Once they got home and laid in bed, Rowen drifted into sleep, his consciousness found itself slipping into the swirling mists of Zoreth's memories. The dream began with an explosion of energy. He was not standing idle in the background, watching events unfold. He was thrust into the chaos, as though Zoreth's power coursed through him.
The battlefield roared to life, an expanse of shattered earth and burning skies. Zoreth stood at the center, a tempest of shadows erupting from his form. Rowen felt the overwhelming force of it. The abilities of countless gods flowing together like a symphony of destruction.
A god of storms hurled a spear crackling with lightning, the air splitting with its velocity. Zoreth raised a hand, and the shadows writhed, forming a barrier. The spear disintegrated upon impact, the electric energy absorbed into the dark void. With a flick of his wrist, Zoreth redirected the stolen energy, sending bolts of lightning crashing down upon his enemies.
A goddess of the hunt loosed a volley of golden arrows, each one seeking Zoreth's heart. With a snarl, he extended his other hand, summoning a spectral wolf. One of his many trophies, taken from a lesser god centuries ago. The wolf leapt into the fray, devouring the arrows mid-flight before pouncing on the huntress, its fangs sinking into her glowing form.
Rowen felt the thrill of victory coursing through Zoreth, but beneath it, there was a deep exhaustion.
"They keep coming," Zoreth muttered, his voice laced with frustration.
In the distance, a coalition of gods prepared to strike in unison. Zoreth extended both arms, shadows pooling around him like an ocean of darkness. The ground trembled as a massive serpent, another stolen creation, burst forth, its obsidian scales glistening. It lashed out, scattering the gods like leaves in a storm.
One god, wielding a staff that glowed with celestial light, managed to break through the chaos. He lunged at Zoreth, the staff aimed at his chest.
Zoreth smirked. He raised a single finger, and time itself slowed. The god froze mid-attack, his expression twisted in shock. Rowen felt the immense weight of the ability, time manipulation, taken from a god of order long ago. Zoreth stepped forward, plucking the staff from his attacker's hands before releasing the temporal hold.
The god stumbled, disoriented, as Zoreth drove the staff into the ground, shattering it. "You were out of your depth," Zoreth said coldly, his shadows consuming the god in an instant.
The scene shifted abruptly, plunging Rowen into another memory. This one was less chaotic but no less intense.
Zoreth stood in a grand hall carved from black stone, its walls etched with runes that pulsed faintly with stolen magic. Across from him knelt a young god, their hands bound in chains of shadow.
"Please," the young god whispered. "I'll serve you. I'll do whatever you ask. Just don't take my power from me."
Zoreth's expression was unreadable as he regarded the trembling figure.
"You came to me, seeking to take what was mine," Zoreth said, his voice low and dangerous. "And now you beg for mercy?"
The god sobbed. "I was desperate. Without this power—"
"You think I don't know desperation?" Zoreth snapped, his golden eyes narrowing. "You think I wasn't like you once?"
For a moment, his words hung in the air, and Rowen felt a strange flicker of vulnerability in the god's memories.
Zoreth extended a hand, "Desperation doesn't excuse weakness," he said, his voice cold once more. The shadows enveloped his body, and the young god screamed as their life and essence was consumed.
Rowen shuddered, his stomach twisting at the sight. He wanted to look away, but he was trapped in the dream, forced to witness it all. Another shift.
....
Rowen now found himself in a vast, open field, bathed in golden light. Zoreth was younger here, his face unlined and his aura less oppressive. A small group of gods surrounded him, their faces unfamiliar but their camaraderie evident. They laughed and jested, their weapons resting at their sides.
"You're too soft," one of them teased, clapping Zoreth on the back. "If you don't toughen up, you'll be someone's prey before long."
Zoreth smiled faintly but said nothing. His gaze drifted to the horizon, where a dark storm brewed.
The scene blurred, and suddenly, Zoreth was alone, his youthful optimism replaced by the hardened expression Rowen now recognized.
Rowen woke with a start, his heart pounding. He could still feel the echoes of Zoreth's battles, the weight of the lives he had taken.
At the same time.....
Zoreth stirred within the recesses of Rowen's mind, an idle observer of the boy's dreams. Normally, he paid little attention to the mundane meanderings of mortals, but tonight, something shifted. The veil of Rowen's subconscious seemed thinner, and Zoreth found himself pulled into the flow of the boy's memories.
At first, the scenes were hazy, like looking through fogged glass. Then, they sharpened, and Zoreth stood amidst them as if he were there himself, an unseen presence walking through Rowen's past.
A young Rowen, no older than six, stood in the backyard of his family home. His older brother, Ryland, was practicing his earth abilities. He would life chunks of earth and make it into different shapes while trying to practice control. Rowen clapped enthusiastically, his small face lighting up with admiration.
"You're so cool, Ryland!" he exclaimed, his voice high-pitched and full of wonder. "When I get my powers, I'll be just like you!"
Ryland laughed, ruffling Rowen's hair. "You'll be even better, squirt. Just wait until your Awakening Day. It'll happen before you know it."
