The village of Eldoria was peaceful. Too peaceful.
As I walked through its narrow dirt roads, I observed the mortals going about their mundane lives—merchants shouting their wares, children laughing as they chased each other, farmers carrying baskets of produce. It was a stark contrast to the grand empires and warring kingdoms I had once known.
Lyria led me to a small house on the outskirts of the village. It was humble, made of stone and wood, with a small garden at the front. "You can stay here until you're fully recovered," she offered, opening the door.
I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the simple interior. A wooden table, a few chairs, and a single bed in the corner. It was far from the luxurious halls of my past, yet strangely, I did not mind.
"You found me in the ruins of the temple," I said, turning to her. "Why were you there?"
Lyria hesitated. "I... I go there sometimes to pray. My mother used to tell stories of the ancient god who once watched over this land. But no one remembers him anymore."
I narrowed my eyes. "And yet, you do."
She gave a small smile. "I guess I just like old stories."
Stories. That was all I had been reduced to. A forgotten legend, a whisper on the wind.
I clenched my fist. No more.
That night, as the village slept, I sat beneath the open sky, staring at my hand. I could feel it—the faint, lingering trace of my former power. A mere ember compared to the inferno I once wielded. But an ember could still ignite a flame.
Closing my eyes, I reached inward, searching for the core of my divinity. I focused, drawing upon the remnants of my godhood. A faint glow flickered in my palm, golden light swirling like a living flame. It was weak, but it was there.
A slow smile spread across my lips.
It was only a matter of time before the world remembered the Forgotten God.