WSG 05

2 Years ago

Days blurred together as I tried to piece myself together. The village of Midor, within Aeran, was quiet and serene, far removed from whatever world I had come from—or at least, what I thought I had come from. My mind, fractured and elusive, didn’t offer up much, but I could feel it—there was a presence deep inside me, a force I couldn’t quite grasp. Sometimes, it felt like the flickering embers of something much larger, a fire long gone cold.

I spent my days wandering the village, trying to understand who I was, who I had been. The memories were like shards of glass: sharp, painful, and difficult to hold onto. I could see glimpses of my past life—power, vast and untamed, flowing through me as easily as breathing. But that power was gone now, as if it had slipped through my fingers, leaving behind a quiet ache.

My existence as I knew it seemed like a dream, and each day I woke up, I struggled to put together the pieces.

Ada found me again, sitting by the edge of Midor, staring out over the meadow. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows on the earth. I hadn’t noticed her approach, but she was standing there now, her feet brushing the grass, her presence calming but heavy.

“Xyros,” she said gently, her tone careful as she glided down to meet me, “how are you feeling today?”

I looked at her, feeling a twinge of unease. “I don’t know,” I admitted. “I feel... like I’m forgetting something important. Something about myself. Like I was someone else, but now I’m not.”

Ada lowered herself to the ground beside me, her gaze lingering on my face, though she didn’t speak right away. The silence stretched, heavy with unasked questions, until she finally spoke again.

“You said you were a god,” she murmured, as if testing the weight of the words.

The mention of balance made something stir within me—a flicker of recognition. "I... I remember that," I said slowly, my voice rough. "I was the god of balance. Of keeping the forces in check, of making sure everything had its place. But now... I don’t remember what it felt like to have that power. All I have left are the pieces."

Ada was silent for a moment, her gaze intense. “Balance,” she echoed. “That’s... that’s dangerous, isn’t it?”

I frowned, confused. “Dangerous?”

Her eyes met mine, filled with a quiet intensity. “Balance means keeping everything in check. Good and bad. Light and dark. And when something tips too far... you have to correct it, right? I’ve heard the stories.”

Stories? My mind scrambled, trying to recall the weight of those words. “I don’t... I don’t remember. What stories?”

Ada’s expression darkened, the wariness I had seen before creeping back into her features. “The gods of balance are never truly at peace,” she said softly. “It’s like the pendulum. When it swings too far in one direction, it has to swing back just as hard. The weight of that power... it can break things. Or people.”

I stared at her, trying to piece together what she was saying. "I don’t want to break anything," I whispered. “I don’t know how to control it. How to... be that god anymore.”

Ada was quiet for a long time, her face thoughtful. “You don’t have to be that god,” she said gently. “Not anymore.”

Her words felt like a balm against the sharp edges of my mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe I didn’t have to remember everything. Maybe... I didn’t have to be a god at all.

But even as the thought lingered in my mind, the fragments of my past echoed back at me. Balance. The weight of it. The responsibility. Could I live without it? Without the power that once defined me?

Ada’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Maybe balance isn't about power at all. Maybe it’s about... living in harmony with the world around you, finding your place, no matter who you were before.”

I glanced at her, seeing a depth of understanding in her eyes that I hadn’t expected. She wasn’t afraid of me—at least not in the way I had feared. But I could see that she understood the potential danger of what I had been.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” I admitted, “but I know I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Ada smiled gently, her eyes softening. “Then you’ll find your way, Xyros. It doesn’t matter who you were. What matters is who you choose to be now.”

I looked out at the meadow, the wind rustling the leaves. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to find balance again.

The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the village. The evening air, cool and refreshing, did little to calm the weight in my chest. Ada stood beside me, silent, as the words she had spoken lingered in the air. My past, scattered and incomplete, was becoming a burden, but her presence made it easier to carry.

I wasn’t sure I was ready to face who I had been—what I had been—but Ada’s words made something stir in me. There was more to this balance. More than just the destruction and chaos I feared.

“I don’t want to be that god, Ada,” I said, my voice rough, strained with the weight of everything I didn’t understand. “I don’t want to be a force of destruction... but that’s what you’re telling me I was.”

Ada turned to face me, her eyes intense, but there was no fear in them, only understanding. "You were more than that," she said quietly, her voice firm with conviction. "Balance isn’t just destruction, Xyros. It's not about bringing chaos for the sake of it. It’s about restoring what’s wrong. You didn’t act for yourself—you acted to correct the imbalance. That’s how people see you."

I looked at her, confused. "But... the destruction? The way people talk about me—"

"People only see the result," Ada interrupted gently. "The end, when the scale has tipped too far. They don’t see the weight you carried every time a force threatened to unravel everything. The god of balance isn't just reaction, Xyros. You prevent catastrophe. You’re not a force that destroys—you're a force that restores what’s needed."

I shook my head, trying to wrap my mind around it. "But I don't remember it. I don't know how to be that anymore."

"Because you don’t remember," she said with a slight smile. "You’re not supposed to remember it all at once. You’ve been broken, scattered. But the balance is still there. It’s a part of you, even now."

I was quiet for a long moment, struggling with her words, my mind racing with images of destruction I couldn’t recall, but that I felt deep in my bones. Destruction... balance... it was so much more than I had realized.

"I don’t know how I could live with the weight of all that,” I murmured. “What if I get it wrong? What if I... bring destruction without meaning to?"

Ada stepped closer, her hand brushing against mine. Her gaze softened as she looked up at me. “The truth is, Xyros, the world needs balance. It always has. And the gods needed you. Not because they could control you, but because you could keep them in check. You were their anchor.” She took a breath, her voice filled with reverence now, as if speaking of something sacred. “Without you, the world would tip into an abyss of chaos. Some fear what you might do, but others... they revere you. They respect you.”

The way she spoke of me made my heart tighten. There was no fear in her voice now, no hesitation. She didn’t just know who I was; she understood the necessity of it.

I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to let her words sink in. To imagine myself as something more than broken fragments. Something that people revered, something that held the world together.

"But what does it mean for me now?" I asked quietly, opening my eyes to meet hers. "What do I do now, with what little I remember?"

Ada's eyes sparkled with something close to a quiet strength, as if she had already seen this answer for me. “You find your balance, Xyros. You let the broken pieces fall into place, piece by piece. You don’t have to be what you were, but you are that god. And the balance you kept—it's still needed. Even if you can’t remember it all yet, you’re still the one who can set things right.”

I could see it now, in the way she spoke, in the way her eyes shone with certainty. Ada was right. I had been a god of balance. I didn’t have to be the same as I had been. I didn’t have to wield my power the same way. But the world... the people around me... they still needed balance. Whether I remembered how to bring it or not, it was a part of who I was. And that could be enough.

"I... I want to believe that," I said slowly, my voice full of uncertainty. But beneath the doubt, something began to settle. A quiet calm, like the first gentle breeze after a storm.

Ada smiled again, this time softer, as if she understood the weight of what I was carrying. "You will believe it. I know you will.