Orien Hale had spent years dreaming of gods, but he never expected to meet one.
He sat at his small wooden desk, quill in hand, staring at the half-written pages before him. His fingers trembled slightly—whether from exhaustion or disbelief, he wasn't sure. Just hours ago, he had been kneeling at the temple's altar, begging for a little more time. And now, miraculously, he felt stronger than he had in months.
The constant ache in his bones was gone. The shortness of breath, the dizziness—all of it had vanished like morning mist beneath the sun.
Had the gods truly heard him?
Orien ran a hand through his ink-stained hair, exhaling slowly. "It's madness," he muttered to himself. "Divine intervention? No. Perhaps… perhaps the healers were wrong. Maybe I was never dying at all."
The alternative—that a god had granted his wish—was too impossible to comprehend.
A cool breeze drifted through his open window, carrying the scent of night-blooming flowers. He turned his head, eyes catching on the dark figure standing in the moonlit courtyard below.
A stranger.
Tall, dressed in flowing black robes embroidered with silver thread. His long, silver hair moved like liquid starlight, and his golden eyes shimmered even in the shadows. He stood beneath the temple's ancient tree, gazing up at the sky with an expression of quiet contemplation.
Something about him felt… otherworldly.
Orien's breath caught. He had spent years studying myths, searching for traces of the divine in ancient texts. And now, staring at this man, a terrible thought took root in his mind.
He isn't human.
But that was impossible.
Wasn't it?
Orien swallowed hard. His heart pounded in his chest as he grabbed a lantern and pushed open the door, stepping barefoot onto the cool stone path.
The stranger didn't move, didn't acknowledge him until Orien was only a few steps away. Even then, his golden gaze barely flickered in his direction.
"You shouldn't be awake," the man murmured. His voice was low, smooth, like the whisper of the wind against ancient ruins.
Orien hesitated. "Who… are you?"
The stranger didn't answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, as if studying him. "You are Orien Hale."
Orien's stomach clenched. "How do you know my name?"
"I have watched you for some time."
Orien took an instinctive step back. "That sounds… unsettling."
The stranger exhaled softly, amused. "Not in the way you think. I know of your prayers, your wish. And I know that your time was meant to end."
A shiver ran down Orien's spine. "Then… it was real," he whispered. "The gods truly heard me."
"Yes." The man finally turned to face him fully. "And I was the one who answered."
Silence. The world seemed to shrink around them, the temple walls, the moonlight, the wind itself holding its breath.
Orien could not speak.
This wasn't possible. It shouldn't have been possible.
And yet, standing before him was proof—an impossible being wrapped in human form.
"You're a god." The words left his lips before he could stop them.
A slow nod. "I am Eryx," he said, voice carrying the weight of the heavens. "The God of the Stars."
Orien swayed on his feet, gripping the lantern tighter. "A god," he whispered again, trying to make sense of it. The God of the Stars, one of the oldest and most revered in all of Aurelia's myths. And he was here, standing before him, claiming responsibility for his borrowed time.
It was overwhelming.
And yet…
Somewhere beneath the shock, something else stirred in Orien's chest.
Wonder.
He had spent his life writing stories of gods, painting them in ink and parchment, building legends with his words. And now, for the first time, he was living in one.
"Why?" he asked at last. "Why did you answer my prayer?"
Eryx hesitated. He had asked himself the same question a thousand times since he granted Orien's wish. Why had he done it? Why had he broken the laws of the heavens for a single mortal life?
He could not find the answer.
"Perhaps I was curious," he said at last.
Orien frowned. "Curious?"
"You wished not for wealth or power, but for time," Eryx said, his gaze searching. "Time to write your stories, time to leave something behind. It intrigued me."
"That's all?" Orien asked, though he wasn't sure why disappointment prickled at the edges of his mind.
Eryx did not answer.
Silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant rustle of leaves.
At last, Orien exhaled, shaking his head with a small, breathless laugh. "I don't know whether to be terrified or grateful."
"Be both," Eryx murmured. "Gratitude alone will not change the fact that the gods are not meant to meddle in mortal affairs. What I have done… it will not go unnoticed."
A chill ran down Orien's spine. "What do you mean?"
Eryx's gaze turned toward the sky, his golden eyes shadowed. "The heavens have laws, Orien. And I have broken them."
Orien's heart pounded. He had thought his suffering was over, that his prayers had been answered. But now, standing before a god who had defied his own kind for him, he realized—this was only the beginning.
And somewhere deep inside, he knew:
Fate would not let them go unpunished.
___END OF CHAPTER 2