Chapter 301: Lifting Curse Part 1
As the garden buzzed with Aria’s laughter, somewhere deeper within the Everhart manor, Christine stood in quiet reverence before a small altar in her room.
Moonlight spilled across the floor from her arched window, casting silvery beams over the marble tiles and bathing the shrine in a soft, ethereal glow.
The altar itself was modest — a white-gold statue of a veiled woman with outstretched hands stood at its center, her sculpted face hidden behind flowing celestial silk.
The likeness of Nadia, the Goddess of Fate.
Incense curled through the still air like threads from a divine loom, wrapping around Christine's form as she knelt before the altar. Her eyes were shut tight, her heart steady, both hands pressed over her chest.
“O Lady Nadia… Weaver of Threads, Guardian of What Was and What Will Be… please hear the plea of your faithful saintess.”
Silence followed — serene, deep, all-encompassing. The chamber felt timeless, like the world had paused to listen.
Then—
A shift.
The marble beneath her fingers vibrated ever so faintly. The golden statue began to glow with a soft internal light, as if a star had stirred within it.
Christine opened her eyes, and there, standing where the statue had been, was a radiant figure cloaked in woven starlight.
Nadia.
Her divine form shimmered, eyes hidden behind a veil that seemed stitched from constellations themselves. Her presence was impossibly calm, like the surface of a still lake on a windless night.
"Christine," came her voice — not loud, yet it filled the room completely, resonating within Christine’s bones like a whisper woven into reality itself.
Christine bowed deeply, her forehead nearly brushing the floor. “Lady Nadia…”
“I have heard your thoughts,” Nadia said, her voice neither warm nor cold, but infinitely composed. “The woman named Isolda, cursed by abyssal hands. You seek to lift it — without allowing your enemy to claim another soul.”
Christine looked up, her voice trembling. “Yes, my goddess. Is there a way to do it safely?”
The goddess extended her hand, and in her palm appeared a small object — a circular disc, no larger than a coin.
It was dull in color, made of matte, silvery iron, and looked utterly unremarkable. It bore a simple, abstract pattern that resembled faded etching — not glowing, not radiant, not divine.
It looked… ordinary.
Christine blinked. “Is… this it?”
Nadia offered the object to her. “This is not meant to be recognized. Not by mortals. Not by the Abyss. Its strength lies in its unimportance.”
Christine took it carefully, surprised at its weightlessness. It was smooth and cold to the touch, but pulsed once, faintly, in sync with her heartbeat — as if acknowledging her.
“It will shield the bearer’s soul. Fate itself shall bar the Abyss from taking hold. It will not see the barrier — only feel its failure.”
Christine's eyes widened in awe. “So it’s... invisible?”
“In plain sight,” Nadia corrected. “And that is its power.”
The saintess bowed again, more reverently this time. “Thank you, Lady Nadia. I never thought—”
The goddess raised a hand, her expression unreadable.
“This is your first request,” Nadia said, her voice dipping with gravitas.
“So I grant it. Not for the sake of sentiment — but for the future you must yet protect. Know this: I am the Goddess of Fate. I do not meddle. I align. When the pattern requires correction, I act. But not always when asked even if you are connected with that boy.”
Christine’s smile dimmed into respectful understanding. “I will not take your favor for granted.”
“Good,” Nadia said. Her form began to fade, her final words spoken like threads lacing into the world itself.
“Go now, Saintess. One path has been prepared. It is yours to walk.”
And then she was gone — the room once more silent, the statue cold and inert.
Christine remained on her knees a moment longer, then rose with quiet purpose. She clutched the sigil tightly in her hand, its faint thrum now constant. There was no fire, no spectacle — just certainty.
Minutes later, Christine emerged into the bright sunlight of the Everhart gardens, the sigil tucked safely into the folds of her robe.
She spotted Adrian beneath the shade of the gazebo, Aria still nestled happily against his chest, her little legs swinging lazily as she talked about flower crowns and tiny dragons.
For a moment, Christine hesitated. The sight was so peaceful — a rare sanctuary in their chaotic world.
But time could not be wasted.
“Big brother,” she called softly.
Adrian’s eyes opened immediately, catching the tone in her voice. He gently sat up, brushing a strand of hair from Aria’s brow.
Aria blinked sleepily at the movement. “Is it more work?”
“Just something important,” Adrian said, placing a gentle kiss atop her head. He stood, cradling her briefly before setting her down on the grass.
“Go find Mama Isabella, alright? I have something I need to finish.”
Aria gave a very serious nod. “Okay, Papa. I’ll tell her you said to give me five cookies.”
Adrian smirked. “Tell her three. You can bargain for the rest.”
She gave an exaggerated gasp, then scampered off, calling, “Cookies, here I come!”
Adrian turned back to Christine. “You spoke to her?”
“She answered,” Christine said, pulling the plain-looking disc from her pocket. “She gave me this.”
Adrian took the item carefully, examining it with narrowed eyes. “It doesn’t look like much.”
“That’s the point. Nadia said it will mask the soul from any foreign link — even the Abyss. The Harbinger won’t see the protection. Only feel its failure when it tries to latch on.”
Adrian’s gaze sharpened. “Perfect.”
Christine nodded. “She warned me — she won’t always help. This was a one-time boon, because it was my first request as her saintess.”
“I expected as much,” Adrian said, returning the sigil. “Even gods aren’t generous without reason.”
He turned to a nearby maid. “Fetch Seraphina. Tell her to meet us in the ritual chamber. Immediately.”
The maid curtsied and darted off.
Adrian glanced once more toward the distant laughter echoing from the manor’s other wing, where Aria’s voice bounced like light through the corridors.
“We end this tonight,” he said.
Christine followed him as they strode with purpose through the estate’s stone halls, steps echoing against enchanted floors.
The time for waiting had passed.
And Isolda's freedom was finally within reach.