I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

Nathan’s vision blurred suddenly, the familiar sensations washing over him in a wave that had become almost routine by now—the disorienting shift of reality, the peculiar weightlessness that accompanied dimensional travel, the momentary vertigo that made his stomach flip even as his feet remained planted firmly on solid ground. The tiredness followed immediately after, that bone-deep exhaustion that seemed to settle into his very marrow, accompanied by the distinctive mind-wobbling sensation of consciousness adjusting to an entirely different plane of existence.

When his sight cleared and the world solidified around him once more, he found himself standing in the breathtaking expanse of Demeter’s garden.

Even having been here before, the sheer beauty of the place never failed to strike him with renewed wonder. It was a realm that existed outside normal reality, untouched by mortal concerns or the passage of mundane time. The garden stretched endlessly in all directions, a masterwork of divine cultivation that made even the most magnificent mortal gardens seem crude and artless by comparison.

The air itself tasted sweeter here, cleaner somehow, as though mortal pollution had never existed to taint it. Butterflies the size of birds drifted lazily between flowering bushes, their wings displaying patterns that defied natural explanation. Small streams of crystal-clear water wound through the landscape, their gentle burbling creating a constant soothing background melody.

It was a sanctuary in the truest sense—a place of absolute safety and peace, protected by divine power that made it impervious to the chaos and danger of the outside world.

All of this was made accessible to Nathan thanks to the extraordinary gift Demeter had bestowed upon him—a key, forged from her own divine essence, that allowed him passage to this sacred space whenever he wished. The significance of such a gift could hardly be overstated. Gods did not casually grant mortals or even demigods unrestricted access to their personal domains. The level of trust required for such a gesture was immense, unprecedented really.

But Nathan had earned that trust through his actions rather than his words.

He had saved Persephone, Demeter’s beloved daughter, from Aaron’s vicious attack—had thrown himself between the goddess and harm. That single act had transformed him in Demeter’s eyes from a potentially useful ally into something far more precious: someone worthy of her absolute faith.

Moreover, Demeter trusted Athena deeply—perhaps more deeply than she trusted any other being in existence, divine or otherwise. The goddess of wisdom had never steered her wrong, had always offered counsel that proved sound even when it seemed counterintuitive. And Athena, in turn, had placed her trust in Nathan with a completeness that even she found somewhat surprising. If Athena believed in him, if the wisest of all goddesses had looked into his character and found him worthy of her confidence, then that endorsement carried tremendous weight with Demeter.

That combination—Nathan’s own proven courage and Athena’s unwavering support—had been enough to open doors that remained closed to virtually everyone else.

Nathan took a moment to simply stand there, allowing his senses to adjust fully to the divine atmosphere while his gaze swept across the familiar landscape. Everything was exactly as he remembered it, preserved in that timeless perfection that characterized divine spaces. The flowers he had admired during his last visit were still blooming with the same vibrancy. The trees stood in identical positions, their branches arranged in the same pleasing patterns.

His eyes eventually found what he was searching for—the house that had been constructed specifically for his interactions with Pandora.

It still stood there, nestled beneath the spreading branches of an ancient willow tree whose cascading leaves formed a natural curtain of privacy around the structure. The building itself was modest by divine standards, perhaps the size of a comfortable mortal dwelling, constructed from what appeared to be living wood that had been coaxed and shaped rather than cut and assembled. Vines with tiny white flowers grew along its walls in deliberate patterns, and the roof seemed to be made from overlapping leaves that had been treated somehow to make them waterproof and permanent.

It was still there, intact and maintained, because there had been no reason to destroy it. More importantly, it remained standing because Pandora herself was still here, still resting within Demeter’s protected garden.

Indeed, ever since that transformative moment when Nathan had taken approximately one-third of her accumulated curses into himself—absorbing centuries upon centuries of concentrated misfortune, pain, and divine punishment—something fundamental had shifted inside Pandora. The sudden release of that crushing burden, the first real relief she had experienced in millennia, had struck her with unexpected force.

