“Half a gift?”
Isis still didn’t understand Beacai’s meaning when her hand was gently taken. A cool sensation brushed against her wrist, and a floral bracelet, like a miniature wreath, was slipped on.
A faint fragrance drifted from the bracelet. The flowers woven into it seemed to still hold the morning dew. Isis admired it for a moment before thanking Beacai.
She could tell Beacai had prepared it with great care. Its design was reminiscent of the floral crowns she used to wear, a fitting accessory for her as Yggdrasil.
“Do you like it?” Beacai asked.
“It’s nice.”
After her casual reply, Isis took a few more bites of cake, but her appetite quickly vanished. She set down her fork and knife. Beacai, noticing this, said nothing and simply instructed the maids to clear the plates.
Dusk settled once more. Isis wanted to leave the kitchen, but as she stood, her vision suddenly went black. Her body gave way, and she collapsed backward.
“Mother?”
Beacai caught her, holding her close. Isis’s head was lolled to the side, her eyes closed and arms limp, as if she had fallen asleep.
After what felt like a long time, she slowly opened her eyes. Consciousness returned, and with it, the feeling in her limbs.
Raising a hand to her head, Isis replied, “I’m fine… Just a little tired…”
She knew her condition had grown dire. The next time she fainted, she might not wake up.
Tomorrow would be the last day of her life. Her exhausted body might not even allow her to get out of bed.
“Then you should go rest.”
With those words, Beacai carried her back to the bedroom.
She carefully removed Isis’s shoes, laid her down on the bed, and pulled the covers over her before taking a seat by her side.
Throughout it all, Isis offered no resistance, allowing Beacai to move her as she pleased. Even after being settled in bed, she remained motionless, save for the gentle rise and fall of her breath.
Her golden hair fanned out across the pillow. The dim, yellow light of the bedroom seemed to symbolize the imminent end of her life as she stared blankly at the ceiling, her eyes half-open.
Perhaps it was because death was so near, but she found herself frequently recalling moments from her past. Memories that were once tense or joyous now felt utterly unremarkable.
In the face of death, nothing mattered anymore. Except for Nona.
She had often tried to reassure herself that Nona had grown into a kind and righteous young woman, no longer vulnerable to the corruption of Níðhöggr’s soul. But now, in this final moment, she realized she still couldn’t let go of her worry.
What if she was corrupted by the evil dragon and became a Malevolent God, just like Beacai?
Or what if she foolishly challenged a Malevolent God and threw her own life away…?
The more she thought, the more she worried. But there was nothing she could do now.
After a long while lost in her memories, she turned her head to Beacai, who had not left her side. “You should go back, too. Get some rest.”
She understood that Beacai also knew she was dying.
The Malevolent God’s face was a placid mask—no joy, no anger. It was as if she were a mere spectator, detached from the affairs of the world.
And yet, Isis sensed a peculiar loneliness from her, a profound solitude, and beneath the surface, a sorrow so deep it was tangible.
Could a Malevolent God feel grief over her death?
She had always believed them to be beings of pure madness, their actions devoid of logic, driven only by their whims. Could such creatures truly possess a heart?
As this thought crossed her mind, Beacai lifted the covers and slipped into bed, resting her head on Isis’s chest.
“Go back? Can’t I sleep here tonight?” she asked with a smile, a hint of otherworldly charm in her voice.
“Do as you wish.”
“Then that’s a yes.”
Beacai nestled closer. Isis felt a soft warmth against her, smelled the delicate fragrance from Beacai’s hair, and heard the faint, steady rhythm of her heartbeat.
Perhaps because she was dying, Isis had no energy to resist these small gestures. Thinking back on the past two days, she realized she hadn’t truly treated Beacai like a Malevolent God at all.
After all, once she was gone, all love and hatred would simply fade to nothing.
“Mother, I want to hear a bedtime story.”
Curled up in her arms, Beacai was like a child asking for a tale. Isis considered for a moment, then asked, “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
“Any kind is fine. As long as you’re the one telling it, I’ll listen.”
“In that case, I’ll tell you a story about a hero.”
Clearing her throat, Isis recalled the tale and began to narrate in a weak voice, “A long, long time ago, a great dragon suddenly appeared and abducted the kingdom’s princess…”
The story was an old cliché—a hero rescuing a princess from a dragon—but Beacai seemed to have never heard anything like it. She listened with rapt attention as Isis spoke.
Time passed without notice. As the story reached its conclusion, the night outside the window seemed exceptionally still.
“In the end, the hero killed the dragon, and the princess was freed. They lived happily ever after.”
Finishing the story, Isis gave Beacai a meaningful look. She hoped she would understand that the dragon in the story was no different from her.
A Malevolent God who committed endless evil would eventually face a righteous judgment, just like the dragon.
“Why did the dragon take the princess? Was it because it loved her?” Beacai asked, touching a finger to her lips with an air of innocence.
“Perhaps. But if it had been able to restrain that feeling and control its actions, it might have lived on,” Isis said, her words laden with hidden meaning.
If Beacai were to mend her ways now, her own ending might be very different.
But Beacai either didn’t understand or chose not to. She simply smiled and asked in return:
“But its time with the princess must have been the happiest of its life, don’t you think? Without the princess, an eternal life would be meaningless. Surely it must have thought so, too.”
For the love in its heart, the dragon was willing to sacrifice its life.
Isis froze for a second. She then turned her head away, knowing Beacai was too stubborn to be persuaded.
“But the princess didn’t love the dragon,” she said softly. “By doing that, the dragon only hurt her.”
“Does the story say she didn’t love the dragon? What if she didn’t really feel that way?”
“How could a princess love a dragon?”
Faced with Isis’s question, Beacai lowered her gaze and explained:
“Princesses are often just tools for royal alliances. They’re trapped in the palace from a young age, forced to study things they have no interest in. If the dragon hadn’t taken her away, she might never have seen the world beyond the castle walls.”
“The dragon isn’t so malicious. It loves the princess, so it shows her its hoard of countless treasures. It captures a castle for her, and they live there happily.”
“The more fantastical the experience, the more a princess will love it. Without the dragon, she would never have known such things.”
“The hero is the villain who tears them apart. By killing the dragon, he forces the princess back to her old life. Why would she ever love a hero like that?”
Isis considered her words and felt there was some merit to them, but only a little. On the whole, it was still…
“Twisted logic.”
But she had no interest in arguing further. A wave of exhaustion washed over her, and her eyelids grew heavy. Soon, she drifted into a deep sleep.
Beacai had expected her to say more, but after waiting for some time without a reply, she turned to see that Isis had already fallen asleep.
Her soft, even breaths tickled Beacai’s neck. She stared at Isis’s sleeping face, lost in thought, before finally letting out a soft chuckle.
“Goodnight, Mother. It was the dragon who saved the princess, after all.”