The Divine Realm - Centuries Before
Icarion's birth shook the foundations of the divine realm. Born of the God of War's passion for battle itself, he emerged not from love but from violence - a child forged in the crucible of conflict. His first cry was a battle cry, his first breath carried the scent of steel and blood. Lightning split the eternal skies of heaven as he drew his first breath, and the halls of the gods trembled with the power of his arrival.
But from the moment of his birth, something was wrong. The divine light that should have filled him seemed dimmed, tainted by his mortal mother's blood. The God of War looked upon his son not with pride, but with disappointment. Here was a being caught between divinity and mortality, neither fully god nor fully human - a living reminder of a moment of weakness.
The halls of the gods shone with celestial light - a place where only the divine could walk. A place where Icarion was never truly welcome. His father, the God of War, watched him train from atop his golden throne, never speaking, never acknowledging. Each swing of Icarion's sword was a plea for recognition, each victory a desperate cry for approval that went unanswered.
From his earliest days, Icarion threw himself into battle with a fervor that bordered on madness. He conquered in the name of the gods, fought, bled, and killed at their command. Combat was his attempt to burn away his mortal half, to prove through violence and victory that he was worthy of his divine heritage. Yet no matter how many wars he won, no matter how many foes he crushed, he was never enough. The gods whispered among themselves, calling him "a lesser being," "a tool, not a son," "not truly one of us."
Then came the day that changed everything - the day a mortal was chosen. A nameless human, a cursed soul, a being that should have been nothing. The gods spoke his name with favor: "Kael. The immortal."
They granted him attention. They tested him. They favored him.
And Icarion's heart turned to ash.
He watched from the shadows as this mortal - this insignificant speck - received the recognition he had bled for centuries to earn. Each smile the gods gave Kael was a dagger in Icarion's heart. Each test they set for him was salt in wounds that had never healed. The worst was his father's interest in this human upstart. The God of War, who had never so much as acknowledged his own son's victories, now watched Kael's progress with keen attention.
Hatred grew in Icarion like a poisoned tree, its roots wrapping around his heart, its branches reaching into every corner of his being. He began to follow Kael's movements, documenting every success, every failure, searching desperately for weaknesses to exploit. His dreams were filled with visions of Kael's destruction, each more violent than the last.
"Why does a mortal receive their love, while I am denied it?" he raged in silence, his divine blood burning with jealousy. "Why does this wretch deserve their gifts, while I am cast aside? I am their true son! I am their warrior! I am the one meant to lead their armies!"
But the gods did not answer. Because to them, he was only a tool.
In his private chambers, Icarion began constructing elaborate plans for Kael's downfall. He gathered intelligence on every aspect of the mortal's life, studying his fighting style, his habits, his weaknesses. The walls of his quarters became a shrine to obsession, covered in details of Kael's every move. Each of Kael's successes was noted and analyzed, each victory added fuel to Icarion's burning hatred.
"I will take everything from him," Icarion whispered to the uncaring halls of heaven. "His power, his favor, his very existence. And when he lies broken at my feet, they will finally see. They will finally understand who truly deserves their recognition."
His hatred became his purpose, his jealousy a blade sharpened by centuries of rejection. Where once he had sought the gods' love, now he dreamed only of proving himself through Kael's destruction. He would show them all that divine blood, even tainted, was superior to any mortal they might choose to elevate.