The psychological impact alone had been enormous. For so long, Pandora had existed in a state of perpetual suffering, barely holding herself together through sheer stubborn will while curses ate away at her essence from the inside. She had adapted to that constant agony, had learned to function despite it, had built her entire identity around the role of eternal sufferer and keeper of humanity’s worst evils.

Then Nathan had come along and simply… taken a portion of it away. Voluntarily. Without being asked or compelled or tricked into it. He had looked at her suffering and decided to share it, to lighten her burden at considerable cost to himself.

The relief had been overwhelming enough to temporarily shatter the careful emotional armor she had constructed over millennia. She had needed time to process what had happened, to rebuild her sense of self around this new reality where she wasn’t quite as alone in her suffering as she had always been.

Athena could have returned Pandora to her usual dwelling immediately—the small, isolated space that served as both home and prison, designed to contain her powers should they ever spiral beyond her control. But Athena, with her characteristic wisdom and compassion, had recognized that Pandora needed something different right now. She needed genuine rest, real peace, not just the grim solitude of her usual confinement.

And for that purpose, Demeter’s garden was quite literally the best place in all of existence. Here, surrounded by life and beauty and divine protection, Pandora could truly let her guard down. She could sleep without nightmares. She could exist without the constant vigilance required to maintain control over the curses still dwelling within her.

So here Pandora had remained, recuperating in paradise while Athena monitored her progress and Demeter ensured her safety.

Nathan immediately dropped the disguise he had maintained throughout his time in Rome. There was no need to preserve Septimius’s appearance here—no senators to impress, no enemies to deceive, no political games requiring careful presentation. This was a place where he could simply be himself, where pretense served no purpose and authenticity was not only accepted but expected.

His features shifted subtly as the magical disguise dissolved, his true face emerging like a reflection becoming clear as water settled. His hair returned to its natural pure white, his eyes to their original demonic gold, the slight alterations in bone structure and build reverting to their genuine forms.

The change in the ambient magical atmosphere was immediate and noticeable—like a ripple spreading across the surface of a still pond.

“Septimius?”

The voice came from behind him, carrying notes of surprise and confusion that drew Nathan’s attention immediately.

He turned around to find Persephone standing there, her eyes wide with astonishment as she stared at him. The goddess of spring looked particularly radiant here in her mother’s garden, surrounded by the flowers and life that were her domain.

“Is that your true appearance?” She asked, her voice colored with stunned disbelief. “I mean—you look completely different! I wouldn’t have recognized you at all if I hadn’t felt your presence arrive.”

“It is my true face,” Nathan confirmed with a slight smile, understanding her surprise. The difference between his genuine appearance and Septimius’s constructed persona was considerable—enough that they could pass for different people entirely if someone didn’t know to look for the similarities in bearing and mannerisms. “While in Rome, I had no choice but to maintain a different appearance for… various reasons. Political complications, historical concerns, that sort of thing. But this is my real form. There’s no need to hide it anymore, not here in a place as safe as this.”

“I… I see,” Persephone replied, though her voice had developed a noticeable stutter that hadn’t been there before. “I was just surprised, that’s all. You look quite… different.”

She seemed to be having difficulty maintaining eye contact, her gaze flickering between his face and various points around the garden as though she couldn’t quite decide where to look. A faint blush had appeared on her cheeks—barely visible but definitely present—and her posture had shifted into something slightly uncertain, almost shy.

Nathan recognized the signs immediately, having seen them often enough by now. Even as a goddess, even with her divine nature and millennia of existence, Persephone was not entirely immune to the effects of Aphrodite’s divine blessing—that enhancement to his natural charm that made him almost supernaturally attractive to others. It didn’t override free will or create false emotions, but it definitely amplified natural attraction, made people more aware of his presence, drew their attention in ways they might not fully understand.

For mortals, the effect was pronounced but manageable. For beings of divine or semi-divine nature who were more sensitive to such influences, it could be genuinely disorienting.

Persephone was clearly experiencing that disorientation now, struggling to maintain her usual composure in the face of an attraction she hadn’t anticipated and wasn’t entirely prepared to handle.

