Chapter 38: A Familiar Ache

Saving Mundania felt like a monumental victory. I had found a way to fight back, a genuine, permanent solution for at least one world. I spent the next few weeks applying the Sanctuary Protocol to other worlds I deemed worthy of saving, worlds full of stories that deserved to continue. My office became a command center for my one-goddess preservation society.

But with each world I saved, a familiar ache settled in my chest. It was the echo of my time as a mortal. Protecting Mundania from a distance wasn't the same as being there. I found myself pulling up the observer files for the world more and more often, watching my friends through the ethereal equivalent of a satellite feed.

They were thriving. They were S-rank heroes now, famous throughout the kingdom. I watched Kenta, now a confident and surprisingly competent leader, use his "Tame Snail" skill to peacefully resolve a border dispute with a tribe of rock golems (it turned out the golems were just very slow, geologically-based gastropods).

I watched Rina open a training dojo, teaching aspiring adventurers her unique brand of practical, no-nonsense brawling. She was still loud and fierce, but she had found a purpose beyond just surviving.

I watched Chloe become the kingdom's Royal Alchemist, her inventive (and still occasionally explosive) genius finally recognized. She had revolutionized the kingdom's infrastructure with self-repairing bricks and potions that made crops grow three times as fast.

And I watched Luna, with the Grimoire's begrudging help, establish a magical academy open to everyone, not just the magically gifted. She still rarely spoke, using her chalkboard to teach, but her quiet confidence and immense power inspired a whole new generation of mages.

They were happy. They were successful. They were growing. And they were doing it all without me.

The feeling was a strange, bittersweet mix of pride and loneliness. I was their secret guardian, their silent protector, but I was also a ghost, watching a life that was no longer mine. The joy of my work was still there, but it was now tinged with the quiet sadness of a cherished memory. I had saved their world, but in doing so, I had cemented my place outside of it, forever.