Chapter 10

Year and a Half ago

I felt his fall, my father.

The moment it happened, I was struck by a sharp, deep pain, as if all the balance in the world had been torn away in an instant. It was a physical ache, a rending sensation deep in my chest that left me gasping for breath. It wasn’t just that he was gone, but that the very fabric of existence had shifted without him. The world felt wrong, tilted, as if everything had been thrown off its axis. And in the midst of this disorienting shift, there was nothing. Just a void. A profound, gnawing emptiness where once there had been certainty.

The gods had always been a presence in my life—distant, yes, but constant. They spoke to their followers, their voices carried in whispers and prayers, in the quiet places where their influence still held sway. But now? Now, there was nothing. The churches that had once echoed with their words were silent. And so, too, was the silence that filled my own heart.

It should have been my right to call on them. I, a child of the gods, should have been able to feel their presence, to speak to them, to demand answers for what had happened. But they were mute. The gods had abandoned their voices, and in doing so, they had abandoned me as well.

In that silence, I could feel their betrayal. It wasn’t just the absence of their words—it was the absence of their care. It was as though I had ceased to matter, as though my connection to them had been severed without a second thought.

The gods had cast my father out, and they had left me to wrestle with the consequences of that abandonment alone.

It was a strange thing, that silence. It spoke louder than any words ever could. It spoke of disdain, of a world that no longer needed him, and a world that no longer needed me. I was left alone, in the aftermath of his fall, with only the ache of his absence and the knowledge that the gods had turned their backs on us both.

I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t accept the silence. Not when I felt the weight of everything slipping away—of everything I had known being torn apart.

No, I would not remain silent like them. I would find him. I would seek out my father, wherever he had been cast to, and I would make them listen to me.

A year or so after, I found myself in Aeran. I felt a divine presence the closer I got, and it pulled at me, beckoning me forward like a thread tied to my very soul. It was faint at first, but unmistakable—there was something here, something hidden beneath the layers of the earth, buried away from the eyes of mortal men. I could feel it pulsing in the air around me, alive and ancient, resonating with the faintest echo of divine power.

The city of Aeran was large one, the likes the people west of Vayden would never have known. The air was thick with the scent of wet stone and moss, and the landscape was quiet, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred. The people there were simple, wrapped in their own quiet lives, unaware of the forces that stirred just beyond their understanding. They paid no heed to the divine presence that lingered, but I knew it was there.

I had come here searching for answers, guided by a pull I couldn’t fully understand. But when I stepped into the village, it was as though the weight of the world pressed down on my shoulders. The silence wasn’t oppressive—no, it was more like the calm before a storm, heavy and expectant.

I wandered through the village streets, unsure of what I was looking for but certain that I would know it when I found it. The longer I stayed, the more the pull grew stronger, directing me towards the heart of the village, to a small grove that lay at the edge of the forest. It was there, among the trees, that I found her.

Lunira.

She was standing at the center of the grove, her hair, silver and flowing like a river of moonlight, caught the last traces of sunlight filtering through the branches. Her eyes, luminous and otherworldly, met mine as if she had been waiting for me.

"I knew you would be here," she said, her voice soft yet unshakable. "The child of the fallen god."

I didn’t speak at first, my throat tight with a thousand questions. There was something about her—something serene, yet unsettling. She wasn’t just a goddess, she was a presence, something older than the world itself. And her gaze... it was as if she could see every thought I had ever had, every doubt, every fear. I had never seen a god face to face, I’d spoken with them sure, but never had i been in the physical presence of a god.

"I am Lunira," she continued, her tone quiet but firm, like the wind through the trees.

The words struck me like a blow, and my chest tightened, the ache of my father’s absence washing over me once more. I took a step forward, my voice finally breaking free.

"Why are you here?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.

Lunira’s gaze softened, and she took a slow step toward me, her maroon shirt rustling like the quiet of night. "I am seeking your father, Ash," she said, her voice soothing but carrying a weight of something deeper. "I know the pain of loss, the betrayal of gods, the silence that has swallowed your world.”with