Eryndor's POV
The woman arrived at the warehouse on a grey morning three weeks after Thorn's incident. She was older than most of my followers, maybe fifty years, with silver streaks in her dark hair and eyes that looked like they had seen too much.
Her name was Helena, and she did not come to join us.
"I need to speak with the god Eryndor," she said to Lyra, who was organizing supplies near the entrance.
Lyra found me in the back room where I was talking with Kael about expanding our gatherings to other parts of the city. When she told me someone was asking for me specifically, something in her voice made me nervous.
Helena stood in the main room, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. When I approached, she looked me up and down like she was measuring me.
"You are the forgotten god," she said. It was not a question.
"I am Eryndor," I said. "How can I help you?"
"You cannot," she said. "But I need to tell you something anyway. My daughter joined your followers two weeks ago. Her name is Penny. She is nineteen years old, and she was assigned to work in the temple archives. It was good work. Safe work. Work that would have supported her for life."
I felt something cold settling in my stomach. "What happened?"
"She quit," Helena said. Her voice was tight with controlled anger. "She came home and told me she could not do work that supported a system of control. She said she needed to find her own purpose, her own path. She said you taught her that following an assigned life was the same as not living at all."
"And where is she now?" I asked.
"I do not know," Helena said. "She left three days ago. She said she was going to travel, to see the world beyond Aethermere, to discover who she really is. She had no money, no supplies, no plan. Just your words about freedom ringing in her head."
The cold in my stomach spread. "I am sorry. I did not tell her to leave. I did not tell anyone to abandon their responsibilities."
"You did not have to tell her directly," Helena said. "You filled her head with ideas about cages and freedom and living authentically. You made her believe that the safe life she had was worthless. And now she is out there somewhere, alone and unprepared, because of you."
"I can help find her," I said. "I can send people to look…"
"I do not want your help," Helena interrupted. "I came here to tell you that your words have consequences. You stand here talking about freedom and choice like they are simple things, like everyone who listens to you will magically know how to handle them. But they do not. Some people, like my daughter, hear freedom and think it means throwing away everything stable in their lives. They think it means running away instead of building something new where they are."
She stepped closer, her eyes fierce. "You are a god. You have power and knowledge and thousands of years of existence to draw from. These mortals you are teaching? They have none of that. They are children playing with ideas they do not fully understand. And when they get hurt, when they make terrible choices because they misunderstood what you were selling them, you will not be the one who suffers. They will."
Before I could respond, she turned and walked out of the warehouse. The door slammed behind her, and the sound echoed in the sudden silence.
Lyra came to stand beside me. "She is wrong. You did not tell Penny to leave."
"No," I said quietly. "But I did make her question her life. I did tell her that following an assigned path was not truly living. Maybe I made it sound too simple. Maybe I made freedom sound like an escape instead of a responsibility."
"You cannot control how people interpret your words," Lyra said.
"But I can be more careful about what words I use," I said. "Helena is right. I have been speaking from a place of power and knowledge that most mortals do not have. I have been assuming they can handle these ideas the same way I do. But they cannot. They are vulnerable in ways I am not."
I spent the rest of the day thinking about Helena's words. How many other followers had I inadvertently hurt with my teachings? How many had taken my words about freedom and used them to justify running away from difficulty instead of facing it? How many had confused liberation with abandonment?
That evening, I called a gathering. More people came than usual, maybe seventy or eighty. Word about my teachings had spread, and curious mortals from all over Aethermere were starting to attend.
I stood before them and felt the weight of their attention. They looked at me with hope and trust, expecting wisdom and guidance. The same way mortals had looked at gods for thousands of years.
But I was supposed to be different. I was supposed to respect their autonomy, not use their trust to shape them into what I wanted.
"I need to tell you something," I said. "I have been teaching you about freedom, about making your own choices, about living authentically instead of following paths assigned by others. And I still believe those things are important. But I have not been clear enough about what freedom actually requires."
The crowd was silent, listening.
