I stepped into the hut, the warm, enticing aroma of freshly baked beans greeted me, and my stomach growled in response. I hurried toward the kitchen, relieved to see the table already set.

"I love you so much, Mom," I said, sinking into a wooden chair.

She chuckled, drying her hands on a cloth. "You only say that when you see the table set before you."

I laughed, inhaling the rich scent of the meal. Just as I reached for a piece of bread, her wooden spoon swatted my hand.

"Ouch!" I yelped, rubbing the sting.

She gave me a stern look as she sat across from me. "We give thanks to the gods before we eat."

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. The gods did nothing when our world fell apart—when my father was slaughtered by a vampire right before my eyes. And yet, we were expected to thank them for the food we’d toiled to grow and harvest.

"Close your eyes, Kira," she instructed, her tone leaving no room for argument. I complied, tuning out as she murmured her prayer. It felt endless, and when she finally finished, I eagerly began eating.

"No matter what, Kira, always thank the gods," she said, her voice firm.

I ignored her and continued eating, but her next words stopped me. "We’re alive when so many others are not. That’s something to be grateful for."

My appetite vanished. I dropped my spoon and stared into her pale blue eyes.

"The gods could have saved the others," I said, my voice trembling with anger. "They watched us suffer, watched us bury our loved ones. They let this happen. We couldn’t even give Father a proper burial!"

Her gaze fell momentarily, the weight of my words evident.

"They let us struggle, Mom. And yet, you want me to thank them? For what?" My voice broke.

"Kira!" she snapped, her voice sharp. "They see everything. They can hear us."

"Let them hear me!" I shouted, standing. "They demand praise and worship, but they’ve done nothing to deserve it!"

The table rattled as she rose to her feet.

"We are still alive, Kira—"

"This isn’t what being alive should feel like!" I interrupted, my voice rising. "There’s no joy here, no hope. How can you expect me to thank the gods for this misery?!" I turned away, my chest heaving. "The meal was delicious. I’ll do the dishes when you’re done."

I stormed to my room, slamming the wooden door shut. Sliding to the floor, I let the tears spill freely.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, so I heard when my mother entered the room. I stayed still, pretending to be asleep.

The bed dipped as she sat beside me, her cool hand taking mine.

"My special little girl," she whispered, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "I love you so much, Kira. I hope you know that."

I opened my eyes, meeting her gaze.

"I do," I said softly.

She smiled faintly. "Having you in my life is the greatest blessing. I would give my life a thousand times over to protect you."

Tears welled in my eyes as I sat up and hugged her tightly. "I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to yell."

She cupped my face, her hands warm against my skin. "Never apologize for speaking your mind, Kira. Never."

"I love you, Mom," I whispered.

"Forever," she said, stroking my hair.

"Forever," I echoed.

But in our world, forever was a fantasy, as fragile as the dreams we no longer dared to dream.

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                     Author's Note

Hi guys,

First off, thank you for diving into this chapter.

So, let me ask you: how do you feel about Kira’s anger toward the gods? Do you think she’s justified, or do you side with her mother’s belief in gratitude and faith despite the odds?

I’d love to hear your perspective in the comments!