Rowen's eyes sparkled with hope, and Zoreth could feel the boy's boundless belief in himself. The memory was warm, like the sun on a spring day, and Zoreth felt an unfamiliar pang in his chest.
The scene shifted. Rowen was older now, around twelve, standing in the crowded town square during another Awakening Ceremony. Children around him pressed forward eagerly, their eyes fixed on the crystal that would reveal their powers. Rowen was among them, his face alight with anticipation.
One by one, the children touched the crystal, and their powers manifested. Flashes of light, bursts of wind, shimmering water. Families cheered, parents wept, and siblings clapped their hands in excitement.
When Rowen stepped forward, the crowd hushed. His small hand trembled as he reached for the crystal. Seconds ticked by, but nothing happened. The crystal remained dull, and a murmur spread through the crowd.
"It's okay, sweetheart," Zenora said, rushing to his side. Her voice was soft, but Rowen could see the concern in her eyes.
His chest tightened as he stepped back, his small fists clenched at his sides. Around him, the other children basked in their families' praises, but Rowen stood in silence, his heart sinking.
Zoreth watched the scene unfold, and for the first time in millennia, he felt something akin to pity.
Another shift. Rowen was thirteen now, seated in his room, staring at his reflection in a cracked mirror. His face was drawn, his eyes shadowed with doubt. He clenched a wooden sword in his hand, practicing swings he'd seen Ryland demonstrate.
"What's the point?" Rowen muttered, his voice bitter. "I'll never be like them."
In the corner, his younger siblings, Gene and Seras, giggled as they played with their toys, their innocence a stark contrast to Rowen's growing frustration.
Zoreth watched silently, the boy's anguish palpable.
The dream twisted again, pulling Zoreth deeper. Rowen was fourteen now, standing alone under a tree as rain poured down. He stared at the ground, his shoulders slumped.
"They all think I'm useless," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Even if they don't say it, I can see it in their eyes. Ryland, Mom, Dad. They're all waiting for me to be something I'm not."
Even if it wasn't true, Rowen still felt the pain of not feeling like he belonged with his family. That he was letting them down, even if they would never say it.
Zoreth's gaze lingered on the boy. The raw emotion in Rowen's words struck a chord, stirring memories he thought long buried.
For the first time, Zoreth wasn't just a spectator. He felt the boy's pain, the weight of his unspoken fears and unfulfilled dreams. It wasn't so different from his own past, he realized. Before he was Zoreth the God of Greed, he had been someone else. A being who had clawed his way up from nothing, driven by the fear of being forgotten, of being weak.
He recalled his own moments of despair: standing alone after a battle, staring at the lifeless bodies of those he had been forced to betray, the cold realization that power came at the cost of everything else.
The dream wavered, shifting to another scene. Rowen sat by a window, watching Ryland and their father spar in the yard. Their laughter drifted through the open window, a sharp contrast to Rowen's somber expression.
"I just want to be someone they can be proud of," he murmured, his voice barely audible.
Zoreth felt the weight of those words, heavier than any weapon he'd ever wielded.
The dream dissolved, and Zoreth found himself back in the dark void of Rowen's mind. For a moment, he lingered, the boy's memories replaying in his mind like echoes.
Rowen sat on the edge of his bed, the moonlight casting long shadows across the room. The remnants of the dream lingered in his mind. Zoreth's battles, his betrayals, the unrelenting pursuit of strength that had defined his existence.
"I saw what you went through," Rowen said aloud, his voice breaking the quiet.
Zoreth's presence stirred within him, slow and deliberate. "And I saw your past, boy. The years you spent chasing something you thought would make you whole."
Rowen nodded, staring at the floor. "You weren't always like this, were you? The greed, the hunger for power... that came later.
Zoreth was silent for a moment, as if weighing his response. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual, laced with a weariness Rowen hadn't heard before. "You're right. I wasn't always the monster they made me out to be. But survival in the world I knew demanded sacrifices. More than I ever wanted to give."
Rowen met the void in his mind where Zoreth's voice seemed to emanate. "I don't want to end up like that," he said firmly. "I don't want to lose myself chasing something I'll regret."
A low, bitter chuckle echoed in Rowen's mind. "Then perhaps you'll learn from my mistakes. Perhaps you'll find a way to hold onto the things I let slip through my fingers."
Rowen's hands clenched into fists. "I will," he said, more to himself than to Zoreth. "I have to. And maybe… maybe this isn't all bad. If we're stuck together, at least we can make sure the future is different for both of us."
Zoreth didn't respond right away, but when he did, his tone carried a note of something unfamiliar. Hope, perhaps, though veiled beneath his usual cynicism. "Maybe there's still time for you, boy. Maybe this time, the ending won't be written in blood and ruin."
Rowen looked out the window, his resolve hardening as the first light of dawn began to chase away the night. "Then we'll make sure it's not."
For the first time, the silence between them felt less like a chasm and more like an uneasy truce. A shared understanding that the road ahead would be theirs to shape. Together.