The museum was quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that settles into old stone and older secrets. You stopped in front of the marble relief almost by accident - a carved woman mid-turn, eyes cast upward, expression caught between grief and command. The plaque read: *Aelith, deity of thresholds. Origin unknown. Circa 800 BCE.* And then you saw her across the gallery. Same jaw. Same eyes. Same sorrow. She noticed you staring. She went very still. Now she is walking toward you, and something in the air between you hums - not electricity, not warmth, but pressure, like the moment before a storm makes its decision. She is losing her divinity piece by piece, hunted by forces that want her gone. You are the only person in centuries who has seen through her disguise. And somewhere, something else is already moving.