The air in the ancient temple was heavy, not just with the scent of moss and timeworn stone but with the unspoken truths that had waited centuries to be unearthed. Garen's breathing was ragged, his wounds from the clash with Vorthen still aching. Before him stood Eryndor, god of resolve and war, his form radiating an aura that was both commanding and strangely familiar.
"You don't know, do you?" Eryndor's voice was calm yet carried the weight of ages. He lowered his warhammer, planting it on the ground as if to signify that, for now, there would be no battle.
"Know what?" Garen spat, his Aetherstone pulsing faintly as it tried to feed him strength.
Eryndor stepped forward, his expression unreadable, though his eyes betrayed something that Garen could only describe as... regret. "Garen," he said, "you are not just a rogue demigod threatening the pantheon. You are my son."
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Garen staggered back, his mind reeling. "You're lying," he said, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Do you think it's a coincidence that you wield the Aetherstone with such ease? That your soul endures the endless cycle, unbroken, while others falter? You were meant to be my heir, Garen, a warrior forged in the fires of eternity. I never wanted this for you."
Garen's memories of his countless regressions rushed back—his struggles, his pain, his unrelenting battle against the gods. "If that's true," he said, his voice trembling with fury, "then why? Why didn't you stop it? Why let the gods toy with me, force me to suffer over and over?"
Eryndor's jaw tightened, and for the first time, his divine composure cracked. "Because I didn't have a choice! The cycle is not just a punishment—it's a safeguard. The pantheon created it to prevent the destruction of everything we have built. Your power... our power... it threatens that balance. I wanted to protect you, Garen, but the others—"
"Spare me your excuses!" Garen's anger flared, the Aetherstone's light surging with it. "You stood by while they tore me apart, life after life. You want me to join you? To protect the cycle that's been nothing but a curse?"
Eryndor's eyes softened. "I won't deny my failures. I've watched you suffer, powerless to intervene. But don't you see? The gods fear you, Garen, because they know what you're capable of. If you keep fighting us, there will be no peace, only endless war. I came here to offer you another path."
Garen's fists clenched, the glow of the Aetherstone dimming as his rage gave way to uncertainty. "And what path is that?"
"Join me," Eryndor said, his voice earnest. "Together, we can reshape the cycle. The pantheon is fractured, divided on how to deal with you. With your power and my influence, we can convince them to abandon the cycle, to forge a new order where the gods and mortals coexist. No more endless suffering. No more regressions."
The offer hung in the air, tantalizing yet bitter. Garen's heart wavered. Could he trust this man—this god—who claimed to be his father? Could he abandon his quest for vengeance in favor of a future he couldn't fully see?
But then, another memory surfaced—Lyra's sacrifice, her blood staining the earth to give him a chance to fight. "And what of Lyra?" he asked, his voice breaking. "She died because of your cycle. How can I forgive that?"
Eryndor's face darkened, his expression pained. "Her death was... an inevitability. But you have the power to ensure her sacrifice wasn't in vain. Think, Garen—what would she want? More bloodshed, or a chance to end this madness?"
Garen fell silent, torn between the weight of his hatred and the sliver of hope Eryndor offered. The temple seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his answer.
"You want me to believe you're my father?" Garen spat, his voice sharp with scorn. "After lifetimes of torment, lifetimes of dying and starting over—how dare you stand there and say you care?"
Eryndor took a deep breath, his glowing eyes meeting Garen's without wavering. "You have every right to hate me," he said solemnly. "But before you pass judgment, you deserve to know the truth."
Garen's jaw clenched. "Then speak."
"You were born of defiance, Garen. Defiance against the cycle, against the gods' will."
"What do you mean?" Garen's voice was cold, but a flicker of curiosity crept into his tone.
Eryndor hesitated, then pressed on. "Long ago, I believed in the cycle as the others did. It was a way to maintain order, to ensure that no mortal or god grew too powerful and disrupted the balance. But over time, I saw the cracks. I saw mortals like you—souls caught in the cycle, forced to suffer endlessly for crimes they didn't even remember committing."
Garen's fists tightened. "And you just watched."
"I did," Eryndor admitted, his voice heavy with shame. "I was complicit, like all of them. Until I met your mother."
The mention of her froze Garen in place. "My... mother?"
"Yes." Eryndor's gaze softened, and for a moment, his divine aura dimmed, replaced by something almost human. "She was a mortal. A warrior, like you. Fierce, unyielding, and determined to break free from the gods' grasp. Her name was Solenne."
The name struck something deep within Garen, a faint echo of a memory he couldn't quite grasp. "What happened to her?"
"She fought against the cycle," Eryndor said. "She refused to accept the gods' rule, and for a time, I was tasked with stopping her. But instead of fighting her, I..." He paused, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I fell in love with her."
Garen's expression darkened. "And yet you let her die."
Eryndor flinched, the accusation cutting deep. "I tried to protect her, Garen. I defied the pantheon for her, but the cycle... it's a force greater than any one god. When Solenne became pregnant with you, the others saw it as a threat. A child born of a god and a mortal, outside the cycle's design? They feared what you would become."
"So they killed her," Garen said, his voice trembling with rage.
"They didn't have to," Eryndor said bitterly. "The cycle took her. She died giving birth to you, and I was forced to watch. I couldn't save her, and I couldn't save you from what came next."
"What do you mean?" Garen demanded, his heart pounding.
"The pantheon decreed that you would be bound to the cycle, just as mortals are," Eryndor said. "But they underestimated you. Even as a child, your connection to the Aetherstone was unlike anything they'd ever seen. You were meant to be my heir, Garen—a god of war, greater than any who came before. But the cycle warped that destiny. It turned your power against you, trapping you in an endless loop of death and rebirth."
Garen's hands trembled as the weight of Eryndor's words sank in. "You knew this. You knew what they were doing to me, and you let it happen."
"I had no choice!" Eryndor's voice rose, the temple shaking with the force of his emotion. "Do you think I wanted this? I fought for you, Garen. I defied the pantheon time and time again, but the cycle is a prison for all of us. Even gods cannot escape its grasp."
The two stood in silence, the echoes of Eryndor's confession fading into the shadows of the temple. Finally, Garen spoke, his voice cold. "And now you expect me to forgive you? To join you?"
"I expect nothing," Eryndor said quietly. "But I am offering you a chance—a chance to end this. The pantheon is not united, Garen. Some fear you, yes, but others... others believe in you. If we work together, we can break the cycle, reshape it into something new."
"And if I refuse?" Garen asked, his eyes narrowing.
Eryndor's expression hardened. "Then the gods will continue to hunt you, and I will be powerless to stop them. They see you as a threat to their existence, Garen. They will destroy you, no matter the cost."
Garen looked away, his mind a storm of emotions. The truth of his parentage, the cycle, the gods—it was too much. But one thought burned brighter than the rest.
"They killed her," he whispered, his voice trembling. "They killed my mother, and they'll kill anyone else who stands with me."
Eryndor's gaze softened. "I can't bring her back, Garen. But I can help you ensure her sacrifice wasn't in vain."
Garen's fists clenched, the Aetherstone pulsing faintly at his side. "You want me to trust you? Prove it. Show me how to end this."
Eryndor's lips pressed into a thin line. "Very well. But know this, Garen—once you walk this path, there is no turning back. The gods will not forgive you, and neither will the cycle."
Garen met his father's gaze, his resolve hardening. "Good. I don't want their forgiveness. I want their end."