Two days had passed since Kael's world had shattered.
Two days since his grandmother had been taken from him. Two days since he had felt her warm, knowing eyes on him, since he'd been enveloped in her comforting embrace, since her gentle voice had filled the quiet spaces of their home.
The house, once a sanctuary, now stood like a mocking reminder of everything he had lost.
Neighbors had come, their footsteps tentative, their knocks soft. They probably wanted to check in on him. He hadn't opened the door. He had ignored them, even as they called his name through the wood.
When they left, the silence settled deeper, wrapping itself around him.
The messages came next: his coach, telling him to rest and skip practice; his professors, offering notes from missed classes. He didn't respond.
How could he show gratitude when every corner of his being pulsed with grief, sorrow, and anger?
The house felt hollow, echoing his emptiness.
Every time his gaze fell on the kitchen, the emptiness gnawed at him. Once alive with the aroma of her cooking, her soft humming as she worked — it was cold now. Silent. His chest tightened painfully whenever he saw her rocking chair, now still.
The very air of the house had changed, carrying no trace of her warmth anymore. It was as if all that had made the house a home had vanished with her.
Kael found himself standing at the threshold of her room again and again, and, just like every time before, the weight of his grief crashed over him, relentless and unforgiving. He couldn't help it.
The second he crossed the threshold, saw her bed still neatly made, smelled the lingering scent of lavender that clung faintly to the air — it all unraveled him. He would collapse to his knees, gasping for breath through the sobs he couldn't control, the weight of her absence pressing down on him so hard it felt like his heart would stop.
Two nights ago, he had come home and sat in the corner of the living room where he sat now, knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around himself.
That night, everything had fallen apart.
He had lost everything.
He had wanted to cry, to let the grief out, but he couldn't. Something inside him wouldn't let him break. He held it all in, forcing himself to stay numb, refusing to let the tears come, as if denying his pain would make it less real.
But the longer he sat there, the more the grief gnawed at him, threatening to rip him apart from the inside out.
Sleep had refused him, slipping further and further out of reach, and the hours of wakefulness felt like a slow, agonizing death.
But still, he didn't allow himself to cry.
Not until the cold wind had slipped through the crack in the window, brushing against his skin like a ghost's touch. It was strange, how a simple gust of air had broken him so completely, but it did.
It reminded him of the world outside, of everything that had been taken from him, of the life that had been ripped away without mercy. And so, for the first time, he let himself grieve.
The few minutes he allowed himself to mourn stretched into hours.
He wept until morning came, his body wracked with sobs so violent he thought he might break apart. His chest ached, his eyes burned, and the pain in his soul was unbearable. He had lost the only person he had truly loved — the person who had ever loved him without condition. His grandmother had been his everything.
And now she was gone, and he couldn't stop the tears.
Night came again, and with it, the overwhelming urge to end it all. The grief was too much, the emptiness too vast, and he didn't know how to keep going. He was drowning in sorrow, and there was no one left to pull him out.
And now, today, the tears wouldn't stop.
They just kept coming, like a flood he had no control over. His heart felt like it was being ripped out of his chest, piece by piece, every time he thought of her.
He didn't understand it.
What had he done to deserve any of this?
What had she done to deserve it?
His grandmother, who had been kind, loving, faithful. She had prayed every day, always asking for the well-being of those she loved. She had believed in the power of prayer, in the kindness of the world. Even when he had lost his faith after his mother was taken from him, she had never stopped believing.
And out of love for her, he had prayed too. He had prayed when she asked him to, during Thanksgiving, during family gatherings, during the anniversaries of his parents' deaths. He had whispered his hopes into the void, even though he didn't believe anyone was listening.
He had prayed for her. Every time.
Prayed for her health, her happiness, her safety. He had asked for just one thing — for her to stay with him forever. To stay healthy, happy, to be well.
Was that his mistake? Was wishing good for the people he loved the reason he was being punished now?
The thought made his heart clench painfully, his breath hitching in his throat.
How could something so pure, so full of love, lead to this? He didn't know. He didn't understand. And he was terrified he never would.
The knock on the door startled him, and he flinched, his heart jumping to his throat.
Then, a voice cut through the suffocating silence. "Kael," it called softly from the other side. It was Ezra — his best friend. The only person who might truly understand, who might hold him, listen to him, comfort him.
Ezra had come for him, probably after hearing the news. And for the first time in days, Kael felt a flicker of something — hope, maybe, or the need for solace.
