Title: Oh, a Lost God
No one remembered when the god fell.
The world simply woke one day without miracles.
Rain still came, but it came late. Fire still burned, but it no longer obeyed prayers. Temples stood tall yet hollow, their bells ringing into an empty sky. The gods were not dead—so the elders said—but one god was missing, and that absence poisoned everything.
His name had been erased.
Not burned, not forbidden—forgotten.
He woke on a battlefield he did not recognize, in a body that felt too small for the weight inside his chest. Ash clung to the air like snow, and broken swords lay half-buried in the mud. When he tried to stand, pain screamed through his bones, but something deeper stirred beneath the pain—something ancient, furious, and restrained.
He did not know his name.
He did not know his past.
Yet when he looked at the sky, the clouds recoiled.
"Stay calm," he whispered to himself, though he did not know why he spoke like a king calming an army. His voice sounded wrong—too steady, too commanding.
As he walked away from the battlefield, the earth softened beneath his feet, as if bowing.
In the nearby village of Eldhollow, people lived cautiously. Children were taught not to hope too much. Farmers counted their harvest twice. Priests no longer promised salvation—only survival.
That was where the lost god collapsed.
They found him at dawn, lying beside the river, his body fever-hot, his breath slow but powerful. A girl named Lyra was the first to touch him. She expected lightning. She expected death.
Instead, warmth spread through her fingers, and for the first time in years, the river ran clear.
"He's cursed," someone said.
"He's blessed," another argued.
Lyra said nothing. She only knew that when she looked into his eyes—silver, cracked with confusion—she felt as if the world was holding its breath.
Dreams came to him at night.
He saw stars being forged by hand. He saw kneeling gods, their crowns lowered. He saw himself standing at the center of creation, not as a ruler, but as a balance—between mercy and destruction.
Then came the betrayal.
A circle of gods. Blades of divine light. A voice he trusted saying, "You have grown too powerful to remain."
He woke screaming, the village shaken by a distant thunder that had no storm.
"I'm not human," he said the next morning, staring at his trembling hands.
Lyra didn't step back. "Then don't be," she replied. "Be what you are."
Word spread.
Creatures long dormant began to stir. Ancient seals cracked. The sky darkened in places where it had been blue for centuries. The remaining gods watched from their silent thrones, fear gnawing at their immortality.
The Lost One is waking, they whispered. The god who was never meant to be killed. The god who chose to forget.
For the first time since his fall, the world tilted toward change.