KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

Across the city in the noble quarter, Calypso paced her chambers like a caged lioness, her mortal form burning with divine frustration. The wine-red hair that had replaced her silver locks swished with each agitated turn, while her deep purple eyes blazed with barely contained fury.

"You must sit still, my lady," Agna said from her position near the wardrobe, her weathered hands folding another gown. "The seamstress cannot take proper measurements if you keep moving about like that."

Calypso spun on her heel, silk slippers sliding against the polished stone floor. "I don't need new dresses. I need to see the heroes who arrived from the north. Now."

"I'm afraid that's quite impossible, Lady Selene." Agna didn't even look up from her work. "The men are being debriefed by the High Burner and Duke Haverford. It would be highly improper to interrupt such important proceedings."

"Improper?" The word escaped Calypso's lips in a register that made the crystal chandelier above them chime softly. "I am the High Burner's niece. I outrank half the people in this city."

Agna finally paused in her work, turning to face her charge with that infuriatingly patient expression. "Indeed, my lady. Which is precisely why your behavior must be above reproach. Especially with Duke Haverford requesting your presence at a private dinner this evening."

The walls of Lady Selene's bedchamber were the confines of a tomb. Rich tapestries depicted ancient battles fought by men long dead. Furniture carved from volcanic obsidian stood like sarcophagi. Even the spectacular views from the windows were just vistas from a prison cell—beautiful, meaningless, and distant.

Every day brought new obligations, new expectations, new attempts to bind her to this identity she'd never chosen. Lady Selene's life was an endless maze of social requirements and political maneuvering that left no room for the direct action that defined her very nature.

"I don't want to have dinner with Duke Haverford," she said, her voice carrying undertones that made the air shimmer.

"What you want, my lady, is considerably less important than what is required of you." Agna moved to the window. "Your uncle has been most patient with your... illness-related delays in fulfilling your social obligations. But patience has limits, even for family members."

The seamstress chose that moment to approach, a nervous woman whose fingers trembled slightly as she raised her measuring tape. Calypso submitted to the indignity with gritted teeth, her mind racing through escape plans that all led to the same maddening conclusion: she was trapped by expectations and obligations that belonged to someone else entirely.

Xavier was so close she could feel his presence like sunlight on her skin, his soul calling to hers across the city. After days of painful separation, knowing he was so close and being unable to reach him felt like torture designed by particularly creative demons.

"The blue silk would complement your eyes beautifully, my lady," the seamstress murmured, holding up a fabric sample with shaking hands.

"Fine. Whatever you think best." Calypso barely glanced at the offered material, her attention focused entirely on the stone walls that held her captive.

"My lady seems rather distressed this afternoon," Agna observed with clinical detachment. "Perhaps some tea would help calm your nerves before this evening's dinner engagement."

"My nerves are perfectly fine," Calypso replied through clenched teeth, each word dropping the temperature in the room by several degrees. "What I need is information about the survivors from Dalen's caravan."

"I'm certain Lord Commander Alaric will provide a full report when it becomes appropriate for you to receive such information."

"And when exactly will that be?"

"When the debriefing process is complete and all proper protocols have been followed to their natural conclusion." Agna's smile remained as immovable as the volcanic bedrock beneath Hearthome. "These matters take considerable time, my lady. Important men have important business to discuss, and such discussions cannot be rushed."

Calypso wanted to unleash a scream that would shatter every window in the noble quarter. In her true divine form, she could have willed herself across the city straight into Xavier's arms. Instead, she was subject to the whims of mortals who spoke in careful euphemisms about propriety and protocol while building invisible chains around her wrists.

The seamstress completed her measurements departed with promises to have the evening dress ready within the hour. Agna immediately busied herself with selecting appropriate jewelry from Lady Selene's collection, each piece another link in the gilded cage that held a goddess prisoner.

"Perhaps," Agna said without lifting her gaze from the jewel case, "my lady would benefit from focusing on the considerable opportunities this evening presents rather than dwelling on matters currently beyond her sphere of influence."

"What opportunities?" The question emerged sharper than Calypso intended.

"Duke Haverford is a man of substantial power with extensive holdings throughout the northern territories. An alliance with his house would bring considerable advantages to Hearthome's political position." Agna selected a necklace of polished garnets, holding the stones up to catch the afternoon light streaming through the windows. "Your uncle believes such an alliance would prove... mutually beneficial to all parties involved."

Tonight's dinner wasn't merely a social obligation—it was a marriage interview disguised as hospitality, another attempt to bind her permanently to this suffocating mortal identity.

"Is that so?"

Something in her tone made Agna pause mid-motion. For just an instant, the composure in Agna's face fractured. The professional placidity in her eyes faltered, revealing a momentary flicker of genuine uncertainty before it was sealed over once more.

"Of course, my lady. Your happiness remains our primary concern in all matters."

"Good," Calypso said, rising from her chair. The afternoon light caught her movement, casting her shadow longer and darker across the carpets. "Because I intend to be absolutely clear about what would make me happy."

If these mortals wanted to play political games with a goddess, she would remind them exactly what they were dealing with. Their careful plans and whispered conspiracies were nothing more than mortals trying to chart the orbit of a star with sticks and twine—an act of such beautiful, naive ambition it was doomed from its conception.

After all, even a caged deity remained fundamentally divine—and divine beings had never been known for their patience with mortal presumption.