Liora didn't tell anyone what happened that night.
What words could she use? That a god without a name had spoken to her through stone and darkness? That the temple had breathed, and that for a moment, the silence of the world had listened back?
She sat on the edge of the cracked fountain at dawn, staring at the faint golden lines glimmering beneath her skin. They pulsed like veins made of memory, fading and brightening in rhythm with her heartbeat.
When she pressed her palm against her chest, she could almost hear it — a whisper, not in sound, but in sensation. Remember me.
She looked up at the sky. For the first time in twenty years, clouds gathered like a forgotten promise. But they did not weep — not yet.
The villagers of Eltheris were already awake, moving through their morning rituals of survival: hauling buckets to fetch water that barely existed, trading dried roots for grain, pretending not to see the hunger in one another's eyes.
No one looked at the sky anymore.
Liora walked among them, quiet, unnoticed, her cloak drawn tight around her. She could still smell the damp stone of the temple on her skin, feel the echo of that divine presence behind her eyes.
Her neighbour, old Maren, waved from his stall. "Back from the ruins again, girl? You'll find only ghosts there."
"Maybe that's what I'm looking for," she said softly.
He laughed, a dry, rattling sound. "Ghosts don't bring rain."
Liora smiled faintly and moved on.
Every step she took felt heavier, like the earth beneath her feet remembered her trespass. She could feel the god's mark warming on her wrist — a soft glow hidden beneath the fabric.
That night, sleep came uneasily.
She lay on her small straw bed, listening to the stillness of her home — the wood creaking, the wind pressing against the shutters. When her eyes finally closed, she fell into a dream so vivid it stole her breath.
She stood in a vast hall made of water and light. The walls rippled like mirrors disturbed by a stone's touch.
At the centre stood him.
No longer a mere silhouette of light, the god now appeared more human — though not quite. His skin shimmered faintly, as if a thousand reflections danced beneath it. His eyes were storm-grey, swirling with things unseen.
"Liora," he said, and the sound of her name echoed like rain against glass.
"You…" She stepped closer. "You said I'd dream of you."
"And you did."
He smiled — not with warmth, but with something more ancient. A memory of emotion rather than the feeling itself.
She glanced around the hall. "Where are we?"
"In the space between remembering and forgetting."
She frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one that matters."
He turned, and as he did, the floor beneath them rippled. Scenes flickered across the surface — visions of temples, prayers, rivers overflowing with light. Then they darkened, collapsing into silence and dust.
"This world once spoke my name," he said quietly. "Every drop of rain was a syllable of devotion. Then mortals forgot, and the rivers turned to ash."
Liora touched one of the images — a field of green, shimmering with rain. The moment her fingers met it, it vanished.
"I want to help," she said. "But I don't even know where to start."
He looked at her, eyes unreadable. "Start by remembering."
She hesitated. "How can I remember something that's been erased?"
"Memory is not only of the mind," he replied. "It lives in the body, the soul, the blood." He reached forward, his hand hovering just above her chest. "The mark I left within you — it will guide you to what has been lost."
She felt the warmth bloom again beneath her skin, pulsing in rhythm with his words. "You mean this?"
He nodded. "It is not a gift. It is a burden."
"Why me?"
"Because you believed long after belief became foolish."
She met his gaze. "And what happens if I fail?"
He paused. The silence stretched until it hurt.
"Then the gods will die — and you will die with them."
The hall began to dissolve — the water rising, swallowing light, swallowing sound. She reached for him, but her hand only met ripples.
"Wait!" she shouted. "At least tell me your name!"
The god's voice broke apart like thunder fading in the distance.
"Find it… in the rain."
Liora woke with a cry. Her room was dark, but her hands glowed faintly — the golden veins brighter now, pulsing faster.
Outside, thunder rumbled again — closer this time.
She ran to the window. Heavy clouds swirled above Eltheris, dense and trembling, as if something enormous strained to break free. A single drop fell onto the windowsill. It shone like liquid silver before vanishing into dust.
Her breath caught.
Then she heard it, faint but real — a whisper carried by the wind.
Her name.
"Liora…"
She turned sharply, but no one was there.
The whisper came again, softer now, like the first stir of rain before the storm.
And beneath it, hidden but growing, she could hear the faint hum of something awakening — not in the heavens, but in the hearts of those who had long stopped believing.
The gods were remembering.