Among all of the things Atix was called–Goddess of the Sun, Atix the Valiant, Sunfire, and more–there was one word she didn't think she'd add to her trove of names: murderer.
Sure, maybe she hadn't been called a murderer just yet. But she knew, with her impulsivity and tendency to blabber, that she'd slip up sooner rather than later.
It was an accident. The whole thing. She'd been practicing her magic feverishly, outside of the Council's Hall. Tensions had been rising, and if they were to break into a battle, Atix wanted–no, needed to be ready. She wouldn't let Xomaldir show her up again, even if it was only in training. It was, quite frankly, embarrassing for her. To be bested by the man she called her opposite.
Loralin was just a mortal. A stupid, fearless mortal. She apparently thought she'd be able to take a faceful of concentrated sun magic and walk it off like she'd received a light slap to the face. The woman had dropped faster than a sack of flour the moment the magic collided with her. Atix hadn't meant to hit her. But Loralin had made the fatal mistake of walking in front of a goddess practicing her magic.
Now, Atix was uncomfortably standing with the rest of the Council, each of whom stared down at Loralin's limp body like their life depended on it. And, honestly, maybe it did. Because Xomaldir was not happy.
He'd loved the woman like she would be able to stand by his side for the rest of his life. Both of them had pretended like their love wouldn't be shattered the moment Loralin's mortal lifespan ended. They'd turned a blind eye. Maybe it was to protect their feelings. Or maybe it was for another reason. Atix didn't know, but what she did know was that now that she was dead... someone was going to pay. Xomaldir would make sure of that. He'd always been relentless.
Atix redirected her attention to Loralin, eyes inspecting every inch of her caramel colored skin. It was free of blemishes, devoid of cuts, nearly perfect. It showed no sign of anyone ever having laid a finger on her.
Xomaldir was hunched over her, a soft white glow encompassing his body and illuminating Loralin's plump face. Atix could hear the faintest sobs choked from the man, racking the god's shoulders. His head was bowed as he clutched onto Loralin's skin so tightly that he left indents in her smooth skin.
Could Atix have revived her?... Yes, she could have. If she'd acted fast. But she'd been in so much shock for what felt like an eternity that by the time she realized she needed to act, Loralin's blood had run cold and her face had lost its dark color. It had to have been over an hour Atix spent ogling at the woman's body until she was snapped out of her haze. When she'd realized she couldn't save her anymore, she'd run to the Council. Told them Loralin was dead, and left out the rest.
"Do you know who did this?" Xomaldir's voice was low, stuffy, and nothing short of pitiful.
The thought of telling the truth crossed Atix's mind. But only for a flash–as soon as she imagined it, the mere possibility was denied. Xomaldir was ruthless and wicked. If the only thing he seemingly cared about was gone, and he knew she was the reason for that... well... it wouldn't end well for either of them. If one of them died, the other did as well.
