WSG 02

2 Years ago

Warmth seeped into my skin, a stark contrast to the icy grip of eternity. I lay motionless, my body heavy and unyielding, half-buried in a bed of moss and leaves. Above me, sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of ancient trees, their branches swaying gently in the breeze.

I blinked, my eyelids dragging as though weighted, and the world slowly came into focus. Vibrant greens and browns stretched endlessly around me. The air was thick with the earthy scent of damp soil and flowering plants, alive with the distant chatter of birds and the rustle of unseen creatures.

For a moment, I simply existed, inhaling the unfamiliar warmth, the life teeming around me. Then came the ache—a deep, resounding throb in my chest. My name. Xyros. It echoed in my mind, dragging with it fragments of memory: golden halls, the clash of weapons, and the faces of my brethren, twisted in betrayal.

“So, you live after all.” The voice came from inside my head, low and familiar, though it sounded like it had been buried under ages of dust.

I stiffened, my eyes darting around the forest. Alone. I was alone, wasn’t I? But that voice...

“Who are you?” I muttered aloud, my words hoarse from disuse.

“Who do you think?” The voice chuckled, dark and sardonic. “I’m you, Xyros. I’ve always been here, lurking just beneath the surface. Waiting.”

I swallowed, my pulse quickening. My hands shook as I pushed myself up from the ground, still unsure of what had just happened or how long I had been here. The forest stretched out before me, serene and untouched. But that voice—the echo of it—was still there, gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

“I don’t... I don’t understand,” I murmured, rubbing my temples.

The voice softened, its tone almost comforting. “You don’t need to understand everything right away. But you’ll remember. Eventually. We were betrayed, Xyros. By those we called brothers. By the gods.”

I staggered to my feet, the weight of my armor unfamiliar and broken, clinging to me like the remnants of some shattered identity. My body was different—pale, cracked, and faintly glowing with the dull remnants of divinity—but still intact, still powerful. The rage bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me, a dormant fire stirring.

“Betrayed... but I’m alive,” I said, my voice gaining strength, defiance lacing my words.

“You are. And it’s time they learned that. We’ve been buried long enough.” The voice that spoke now was rough, edged with bitterness. “The world thinks you’re dead, but you’re not. You never were.”

The weight of that truth settled in my chest, as if the world itself had been holding its breath, waiting for me to awaken. I was more than just a god. More than just a memory. I was alive—and I had come back for a reason.

A distant smoke rose on the horizon, curling into the air like a promise. My steps quickened. I didn’t know where I was going, but something inside me told me that the fire in the distance was the first clue. The first step toward answers.

“You’re angry,” the second voice murmured, quieter now. “You think that’s all you are. But there’s more. Don’t let the rage consume you. Focus.”

I clenched my fists, feeling the flicker of control, of clarity. The voices were growing louder, overlapping with each other, but I could sense their power. They were me. They were mine to wield.

“You’re angry, aren’t you?” The voice of Wrath growled, a low rumble that vibrated through my bones. “All this time, buried, forgotten... It's time to make them pay.”

“Anger is your weapon,” the voice of Wisdom murmured, its cool tone a contrast to the heat of Wrath. “But don’t be blinded by it. You need strategy, not chaos.”

The voices swirled within me, each one pulling at me in different directions. The fire on the horizon called to me, but so did the echo of my past—betrayal, ruin, and the taste of vengeance.

I stumbled through the woods, each step more uncertain than the last. The unfamiliar weight of my broken armor clung to me like an ill-fitting cloak, my body aching in places I couldn’t quite remember. The world around me felt too bright, too alive, and yet I couldn’t shake the cold emptiness that clung to my bones.

I trod onto a dirt path, worn by countless feet over time. The thick trees of the forest thinned slightly as I continued along, and in the distance, I saw the smoke rising lazily into the air. It was thick, black, and unmistakable—the kind of smoke that came from a fire, one that might signal warmth, food, and perhaps safety.

I quickened my pace, despite the exhaustion that weighed down my limbs. My senses were overstimulated, but I had no choice but to push through. I could barely remember how long I’d been out here—how long I’d been… wherever I was. But now, there was something else to focus on.

The smoke.

I stumbled out from the edge of the trees, the village opening up before me. The homes were humble, with thatched roofs and stone walls, but the air was thick with the kind of life I hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. Children’s laughter echoed from somewhere nearby, and I could hear the steady rhythm of a blacksmith’s hammer on metal.

I took a step forward, but before I could even get my bearings, I heard footsteps behind me, quick and purposeful. Someone was approaching.

“Are you lost?” a voice asked. It was soft but firm, like someone used to making decisions.

I turned to face the speaker, my heart thudding in my chest. A young woman stood there, no older than 18. She was a pretty thing, had red hair, tied in braids upon her head, freckles splashed on her cheeks and nose, but she also wore dark makeup around her eyes. She had a lean figure, under her cloak you would not have guessed. Her eyes were dark, studying me with a curiosity that felt unsettling given how… unfamiliar I was to this place. Her wings were folded neatly behind her back, not poised to leave.

She looked me over—a glance that lingered on the cracks in my figurative armor, the strange aura of my being, and the way I stood, off-balance and uncertain.

“How quaint,” the voice of Humor spoke, dripping with sarcasm. “Look at them. Small, fragile things, and yet they keep going. Do they even know how close they are to something... far beyond their understanding?”

I could feel the disdain, but I also felt something else—curiosity. These humans didn’t know me. Didn’t know what I was capable of, or the power that still simmered beneath my skin. But in this moment, I felt... nothing. Just a man, cast down and powerless.

“You feel it, don’t you?” Sorrow whispered softly. “That weight. The absence of power. They’re not gods like us. They’re fragile. But so are you, now. You are nothing.”

“You’re far from the woods,” she said, not unkindly, but with a faint note of concern. “I’ve never seen you before. You lost, or just… passing through?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the words caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure what to say. Was I lost? Was I passing through? I wasn’t sure what I was doing. My thoughts scattered, slipping through my fingers like smoke.

“I… I don’t know,” I managed to say, swallowing. “I… I’m not from here.”

The woman’s gaze softened, her expression almost pitying. “Well, you’re in the village now. Come with me. You don’t look well.”

I hesitated, pride pricking at the edges of my thoughts. I was a god—or had been. I didn’t need help.

But there was something about her. She wasn’t afraid of me. She wasn’t bowing in awe, or running away in fear. She was simply offering help.

“Who are you?” I asked, finding my voice again, though it came out weaker than I’d like.

“Ada,” she answered, with a slight smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “And you are?”

The question hung in the air, thick with meaning. I should have said something grand. I should have announced who I was. But all I could do was look at her.

She nodded slowly, “That’s okay. We’ll get you settled. You’re safe here, for now.”

And just like that, I allowed myself to follow her. A part of me resisted, clawing at the remnants of my pride. But I couldn’t fight it anymore. Not when my body felt so broken. Not when I felt so small.

“I’m Xyros,” I said after a couple minutes of walking.

Ada flinched at the name. But she simply nodded, as though accepting whatever I’d said without question. “Well, Xyros. I don’t know what happened to you, but I’m glad you’re here now.”

Ada led me through the village, her strides purposeful, her presence steady. She didn’t ask more questions, just guided me toward a simple house with a small garden out front. The scent of herbs and fresh bread wafted in the air, soothing in a way I hadn’t expected.