I Enslaved The Goddess Who Summoned Me

The next day arrived, quietly yet heavy with intent.

T

he first light of dawn swept across the marble rooftops of Crassus’s estate, gilding them in gold. The city of Rome lay beneath, tranquil and unsuspecting, bathed in the soft glow of morning. Atop the highest roof, Nathan sat cross-legged in silence, his posture still and measured like a monk in meditation. The cold wind tugged at his white hair, making it shimmer faintly beneath the sun’s newborn rays.

He had not slept.

The entire night had passed in relentless focus and quiet exertion. The rooftop around him bore faint traces of his work — the ground slightly scorched, thin black cracks forming a spiderweb beneath where he sat. Aphrodite had long since left, her presence fading like a dream at dawn. Before departing, she had offered him her guidance, her voice soft yet commanding, teaching him how to draw out the essence of the black stone — the cursed relic that pulsed faintly in his palm.

Ten hours.

Ten hours of constant practice, struggle, and control.

Now, the once-wild energy of the black stone obeyed him like a tamed beast. It pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, dark light flowing between his fingers like smoke.

When Nathan finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the vast Roman sky — an endless blue canvas stretching toward the horizon, dotted with lazy clouds drifting over the ancient city.

At this hour, he thought, Athena would normally appear in her usual graceful stride. Together they would go to meet Pandora — another of those arranged “dates” in Demeter’s garden, where roses bloomed unnaturally bright and the air always smelled of sunlight.

But not today.

He knew she wouldn’t come. They had planned this together.

Athena’s absence was part of the scheme — a necessary spark to ignite Pandora’s turmoil. The goddess’s emotions, wild and unrestrained, were dangerous when scattered. Nathan’s plan was to direct that chaos — to make her fury, her longing, her obsession, revolve solely around him. He would become her axis, her fixation, her storm.

It was a cruel plan, perhaps. But necessary.

He closed his eyes again, ready to resume his focus — when a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

“Nathan.”

He opened them slowly.

Medea stood before him, her cloak fluttering in the breeze. The morning light caught her black hair, making it shimmer faintly against the dark fabric she wore. Her expression was calm, yet something about her eyes — that quiet seriousness— made Nathan instantly attentive.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked.

Medea gave a short nod.

“Caesar found the house where the five are staying,” she said.

Nathan’s expression hardened. The five. He knew immediately who she meant.

Freja and the others.

His mind ran through possibilities even before she continued.

“How did it happen?” he asked, though a part of him already suspected.

“Freja,” Medea replied simply. “They tracked her. It seems they used her as the thread.”

Nathan’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make sense.

Freja was cautious — always cautious. She moved through cities like a shadow, sharp and alert. Her instincts were honed even among the Heroes, and with Elin in her care, she would have taken every precaution possible. She would have circled the city, doubled back, erased her trail before entering the hidden house. For her to be found meant only one thing.

“A high-rank Skill,” Nathan murmured under his breath.

Some kind of advanced tracking ability — likely belonging to one of the Heroes themselves. It was the only explanation.

His eyes narrowed as he thought.

“So they’ve been waiting… for this exact chance.”

Waiting for either Freja or Elin to appear — bait to draw out his allies. And, of course, Johanna would know precisely how to exploit that weakness. She would target Freja’s loyalty, Elin’s vulnerability, and use them as leverage against him.

Did Nathan regret it? Letting Freja leave? Letting her reunite with her classmates when he could have forced her to stay in hiding?

No.

He exhaled slowly. He had already calculated the risk, and even knowing this outcome, he would not have chosen differently. He did not blame her — not even slightly.

If anything, he admired her resolve. Freja was not the kind to flee when her friends were threatened. She would fight, even if it meant breaking her cover.

“Where are they now?” Nathan asked quietly.

Medea tilted her head trying to remember something.

“That woman,” she began, “the one who sleeps with that old trash— what was her name again, Nathan?”

He couldn’t help but smile faintly.

“Johanna,” he said. “She’s leading the arrest, isn’t she?”

Medea nodded.

“Most likely. She’s already at the scene, with a full unit of soldiers.”

Nathan chuckled darkly.

“Mere soldiers won’t be enough to defeat Freja.”

But even as he said it, his thoughts shifted — fast, sharp, dangerous.

