The forest of Azeriel's secluded palace lay swathed in morning mist, the sun's first rays spilling across emerald leaves like molten gold. Here, time had been gentle, yielding to the rhythm of a life rebuilt from fragments. For five years, Selene had known nothing of her former existence, nothing of Illyria's burdens, the weight of realms, or the echoes of destruction she had once carried in her very bones. She was a child again, innocent, curious, yet strangely serene—her mind a blank canvas, her senses slowly rekindled year by year. One by one, sight, hearing, touch, taste, and scent had returned, each a gift from the steady care of the man who now bore the impossible title of father.
Azeriel watched her from the high balcony of his palace, the faint breeze teasing the black silken strands of his hair. He observed the small, precise movements of her hands as she traced letters in sand, learning to read and write under his guidance. Every so often, she would lift her head and laugh, a pure, lilting sound that seemed to chase away the shadows of his centuries-long solitude. Azeriel had long ceased to remember why Illyria had once been important to him beyond being a possession. All that mattered now was the warmth in her eyes when she looked at him, the soft call of "Dad" when her lips formed the word, clumsy at first, then confident. That sound had thawed something ancient within him, a spark of joy he had believed extinct after millennia.
Yet, even in this peace, the threads of the worlds beyond wove silently toward chaos. Five years had passed in the human realm, but in the Divine Realm, only five days had moved since the absence of the God of Creation and Eternity. The balance that had held for eons now quivered, uncertain and unsteady. Azeriel, ever perceptive, had begun to feel the tremors—small shifts in the air, subtle distortions of magic, the faint hum of unseen energy rebelling against its order. He had always thrived on control, on mastering every nuance of power and fate. But even he could not contain the consequences of a vanished god.
Selene, unaware of these tides, skipped through the palace garden, her tiny feet brushing against soft moss, a wooden practice sword clutched in her hands. Azeriel followed at a measured distance, his thoughts divided between delight and a creeping unease. Five years, he mused silently. Five years of training her, watching her grow. Yet I feel it—the storm gathering above, and I am powerless to halt it. I am her father now… and yet, I am the source of the imbalance.
The first sign came subtly, a faint shimmering along the horizon that made the hairs on Azeriel's neck rise. He narrowed his eyes, instincts honed over eons alerting him to the disturbance. The Divine Realm… the fractures. The void left by the vanished god began to bleed into all planes. The air around the palace grew tense, charged with a force that even Azeriel's control could not fully suppress. His body, coiled with power and readiness, remained still, but his mind raced.
Selene's attention remained on her wooden sword, striking imaginary foes, practicing the forms Azeriel had taught her. She had grown remarkably—quick, precise, but always gentle, never cruel. Each swing, each parry, a reflection not of war but of discipline, of curiosity, of a life nurtured beyond the shadows of her true past. Azeriel's heart twisted at the sight; she was safe, yet on the precipice of forces she could not even perceive.
The moment of disturbance escalated swiftly. From the distance, a ripple appeared in the air, a faint distortion that warped the sunbeams and bent shadows unnaturally. Azeriel's eyes darkened, sharp as the edge of a blade. He stepped forward instinctively, his presence suddenly overwhelming. The ground beneath Selene's feet trembled. She looked up, her childlike innocence untainted by fear, sensing only the tension in the air, not its origin.
Then came the sound—a reverberation through the sky, like the slow toll of a distant bell, carrying within it a weight that pressed on the mind. Azeriel's pupils constricted. The Divine Realm is responding. The balance is breaking. I must act.
In an instant, shadows and light twisted violently, the air itself seeming to resist motion. Azeriel's hands moved, conjuring barriers of blue flame, spirals of wind, and sinews of raw power, binding the palace grounds, creating a bubble of protection around Selene. She looked up, sensing a shift in her father, though she could not understand it. Her hand tightened around her practice sword, instinctive, the faint echo of her spirit-born reflexes asserting themselves without memory, without knowledge of her true self.
