The Long Lost Goddess Reincarnation

1 Prologue Yesha’s POV Yesha sat inside her car, her gaze vacant as she stared out the window. The harsh sun beat down, but it was the old woman she noticed first. Stumbling under the weight of her bags, the woman looked as though she might collapse at any moment. Without a second thought, Yesha stepped out of her car and hurried to her side. "Lola, are you okay? Let me help you," Yesha said, her voice filled with concern. The woman looked exhausted, clearly affected by the heat. The elderly woman glanced up, surprised, before offering a faint smile. "I’m fine, Iha. But could you help me to the forest? That’s where I live." She motioned to the bag of fruit she was carrying. Yesha hesitated for a moment, confused, but nodded and gently helped her walk. They moved through the quiet woods, the air cool despite the heat, the only sounds the soft rustling of leaves and birds singing overhead. In the distance, Yesha could see a small hut, surrounded by flowers and the flutter of butterflies. "Thank you, Hera," the woman said, her voice soft but sincere. Yesha blinked, puzzled by the name, but simply smiled back. "It’s nothing, Lola. Take care." The woman smiled again. "Mahal na Hera, it’s time to return to your real world and to your true self." Yesha frowned, not quite understanding, but before she could ask, her phone buzzed. She glanced down at the screen, noting an unfamiliar number. Unknown: Queen, come to the Underground Mafia. With a heavy sigh, Yesha looked around, but the old woman was gone—vanished without a trace. That’s odd. How did she disappear so fast? Shrugging off the strange encounter, she slid into her car. Her black leather jacket, unzipped to reveal a fitted black tank top, mirrored the sleek, dark exterior of the vehicle. She pulled on her mask—white and black, marked with the name ℓα∂у ∂ємσn. It was her shield, her identity hidden from the dangerous world she inhabited. Only her closest allies knew her true face. Starting the engine, a familiar fire burned in her chest. Hide. Stay hidden. That’s what Nanay-Nanayan always told me. The woman who had raised her, protected her at all costs—even at the expense of her own life. Yesha’s mind was consumed with thoughts of those who hunted her, the ones who killed her mother. They’ll regret it. I’ll make them regret it. She pressed down on the accelerator, her car speeding down the road, the flashing red lights of the city ignored. There was no turning back. Not now. Soon, she arrived at the Underground Mafia headquarters—dark, cold, and foreboding. A place that reeked of danger. Yet, for Yesha, it felt like home. She stepped out of the car, her face unreadable, her eyes hard with determination. The atmosphere inside was heavy, the air thick with tension. Something felt off, like a storm was brewing. "Tch. Come out, you useless bastards!" Yesha’s voice rang through the empty hall, her tone cold and commanding. Figures in black ninja attire emerged, each holding a blade, ready for a fight. They attacked immediately, but Yesha was faster. Her movements were fluid and precise, dodging their strikes with effortless grace, her body a blur of controlled violence. A smirk tugged at her lips. Not one of you can touch me. She waited for the right moment, then reached down and drew her dagger, sliding across the floor in a smooth, deadly motion. With every s***h, another enemy fell, blood spraying across the cold floor. She didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. It was simply a game of survival, and she was winning. The hall was littered with bodies, but Yesha kept moving. Deeper into the heart of the headquarters, where her real target waited—Haze, the man who stood between her and the Mafia throne. He held a dagger to one of her friends, and the sight made her blood boil. Haze saw her approach and smirked. "Finally, you’re here. Too bad it’s too late. Your friends are my leverage. Surrender now, or they die." Yesha’s eyes narrowed, her fists tightening. No. Not them. Not my friends. She stepped forward, voice icy. "Let them go." Haze’s grin widened. "Make me." The tension was palpable as Yesha lunged forward, her dagger raised. But as she fought through his men, more appeared, surrounding her in seconds. She fought with everything she had, her body moving like a blur, striking faster than anyone could follow. Her enemies dropped one by one, but Haze remained untouchable. He laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos. Then, a sharp pain pierced her chest—a bullet. Her breath caught in her throat, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. The pain only fed her rage. They will pay. Yesha pressed on, ignoring the blood that soaked her clothes and the bullet wound in her chest. Her friends were still alive, and she would do anything to keep it that way. She reached Haze, her dagger raised to end it all. But before she could strike, another bullet tore through her chest. She staggered but didn’t fall. Not yet. Not until they paid for this. Her vision blurred, but she kept moving forward. Her body screamed in pain, but she refused to stop. Her friends were crying for her, but all she could hear was the deafening silence of death. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the cold cement. Blood pooled around her, and she could hear the desperate cries of her friends. The darkness was closing in, and her heartbeat slowed. She smiled faintly, remembering the times she had spent with her adoptive mother and her friends. Those memories were her only comfort now. She wouldn’t let them go, not even in death. Her smile slowly faded, her tears mixing with the blood on the ground. And then, the figure of death—her own demise—was all she could see.