He froze.

Then realization dawned.

“Of course…” he whispered.

°°°°°

In front of the house that was supposed to be invisible, silence reigned — the kind of silence that comes before a storm.

Freja’s refuge, the sanctuary where Elin, Ameriah, Auria, and Servilia had taken shelter, was no longer hidden. The faint shimmer of Medea’s concealment spell flickered like a dying flame, unable to mask the dwelling any longer. Her enchantment had been clever — it erased the house from the minds of soldiers, travelers, even birds that crossed its path. But it had one fatal limitation.

It could not conceal what was alive inside.

And Freja, unknowingly tracked, had led their enemies straight to them.

Outside, Johanna stood with the confident smile of someone who believed victory had already been written. Around her, twenty soldiers of Caesar’s personal guard stood in formation — disciplined, armored, their spears reflecting the sunlight like polished mirrors.

Beside her stood a young woman with chestnut hair and timid eyes — Karine.

A quiet student, known among her classmates for her meekness and diligence. But today, that same girl had become the instrument of betrayal. Her trembling hands were clasped before her chest as she stared at the ground, guilt hidden behind obedience.

Johanna turned to her with a grin that did not reach her eyes.

“Well done, Karine. I’ll make sure Caesar hears of your contribution.”

Karine only nodded faintly, her voice barely audible.

“Yes… Professor.”

Then Johanna turned toward the concealed home, her tone suddenly commanding — smooth yet laced with venom.

“Come out!” she called. “Or we will burn the house down. Freja. Elin. Please — don’t make this difficult.”

She sighed dramatically, though her heart raced with triumph.

To think — the great Septimius had hidden these girls here. If he bothered to protect them so carefully, they must hold some significance. And once she had them, she could finally breathe easy. No more fear, no more shadow of Nathan looming over her. These girls were the key — her proof of worth and also shield.

Inside the house, panic rippled like a wave.

Ameriah’s hands clenched around the edge of the table, her knuckles white. Auria pressed herself against the window, peeking through the veil of Medea’s fading spell. Elin stood frozen near the door, her face pale as marble.

But it was Freja who looked the most shattered.

Her breath trembled, her eyes wide, disbelief carving lines of guilt across her face.

“I… it’s my fault,” she whispered, biting her lip until blood welled.

“No, it’s not your fault, Freja!” Ameriah’s voice broke through, fierce and emotional. “You just wanted to see your friends! If it were me— if I could see my sister again, I’d do the same!”

“B-But—”

“Enough.”

Servilia’s calm voice cut through the panic like a blade through fog. The eldest among them, she stood composed, her expression tranquil despite the danger outside. Her poise alone steadied the others.

“Listen to me,” Servilia said, her tone measured. “It won’t take long before Septimius realizes what’s happening. Our goal is simple — buy time. Or,” she added with a faint smile, her eyes glinting, “you could simply defeat them.”

Freja blinked, then slowly nodded, resolve replacing her guilt.

“I… I’ll do it,” she said firmly, her voice trembling but determined.

Without another word, she pushed open the door, followed closely by Servilia and Elin. The morning light spilled across their faces as they stepped outside to confront their enemies.

Ameriah and Auria remained inside, both too anxious to move yet praying silently for their friends’ safety.

Outside, the soldiers shifted, their spears tightening in their grips. Johanna’s smile widened when she saw Freja’s familiar figure appear from the doorway.

“Professor,” Freja said, her eyes burning with restrained fury.

Johanna’s lips curved upward.

“Freja, is that the look you should be giving your teacher?”

“You’re no teacher,” Freja spat, her tone sharp as glass. “You’re not worthy to teach anyone.”

“Ah,” Johanna replied with mock sadness, pressing a hand to her chest. “That’s disappointing. And what about you, Elin? Do you think the same of me?”

Elin hesitated, her fists trembling.

“Y…you betrayed us,” she said at last, her voice cracking. “You sold us out for power.”

Johanna’s expression softened falsely, like a mask slipping over her true face.

“I wanted what was best for everyone,” she said gently.

“Bullshit,” Freja snapped, stepping forward.

Johanna laughed — a sharp, humorless sound.

“Look at you now, Freja. So righteous, so fiery. But tell me, how does it feel to stand there, cornered and helpless, while I stand beside the greatest man in Rome — Julius Caesar himself?”

