silence, that was all.
There were no sounds, no walls, no sky—only pressure and stillness, like resting at the bottom of a deep sea made of sleep.
'Why am I here?'
The thought rose gently, like a bubble through water. He tried to move his fingers, or lift his arms, but his body felt… sealed. A warm cocoon pressed against his skin, soft and pulsing like muscle.
'I can't move. I can't see. What is this?'
His thoughts flickered like old memories on the edge of sleep.
He remembered being human—a college student with textbooks stacked on a desk, headphones tangled in bedsheets, and cold ramen left on the counter.
He remembered moving out of his uncle's apartment after years under his care. A strange man—quiet, distant, but kind.
But something was wrong.
His parents were gone. He remembered that.
He remembered crying once—just once, when he was very young.
But the rest? The faces, the details, the names—all gone.
'Why can't I remember what my mother looked like!? Or my uncle's voice!? Or my friends' names?'
Panic scratched at the corners of his mind, but it faded quickly—like it was being erased, slowly and deliberately, by something within him.
'Strange, why am I so calm now? But now, I feel like I know one thing.' He thought.
'This isn't death. It's something else.'
He breathed.
Or rather—he felt the motion of breath, though lungs and air didn't quite exist here.
Then it hit him, as instinct more than realization.
'I'm in a womb. I'm a soul in a body… that hasn't been born yet.'
It should have terrified him. But it didn't.
Because now, something else stirred beneath his thoughts—energy.
A slow, ancient hum. Not like blood or heat, but power.
A pressure that vibrated from the bones outward. And it wasn't just physical—it felt divine, like gravity wrapped in light.
He could sense the world outside this cocoon. Not clearly, but faintly.
The movement of water in the womb. The pulse of divine blood. The echo of life.
He wasn't being born into any ordinary life. He knew that now.
'I don't know what I'm becoming… But I just have to wait and see.'
***
High above the mortal lands, where sky and stone embraced the heavens, lay Mount Oyhrys—the sanctuary of the divine.
Its peaks shimmered with celestial moss and veins of starlit crystal.
Temples carved into the mountain's ribs pulsed with sacred light.
Here lived the divine races and immortals: Titans, gods, nymphs, spirits, and more.
On this night, the mountain was still.
The stars above burned brighter, swaying in strange formations. The moon hung low and golden, casting a divine hush over the world.
Beneath the mountain's skin, roots twitched, and the soil pulsed with anticipation.
Forests stilled. The wind slowed. Life, in all its forms, held its breath.
At the summit, in a great open temple of white mabel and silver flame, a woman labored.
Rhea, Titaness of Motherhood, Childhood, and Flowing Time, lay surrounded by nymph, sprite and moonlight.
She was not just divine—she was stunning beyond language.
Even while bent in pain, her beauty glowed.
hair like molten rose-gold, skin glimmering with divine warmth, and eyes of radiant gold, wet with tears.
She let a small scream leave her lips—not in weakness, but in the agony of bringing a new life to the world..
"Push, my lady!"
one of her handmaidens cried, calmness in her voice.
Rhea gasped and clenched her fists, celestial energy flaring from her fingertips. The ground trembled. The sky above the temple flickered, as if the stars themselves bowed.
This was no ordinary birth.
This was abnormal.
A child of Kronos, King of the Titans, ruler of the cosmos. A child the earth watched in silence.
But there was more.
Rhea knew it. She had felt it.
From the first time the child stirred in her womb, the earth awakened.
Nature twisted. The moon glowed brighter.
The stars had shifted—subtly, but irrevocably.
This child was no simple heir.
He was a turning point.
Her body arched with pain again, and she cried out—her voice like thunder trapped in velvet.
The marble of the temple cracked.
The vines along the columns bloomed violently, bursting with flowers that had no names.
A comet streaked across the sky.
And then—it happened.
The moon surged in brightness.
The stars realigned.
And from between Rhea's legs came a burst of light, followed by a cry—not of a helpless infant, but of a being awakening.
The child was born.
A boy, glowing faintly like a newborn star.
His hair was golden, streaked with mossy green.
His skin shimmered like morning dew over silver bark.
And his eyes—moonlike, soft and ancient—held a golden four-pointed star in the center of each iris.
After the first cry, the boy did not wail.
He simply breathed.
Calm and steady.
The wind returned. The vines calmed. The stars dimmed, as if to let this child's presence take the stage.
The handmaidens wept, overwhelmed. Even the spirits that hovered unseen knelt in silence.
Rhea held him to her chest, shaking, sobbing.
Her voice cracked with awe and exhaustion.
"Aetherion…"
The name came to her not from memory, but from the earth itself.
"Your name will be Aetherion, my sweet baby boy."
***
Aetherion blinked.
The light was soft, silver, and impossibly clean — like moonlight that had never touched a shadow. His eyes stung, not from pain, but from sudden clarity.
He blinked again. Once. Twice.
"I'm… free?"
Warmth cradled him — the heat of skin, the beat of a massive heart. He was pressed gently against something smooth and strong. Breathing. Trembling. Alive.
His vision adjusted, and he tilted his tiny head upward.
A face looked down at him — not just beautiful, but impossibly so.
Her skin shimmered like a crystal kissed by starlight. Her hair drifted in waves of soft pink and rose-gold, glowing at the edges.
Her golden eyes shimmered with tears. Not sorrow — but something deeper. Pure joy.
She was a giant, in the most majestic sense. A woman carved from sky and light and love itself.
'My mother…?'
His chest tightened. The feeling was real — immediate and overwhelming.
He didn't know her name. But he knew the feeling of belonging. She looked at him like he mattered more than the world itself.
"Aetherion. Your name will be Aetherion, my sweet baby boy."
The words echoed softly in his ears.
'Aetherion… huh. That's me, I guess.'
He didn't question it. The name just felt… right. Like slipping into something already his.
Then a thought flickered:
'Wait—how do I even understand this language?'
He blinked.
Then moved on. Too much was happening to dwell on it.
Around her, his eyes darted.
He saw a ceiling made of glowing marble, veins of silver running through it like constellations. The walls were lined with flowering vines that bloomed with every breath of air. Floating orbs of gentle light hovered in place — like stars trapped in glass.
There were figures nearby — tall, glowing attendants — but they felt distant, blurred. His attention stayed on her. On the place. On the fact that he could see and breathe and feel.
'This isn't a hospital… A temple? A… palace maybe?'
The scale of everything was impossible. She was impossibly tall, even as she lay down. The bed alone was larger than anything he'd ever seen. The room wasn't built for humans.
He didn't understand what he was. Not yet. But the world was too abnormal to be human.
He wasn't confused. He was in awe.
And yet, deep down, something ached. Not pain. Not fear.
A quiet question, whispered somewhere in the corner of his soul.
'What… am I now?'
He opened his mouth, but no sound came. Not a cry. Not a scream.
Just breathe.
Just silence.
Just… wonder.