He stood up slowly, his legs weak, trembling under the weight of his sorrow. His steps were hesitant as he moved toward the door.
But then, just as his fingers brushed the door handle, the voice came.
That voice.
The one that had haunted him for two days, gravelly and low, creeping into his mind when the grief was at its worst. "Do not open the door, Kael," it whispered, curling around his mind like smoke, chilling him to the bone.
He froze, his hand hovering over the knob. The voice wasn't real. It couldn't be. He forced himself to take another step forward, but the voice returned, more insistent this time. "Let him live."
Kael stopped, his entire body going rigid as if something had snapped inside him.
The words hit him like a blow to the chest, a vicious punch to the gut that knocked the breath from his lungs.
Let him live?
What did that mean?
Why did it feel like the answer to a question he'd been avoiding for too long? Something deep within him — something dark and twisted — seemed to come alive in that moment.
"Maybe it was me. Maybe it was my fault all along."
The thought rooted itself in his mind, festering like a sickness. Maybe he was the reason for everything. Maybe he was the curse. The bad luck. The omen.
His legs trembled, and he took a slow step back, the weight of the realization dragging him down, suffocating him. The knocking on the door faded into the background, meaningless now, swallowed by the storm raging in his mind.
"Was I the one?", he couldn't let go of that thought now that it had surfaced.
His father had left him when he was just seven — right after Kael had said his first word. Dad. That had been it. His father had smiled, pretended to be happy, acted like it meant something. And then, that very night, he was gone. Gone without a word. Kael had called after him, his small voice echoing in the night, but his father never turned back. Never looked at him again.
If he had seen my face, would he have stayed?
He could have stopped him, maybe… if he had just been enough.
No one at school had befriended him after that. But that was okay because he had his mother. He had her love, her warmth, her presence. But then she was gone too.
He didn't even remember what happened. His mind had blacked it out. Maybe that was because it had been his fault. Maybe it was always him.
And now, his grandmother. The only one left who had ever cared for him. Gone. Ripped away, just like the others. Taken, or maybe worse — gone because of him.
Kael stumbled back, his breath coming in sharp gasps as he felt the wall press against his spine. He slid down, knees folding into his chest, retreating into the only corner that had offered him any comfort over the past two days. He buried his face in his arms, the silence in the room deafening.
A pit opened in his stomach, swallowing every trace of hope he had ever clung to.
His breaths were shallow, and his chest ached with the weight of all his unanswered questions. Did he not deserve happiness? Did he not deserve to smile, to laugh, to have someone to love? Was he supposed to live in torment forever?
The voice came again, calm and cold. "It's for your safety, Kael. And theirs."
"Stop," Kael's voice trembled, barely louder than a whisper, but it carried the weight of desperation, the kind that claws at the back of your throat when there's nothing left to hold on to.
He didn't want to hear the voice anymore, didn't want to feel its presence slithering through his mind like an unwelcome guest.
But it didn't stop.
"It will not be like this forever."
The words seeped into his consciousness, calm and detached, as if this thing inside him couldn't comprehend the depth of his torment. Kael's chest tightened. Rage ignited in his veins, and he shouted, his voice hoarse with fury.
"Stop!" He didn't care if he sounded insane. Didn't care if he was going insane. "How will you know forever? How am I supposed to know forever when I don't even want to live anymore?"
The tears came unbidden, hot and bitter, streaming down his cheeks, but they didn't soothe him. They only stoked the fire, fueling his anger. "Everyone I ever loved was taken from me. My father, my mother, my grandma. What did I do to deserve this?"
"You were just a child, Kael. But that's not how prophecies work."
The voice was maddeningly calm, as if Kael's suffering was some abstract concept, unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Its composure infuriated him even more.
"Burn your prophecies," Kael spat, his voice trembling with rage. "Burn them like you did my childhood, and go back to wherever the hell you came from. I don't need you."
He squeezed his eyes shut, his body trembling, his fists clenched so tightly his nails dug into his palms. He wouldn't break. Not again. Not now. Not ever.
The world didn't deserve his tears, and whatever deity had wormed its way into his life didn't deserve his vulnerability either.
For a moment, there was silence, a stillness so thick it pressed against his chest. And then, the voice came again, softer this time, almost... understanding.
"You are hurt. You are angry. But do not speak the words you do not mean, Kael. Words you do not understand. You need me more than anything."