Before Freja could retort, another voice joined the fray — cool and elegant, with a faint trace of mockery.

“Quite disappointing, truly,” Servilia said, walking forward with effortless grace. Her eyes locked on Johanna’s. “I never thought the woman chosen to replace me would be so pitifully stupid.”

A vein twitched in Johanna’s temple, though her smile did not falter.

“Oh, look who it is — the woman rejected by the Emperor. Are you going to cry, Servilia? Or perhaps beg to be taken back?”

Servilia chuckled softly, the sound like silk hiding a dagger.

“Beg who, exactly?” she asked. “You misunderstand me. I’m grateful, actually. Thanks to you, I abandoned a foolish man I once thought great.”

She took another step forward, her gaze fierce and radiant.

“And in doing so, I found someone who surpasses Caesar in every imaginable way — a man Caesar couldn’t hope to equal even in his dreams.”

Her tone grew colder, her words carrying the quiet promise of danger.

“If you don’t wish for him to appear, Johanna,” she said softly, “then I suggest you leave. Now.”

For the first time here, Johanna’s practiced smile wavered — the fraction of a heartbeat where confidence thinned like a cracked mask. Coldness crept along her spine, a warning she pushed down with a forced cheerfulness. There was no time to hesitate; decisive action had to follow.

“I won’t be so lenient,” she said, voice smooth and dangerous. Without another word she gave the order.

The guards moved like a single, practiced organism. They seized a girl and dragged her forward — not Karine, but another classmate: Ida. Her dress was torn at the sleeve, hair mussed, eyes wide with a terror that made the air around her feel smaller.

“Ida!” Freja lunged instinctively, but a soldier’s blade flashed against Ida’s throat and halted her in a single, brutal motion. The metal kissed skin; the threat was immediate and absolute. Ida crumpled to her knees, shaking, and began to cry.

Johanna addressed them all with a theatrical sigh. “I heard from Karine that you had a very impassioned speech planned against Caesar,” she said, each word laced with contempt. “I expected you to be smarter than this, Freja.”

“I…Ida!” Elin stepped forward, voice trembling. “Leave her, Professor! She did nothing!”

Ida’s sobs echoed, each one a small blade. Freja’s heart hammered; every instinct in her wanted to shield Ida, to tear the soldiers away. “Leave her,” Freja pleaded, teeth clenched. “We’ll come out. Take us instead.”

Johanna’s smile sharpened into something almost clinical. “All of you — including those still inside,” she said, as if offering them a choice they did not possess.

“Why? You only need us alive, right? Take us!” Freja shouted, desperation fuelling her voice.

Johanna’s expression grew grave in a way that chilled them more than any threat. “No. The two inside are from Tenebria,” she announced, letting the name hang like a noose. “They have blood of the Demon King, or so I’ve been told.”

At that single word, Auria stiffened as if struck. Ameriah’s eyes flew to her, confusion and alarm warring across her features. Ameriah was the Princess so obviously she had blood from the Demon King, her father but Auria? Wasn’t she just the daughter of Duke Breistan?

Freja’s fingers dug into her palms. She stared at Karine — at the girl whose downcast eyes would not meet hers — and felt betrayal like a hot weight in her chest. Karine had never shown such a Tracking Skill before; if the ability was new, then so were the angles of deceit. Most classmates guarded their powers like secrets; apparently, some had traded secrecy for survival.

“You understand your situation now, right?” Johanna smiled with cruel patience.

Freja turned to Servilia, shame and sorrow mixing on her face. “I… I’m sorry,” she said, voice barely more than a whisper. Her gaze flicked toward the windows where Ameriah and Auria remained — trapped and helpless. “Sorry…”

“Good.” Johanna’s voice was honey and poison together. She nodded toward Servilia. “Come closer.”

Servilia took one deliberate step forward, the motion calm and dignified, her posture that of a queen unbowed. For a moment Johanna’s smile seemed to widen at some remembered amusement; then, with the casual cruelty of someone reading from a script, she addressed one of the knights.

“Oh, I nearly forgot. What was the Emperor’s order if we found Servilia?” she asked, prim and officious.

There was no hesitation in the soldier’s answer. “Behead her, my lady — and bring the head to him.”

Johanna smirked widely.