Restoration: Cursed Memories(Book 2)

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Chapter 13: Those Without Will(Part 1)

—Heavenly Realm—

High above the clouds, within a realm distant from the worlds below. A place of tranquility exists. Legend telling of a place not meant for man, but a place for the many angels and the gods. A domain above the many tormenting worlds below. Still, even though such a realm exists, there is seeming to be unrest. Though, unrest towards what exactly? An ominous wind blowing through the prosperous world, some of which feeling the approach of a dreadful day. Others seeming to welcome it.


Odin sitting upon his throne, his hand taking hold of his chin. The god slightly looking down with distress clear within his eyes. The devil that continuously eludes death grabbing at his mind. It is appearing that any step forward, this one devil remains standing in his path. No matter what measures he takes to impede her path.

It certainly does remind him of an earlier time. The plan in which stems the final stages towards Ragnarok. It may be cruel. Even so, it is a must. As time passes, and as power lapse, measures has to be taken in order for influence to maintain. Slowly inhaling and exhaling, raising his head to the ceiling, his arms lowering to the side of the chair.

“You continuously surprise me. Impeding my path. Hmm...that same resolve, it reminds me of someone,” he broodingly speaks.

His eyes immediately widening, the deity leaning forward a bit, his head lowering to the front. Of all the children out there, Odin wondering why it has to be ‘her’ child. The god positioning his arms in a thinking posture, slightly looking away.

“Tyrant Alastor had a daughter for sure, but the mother was never revealed. Half devil...half god. This certainly explains why she continuously grows stronger,” Odin’s expression becoming slightly grim.

—The Past Revisited—

—2000 Years Ago—

A palace stretching far into the sky. The length it extends appearing unknown. Some believing it to go on endlessly, others believe it to reach to the moon. None can say for certain, still, a wondrous mystery it is. The breeze gently blowing that tranquil morning. The warm sunlight shining into the throne room of the palace.

The painting on the walls each holding a treasured memory. From the seas, to the many villages, and even some depicting horrifying wars. Cyra a small child wearing what is appearing to be a traditional white garb. The child standing in front of the throne seat, looking left to right. The girl wondering where her mother can be, it is awfully lonely without anyone else present.

A sigh escaping her lips, and a curious idea coming to her mind. The girl knowing her mother likes this specific seat, but is uncertain on why. The child always avoiding such more out of respect than anything. Now that she is alone, the girl walking up to the seat. Touching the handles of the chair, feeling how smooth it is. The quality of the material not hindering to the touch. Cyra looking to the seat once more. The child being certain that her mother will not mind. A pleasant idea it is to her, climbing onto the chair as a result.

Cyra turning, the child sitting down. Slowly kicking her feet up and down. Many times she has been alone, so it is of no surprise really. However, upon her parents return, they usually bring gifts. Even more so than that, they will often go somewhere together. The child’s mind constantly wandering to where her parents are even at. Looking up to the ceiling, her expression clearly of boredom. The door slowly opening ahead, and the girl immediately taking notice. Cyra perking up, looking towards it with a bright smile. The child witnessing the door opening even more, her father standing there.

“Daddy!” she excitedly calls out.

The Tyrant smiling, walking onward. The child remaining on the seat, curious on what story her father brings to tell her. Standing before her, Alastor folding his arms. Slightly looking down, thinking of a fun scenario.

“You’re the Queen now, huh,” he places a hand upon his waist.

The child looking to the handles from left to right, soon turning her attention to her father. Cyra figuring being a Queen for a bit will certainly be of fun. The child proudly raising herself, nodding in agreement. Alastor laughing, soon kneeling to his right knee. Nobly lowering his head.

“Well then my Queen, I have brought many tales to tell you,” he assures her.

The child lowering herself, holding her hands to her chest in excitement. Wondering what tales her father brings. Dragons, hellhounds, unknown creatures deep in the sea. There are endless possibilities here. Many of which she wishes to see one day herself.

“How unlike you, Alastor.”

Alastor’s eyes slightly widening. The Tyrant glancing back, his expression becoming stern. The girl looking onward, seeing Odin standing at the entrance. Raising to his feet, the Tyrant turning in the direction of the god.

“This palace, I am surprised you gained entry,” Odin positioning his arms in a thinking posture.

