The hall of the gods was cloaked in a solemn silence.
Dim light filtered through divine crystal, casting long shadows over the grand altar where a cluster of divine fragments lay—remnants of the gods who had fallen in the war against the mortal realm.
At the head of the altar stood the Chief God, a towering figure swathed in golden light, his features hidden beneath a gleaming veil of divine radiance.
With his staff grounded before him, he whispered the final rites in the ancient tongue.
The divine language echoed through the chamber like a fading heartbeat, drawing a reverent silence from the gathered gods.
Each of the remaining deities had lowered their heads in mourning—except one.
The God of Wind, a tall and sharp-featured deity with fluttering robes that shimmered like moving clouds, looked up with thinly veiled frustration.
"How long must we hide in this manner, Chief? Half of us are dead. And at this rate, the rest will follow. Are we gods, or are we cowards now?"