"Freedom is not escape," I continued. "It is not running away from difficulty or abandoning responsibility. Freedom is the hard work of building a life that means something to you. It is staying when things are difficult and choosing to change them rather than flee. It is understanding that every choice has consequences and accepting those consequences as part of the price of autonomy."
I paused, gathering my thoughts. "A young woman left her home because she heard my teachings and thought freedom meant abandoning her assigned work. She is out there now, alone and unprepared, and her mother blames me. And her mother is right to blame me. Because I made freedom sound easy. I made it sound like the only thing holding you back was the system, and if you could just break free of it, everything would be better."
"But that is not true," I said. "Breaking free is only the beginning. What comes after is harder. You have to figure out who you are. You have to build new structures and relationships and purposes. You have to deal with failure and uncertainty and the fear that maybe you made the wrong choice. Freedom is not a destination. It is a constant process of choosing and learning and trying again."
A man in the back raised his hand. I nodded at him.
"Are you saying we should not leave our assigned work?" he asked. "Should we just accept the lives the high gods planned for us?"
"No," I said. "I am saying that leaving should be a choice made with thought and preparation, not an impulse made out of anger or desperation. If you want to change your life, plan for it. Save resources. Learn skills. Build support. Make the change deliberately instead of running blindly."
"But the system does not allow us to save resources," a woman said. "We are given exactly what we need, no more. We cannot prepare for anything outside our assigned path because the system prevents it."
She was right, and I realized I had stumbled into a deeper problem. The high gods had built a system that made it nearly impossible to leave safely. You either stayed in your assigned place or you abandoned everything and hoped for the best. There was no middle ground, no way to gradually transition toward something different.
"Then we need to change the system," I said. "Not by destroying it all at once, but by creating alternatives. By building communities that support each other outside the official structures. By sharing resources and knowledge in ways the temples do not control. By making it possible to choose differently without having to lose everything."
"How do we do that?" someone asked.
"I do not know yet," I admitted. "But we can figure it out together. That is what I should have said from the beginning. I should have told you that I do not have all the answers, that we are all learning as we go. Instead, I spoke like I knew exactly what freedom meant and how to achieve it. I was acting like a god who had wisdom to dispense instead of a fellow traveler on an uncertain path."
The crowd murmured. Some people looked disappointed that I did not have clear solutions. But others looked relieved, like a burden had been lifted.
Corvin, who had stayed with the group since the beginning, spoke up. "I think this is better. Before, I was trying to follow your vision of freedom. Now I understand that I need to find my own vision. That is scarier, but it feels more real."
"Yes," I said. "That is exactly it. I can share ideas and experiences, but I cannot give you a blueprint for how to live freely. You have to discover that for yourselves."
After the gathering ended, many people stayed to talk. They formed small groups, discussing what freedom meant to them, how they might start building alternatives to the assigned system, what risks they were willing to take and what they needed to protect.
I watched them and felt something shift inside me. This was what it should look like. Not a crowd hanging on my every word, but individuals thinking for themselves, challenging each other, building ideas together.
Lyra approached me as the last groups were leaving. "That was brave. Admitting you do not have all the answers."
"It was necessary," I said. "I was starting to believe my own message too much, starting to think I knew what was best for everyone. Helena reminded me that I do not."
"Will you try to find her daughter?" Lyra asked.
"Yes," I said. "Tomorrow. I owe Helena that much."
But finding Penny proved harder than I expected. She had left no trail, and told no one where she was going. I sent Kael and some of the others to search the roads leading out of Aethermere, but they found nothing.
Three days passed. Then five. Helena came to the warehouse again, her face drawn with worry and sleeplessness.
"Have you found her?" she asked.
"Not yet," I said. "But we are still looking."
"She has never been outside the city," Helena said quietly. "She does not know how to hunt or forage or defend herself. If something happens to her..." She could not finish the sentence.
"I will find her," I said, though I was not sure I could keep that promise.
That night, I tried something I had not attempted before. I reached out through my connection to all my followers, searching for any thread that might lead to Penny. It was difficult, like trying to hear a single voice in a crowd of thousands. But eventually, I felt something faint, far to the south.
I followed the thread, pushing my consciousness along it until I found her.