“I came to check on Pandora before leaving,” Nathan said, deliberately shifting the conversation to safer, more practical ground to help ease Persephone’s obvious discomfort. “To see how she’s doing, how she’s adapting to the… changes.”

“Yes, of course,” Persephone replied, seeming grateful for the change of subject. She visibly collected herself, drawing on centuries of experience and divine composure to push past the momentary confusion. “Mother mentioned you would be coming. She and Athena have actually stepped away for a brief discussion about some other matter, but they should return soon. In the meantime, please, follow me. I’ll take you to where Pandora has been resting.”

Nathan nodded his understanding and fell into step beside Persephone as she began walking toward the house beneath the willow tree. They moved through the garden at an easy pace, neither hurrying nor dawdling, the silence between them comfortable despite the earlier awkwardness.

As they drew closer to the dwelling, Nathan became aware of something he hadn’t initially noticed from a distance—a sensation of pressure, of concentrated power arranged in deliberate patterns. It grew stronger with each step, until by the time they reached the immediate proximity of the house, it was unmistakable.

A divine barrier surrounded the entire structure, invisible to normal sight but blazingly obvious to anyone with the ability to sense magical energies. It was powerful work—multiple layers of protective enchantments woven together with the kind of skill that only came from millennia of practice and inherent divine authority.

“Athena and my mother erected that barrier as a precaution,” Persephone explained, noticing Nathan’s awareness of the protective ward. Her voice had returned to its normal confident tone now that she had something specific to focus on besides Nathan’s appearance. “Just in case, you understand. They wanted to make absolutely certain nothing could go wrong.”

Nathan nodded, understanding the necessity completely.

It was Pandora they were dealing with, after all. As much as everyone wanted to give her peace, as genuinely as they hoped for her recovery and comfort, they simply couldn’t afford to take any risks. The curses she still contained—even diminished by the portion Nathan had absorbed—represented apocalyptic danger if they were ever released uncontrolled. One moment of lost control, one instant where her iron grip on those terrible powers slipped, and the consequences could be catastrophic.

Better to take precautions that proved unnecessary than to regret their absence when disaster struck.

Once Nathan stepped through the doorway and past the shimmering barrier that parted reluctantly to allow him entry, he found himself in the familiar living space where he and Pandora had held their previous conversations

But Pandora herself was nowhere to be seen in this main living area.

Persephone, who had followed him inside, gestured upward with a graceful movement of her hand, indicating the wooden staircase that led to the upper level of the dwelling.

“She’s resting above,” Persephone said softly, her voice carrying notes of concern that she didn’t bother trying to conceal. “Be careful with her. She’s… fragile right now. More fragile than I think any of us fully anticipated she would be.”

Nathan nodded his understanding, appreciating the warning even though he had already suspected as much. The psychological and spiritual impact of losing such a fundamental part of herself—even a burden as terrible as those curses—was bound to be profound.

Though truthfully, he would likely be fine regardless of how much residual curse energy still clung to Pandora’s presence. After all, he now shared those curses with her. He had absorbed approximately one-third of that accumulated darkness into his own being, which meant he had developed a certain resilience, a tolerance to the corrupting influence that would have been devastating to encounter fresh.

Climbing the stairs with measured steps, Nathan soon reached the upper level—a single large room that had been converted into a bedroom and personal sanctuary.

And there, lying on that bed with her back facing the stairs, was Pandora.

Her legendary silver hair—that distinctive feature that had marked her as extraordinary from the moment of her creation—was scattered across the pillows and bedding like spilled moonlight, the strands seeming to glow with their own internal luminescence even in the relatively dim lighting. Her form was still, almost unnaturally so, as though even breathing required more energy than she could comfortably spare.

“Pandora,” Nathan called.

The figure on the bed stirred slowly, movements careful and measured as though any sudden motion might cause pain. Pandora turned her head with visible effort, rotating just enough that she could see who had entered her space.

When her eyes found him, a faint smile appeared on her pale face—genuine pleasure cutting through the obvious exhaustion that weighed her down.

