The gentle morning sunlight bathed the shrine in golden hues, casting long shadows over the polished stone floor. The gathered villagers of the Zarynthian Tribe knelt in reverence, their eyes wide with awe as they gazed upon the figure seated on the altar—their god, Relethis, finally awakened after ten long years of waiting.
Leon sat upright, his posture stiff and unsure. Though he had managed to calm his initial confusion, his mind was still a whirlwind of thoughts. His gaze swept over the crowd, counting quickly.
About 120 of them, he noted. Men, women, and children—all of them dressed in simple, earth-toned garments—watched him with expressions of hope and devotion.
The silence was almost oppressive. It pressed down on him like the weight of the world, but he forced himself to sit straighter, his expression as neutral as he could manage.
Tovik, the village chieftain, stepped forward from the semicircle of villagers. His staff, adorned with intricate carvings and a glowing crystal, marked his authority. His tall, broad-shouldered figure gave him an air of command, but his face was gentle as he addressed the group.
"Brothers and sisters," Tovik began, his deep voice carrying across the shrine, "the day we have prayed for has finally arrived. The great Relethis has awakened and blessed us with his presence."
The villagers murmured in agreement. Many bowed their heads, pressing their foreheads to the ground, while others whispered soft prayers.
Leon's gaze flickered over their faces, his chest tightening at the sight of their joy.
They're so happy. For me?
One of the villagers, an elderly woman with silver hair tied in a braid, stepped forward, carrying a basket filled with fresh fruit. She placed it carefully at the base of the altar, her hands trembling slightly.
"Great Relethis," she said, her voice quivering, "we humbly offer these gifts in gratitude for your return. Please accept them as a token of our devotion."
Leon nodded, unsure of what else to do. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough and unfamiliar to his own ears.
The woman bowed deeply before retreating into the crowd.
Following her lead, others began bringing their own offerings—baskets of flowers, woven garlands, and even small clay figurines. Each villager approached with reverence, placing their gifts at his feet before bowing and stepping back.
Leon watched the procession in silence, his emotions swirling. He still couldn't fully grasp what was happening. These people genuinely believed in him, revered him as their god.
What do I even say to them? he wondered. How do I act?
He shifted slightly, his muscles still stiff and uncooperative after years of stillness. He could feel their eyes on him, every movement scrutinized and cherished.
They're just people, he reminded himself. People who've lived their whole lives believing in this moment. I can't take that away from them.
As the ceremony continued, Leon's gaze drifted over the crowd again. He wasn't just observing their faces this time—he was looking for someone specific.
Where's Marion?
He didn't know what Marion looked like, but he knew the man wasn't among the kneeling villagers. For ten years, Marion's voice had been a constant presence, filling the silence with stories, complaints, and confessions. But now, in the moment Leon had awakened, he was nowhere to be found.
Did he leave? Or is he hiding?
The thought left Leon unsettled, though he kept his face impassive.
Tovik stepped forward again, his staff tapping softly against the stone floor. "Great Relethis," he said, his voice filled with awe, "we are unworthy of your grace. Yet we humbly ask for your guidance as we continue to serve you."
Leon hesitated, his mind scrambling for a response. "You have done well," he said finally, keeping his tone steady.
The villagers bowed again, murmuring their gratitude.
Leon swallowed, his throat dry. He glanced at Tovik. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice firmer this time.
The chieftain straightened, his expression serious. "You are in the heart of the Verdimara Forest, great Relethis," he said. "This forest is vast and ancient, untouched by the kingdoms that surround it."
Leon's brow furrowed. "Kingdoms?"
Tovik nodded. "Yes, great one. There are three human kingdoms nearby—Lorwyn, Aldenholt, and Feyndale—and one beastkin kingdom, Thalora. All are powerful in their own right, but none dare claim the Verdimara. This land belongs to no one."
Leon absorbed the information, his heart sinking slightly. None of the names Tovik had mentioned sounded familiar.
So Eryndor isn't nearby. I'm… somewhere else entirely.
The realization left him feeling strangely hollow. He had clung to the faint hope that he might still be near the place he had once called home. But now, that hope was gone.
As the ceremony continued, a few brave villagers approached the altar. A middle-aged man stepped forward, holding a small figurine carved from dark wood. He knelt, his hands trembling as he placed it at Leon's feet.
"This is for you, great Relethis," he said. "It is not much, but I made it with my own hands."
Leon picked up the figurine, examining the intricate carvings. It was a depiction of him—at least, an idealized version. The figure's face was serene, its posture regal, and its hands raised in a gesture of blessing.
"Thank you," Leon said, his voice soft.
The man bowed deeply, his face lighting up with joy before he retreated into the crowd.
Just as the villagers began to disperse, a small figure emerged from the crowd. A young girl, no older than six or seven, approached the altar with hesitant steps. She clutched a single flower in her tiny hand, its petals a vibrant shade of purple.
Leon watched her, his chest tightening at the sight of her wide, innocent eyes.
She stopped a few feet away, glancing nervously at her mother, who nodded encouragingly from the crowd. With trembling hands, the girl stepped closer and placed the flower at Leon's feet.
"Thank you for coming back," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Leon stared at her, his heart aching with the purity of her words. For a moment, he forgot about the weight of their expectations, the strangeness of his situation. All he saw was a child's simple, genuine gratitude.
"Thank you," he said quietly, his voice softening.
The girl smiled shyly before turning and running back to her mother.
As the villagers began to leave, Leon remained seated on the altar, the small purple flower resting beside him. He felt a mix of emotions—gratitude, sorrow, and a strange sense of determination.
They believe in me, even if I don't deserve it, he thought. But maybe… maybe I can do something for them. Maybe I can try.
With that thought, he set aside his doubts about their faith. It wasn't about whether he was a god. It was about what he could do for the people who had waited so long for him to awaken.