As the god-king followed the girl through the twisted trees, he found himself increasingly aware of his newfound limitations. Each step brought a subtle ache, a heaviness that he hadn't felt in eons. His muscles protested with fatigue, his skin stung from the cold air, and the rhythmic beat of his heart reminded him just how vulnerable he had become. He clenched his jaw, ignoring the sharp pang of hunger that gnawed at him, unwilling to show weakness in front of his guide.
The forest deepened, the tangled branches forming a canopy that blocked out the waning light. Shadows pooled around them, shifting as the wind stirred the trees. He could feel a strange energy here, something ancient and familiar yet elusive, like a half-remembered melody slipping through his mind. This forest, like the stone he had touched, held fragments of his old world, faint echoes of a time when gods walked the land.
He glanced at the girl leading him, noting the tense line of her shoulders and the quick, nervous glances she cast around. She was young, perhaps no more than sixteen, and though she tried to keep her expression stoic, he could see the fear in her eyes. The forest seemed to unnerve her, as though she were treading on sacred ground.
"What is your name?" he asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
She hesitated, glancing back at him warily. "Nia."
"Nia," he repeated, letting the syllables roll over his tongue. It was a simple name, yet there was strength in it, a resilience that belied her small frame. "Tell me, Nia, why were you in the forest alone?"
She hesitated again, her gaze shifting to the ground. "I… I come here sometimes to gather herbs and kindling. Most people avoid this place." Her voice grew softer. "They say it's cursed."
"Cursed?" he asked, feigning curiosity, though he had a sense of what she meant.
She nodded, glancing around as if expecting something to emerge from the shadows. "The elders say it's haunted by the Lost Ones. Spirits from the old days, before the fall."
The Lost Ones. He had heard her use the term before. It seemed that in this new world, fragments of his time had survived, albeit twisted by fear and myth. The people now spoke of his kind as if they were specters, mere shadows of the past.
"And what do you believe?" he asked, studying her reaction carefully.
Nia hesitated, biting her lip. "I don't know," she admitted. "Sometimes, I feel like… like there's something watching me here. Not something evil, but… old. As if the trees and stones remember things we've forgotten."
He nodded, a hint of approval in his gaze. Her intuition was closer to the truth than she realized.
They continued in silence for a while, until the forest began to thin, and faint lights appeared in the distance. The village lay nestled in a valley, its simple wooden houses huddled together as if for warmth. Smoke curled from chimneys, and a few scattered figures moved through the narrow streets, their heads down, shoulders hunched.
As they neared the edge of the village, Nia turned to him, a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "The elder… she doesn't speak to strangers. She says the old ways are dangerous, that we shouldn't dwell on them."
"Does she fear them?" he asked.
Nia nodded. "She says that what's gone should stay gone. That our ancestors were punished for their pride."
He considered this, feeling a flicker of anger stir within him. So this was how his legacy had been twisted—reduced to tales of punishment and ruin, cautionary tales to keep the people in line. But he held his anger in check, knowing it would serve no purpose here. His path to understanding this world would require patience and subtlety.
"Take me to her anyway," he said softly. "I need to understand what has become of the old ways."
Reluctantly, Nia led him through the village, past curious glances and muttered whispers. They walked in silence, the villagers' stares weighing on him as he took in the humble dwellings, the thatched roofs and worn pathways. This was a far cry from the cities he had once ruled, with their grand spires and gleaming walls. Yet there was a certain quiet resilience in these people, a determination that reminded him of his own followers, long ago.
They reached a small house at the edge of the village, its walls adorned with faded symbols—symbols he recognized as protective wards, though their power had long since faded. Nia knocked on the door, and after a tense moment, it opened to reveal an elderly woman, her face lined with age, her eyes sharp and piercing.
She looked from Nia to the god-king, her gaze lingering on him, as if she could see something beyond the surface. Without a word, she stepped aside, allowing them to enter.
The interior of the house was dimly lit, with shelves lined with ancient scrolls and vials of herbs. A faint scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of dried roots. The elder motioned for him to sit, her gaze never wavering as she studied him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
"You carry the weight of something… old," she said, her voice soft yet filled with authority. "Something that does not belong in this time."
He inclined his head, acknowledging her words. "You are perceptive, elder."
She frowned, her gaze narrowing. "And you are more than you appear to be, stranger. I see a shadow of power in you, though it is faint… as if it has been buried deep."
He studied her carefully, gauging her reaction. "Tell me, elder—what do you know of the Lost Ones?"
She tensed, her hands gripping the edge of her chair. "They were… beings of great power, once. Gods, some would say, though they were flawed, as all things are. They brought light to the world, but they also brought destruction. In the end, their pride was their undoing."
"Is that what the people believe?" he asked, his voice low and steady.
"It is what the stories tell us," she replied. "The Lost Ones vanished, and the world was left to heal. But there are some who say their spirits still linger, waiting to reclaim what was lost."
He could sense the fear in her voice, the way she spoke of the Lost Ones as if they were a threat rather than a legacy. It was clear that the memory of his kind had been twisted into something dark, a cautionary tale to keep the people from seeking power.
But as he listened, he felt a quiet determination building within him. If this world remembered his people only as legends of ruin, then he would change that. He would remind them of what his kind had truly been—creators, protectors, wielders of light. And he would reclaim his place among them, not as a shadow of the past, but as a force to be reckoned with once more.
The elder watched him closely, as if sensing the resolve that had taken root within him. "Be careful, stranger," she warned. "The past is a dangerous thing to seek. Some things are better left buried."
He met her gaze, unflinching. "Perhaps. But some things are meant to rise again."
The room fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. The elder's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering in her eyes. She looked at him as if she saw beyond the surface, as if she recognized the truth of who he was, even if she didn't understand it fully.
"Then may the gods have mercy on us all," she whispered.