I was Sacrificed to Awaken the Ancient God

Chapter 3

I’ve been wandering the markets for days now, begging for work that doesn’t exist.

Every stall, every workshop, every corner I’ve checked—closed doors, suspicious eyes. “We’re not hiring.” “You don’t look qualified.” Qualified? What even counts as qualified when all I’ve ever done is break my back in scrapyards and underground tunnels since I could walk? I’m strong, quick, smart enough to survive, but apparently that’s not enough unless you’ve got a clean face and a clean name.

Kae’s condition is getting worse. He doesn't say it, but I can see it in the way his fingers tremble when he holds his bowl. In the way he shivers even under three blankets. The fever’s holding on like it owns him, and I haven’t even enough coin for a back-alley healer, let alone a real one. He keeps smiling for me, the sweet i***t. Like I can’t see how fast he’s fading.

I hate it. I hate the way people look away when they see my face, like I’m something clinging to the bottom of their boots. I hate this city, this empire, these people with powdered collars and rings so heavy they make their fingers bend. I just need money. Just something. Enough to save him.

I’d do anything.

Kill, steal, lie—yes, gods, even sell what’s left of myself. If it meant Kae lives, I’d burn the world.

And then, she appeared.

I felt her before I saw her—someone that didn’t belong to the grime of the street. Her scent hit first, all rosewater and spice. Then her voice.

“You there,” she said, cool and precise, like her words were always wrapped in velvet. “How old are you?”

I turned slowly. She looked like she’d stepped out of a painting—long crimson dress that caught the sun like blood, her hair in gold pins, skin smooth as polished ivory. Her eyes—gods, her eyes—they could cut through steel.

I swallowed. “Twenty-two. Why?”

“No family name, I assume?”

I bristled. “No. Just Tirzeh.”

She gave a small, tight-lipped smile. “Even better.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Better for what?”

She stepped closer, heels clicking softly on the stone. “My daughter was meant to compete in the Sum. Unfortunately, she has... fallen ill.” Her tone didn’t sound particularly heartbroken.

“So get a healer,” I said flatly.

“I did,” she replied smoothly. “But she lacks the resolve. The spine. I need someone who can play her role. Someone strong. Rough around the edges, but not without charm. Someone like you.”

I stiffened. “You want me to pretend to be your daughter?”

“I want you to replace her.”

I laughed once, bitter. “You’re insane. I’m not from your world. They’d sniff me out in a day.”

“Not if I train you. Not if you wear the right clothes and say the right words. People see what they want to see. And you, dear, are more convincing than you think.”

“And why would I do that?” I asked. “Risk my life in a bloodsport I know nothing about, pretend to be someone I’m not?”

She reached into her embroidered satchel and drew out a pouch. It landed in her palm with a heavy clink. “Because your hands are calloused. Your clothes are torn. And you looked at me like I was food.”

My mouth went dry.

“That’s a year’s wage for a skilled artisan,” she added. “There’s more if you agree. Enough to move somewhere better. Save whoever it is you’re trying to save.”

I stared at the pouch. I didn’t even know what was inside—coins, jewels, a contract with the devil? It didn’t matter.

“Why not pick a noble girl?” I asked quietly. “Someone trained. Someone who wants it.”

She smiled again, but this time it didn’t reach her eyes. “Because noble girls ask questions. They demand conditions. They come with mothers and fathers and bloodlines and pride. You... you have nothing but a reason. And I’ve found that reason beats pride every time.”

She had me.

She knew it, too.

I looked down at my boots. Worn through. Muddy. Kae’s face flashed in my mind—sweaty, pale, but still smiling. Still holding on for me.

“I don’t want glory,” I muttered. “I don’t care about magic or power or whatever this sick Empire’s playing at.”

“You don’t need to care,” she said softly. “You just need to survive. Do that, and you walk away richer than you ever dreamed.”

I hesitated, the weight of every lost hour, every door slammed in my face pressing into my spine.

Then I reached out, took the pouch, and didn’t let myself think.

“Good girl,” she said.

And just like that, Tirzeh died.

And Lady Selvarra’s daughter was born.

The room smelled faintly of burnt herbs and old blankets. It was a scent I had grown used to—one of sickness, of helplessness. The faint green light of the healer’s spell flickered like a tired firefly, casting soft shadows across Kae’s frail form. He lay still on the cot, his little chest rising and falling with shallow, labored breaths. His lips were cracked and dry, and the sweat on his forehead only seemed to make things worse, a constant reminder of how far gone he was. How much I had failed him.

The healer’s cool hands moved gently over him, pressing a damp cloth to his forehead, but even the magic couldn’t seem to chase away the fever. I stood by the door, arms wrapped tightly over my chest, doing my best not to break. I could feel my heart pounding in my throat, a constant reminder of how powerless I was. How I couldn’t fix this.

I wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not when Kae needed me to be strong. I’d always been strong. Strong for him.

Gael was leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes unreadable—but I could feel his gaze, heavy and persistent, always on me. He never took his eyes off me. Not for a second. He didn’t want me to go. And, damn it, I didn’t want to leave either.

But I had to. For Kae.

I swallowed, trying to keep my voice steady. “I need you to watch him.”

Gael didn’t move, but his eyes sharpened. “I am watching him.”