Her lips parted as though she intended to speak, and she began the laborious process of trying to push herself upright, muscles trembling with the effort of supporting her own weight.

“It’s fine, just rest,” Nathan said quickly, moving to her side.

He settled himself on the edge of the bed beside her, his weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. From this closer vantage point, he could see her face in greater detail, and what he saw concerned him considerably.

Pandora looked genuinely terrible—there was no polite way to phrase it. Her skin, which he remembered as having an almost ethereal quality despite her suffering, had taken on a pallor that went beyond mere paleness into something almost translucent. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, bruise-like discolorations that spoke of sleepless nights and profound exhaustion that went deeper than the merely physical. Her cheeks seemed slightly hollow, as though she had lost weight she couldn’t afford to lose. Even her legendary hair, while still beautiful, seemed somehow duller than he remembered, lacking some essential vitality.

She looked like someone recovering from a severe illness—which, in a sense, she was.

“Here I thought taking one-third of your curses would make you feel much better,” Nathan said, allowing a trace of wry humor to color his voice.

“You are a madman for even attempting such a thing in the first place,” Pandora replied, her purple eyes remained fixed on him with perfect focus, burning with an intensity that seemed at odds with her physical frailty. “No sane person would voluntarily take curses into themselves. No rational being would choose to share such suffering.”

“Perhaps I am mad, then,” Nathan acknowledged with a slight shrug. “But that doesn’t answer my question. What’s happening to you, Pandora? Why are you in worse condition now than you were before, when you were carrying the full burden?”

Pandora’s gaze drifted away from his face.

“I lived for thousands of years with these curses dwelling inside me,” she said slowly, each word chosen with care as though she were trying to explain something that didn’t quite translate into language. “They became part of my fundamental existence. They shaped how I experienced reality, how I understood myself, how I related to the world. They were terrible, yes—agonizing beyond what words can convey—but they were also… mine. Inseparable from who I am.”

She paused, gathering strength to continue.

“And then suddenly, without warning, I lost a substantial portion of them. It felt…” Her voice cracked slightly, emotion bleeding through despite her attempts at composure. “It felt as though a part of my very soul had been torn away. Like losing a limb I never wanted but had nonetheless learned to rely on. The relief is real—don’t misunderstand me. The reduction in constant agony is genuine. But so is the sense of absence, of incompleteness, of fundamental wrongness that comes from being suddenly different from what I’ve been for millennia.”

Nathan absorbed this explanation in silence, understanding dawning as he processed her words. It made a certain terrible sense.

Removing part of that burden, while ultimately beneficial, had nonetheless disrupted an equilibrium that had taken centuries to establish. Her system—physical, mental, and spiritual—was trying to recalibrate, to figure out how to function in this new configuration. The process was apparently more traumatic than anyone had anticipated.

“Do you want them back?” Nathan asked, his tone making it clear he was joking even as he offered the possibility.

Pandora’s pale lips curved into a genuine smile at the absurd suggestion, and she shook her head.

“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “Even though this transition is hurting me tremendously right now, even though I feel worse in this moment than I have in recent memory, I know I will feel infinitely better once I’ve recovered fully. Once my essence has adapted to this new reality, once the adjustment period has passed, I will be more myself than I’ve been since my creation. So no—I emphatically do not want them back.”

A moment of comfortable silence settled between them, both lost in their own thoughts about what had transpired and what it meant for the future.

Then Pandora’s focus returned fully to Nathan’s face, her purple eyes searching his features with an intensity that was almost uncomfortable in its naked curiosity.

“Why did you do it?” She asked suddenly.

“Again with that question,” Nathan said with a slight shake of his head, a rueful smile touching his lips. “You asked me the same thing when I first absorbed them, if I remember correctly.”

She had indeed posed that exact question in the immediate aftermath, when the reality of what he’d done was still fresh and shocking.

“And I’m asking again,” Pandora persisted, not backing down despite her weakness. “Because I still don’t understand. I need to understand what would motivate someone to make such a choice.”