The ripples became visible, arcs of distorted reality folding like paper into themselves, fragments of the Divine Realm bleeding into the human forest. Azeriel's expression darkened as he realized the magnitude of the forces he now faced—forces set in motion by himself, by the very being he had once considered a possession. This… this is my fault, he thought. The bitter realization was sharp; he had given Selene a life, a sense of peace, yet the consequences of his actions centuries prior were catching up, and the Divine Realm demanded retribution.
A figure appeared across the distorted space, a being of impossible light and shadow, the remnants of the Divine Order taking form in the mortal realm. Azeriel's muscles tensed, his senses alight. They come for me. For the disturbance I have caused. His mind, always precise, raced to calculate, to negotiate, to manipulate. Yet he could not disregard Selene. She was fragile, a child unknowing, yet the weight of her presence anchored him, grounding his tempestuous power.
Selene, feeling the vibrations in the air, took a tentative step back. Her instincts, faintly echoing from memories she no longer held, whispered caution. Azeriel's gaze softened, and he whispered, almost to himself, "Stay behind me. Do not move from this place, child." His voice, deep and resonant, carried the gravity of centuries of authority and the tenderness of a father's love. Selene nodded, eyes wide, the name Azeriel meaningless to her, yet the tone filled her with a strange, unshakable trust.
The first strike came without warning—a burst of divine energy, invisible to the eye but palpable in its force. The forest shuddered; leaves and soil tore apart under the weight of power beyond mortal reckoning. Azeriel moved, a living barrier, intercepting the energy with shards of magic and force, deflecting what could have obliterated everything around them. Selene stumbled back, gripping the wooden sword instinctively, her senses catching the tremors, the vibrations, even without understanding them.
Time seemed to dilate. Moments stretched into eternities. Azeriel's thoughts raced, strategy colliding with instinct. I cannot allow her to see this. She must not witness the destruction I have wrought, even if she is mine to protect. And yet, he knew the truth—the Divine Realm would not forgive disruption, and its agents would continue to test, probe, and punish him for his transgressions.
Amid the chaos, Selene's small voice rose, fragile yet determined. "Father… protect us…" Words so simple, so human, yet carrying a weight that pierced Azeriel's heart deeper than any strike of magic. He realized, painfully, that this life—this child calling him Dad—was more precious than the entirety of his dominion or power.
Another surge came, a collision of celestial force that shook the very air, bending reality into impossible shapes. Azeriel countered, every motion precise, every strike calculated, yet tempered by the presence of Selene behind him. She moved closer, unafraid, drawn to his shadow, her hands outstretched as if to anchor him. The duality of his existence pressed against him—he was a god, master of power, yet he was also a father, tasked with shielding innocence.
The Divine agents advanced, their forms imposing, regal, yet unable to pierce Azeriel's defenses without risking Selene's safety. Each attack he parried, each spell he redirected, he calculated the outcome not for himself, but for her. A tempest of energy, a storm of light and shadow, raged across the forest, yet within it, Selene remained untouched, a living testament to Azeriel's devotion.
Minutes—or perhaps hours—passed in suspended tension. Selene watched, learning not from memory but from instinct, the patterns of movement, the rhythm of combat, the silent flow of power around her. Azeriel's eyes occasionally met hers, grounding him, reminding him that this was not merely a battlefield, but a home, a sanctuary, and a responsibility.
Finally, a lull emerged, a fragile pause in the ceaseless pressure. Azeriel lowered his arms slightly, breathing deep, yet his gaze remained sharp, alert. Selene stepped forward, tentative, her small hand brushing against his cloak. A simple, human gesture, yet it anchored him in ways the Divine Realm could never understand.
"Selene…" he murmured, voice barely audible above the residual hum of divine energy. He allowed himself a fraction of relief, acknowledging that, for this moment, the child was safe. The world beyond may be chaos, the Divine Realm may be unforgiving, yet here, in this small sanctuary, she was his, and he was hers.
And in that stillness, Azeriel resolved something profound: no matter the wrath of gods, no matter the disruptions or the coming storms, he would protect her. He would allow her to live, to grow, to experience the simple joys he had been denied for millennia.
