Rowen's sleep was far from peaceful. As he lay beneath the ancient tree, the quiet of the forest faded into a dark, vivid tapestry of dreams. He found himself pulled into a world that was not his own. A world of grandeur, destruction, and endless hunger.
In the dream, Rowen was no longer himself. He stood atop a golden throne that hovered above a vast, endless city of riches. Rivers of molten gold flowed through the streets, their shimmering light casting an eerie glow on spires of obsidian and diamond. The people below bowed in worship, their forms shadowed and indistinct, but their chants of adoration were deafening.
Rowen looked down at his hands, but they weren't his own. They were larger, stronger, glowing faintly with power. He turned his gaze toward a reflection in the golden rivers below. The face staring back at him was Zoreth's; sharp, regal, and hungry. His amethyst eyes burned with an intensity that made Rowen's chest ache, the sensation spreading like a fire through his veins.
The scene shifted abruptly. The grand city vanished, replaced by a battlefield. Rowen, or rather Zoreth stood at its center. Around him lay the shattered remnants of a divine war. A dozen gods had fallen, their forms broken and fading into dust. Each had been powerful in their own right, wielding abilities that could have reshaped worlds. But they hadn't been enough.
Zoreth stood victorious, their stolen powers coursing through him, amplifying his strength beyond mortal comprehension.
Rowen felt every ounce of it.
The first was the god of storms, whose lightning now crackled across Zoreth's skin, each spark alive with chaotic energy. When Zoreth raised a hand, the sky above him darkened, thunder roaring in response to his command.
The second had been the goddess of earth, her power stolen with her final breath. Zoreth could now summon jagged walls of stone with a flick of his wrist, the ground trembling in submission beneath his feet.
Others had fallen to his relentless hunger. From the god of fire, he had taken a blazing inferno that raged within his chest, ready to be unleashed. From the goddess of shadows, he had stolen the ability to vanish into darkness, his form becoming one with the void. And from the god of time, he had stolen fragments of eternity itself, giving him the ability to slow or accelerate time within his grasp.
Each power amplified the next, weaving together into an overwhelming force. Zoreth's body burned with stolen strength, his essence a patchwork of divinity claimed through violence.
"Each of you thought yourselves untouchable," Zoreth's voice echoed across the battlefield, carrying both triumph and disdain. "But in the end, all of your power belongs to me. You called me greedy, but I see it for what it is—ambition."
Rowen felt the thrill of that ambition, the intoxicating rush of growing stronger with every victory. But beneath it, he also felt the hollow, gnawing hunger that never ceased.
The battlefield shifted, the remnants of Zoreth's victories fading into nothingness. Now, he stood before a single opponent. Lucian, King of the Gods, his armor gleaming with celestial light. Unlike the others, Lucian did not falter in Zoreth's presence. His gaze was stern, unyielding, his golden blade radiating divine energy.
"Zoreth," Lucian said, his voice as calm as it was powerful. "You have taken what was never yours. You have twisted the balance of this realm. Your greed has made you strong, but it will also be your undoing."
Zoreth smirked, raising a hand that crackled with the combined powers of storms and fire. "Undoing? Do you not see, Lucian? I am the future. Your so-called balance is nothing but stagnation. I've done what you feared to do—I've embraced what it means to want."
Lucian raised his blade. "And that is why you must be destroyed."
The clash that followed was beyond anything Rowen could comprehend. Zoreth unleashed everything he had. Lightning struck the ground, fire erupted into the sky, shadows consumed the battlefield, and jagged spires of stone rose like waves in an ocean. Time itself bent and warped under his command, his attacks shifting faster than the eye could follow.
But Lucian was relentless. His blade cut through the chaos, its light carving a path of divine order through the storm. For every wave of destruction Zoreth unleashed, Lucian countered with precision and calm. The earth shattered beneath their feet, the heavens splitting apart as their powers collided.
Rowen felt Zoreth's frustration, the hunger for victory twisting into desperation. Lucian was not like the others. He could not be overpowered, could not be consumed.
Zoreth summoned a final surge of stolen power, drawing on every ounce of strength he had claimed. A torrent of energy erupted from his body, consuming everything in its path, a manifestation of his insatiable greed.
But Lucian was ready.
The King of the Gods plunged his blade into the heart of the maelstrom, its light piercing through the chaos and striking Zoreth directly. The pain was unbearable. Rowen felt it as though it were his own, a searing, agonizing rupture of power and pride.
Zoreth fell to his knees, his amethyst eyes dimming. His stolen powers flickered and faded, slipping from his grasp. But even in defeat, he smiled, his voice defiant.
"You may destroy me, Lucian," he said, his tone a mixture of triumph and bitterness. "But you cannot destroy what I am. Greed, desire, ambition—they are eternal. You can't erase them, not from me, not from anyone."
Lucian's expression was solemn. "Perhaps not. But I can ensure you will never wield them again."
The blade descended, and Zoreth's form shattered into light. His essence fractured, a single shard slipping free and vanishing into the void.
The dream shifted once more, the battlefield fading into darkness. Rowen now stood in an endless void, surrounded by fractured memories. A thousand voices whispered around him—pleas, cries, oaths of vengeance. He saw flashes of Zoreth's life: a mortal boy rising to godhood, a man who challenged the divine order, a being who consumed and conquered without remorse.
And then, the final moment. The shard. He saw it fall, a fragment of Zoreth's essence splintering off as his body disintegrated under Lucian's might. The shard pulsed with life, its glow dim but persistent, as it fell through the void, searching, waiting.
Rowen's chest burned, the same spot where the shard had entered him earlier. He clutched at it in the dream, gasping for air as the memories swirled around him, threatening to pull him under.
"Who… who are you?" Rowen whispered into the void, his voice trembling.
A deep, resonant voice answered, one he now recognized as Zoreth's.
"I am the hunger you've always felt," it said, a chilling blend of power and calm. "The part of you that knows what it's like to be overlooked, underestimated. I am Zoreth, the god of greed, and you… you are my new vessel."
"No!" Rowen shouted, his voice cracking. "I'm not like you! I don't want—"
"You don't want to be weak," Zoreth interrupted, his tone unwavering. "You don't want to be left behind. You've felt it all your life, haven't you? That longing for more, for power. You can deny it all you want, but I am here now. And I will make you strong."
...
Rowen jolted awake, gasping for air. The forest around him was still, the faint light of dawn breaking through the trees. But his chest burned with a cold, pulsing energy that wasn't his own.
The dream lingered in his mind, Zoreth's memories, his victories, his fall. Rowen clutched at his chest, his breath trembling.
"What… what's happening to me?" he whispered, the echoes of Zoreth's voice still ringing in his ears.
Inside, a hunger stirred, ancient and unyielding. And though Rowen didn't understand it yet, his life was no longer his own.