“I told you then, and I’m telling you now—I wanted to share your pain,” Nathan replied simply, as though the answer should have been obvious. “I promised you wouldn’t have to bear this alone anymore, and I meant it.”

“But why would you do that?” Pandora pressed. “You must be experiencing excruciating pain right now. Those curses don’t simply disappear—they transfer. Everything I’m not feeling anymore, you’re feeling instead. Every moment of agony I’ve been spared, you’re enduring. How can you justify that to yourself?”

“I am suffering,” Nathan acknowledged without hesitation, meeting her gaze. “Every day, every hour, every minute, every second, I feel those curses working on me. The pain is constant, varied, creative in its cruelty. Sometimes it’s physical—bones aching for no reason, muscles cramping without cause, headaches that feel like my skull is being slowly crushed.”

He paused, letting her absorb the full weight of what he was describing.

“Sometimes it’s even worse—existential dread, the sensation that everything is meaningless and futile, whispers in the back of my mind suggesting that giving up would be so much easier than continuing to fight. The curses attack on every level, trying to break me down systematically, looking for weaknesses to exploit.”

Pandora’s eyes had gone wide during his recitation, genuine horror mixing with guilt in her expression.

“But despite all of that,” Nathan continued, “I do not regret what I have done. Not for one second.”

He reached out then, his hand moving with gentleness to cup Pandora’s pale cheek. His palm was warm against her cool skin, his touch feather-light but unmistakably present.

“When I took those curses into myself,” he said softly, his thumb tracing a small circle against her cheekbone, “I saw something. Just a glimpse, just a fragment, but it was enough. I experienced a tiny fraction of what you’ve endured for thousands of years—the crushing weight of it, the relentless nature of suffering that never stops, never eases, never grants even a moment of true peace. And that was only the tiniest sample, the barest taste of your reality.”

His eyes held hers with an intensity that matched her own.

“So I am telling you again, right now, with complete conviction: you don’t have to bear this alone anymore. You will never have to bear it alone again. Whatever portion of those curses remains with you, however much pain you still carry, I’m here. I’m sharing it. And I will continue sharing it for as long as necessary.”

Pandora’s hand shot out with surprising speed given her weakened condition, her fingers wrapping around Nathan’s wrist with desperate strength. Despite her obvious frailty, despite the trembling in her limbs and the exhaustion written across every line of her body, her grip was fierce—the kind of hold someone uses when they’re afraid that if they let go, the precious thing they’re grasping might vanish forever.

She looked at him with those striking purple eyes gone impossibly wide, and within their depths Nathan could see something that sent a chill down his spine despite the warmth of the room. Obsession burned there—raw, undisguised, almost frightening in its intensity.

“I want you always with me,” Pandora said. “Not just now, not just during this recovery period, not just until I’m feeling better. Always. Permanently. Forever. I want you by my side where I can see you, touch you, know with certainty that you’re real and present and not some dream I’ll wake from.”

“I will always be with you,” Nathan replied.

He knew what she truly wanted—what she was really asking for beneath the surface of those words. She wanted exclusivity. She wanted him to belong to her and her alone, to make her the center of his existence the way she was rapidly making him the center of hers. She wanted him to abandon everything and everyone else, to stay here in this protected garden where nothing could threaten what they were building together, where she could keep him safe and close and entirely hers.

But that wasn’t something Nathan could offer—not realistically, not given his responsibilities and connections to so many others, not given the scope of what he was trying to accomplish across. He couldn’t give her everything she wanted, couldn’t become the singular focus she seemed to be envisioning.

Still, this wasn’t the time or place to have that difficult conversation. Pandora was too fragile right now, too vulnerable, too desperate for reassurance to handle having her hopes directly challenged. Starting an argument here, in her weakened state, would be stupid.

Obviously Pandora was intelligent enough to read between the lines, perceptive enough to understand that his promise came with implicit limitations he wasn’t making explicit. But she was also practical enough—and currently weak enough—to recognize that she could hardly force the issue in her present condition. Whatever plans she might be formulating, whatever desires she might be harboring, whatever demands she might eventually make… those would all have to wait until she had recovered enough strength to actually act on them…