The world did not end when the gods went to war.
It screamed.
Mountains split like rotten wood. Seas boiled until the sky turned white with steam. Entire cities vanished, erased so completely that even memory struggled to hold their shape. The heavens themselves fractured, layers of reality tearing apart beneath divine force.
And still the gods fought.
They did not fight for justice.They did not fight for creation.They fought because power had become the only language they remembered.
Above the dying world, they clashed like living stars — beings of light, flame, shadow, and will colliding in storms that rewrote existence. Each strike carried the weight of universes. Each wound bled energy that warped the land below.
The mortals did not matter.
They were dust beneath the feet of eternity.
Except to one.
Drazon stood at the edge of the battlefield, a towering figure of dark radiance, his presence alone bending space around him. Once, he had been called the Guardian of Balance, the god who held the fragile equilibrium between destruction and creation.
Now, he was watching that balance be torn apart.
"They will destroy everything," he whispered.
Another god fell screaming into the void. A continent cracked in half as a divine blade struck the earth. Billions of lives flickered out like dying candles.
The other gods did not stop.
They could not.
War had become their nature.
Drazon clenched his fists. Light and shadow rippled around his form. He had pleaded. He had warned. He had fought to contain the chaos.
It was not enough.
There was only one thing left he could do.
Something forbidden.
Something unforgivable.
At the heart of the war, where divine power clashed so violently that even gods feared to go, there existed a core — a concentration of pure existence, a fragment of the primordial force that sustained all immortals. Whoever controlled it would gain authority over the heavens themselves.
Drazon moved.
He did not announce himself. He did not challenge the others. He simply took it.
The moment his hand closed around the divine core, the universe trembled.
The gods screamed.
"Drazon! What have you done?!"
"You would doom us all!"
He ignored them.
Cradling the impossible light, Drazon tore open reality itself and vanished.
He did not flee to another realm.He did not hide among the stars.
He went somewhere no god had stepped for eons.
He went to the mortal world.
The village was small.
So small that the gods would never notice it.
It rested between wheat fields and quiet hills, protected by nothing more than distance and obscurity. No armies marched here. No magic scarred the land. Life was simple, fragile, and precious.
Inside a modest wooden home, a woman labored in pain.
Mara gripped the bed sheets as another wave of agony tore through her body. Sweat soaked her hair. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she fought to bring a new life into a broken world.
"Just breathe," her husband whispered, holding her hand. "You're doing well. I'm here."
Outside, the sky darkened unnaturally.
Clouds swirled where there should have been stars. A hush fell over the wind, as if the world itself sensed something approaching.
Drazon stood in the space between moments.
Looking at the woman.Looking at the child struggling to be born.
His hands trembled.
"This is wrong," he whispered.
He was about to condemn an innocent soul to a fate even gods could not survive unscathed. He was about to bind divine power to mortal flesh — something never meant to exist.
And yet…
If he did not do this, everything would die.
"I am sorry," he said softly.
The divine core dissolved into light.
It flowed into the newborn child like a river of stars.
The baby cried.
A small, fragile sound.
Not a god's scream.
Not a cosmic thunder.
Just the voice of a human infant, entering the world.
The heavens went silent.
Somewhere far away, the gods realized what Drazon had done.
And for the first time in eternity…
They felt fear.
Mara held her son against her chest, unaware of the impossible truth now sleeping inside him.
"He's beautiful," she whispered.
Her husband smiled through tears. "What shall we call him?"
She looked down at the quiet, dark-haired boy.
"Aion."
Time.Beginning.A future yet unwritten.
Outside, unseen and broken by his own choice, Drazon watched from the shadows.
"Live," he whispered."Please… just live."
And so began a story that would one day shake the heavens.
Not of a god.
But of a child who was never meant to be one.