Lira's PoV:
The town came into view slowly, its stone cottages nestled at the base of a rolling hill.
Lanterns flickered on posts lining the cobblestone streets, casting soft light against the growing twilight.
Smoke curled from chimneys, and the air was rich with the scents of firewood and something faintly sweet—baked, perhaps.
I paused on the road, my boots scuffing against the stones.
This place… it felt alive in a way the maze hadn't. The vibrant green of the fields, the chatter of distant voices—it was surreal.
But it was also unfamiliar.
The sword at my side weighed heavier with every step closer.
My heart pounded with nerves, though I tried to focus on the simple truth: I needed help. Food. Shelter. A plan.
The sound of laughter broke through my thoughts. I turned toward the source—a small square at the town's center, where two children played near a stone fountain.
Their giggles filled the air as they splashed each other with water.
A woman stood nearby, watching them with a gentle smile. Her hands were busy adjusting a basket on her hip, but her gaze was sharp.
She caught sight of me quickly, her expression shifting to one of concern.
"You look like you've walked through fire," she said, her voice carrying easily across the square.
I froze.
She tilted her head, studying me. "Come here, child. Don't be shy."
Her words weren't unkind, but I hesitated anyway. I wasn't used to kindness from strangers—or anyone, really.
When I didn't move, she approached, the basket on her hip swaying with her steps. Up close, I could see the faint lines of age around her eyes, the wear of her hands.
"Lost, are you?" she asked, her voice softer now.
I nodded reluctantly.
"Well, you've found us, haven't you? Come along. You look like you need a hot meal." She turned without waiting for a response, her stride purposeful.
I glanced around, unsure if I should follow. The children had stopped playing, their curious eyes watching me.
One of them grinned, giving a small wave.
Before I could second-guess myself, I followed the woman.
Her home was small but sturdy, its walls made of stone and its roof thatched with golden straw.
Inside, the air was warm and smelled of herbs and something savory cooking over the fire.
"Sit down," she said, motioning to a wooden table in the corner.
I obeyed, my movements stiff and cautious. The chair creaked under me as I sank into it, my body heavy with exhaustion.
The woman busied herself at the hearth, ladling stew into a clay bowl. She placed it in front of me along with a chunk of crusty bread.
"Eat," she instructed, her tone brooking no argument.
I stared at the food, the steam rising in soft curls. It had been so long since I'd seen anything like it—real food, not just the scraps of dried rations I'd scavenged in the ruins.
My hands trembled as I picked up the spoon, the first bite filling my mouth with warmth and flavor. It was almost overwhelming.
The woman watched me for a moment before settling into the chair across from me. "You're not from around here, are you?"
I shook my head, unable to speak around the lump of bread in my mouth.
"I didn't think so," she said. "This place… it's small. Everyone knows everyone. And I would've remembered a face like yours."
Her words sent a chill down my spine. This world was still new to me.
"Where are you from?" she asked gently.
I hesitated, lowering the spoon. "Far away," I said finally.
She nodded as if that answer was good enough. "Well, far away or not, you're here now. My name's Maeve. What's yours?"
"Lira," I said.
"Welcome, Lira," Maeve said, her smile kind but knowing. "You look like someone who's carrying more than they should. Rest for now. Whatever brought you here can wait until morning."
Her words struck a chord, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let my shoulders relax.
The stew warmed me from the inside out, chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones since I first opened my eyes in that maze.
For a moment, I forgot my questions, my fear, and the strange twists of fate that had led me here.
Maeve's home was small but filled with signs of life—woven rugs softened the stone floors, dried herbs hung in bundles near the hearth, and a stack of books sat on a nearby shelf.
It smelled of lavender and earth, a comforting combination.
She watched me as I ate, her sharp eyes softened by a motherly patience.
"How long were you wandering out there?" she asked after a while.
I hesitated, unsure how to answer. "A while," I said vaguely.
Maeve's brow furrowed. "The wilds aren't kind to travelers. Especially ones without a pack or proper gear. You're lucky you didn't run into wolves—or worse."
The idea of wolves in a place like this hadn't occurred to me, but I forced a small nod, swallowing another mouthful of stew.
Maeve leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. "You've got the look of someone who's seen too much and said too little. Far be it from me to pry, but this is a small town, Lira. Secrets don't stay secret for long."
Her words were firm but not unkind. She wasn't threatening me; she was warning me.
"You don't trust me," I said. It wasn't a question.
"Trust isn't free," Maeve replied simply. "But food is, for someone who needs it. You can earn the rest with time."
I lowered my gaze to the empty bowl. Her words unsettled me, but they didn't feel malicious. If anything, they felt… fair.
Maeve stood and took the bowl from me, placing it in a washbasin near the hearth. She worked with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before, her movements deliberate and steady.
"You can sleep here tonight," she said without looking at me. "But come morning, you'll need to decide what you're going to do. This isn't the kind of place where you can sit idle. Everyone here has a role to play."
Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
***
The bed Maeve offered was little more than a cot in the corner, but it was soft enough, and the thin blanket was warm. As I lay there, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling, I tried to make sense of everything.
This world didn't feel right. It felt small.
And yet…
There was something strange about it, something I couldn't quite name. Maeve's kindness didn't fit the harshness of the maze I'd escaped. The laughter of the children in the square didn't match the cold indifference of the ruins.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter. For now, I didn't have the energy to question it. Morning would bring new challenges, new decisions. I'd face them when they came.
***
Kailus's PoV:
Oh, how delightful.
I chuckled to myself, the void around me rippling with amusement. This world—this lush, vibrant creation—was but a flicker in my mind, a passing fancy brought to life.
A few million years? A mere blink. I had accelerated its time, letting mountains rise and erode, forests grow and wither, civilizations bloom and crumble—all so that it would feel real.
The people believed in their history, in the stories passed down through generations. Maeve believed she'd lived a long life here, tending her garden and raising her children in a town that had stood for centuries.
But it was all a lie.
Not that they'd ever know. Their memories were as real as their beating hearts, their struggles as genuine as the soil beneath their feet.
And Lira? She was none the wiser. To her, this was just another world she had to survive, another thread in the labyrinth of her existence.
I leaned back, folding my hands behind my head. The pieces were falling into place. Maeve would offer her shelter, but the kindness would come with conditions. The town would give her purpose, but only if she could navigate its web of politics and mistrust.
What will you do now, Lira? Will you trust the hand extended to you? Or will you cling to your pride and push it away?
The story was hers to write now. And I, ever the bored god, couldn't wait to see where it would lead.
***
Authors note:
"Just in case you wanted to say, 'Is this God dumb? Isn't that how the world was created in the first place?"
Yes, he is.... Can't make him too intelligent or you won't be having a story to read.
With that adios for the day."