Penny was huddled under a tree in the forest south of Aethermere. She was cold, hungry, and terrified. Her clothes were torn from pushing through underbrush, and her feet were blistered from walking in shoes made for city streets, not wilderness paths.
She was crying quietly, her arms wrapped around herself.
I gathered what strength I had and manifested beside her. Not fully, just enough that she could see me as a faint shimmer in the darkness.
She gasped and scrambled backward. "Who…"
"I am Eryndor," I said gently. "Your mother is looking for you."
"I cannot go back," she said. Her voice was hoarse. "I cannot live that life anymore. You said we deserve freedom, that we deserve to choose our own paths."
"I did say that," I agreed. "But I did not explain what that actually means. Freedom is not running away, Penny. It is building something new. And building takes time and planning and help from others."
"I do not want help from the system," she said. "I want to be free of it."
"There is a difference between being free of something and being free for something," I said. "Right now, you are fleeing. But what are you fleeing toward? What do you want to build?"
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she whispered, "I do not know. I just knew I could not stay."
"Then go back," I said. "Not to give up on freedom, but to prepare for it properly. Learn skills. Save what you can. Connect with others who want the same things you do. And when you are ready, when you have a real plan instead of just desperation, then you can leave. But this time, you will be choosing to go toward something, not just running away from something."
"But the system will not let me prepare," she said. "It will keep me trapped."
"Then we change the system," I said. "But we do it together, not alone. That is what I should have told you from the beginning. Freedom is not a solitary journey. It is something we build in community with others."
Penny looked at me with exhausted, uncertain eyes. Then she nodded slowly.
"Will you take me home?" she asked, her voice small.
"Yes," I said.
I manifested more fully and helped her to her feet. Together, we walked back through the forest toward Aethermere. It took most of the night, and by the time we reached the city, dawn was breaking.
Helena was waiting near the city gates, as if she had known somehow that her daughter would return. When she saw Penny, she ran forward and pulled her into a fierce embrace.
"I am sorry," Penny sobbed. "I am sorry."
"Hush," Helena said, holding her daughter tight. "You are home. That is all that matters."
She looked at me over Penny's shoulder, and I saw something in her expression soften slightly. Not forgiveness, exactly, but acknowledgment.
"Thank you," she said quietly.
I nodded and turned to leave, but Helena spoke again.
"Teach them better," she said. "If you are going to fill their heads with ideas about freedom, teach them what it actually costs. Teach them how to be smart about it. Do not just inspire them and then leave them to figure it out alone."
"I will," I promised. "I am learning too. But I will do better."
As I walked back to the warehouse through the morning streets, I thought about what Helena had said. She was right. I had been so focused on inspiring people to want freedom that I had not taught them how to achieve it safely. I had been irresponsible with their hope.
But I could change that. I could learn from this mistake and do better.
That was what freedom meant, after all. Not being perfect, but being willing to grow.
When I reached the warehouse, I found Mira waiting for me. She materialized from the shadows, her transparent form barely visible in the morning light.
"You brought her back," Mira said.
"Yes."
"That was the right choice."
"Was it?" I asked. "Or did I just manipulate her into giving up on what she wanted?"
"You helped her see that what she wanted was not the same as how she was pursuing it," Mira said. "There is a difference between guiding and controlling, Eryndor. You are starting to learn where that line is."
"I hope so," I said. "Because every mistake I make hurts someone. And I am tired of hurting people."
Mira was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Your siblings are meeting. They are debating what to do about you. Some want to seal you again. Others think you should be given more time. The debate is close."
"What will tip it?" I asked.
"What will you do next," Mira said. "They are watching to see if you truly respect mortal freedom or if you are just building a different kind of control. Show them you can guide without manipulating. Show them you can inspire without exploiting. Do that, and they might let you stay."
She faded before I could ask anything more.
I stood in the empty warehouse and felt the weight of divine judgment hanging over me. My siblings were watching. Waiting for me to prove I had changed or prove I was still the catastrophe they had sealed away.
I did not know if I could give them that proof.
But I had to try.
Because too many mortals were counting on me now.
And I could not let them down again.