The Guardian gods

There before his throne, stood a figure impossible to mistake.

A woman.

No, not a mere woman. A towering giantess, her body sculpted to impossible perfection, every curve and line radiating allure. Her skin glowed faintly, as though the mortal plane itself strained to contain her presence. And she was bare, utterly naked, unashamed, a living embodiment of divine temptation.

Erik's hands trembled at his sides. His mind rebelled against what his eyes beheld, yet the truth was undeniable. He knew that face. That form. That essence.

Impossible.

She had ascended long ago. She was a goddess now, beyond the reach of mortal courts, beyond the confines of flesh and desire. Her presence belonged in the heavens, not here in his hall. And yet here she stood, radiant and terrible, as though she had stepped straight out of memory and into reality.

His lips parted soundlessly. The air felt heavy, thick with the same intoxicating scent that had lured him here.

Why… why would she descend? And why, stripped of all divinity's pretense, would she come to him?

A few hours before the appearance of the giant in Erik's court, far away at one of the border walls built by the neighboring kingdoms, something unnatural stirred.

It began with a mist. Thick, choking, rolling in like a tide from the horizon. The sentries had seen fog before, but never like this. It wasn't the pale, harmless morning kind that drifted lazily across the fields.

This mist was dense, heavy, carrying with it a strange weight. It clung to the skin, seeped into the lungs, and muffled even the sounds from the surrounding.

The watchmen along the wall stiffened, nerves straining. "Mist this thick… here?" one whispered, his hand tightening around the hilt of his spear. Another barked at the younger soldiers, "Grab the lights, mark your positions! Don't lose sight of each other!"

Torches flared to life all along the stone battlements, flickering flames pushing weakly against the creeping veil. Each man stood with his lantern high, their glows like stars scattered in a sea of smoke, lest the mist swallow them whole.

But then movement. Every breath froze as the soldiers peered downward into the shifting fog. A shape emerged, a shadow, vast and indistinct, wavering as though half-formed. It was unclear at first, blurred by the mist, but there was one feature no one could mistake: its size.

The figure towered, impossibly tall, as though one of the forest's ancient trees had uprooted itself and begun to walk. Its outline swayed in rhythm with slow, deliberate steps that drew it closer and closer.

Panic rippled along the wall. "Gods above…" someone whispered.

"On guard!" roared the captain, his voice cracking through the fear like a whip. The stone battlements shook under the thunder of boots as soldiers snapped into formation, shields locking, bows drawn.

The figure loomed ever closer, its shadow stretching long against the mist's glow. Then, without hesitation, one of the magi raised his hands, blue sparks crackling wildly in his palms. With a furious shout, he hurled a ball of lightning down into the fog.

For a heartbeat, the night lit up like day brilliant white arcing downward, illuminating the mist from within. And then impact.

The shadow moved. A colossal arm, vague but vast, rose up through the haze. A fist. The lightning strike disappeared into its grasp, swallowed whole. The light sputtered, crackled… then died.

The mist boiled, and the giant shadow continued forward unharmed.

The shadow drew closer, step by deliberate step, until it loomed at the very edge of the wall. And yet… no matter how near it came, no soldier could discern its true form. It was as though the mist itself conspired to keep its features hidden, rendering the giant nothing more than a towering silhouette, black and unknowable.

Then, for the briefest moment, the veil thinned.

The soldiers saw.

It was only a glimpse, no more than the blink of an eye yet it was enough to shatter them. Shapes, curves, details too perfect, too overwhelming to belong to mortal flesh or divine spirit. Their thoughts ruptured beneath the weight of what their eyes beheld, as though their very minds rejected the image.

And in that stunned silence, the giant simply continued forward.

It did not climb. It did not break, tear, or smash. The towering form walked through the wall, through stone and steel as though such things were no more substantial than smoke. Not a pebble was displaced, not a single stone cracked. It was as though reality itself had parted to make way for its passage.

The defenders stood frozen, locked in place, their weapons slack in trembling hands. Then, slowly, sound returned. A chorus of low, breathless groans half pleasure, half despair escaped their lips. Men and women alike quivered, their bodies betraying them. Eyes glazed, unfocused, they glanced down and realized with mounting horror the damp stains upon their uniforms, the undeniable evidence of their loss of control.

When at last their minds cleared enough to look again, the mist was gone.

The forest lay before them in quiet serenity, just as it always had. The wall stood undisturbed. No rubble. No damage. No proof.

The giant was gone.

And yet every soldier knew, in the pit of their being, that something had passed through. Something that had touched their bodies and souls in a way that left them shaken to the core.

They stood together in silence, each shamed by what they saw in their comrades' eyes, but none daring to speak it aloud.

Meanwhile, the giant continued her steady, unhurried march, undisturbed by the cries and panic she left behind. Her steps were silent, yet each one seemed to reverberate through the land itself, like the pulse of a great heartbeat that only few could hear.

When she crossed into Erik's territory, the air shifted. The mana here was different from the other kingdoms richer, heavier, and tainted by a faint undercurrent of cursed energy. The giant slowed, inhaling deeply, and for the first time since her emergence, she spread her arms wide, as though embracing the invisible currents that flowed around her.

She reveled in it.

The mist that had cloaked her immense silhouette began to thin, drawn back as if in reverence, until the truth of her form was revealed at last.

And what a form it was.

An otherworldly beautiful woman, towering and nude, her figure sculpted into impossible perfection. Every curve, every line was harmony itself, yet laden with danger, with temptation so potent it felt like a weapon. Her skin shimmered faintly, as though it were carved from moonlight; her hair spilled like a dark river down her back; her eyes glowed with an entrancing brilliance that could unmake the will of any mortal who dared meet them.

She was the Enchanting Siren, arch-curse of beauty and of all negative emotion tied to beauty. Whispers spoke of her as the right hand of the Goddess of the Moon, the divine attendant whose allure swayed mortals and gods alike. Others murmured of the secret title she bore in hushed tones: the bride of the ascended god Tide, lord of the Everflowing Treasury, whose riches and oceans were said to tremble at her smile.

To see her walk the mortal plane was to witness a myth step into reality.

And yet, her descent was no accident. For in this world, where the balance of curses was shifting, how could a being such as she remain ignorant? How could she remain idle, when the has to do with her function.

This was her domain. Her function. The task is woven into her very essence by her creator, the God of Curses, Ikenga himself. She had come not by whim.

And Erik, whether he willed it or not, now stood at the center of that purpose.

At first, Erik's kingdom had caught only a passing flicker of her attention, an oddity, a land whose soil and skies grew rich with cursed spirits.

A few drifting there might have been a coincidence, nothing more. Yet as time passed, the anomaly swelled. More and more cursed beings gathered and, curiously, they were not immediately destroyed or cast away. They lingered, tethered to this land and were thriving. This strangeness intrigued her.

Unlike most of her siblings, arch-curses who carved their own realms within the spirit world, thrones and dominions that reflected their essence, she had none. By choice. She had chosen long ago to remain at the side of Mahu, believing that her future lay along the path of the moon goddess.

And yet, now, here in the mortal realm. This kingdom ruled by Erik, something stirred. A shape unseen by mortal eyes, the faint outlines of a realm in the making. Raw, incomplete, but alive with potential. And very much… suited for her.

That was why she had come.

When the mist peeled away from her colossal frame, when her beauty was laid bare to mortal sight, every cursed spirit within Erik's domain felt her at once. The resonance struck them like a thunderclap in the soul. They recognized her. Their leader. Their axis. Their arch.

And so, they bowed.