Banished Divinity: Learning to be Human

Humans have terrible taste in music.

The bass thrummed through my skull anyway—a welcome white noise against the roar of the helicopter rotors. Loud, crude, repetitive. And oddly effective at drowning out everything else.

I was just getting to the good part when a boot connected with the sole of my foot.

“You’re up, Sera!”

Major Vex’s voice cut through the music. I tugged out an earbud, and the world came crashing back in—the thunder of the Osprey’s engines, the sharp scent of jet fuel and sweat, the particular, suffocating brand of testosterone that filled the cargo bay.

I grabbed my bag and moved toward the open ramp, a yawning black maw that swallowed the night sky.

I didn’t make it two steps.

When a low whistle pierced the air. Then another. The kind of sounds men make when they’re trying to hail a dog, or something they consider lesser.

“Man!” one of them called out, his voice dripping with a grin I couldn’t yet see. “You an alien or something?”

A ripple of high-fives and giggling followed. Schoolboys, the lot of them, not the elite operators their patches claimed them to be. I saw Major Vex from the corner of my eye, his jaw tightening. He was about to intervene.

I raised a hand. A simple gesture.

I’ve got this.

The laughter didn’t stop as I turned and walked toward them. They formed a wall of muscle and camo, but my gaze locked onto the one who’d spoken.

He was a monument to brute force—easily six-foot-four, with a neck thicker than most men’s thighs. His chestnut hair was buzzed down to a military stubble; his build was that of a tank given human form. He leaned back in his jump seat, elbows resting on his knees, a confident smirk sitting comfortably on his face as I stopped directly before him.

“What?” he said, smirk widening. “Got a problem?”

I smiled. A slow, deliberate thing.

My hand moved—faster than his mind could process. My fingers closed around his throat—the thick column of it—and lifted. The sound that escaped him wasn’t quite a gasp; it was a broken, strangled wheeze. His boots kicked a frantic, useless rhythm two feet off the deck as I held him there, one-handed, like a disobedient puppy. His face cycled through confidence… to confusion… to raw, unfiltered terror.

I let him hang there for a long moment, savouring the silence that had fallen over the entire cabin. The others froze, caught between disbelief and fear.

I tilted my head slightly, studying him.

Fragile.

All of them were.

I held him there—not out of anger, but curiosity. Why hadn’t I already crushed his throat? Eight years ago, I would have crushed his throat without a second thought.

Now…

I let him drop

He crumpled back into his seat, gasping, hands flying to his neck as if trying to hold himself together.

I leaned in, just enough for him to hear me.

“Peasant.”

I straightened and turned away.

Major Vex was leaning against the bulkhead now, arms crossed. His face remained composed, but a deep, silent chuckle shook his shoulders.

“Ready, Sera?” he asked, as if I’d just swatted a fly.

I let my smile return, this time genuine. I nodded.

I walked to the open ramp, the wind tearing at my clothes, the void stretching endlessly below.

I sent a quick message: I’m going now, Dear.

The reply came instantly.

Be careful. I’ll be waiting. Miss you already.

I smiled.

With no hesitation, I stepped off.

Behind me, a voice rose in panicked alarm. “Major! She doesn’t have a parachute!”

The last thing I heard before the wind swallowed everything was his reply, calm as stone, unquestioning.

“She’ll be fine.”

And I was.

My name is Sera.

Or at least, that’s what they call me.

Once, I had another name. One that carried weight. Power. Meaning.

Now, it fits on a name tag.

Eight human years ago, I was cast down from the heavens by the Celestial Tribunal.

Their reason?

Apparently, killing humans is “wrong.”

In my defence, I didn’t see the issue.

They are brief. Fragile. Gone in the blink of an eye. Like mayflies—alive one moment, gone the next. I simply… sped up the process.

The Tribunal disagreed.

So, they stripped me off my power and sent me here.

To live.

To learn.

To understand things like love, grief, and all the other inexplicable attachments humans cling to.

It has been eight human years.

I still don’t understand.

But… something is different.

…I don’t like it.

I have learned one thing, however.

Divine judgment is nothing compared to a human mother with a slipper.