Year of Idite, 1161
The chapel was dim, lit only by flickering violet candles that cast strange, shifting shadows on the ancient stone walls. The air was heavy with the scent of myrrh and old secrets. At the center stood the forgotten statue—the Goddess of Chaos, known only to a dwindling few as Akasha, Mistress of Blood, Mother of Monsters.
Five-year-old Lilith Silford, her snow-white curls glinting in the candlelight, her ruby-red eyes wide with curiosity, knelt on a worn velvet cushion. Before her stood Count Caelum Thorne, tall and severe in black and red, his long dark blue hair gleaming like midnight silk, teal eyes gleaming with hidden truths.
"Do you know why we kneel here, child?" Caelum asked softly, his voice a low hum, gentle but firm.
Lilith shook her head, small hands resting in her lap. "Mama says I can't tell anyone about Her," she whispered, glancing at the statue's face.
"Good," Caelum murmured. He lowered himself to kneel beside her, folding his gloved hands. "The world above has forgotten. Worse—they have rewritten the truth. This is why you must learn."
He extended a finger, pointing to the statue's central figure: Akasha—arms outstretched, face twisted in sorrow, while also looking motherly and in fury at the same time. "Long ago, before even the cities were built, there was Chaos and there was Order. The two became one. They birthed four children, the so-called 'gods' worshipped in every city now: Idite of Earth, Pyra of Fire, Aeyar of Air, Apton of Water."
Lilith's red eyes blinked slowly. "I know those names… from the stories."
"Stories," Caelum echoed, voice cold, "are written by the victors."
He gestured toward the broken mosaic on the wall—a faded depiction of monsters, beasts twisted by time and myth. "The children feared the monsters their mother allowed to roam free. They demanded she destroy them."
Lilith's eyes widened in shock. "All the monsters? Even half monsters?"
Caelum nodded his head solemnly. "Even the demi-humans. When she refused, they betrayed her. They struck her down. It was Order, her beloved husband, who gave his life to shield her."
Lilith's small fingers crept toward his sleeve. "That's… sad," she murmured, lip trembling.
"Yes," Caelum said quietly. "And in her sorrow, Mother of Gods, released her power upon the world. The miasma, the monsters. And then, she vanished… and the lies began."
He shifted, letting her see the sigil hanging from his neck—the twin red moons with a droplet of blood, ancient and forbidden. "The Four who rule now painted her as evil. Her temples were destroyed. Her name was buried. And those who speak it—" he paused, eyes narrowing— "are hunted."
Lilith's voice was barely a breath: "Why do we remember her?"
Caelum's expression softened—not with warmth, but with an iron loyalty. "Because truth matters. Because she will rise again. And because…" His teal eyes met her ruby ones. "You matter."
The words sent a strange chill through the air, though Lilith was too young to understand their weight. She only frowned, puzzled.
"Am I… bad if I like her?" she asked in a small voice.
Caelum's lips curved in something rare—a genuine smile, faint as moonlight. He touched her hair gently. "No, child. It is not wicked to seek the truth. Remember this: chaos is not evil—it is freedom. It is life that changes, breathes, and cannot be caged."
Lilith tilted her head, eyes still fixed on the statue. "Then why is everyone so afraid of her?"
Caelum was quiet for a moment, as if weighing how much to tell her. Finally, he whispered, "Because fear is easier to teach than understanding. And power—true power—always frightens those who wish to control it."
The violet candlelight danced across the Goddess's face, casting fleeting patterns like tears or warpaint. Lilith reached out, her fingers stopping just short of the stone pedestal.
"Does she… miss her children?" she asked.
A long pause.
"She mourns them," Caelum said, voice low. "Even now. Though they turned on her, though they shattered her temples and scattered her followers like ash on the wind—she remembers each of them. Chaos is not cruelty, Lilith. It is love, wild and unfiltered. It is the mother that holds you even when the world wishes to forget you."
Lilith didn't speak, but the thoughts behind her young eyes churned like deep water. Slowly, she turned her gaze back to Caelum.
"Can I talk to her?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, gauging. Then he nodded. "Yes. Not with words. But she listens—in dreams, in silence, in the cracks between what is and what should never have been. Offer her your heart, and she will know you."
Lilith folded her hands again, clumsily mimicking Caelum's posture. She bowed her head toward the statue.
"I'm Lilith Silford," she whispered. "I'm not scared of you."
The words hung in the air like an oath.
Behind her, Caelum closed his eyes, letting the moment settle, reverent. "Good," he murmured. "Then perhaps she will not be alone forever."
A sudden wind stirred within the chapel—though no doors had opened, no windows existed below ground. The violet flames flickered high, then low again.
Lilith gasped, looking around. "Was that… her?"
Caelum didn't answer at first. Then, with a subtle nod, he said, "Perhaps she wished to say hello."
Lilith beamed—not the grin of a reckless child, but a quiet, private joy, like a secret flower blooming in shadow.
"She's not like the others," she said with certainty.
"No," Caelum agreed, rising once more to his feet. "She is not."
He reached down and offered her a hand, "Come. For today, that is enough."
Lilith took his hand without hesitation, her white strands of hair gleaming as she glanced once more at the Mother of Monsters.
As they walked from the altar, shadows clung to their backs like watchful wings. And though Lilith was too small to understand destiny, she felt something stir in her chest—a thrum of something old and wild and waiting.
In time, she would learn more. Of the old power sleeping in her blood, of how she was connected to the forgotten goddess.
But for now, she was just a girl, cradled in ancient shadows, unknowingly standing at the crossroads of gods and ruin.