KamiKowa: That Time I Got Transmigrated With A Broken Goddess

The Temple of the Eternal Flame maintained its sacred rhythms even in the deepest hours of night. Steam hissed through volcanic vents, crystals hummed their eternal songs, and robed figures padded through corridors on bare feet, tending to duties that never ceased. Brother Aldwin had walked these halls for three years, carrying his cleaning supplies and polishing cloths, invisible to scholars and acolytes who saw only another servant maintaining their pristine sanctuary.

Tonight, however, Brother Aldwin carried something far more valuable than soap and rags.

"The healing chambers need fresh linens," Naomi told the young acolyte stationed outside Ashley's room, her voice pitched to the exact tone of authority she'd perfected during her time as Nessa. She'd traded her temple robes for servant's clothing—brown wool that made her blend into the shadows between crystal sconces. "Sister Miren specifically requested the Vaelthorne silk. Something about the patient's delicate condition."

The acolyte, barely sixteen and clearly overwhelmed by night duties, accepted the lie without question. "The storage rooms are on the third level. I can't leave my post."

"I'll handle it. You look exhausted." Naomi pressed three silver coins into his palm—a fortune for a junior acolyte. "Take a moment to rest your eyes. The healing chambers will be quiet for at least an hour."

The boy pocketed the coins with barely concealed eagerness, his fingers closing around them like they might disappear if he didn't secure them quickly. He wandered toward the main corridor, stifling a yawn behind his hand. Naomi counted thirty heartbeats, each one feeling longer than the last, before slipping inside Ashley's chamber with the silent precision of someone accustomed to entering places uninvited.

The room enveloped her in the sharp scent of wintermint layered over something metallic and disturbingly familiar—blood, but with an unnatural sweetness that made her stomach clench. Ashley lay propped against a mountain of silk pillows, her face pale as moonlight but her eyes alert and watchful. Golden fractures traced delicate patterns along her jawline, pulsing with each heartbeat like veins of liquid sunlight trapped beneath her skin.

"You look terrible," Ashley said, her voice stronger than her appearance suggested.

"Liar. I always look amazing." Naomi closed the door with barely a whisper of sound, her fingers lingering on the latch to ensure it caught properly. "Margaret should be here any moment."

"Margot," Ashley corrected, her tone sharpening despite her weakened state. "We need to be careful about names. Even when we're alone."

The correction pierced deeper than Naomi expected, like a needle finding an exposed nerve. They'd all lost pieces of themselves in this place—names, faces, entire histories rewritten by forces they barely comprehended. She pulled a second chair close to Ashley's bed and sat down, studying her friend's condition with professional detachment that couldn't quite mask her concern.

Naomi studied the woman in the bed. This wasn't the Ashley who commanded rooms with a glance. That confidence had fractured. Now, in its place was something brittle, the way her eyes darted to the door at every imagined sound, the slight tremor in her hands that had nothing to do with her injuries. She was like ice stretched too thin over deep, dark water.

"How bad is it?"

"Bad." Ashley shifted against her pillows. "The scholars think they're studying some fascinating new phenomenon. They don't understand that every time they probe my Essentia pathways, it feels like someone's driving heated nails directly into my bone marrow."

The door opened slowly to admit a figure in healer's robes—blue hair intricately braided with threads of silver that caught the lamplight, carrying a basket of supplies that clinked softly with glass vials.

"Brother Aldwin is creating quite the commotion in the eastern wing," she reported, setting down her basket and immediately moving to check Ashley's pulse with practiced efficiency. "Something about discovering rats in the grain stores. The night sisters are beside themselves with horror."

"How long do we have?" Naomi asked, already calculating escape routes and contingencies.

"Twenty minutes, maybe thirty if we're lucky." Margaret's fingers found the pressure points on Ashley's wrist, her touch professional yet gentle. "Your pulse is still irregular. You shouldn't be attempting anything strenuous."

"Define strenuous."

"Using your abilities at all would qualify."

"Then we're already in trouble, because I've been working on something."

Before either of them could protest, Ashley closed her eyes and extended her hand, fingers trembling with effort. The golden fractures along her skin intensified, pulsing in perfect rhythm like a visual heartbeat, and the air around them seemed to thicken until it felt almost gelatinous. Naomi experienced a strange sensation, like cotton being stuffed into her ears, and realized she could no longer hear the ambient sounds of the temple—no footsteps echoing down hallways, no voices murmuring prayers, no steam hissing through ancient vents.

"A dead zone," Ashley whispered, her voice strained as though each word cost her something precious. "Anyone trying to scry this room will get nothing but static."

"That's incredible," Margaret breathed, professional assessment giving way to genuine awe. "How—"

"Pain," Ashley said simply, the word hanging between them like a confession. "My broken Covenant creates interference in the Essentia field. I can shape it, focus it. But I can't hold it for long."

Ashley had weaponized her own suffering, transformed her greatest weakness into a tactical advantage. The brilliance of it was matched only by its desperate cruelty—using her broken power to protect them all one final time.

"We need Xavier," Naomi said, her practical nature reasserting itself.

Margaret nodded and moved to the window. The chamber overlooked a courtyard where volcanic vents created steaming pools of mineral-rich water, vapor rising like restless spirits in the moonlight. She produced a small mirror from within her robes and angled it carefully to catch the light from the eternal flame's cathedral spire, sending a series of precise flashes toward the distant noble quarter.

They waited in tense silence. The dead zone hummed around them like an invisible cocoon, Ashley's breathing growing more labored with each passing minute, her chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular patterns. Finally, a shadow detached itself from the courtyard's eastern wall, moving with unnatural grace.

"He's coming," Margaret reported, relief evident in her voice.

"Good. Because I can't hold this much longer." Sweat beaded on Ashley's forehead like tiny diamonds, the golden fractures pulsing faster as her control began to slip.

"And we have a lot to discuss."