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Chapter 2 - The God who fell silent

The sanctuary was in ruins.

The columns, carved with sacred symbols, were worn down by centuries of abandonment. Moss and roots forced their way through the cracks in the stone floor. The roof barely held, letting in the gray daylight that filtered through the forest.

There, in the middle of the silence, seated on the steps of the altar, Seirion stared into the void with eyes that had witnessed too many ages.

His pupils, a deep amber, glowed like the sun. Around him, the air was dense, as if the world itself had stopped breathing within those walls.

Seirion had been there for centuries, trapped in the sanctuary humans had built for him and then forgotten.

His body, as imposing as a mountain, did not belong in the decay that surrounded him. He was the living image of war, hidden beneath a heavy black robe that draped over his shoulders, concealing the ancient runes that marked his skin like scars.

His dark hair fell in disarray, and his voice, when he dared to break the silence, sounded like a storm.

But Seirion spoke to no one. Not anymore.

The offerings arrived unfailingly every decade. Outside, humans still believed the sacrifice was necessary, that if they gave up a life, the land would remain fertile, the livestock would survive, and winter would not starve them to death.

They called him the God of Ruin, though that name was only a reflection of human fear.

No one remembered Seirion's true name.

And no one understood that he had never asked for any of it.

Seirion closed his eyes.

He remembered the last offering, the young woman who trembled so badly she could not even raise her head. He remembered how the priest led her to the edge of the abyss, his steps firm and his voice laden with solemnity as he recited the ritual words, as if that could sanctify cruelty. Then, without stopping or a second glance, he pushed her.

She did not scream.

Or if she did, her voice was lost among the trees and the stone.

The body hit the ground with a dull sound.

Seirion did not kill her.

He never did.

But he could not save her, either.

The earth demanded blood, not because Seirion willed it, but because humans believed it so.

All he could do was witness.

Wait.

And remember.

Soon another offering would come. Another woman. Another flower plucked before its time. Another life taken before its time.

His large hands clenched into fists over his knees. The runes glimmered faintly, a reflection of his divinity.

"How many more?" Seirion's voice rumbled against the crumbling walls, hoarse from not speaking

The question went unanswered.

Seirion would rather vanish along with the ruins that imprisoned him than be remembered as a monster hungry for blood.

Once, his name had been spoken with tenderness. His presence had been a comfort, not a threat. Songs had been offered to him, not bodies; fruit, not fear. Mothers whispered Seirion's name to their children to give them peaceful dreams, not nightmares.

But the centuries had twisted that image. Humans had reshaped him with fear. They had created rituals to protect themselves from their own terrors and bound Seirion to them with false prayers and the blood of others.

Now Seirion could not touch the world without destroying it. All he could do was watch.

And wish for the end.

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