Kael scoffed, his laughter harsh, bitter. "You need me more than you know, you pathetic piece of—"
Before he could finish, a sharp, searing pain exploded in his chest. He doubled over, clutching at his heart, his breath coming in ragged gasps as a violent cough wracked his body.
Blood splattered the ground in front of him, bright and vivid, a crimson reminder of his frailty. His nose bled too, warm streams running down his face. He couldn't breathe.
Panic gripped him as black dots crept into the edges of his vision, swallowing the world, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he thought this might be the end.
And then, just as suddenly as it began, the pain vanished.
Kael collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, his lungs burning as he struggled to draw in breath. He wiped at his face, but there was no blood. No sign of the agony that had just ripped through him.
"You don't know who I am yet," the voice said, and this time it was different — darker, more dangerous. Threatening. "Think twice before speaking against me. Those who did are history. Rotten history. Forgotten history. I am in you because I chose you. You bear the weight of a deity, Kael. I can raise you to greatness, but I will bury you without hesitation if you disrespect me."
Kael's laugh came out broken, a wheezing sound that echoed in the empty room. It wasn't a laugh of humor, but one of bitter surrender.
"I disrespect you. You threaten my life. You take everything from me. And I'm supposed to bow to you? How is that fair?"
"I am not here to play fair," the voice responded. "Great histories are not written by fairness. They are written by truth, by what is real. And I am very real, Kael. You will come to know my power soon enough. But I do not demand your bow. I do not ask for worship. I am here to teach you—"
"Teach me what?" Kael's voice was hollow, his throat raw. "Teach me to live completely alone? To bury my emotions? To never accept anything good for myself? You've already achieved all of that." His voice broke, the words dripping with venom. "Congratulations. You've successfully made a broken masterpiece."
Silence settled over him, thick and suffocating. He raised his hand to his face, wiping away the blood from his nose, only to realize there was none. His body, which had been wracked with pain moments ago, felt fine. As if nothing had happened.
But the pain in his soul — the grief, the anger, the loss — remained. That, no deity could take away.
"If you're truly a deity," Kael said, his voice fragile, breaking. "Bring my grandma back to me, and I'll forever be your slave."
The silence stretched, agonizing.
"I cannot do that."
Kael's eyes shut tight, the tears he'd tried to hold back spilling over, his chest heaving. "Why me?"
"You will know," the voice answered.
"When?" Kael's voice cracked with frustration. "When will I know? I've lost everything. Everything. After everything I've done, after every wish, every prayer… all I've known is pain."
He didn't care anymore. He didn't care if this thing could kill him or if it could make him suffer even more. His heart was already shattered beyond repair.
"You do not know what it is like to lose everything you've ever loved," Kael hissed, bitterness lacing every word.
"I do. I know what it is to lose everything," the voice said, and for the first time, Kael heard something different in it.
He paused, his anger faltering for just a moment. "Then why are making me go through the same fate as yours?"
"It's not a choice I made. I once lost the only person I wished to be with forever. I lost everything I ever knew, everything I ever loved. A prophecy cost me that, and I could do nothing to stop it. Prophecies are not just written, Kael. They are written and sworn by time itself. You cannot fight them. All you can do is accept them, and move on."
The voice was burdened, calm yet heavy with sorrow. It was haunting in its calmness, but that grief… that shared pain… it gave Kael a flicker of something he hadn't felt in years. A strange, quiet peace.
"Can I bring her back?" Kael whispered, barely audible. The fog in his mind pressed harder, suffocating him, but now, for the first time, the voice — this deity — seemed to be the only thing keeping him sane.
"Only if you want to."
He wanted to scream at the voice for its vague, cryptic answer. Of course he wanted her back more than anything.
But the curse of growing up too fast is that you understand the unspoken words, the words spoken in-between the lines, the silence.
And Kael understood, even in his brokenness, that this wasn't about wanting. It was about accepting.
"You took everything away from me," Kael whispered, his voice cracking again, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a vice.
He had grown up too quickly, learned too much too soon. And now, without his anchor, without the one person who kept him grounded, he felt like he was drowning in the dark. "I have nothing left."
"I know."
The deity's voice softened, still calm but somehow… gentle.
Kael exhaled shakily. "I'll never worship you."
"I do not ask for your worship. I ask for your acceptance."
The room fell into a suffocating silence. For what felt like eternity, Kael sat there, trembling, his heart heavy, his mind a storm of confusion and pain.
And then, after a few agonizing beats of silence, Kael whispered the words that he knew would change everything.
"I accept you."