The child looking to her father, seeing the Tyrant walking forward a bit. Malevolence beginning to intensely burn from the Tyrant. The immense pressure crushing down on the god. The devil well aware of the deity’s reasoning for being here.

“How hostile heh, where is she?” Odin looking towards the Tyrant much more serious.

Alastor glancing back to Cyra, the child noticing such an action. From the look in her father’s eyes, the girl knowing to stay put, as well as to keep silent. The child being uncertain on what is happening, but she does know it involves her mother. Alastor looking towards Odin.

“Hard to say really, she watches my kid from time to time. This place is the safest, how did you gain entry?” Alastor questions a bit curiously.

Odin turning towards where the windows are. The Godfather looking on, seeing the clouds slowly passing by. A pleasureful day it is. The calm wind, and the cold scent. Such making this place a most amazing area to bear witness towards.

“There is nowhere I cannot reach, now—” Odin turning towards the Tyrant.

“Where is she?” he questions again, this time his tone being much more serious.

Feeling pure energy generating, Odin immediately taking notice. The pressure crushing down on him being all too familiar. Cyra and Alastor looking on, seeing a pure formless aura materializing into physical form. Reynas standing in front of Alastor, her eyes of much displeasure. To have a god of all beings invading her home. This causing some rage to build within her. Trying to hold in her anger, the goddess taking a step forward.

“You are not welcomed here. Leave at once,” she threatens.

Cyra is uncertain whether or not to stay quiet, the child continuing to observe the current mood. Feeling there is a certain risk, perhaps it might be better to remain silent for the time being she figures.

“Reynas, when will you learn that the worlds below need influence over it? If we bond together, then certainly there will be progress made,” Odin calmly speaks.

Reynas glancing back to Alastor. The Tyrant doing the same towards her as well. Alastor nodding in agreement. The devil stepping away from the scene. Reynas returning her attention towards Odin. Her expression showing some displeasure at the moment.

“What you invite is tyranny, not progress. Those below deserve to live their life how they please. Whatever punishment comes about as a result, then that is what they will face. Freedom of choice is not without punishment naturally,” she folds her arms.

This is a response Odin expects. The goddess never changing, no matter the passing time. Reason is always her answer, there must be reason in order for progress to happen. Which in a sense she is correct he will agree. However, sometimes, irrationality may be of necessity.

“So, reason once again. You take too many unnecessary risks. We can have a golden age, but yet you being the final piece refuses to commit,” he turns from her.

The goddess glancing back to her daughter. Perhaps he is correct, bringing a child into such corruption may be within some form of reason, but it is an unnecessary risk. Even so, perhaps it may be a bit irrational, but this is something she learned from the Tyrant.

“Odin, I kindly ask you to leave. Enough with bothering her about this, her decision has been made,” Alastor calmly speaks.

Odin slightly looking down, an idea coming to mind. Perhaps there is a way for him to have the possibility of such a world. The Godfather turning towards them, soon looking to the child. The eyes of the god and the child meeting with the other.

“Perhaps this child can be of some use.”

Odin turning his attention towards Reynas, the goddess catching such an action. Her eyes are now very strict, and her pressure exerting even stronger. A mother, and one that is naturally protective of her child. Odin turning his attention towards the Tyrant, wondering of his connection with the goddess.

Alastor folding his arms, gesturing his head to Odin, implying that the god should take his leave now. Without any further resistance, electricity spiraling around the deity. The energy thickening by the second, intensifying by the moment. The god vanishing in an instant. Sighing in relief, Reynas placing her hand upon her chest. The Tyrant turning in her direction, expressing concern.

“Are you well?”

Reynas turning in his direction, nodding in assurance.

“Remember, if anyone discovers who Cyra’s birth mother is, her life will be in grave danger,” Reynas warning.

Alastor slightly looking away, such a fact he knows well. A child is an easy target, one in which can cause events to spiral out of control. The Tyrant looking back to his wife, nodding in agreement.

“Mommy? Daddy?” Cyra propping her head in confusion.

Alastor slowly inhaling and exhaling. The Tyrant turning to the child with a bright smile. For now the god from earlier is of little concern. Cyra having no place within their conflict, the Tyrant trying to keep it as such.

“We haven’t forgotten about you sport!”

Alastor lifting her, tossing her up into the air. The child laughing as the Tyrant catches her. Reynas smiling at the sight. There are indeed conflicts to solve, but certainly, even through the darkest of times, there can be a light.

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