Selene, untouched by memory but wholly present in emotion, reached up to grasp his
hand, her small fingers curling around his own. The warmth of that touch, the simple, unspoken trust, sent a wave of conflicting emotion through Azeriel. He felt the ache of millennia, the weight of power and guilt, and yet, for the first time in countless eons, something tender and fragile bloomed within him. A life he had thought meaningless—an empty possession to wield or discard—was now the most precious thing in existence.
A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of earth and leaves, mundane yet grounding. Azeriel lowered himself to Selene's level, letting her eyes meet his. In that gaze, there was no command, no threat, no manipulation—only the undeniable presence of a father and the acceptance of a child who knew nothing else but safety and love. "You are mine," he whispered, not as a god claiming dominion, but as a man acknowledging responsibility. "And I will not let anyone take you from me."
Selene's eyes shone with pure, untainted trust, a reflection of everything Azeriel had missed in his existence: innocence, warmth, and the quiet joy of simple companionship. She didn't remember who she was, didn't know of the realms, the wars, or the burdens of her past, yet she had given him something far greater—purpose beyond power, beyond dominion, beyond vengeance.
In the distance, the first cracks of the Divine Realm's influence began to ripple toward the human world, subtle and nearly imperceptible. Azeriel's sharp eyes noted them, but his focus remained on Selene. Every instinct screamed for action, for containment, for war—but he resisted. For this brief moment, he allowed himself to simply exist as a father.
Days became weeks, weeks months. Selene learned to read, to write, to wield a sword that was far too large for her small frame, yet she wielded it with precision born of instinct rather than memory. Azeriel taught her slowly, patiently, infusing lessons with laughter and gentle reprimands. In return, she offered the kind of joy that defied calculation or strategy. Every step she took, every word she spoke, wove into his life a tapestry of care and connection that no god or mortal had ever given him.
And yet, the shadow of the Divine Realm lingered, an ever-present reminder that peace was temporary. Azeriel knew that eventually, the consequences of his actions, the vanished god, and the disrupted balance would demand repayment. But for now, in the human realm's secluded forest, time bent to their shared rhythm. Selene's laughter echoed against the walls of the palace, mingling with the rustling of the trees, the songs of birds, and the warmth of sunlight, a sound that Azeriel cherished above all else.
He watched her sleep each night, a small, fragile being in a world that had nearly destroyed her. The innocence she retained, the fragile trust she placed in him, was both a balm and a reminder of the weight he bore. He had promised the kings and the realms that she would be a weapon, a conduit of power, yet he had chosen a different path—protection over manipulation, love over strategy.
Selene stirred in her sleep, murmuring incoherent words, her small hand reaching for the space beside her, searching for the presence she could feel even if she could not name it. Azeriel's chest tightened. That simple motion, the instinctual need to reach out and connect, reminded him that she was still wholly herself, yet wholly new. The Selene who called him Dad was untainted by memory, unburdened by the horrors of past wars or divine decrees. She was alive, and he would guard that life against all forces, mortal or divine.
In the palace, the wind whispered through the halls, carrying the faint scent of the forest outside. Azeriel moved through the corridors, alert and watchful, yet every step, every glance, was tempered by the small, human life sleeping safely within these walls. He was a god of power and domination, yet here, in this secluded forest palace, he was something simpler, something far older and yet renewed—a father.
Outside, the disturbances in the Divine Realm grew, subtle cracks spreading across distant thrones, the balance of worlds trembling. Azeriel felt the pull of consequence, the inevitable judgment, but he did not falter. Not while Selene's life, her laughter, and her trust rested in his hands. He had learned a truth no god before him had ever understood: power without purpose is empty, dominion without care is hollow. And in this child, in this fragile, innocent being, he had found something more enduring than all creation itself.
The universe closed on that quiet moment: Azeriel, standing watch over Selene as she slept, the distant light of a breaking dawn casting soft shadows across the palace. Outside, the worlds quivered with the repercussions of divine imbalance. Inside, a god was simply a father, and a child, entirely new and unknowing, called him Dad. For now, that was enough.