“No.” My voice was sharp, firm. “I mean really watch him. Don’t take your eyes off him, Gael. Not even for a second. If he stirs, if he twitches, if his breathing changes—anything—tell the healer. Promise me you won’t leave him. Not even to piss.”

“Tirzeh—”

I stepped forward, placing a trembling hand on Kae’s hair, pushing back the damp strands from his forehead. My throat was tight, and the lump was threatening to choke me. But I didn’t let it. I couldn’t let it. “Promise me, Gael.”

He sighed, his shoulders sagging like the weight of my words was too much for him. But he nodded, his voice quiet, “I promise.”

I nodded once, my eyes lingering on Kae. But even as I tried to focus on him, I could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me. It was becoming harder to breathe. The space between me and Kae felt like a chasm I couldn’t cross, no matter how hard I tried. But there was no choice. I had to go.

“You don’t have to do this,” Gael said, voice low and pleading. His eyes never left me, the concern in them so raw it almost stung. “There’s always another way. We can find something, together.”

I laughed—quiet and hollow. It was a defense mechanism. Something to stop myself from breaking. “Together? What, you’re gonna marry a duchess and pay for a private healer with your dowry?”

“Don’t joke,” he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

I chuckled again, but this time, it was empty. “You make it too easy, Gael.”

He stepped closer, his eyes full of something soft—something broken. “Tirzeh, don’t go. The Sum is a death sentence. No one gets out clean—if they get out at all.”

“And yet,” I said, brushing my fingers over the edge of my tunic, pretending like it didn’t matter, pretending like none of this mattered, “somebody’s got to be the exception, right?”

“Tirz—”

I stopped. I couldn’t take another step, couldn’t pretend to be unaffected anymore. I turned to look at him—really look at him—and for the briefest moment, I saw the cracks in his armor. He was just like me. Just as broken.

“I have to,” I whispered. “For him.”

My voice broke on that last word, and I felt my heart splinter. But I swallowed it down, forcing a crooked smile, masking everything with sarcasm. “Besides, it’s just a little pretend bloodbath. I’ll be back before you even have time to miss me.”

Gael didn’t smile. His face remained unreadable, but I could see the conflict in his eyes—the pain, the worry, the desperate hope that I wouldn’t leave. That I wouldn’t do this.

“I’ll miss you the moment you walk out that door,” he said quietly.

I froze. My breath caught in my throat, and for a second, I didn’t know how to respond. My lips parted, but nothing came out. I wanted to say something, but the words felt too heavy, too important.

Instead, I turned to Kae one last time. I leaned over him, pressing my lips gently to his forehead, breathing in the scent of his hair. “Be strong, little firefly,” I whispered, fighting back the tears. “I’ll be back.”

I pulled away, one last lingering glance at him, then stood straight and shot Gael a grin—half playful, half sorrowful, a mask I wasn’t sure even I believed anymore.

“Take care of him, Gael,” I said softly, turning to leave.

My hand was on the doorknob, fingers curled tight around the cold metal, but I couldn’t twist it. Not yet.

Behind me, the healer whispered something in a language older than bones, her hands glowing faintly over Kae’s chest. The light shimmered like thin ice—beautiful and fragile. I didn’t want to look back. I knew if I did, I might break.

But I felt him.

Gael. Watching me again. Like I was some wildfire he couldn’t put out—like he didn’t want to.

I let my hand drop from the door.

“Gael…” I said, not turning around yet. My voice came out smaller than I wanted, like it had to squeeze through all the weight in my throat.

He didn’t answer, but I heard the shift of his boots against the floor.

I turned. Just a little.

He looked at me like he was memorizing the shape of my bones.

“I never really said thank you,” I murmured, stepping toward him. “For staying. For helping. For… not letting me fall apart.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said, voice tight.

“I do,” I said. Another step. “You didn’t have to be here. You could’ve walked away a hundred times. But you didn’t.”

“I stayed because I care.”

Gods. I hated that. I hated that it made my heart twist and pull and ache. I hated how part of me wanted to stay just because he said that.

“Don’t,” I whispered, trying to smile. “Not too much. It makes leaving harder.”

Before I could talk myself out of it, I reached for him.

Or maybe he reached first—I don’t remember. All I know is that his fingers were around my wrist, warm and trembling. Gentle.

“Then don’t leave,” he said.

I laughed. Quiet. Crooked. Shattered. “You know I have to.”

He didn’t argue. He just looked at me like the world was ending.

I stepped closer.

Too close.

“If this is the last time I see you,” I whispered, “let me have something I’ve wanted for a long time.”

His eyes dropped to my lips, and my breath caught.

I leaned in.

The space between us crackled—full of everything unsaid. My lips brushed his—just barely.

And then he pulled back. Just a fraction. Enough to keep me in that space between yes and no, want and won’t.

“Tirz…” he breathed. “If you kiss me now, I’ll never forgive you if you don’t come back.”

His words hit me harder than any blade.

I closed my eyes. Let my forehead rest against his, just for a second. Just enough to pretend the world outside didn’t exist.

“Then I guess I have to come back,” I whispered.

I wanted to stay like that forever.

But forever’s never been mine to keep.

So I stepped back. One slow, painful step.

No smile.

Just the ache.

And a silent promise tucked behind my ribs.

I didn’t say goodbye.

I turned, opened the door, and let the dusk swallow me whole.