By the time dawn touched the Northern Mountains, the world had already begun to misunderstand Eryndor.
It started subtly.
A group of traveling cultivators arrived near the outer ridges, drawn by the disturbance left behind by the fallen star. They were not weak—each of them carried enough power to sense danger long before it revealed itself.
And yet… none of them were prepared for him.
Eryndor stood beside Mei Lin, quiet as always, watching the horizon as the first light spread across the snow. The morning should have felt calm.
It didn't.
The moment the cultivators saw him, their steps slowed.
Then stopped.
No one spoke at first. They didn't need to. The air around Eryndor said enough.
It was heavy.
Not just powerful—but wrong.
One of them, a senior among the group, narrowed his eyes. "That aura…" he muttered under his breath. "That's not righteous energy."
Mei Lin felt it instantly—the shift in tension, the silent judgment forming before a single word was properly exchanged.
She stepped slightly forward, her voice steady. "We're not your enemies."
But the man didn't look at her.
His gaze remained fixed on Eryndor.
"Then explain him."
Eryndor didn't react. Not outwardly. But the shadows beneath his feet stretched just a little further, responding to the rising hostility. The Starred energy inside him stirred, not violently—but enough to make the air tremble.
And that was enough.
One of the younger cultivators stepped back. "He's… he's not human, is he?"
That word lingered longer than it should have.
Not human.
Eryndor finally turned his head slightly. His expression remained calm, but his presence didn't.
It pressed forward.
Just a little.
The snow around them shifted unnaturally.
The wind faltered.
And suddenly, the group felt it fully.
That quiet, suffocating pressure.
Not an attack.
Not a threat.
Just existence.
And somehow… that was worse.
"We should leave," one of them whispered.
"No," the senior said, though even his voice lacked certainty now. "If something like this has appeared in the Northern Mountains, we cannot ignore it."
Something like this.
Mei Lin's jaw tightened slightly.
She glanced at Eryndor, watching carefully.
This was the moment.
The kind that shaped everything that came after.
If he reacted with force—even slightly—they would confirm what they already feared.
A monster.
A threat.
A villain.
"Eryndor," she said quietly, her voice only meant for him. "Don't let them decide who you are."
For a brief second, the shadows stilled.
Then Eryndor stepped forward.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Every movement carried weight—not because he intended it, but because he couldn't hide it anymore.
"I am not your enemy," he said.
His voice was calm.
Human.
But the world around him disagreed.
The mountains seemed to listen.
The air bent slightly.
And that contradiction—human words, inhuman presence—only made it worse.
The senior cultivator raised his weapon slightly. Not fully. Not yet. But enough.
"Then suppress your aura," he demanded. "If you truly mean no harm, prove it."
Silence.
Eryndor could feel the Starved God stir faintly inside him, amused.
They want proof? Let them feel it fully.
For a moment, the temptation flickered.
To stop holding back.
To let them understand.
But then—
Mei Lin stepped beside him.
Not in front.
Not behind.
Beside.
"They're afraid," she said softly. "Not of what you've done… but of what you could become."
That hit deeper than anything else.
Eryndor closed his eyes briefly.
Then, slowly…
The pressure lessened.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But controlled.
The shadows withdrew slightly. The air steadied. The mountains quieted.
It wasn't perfect.
But it was enough.
The cultivators felt it immediately.
And that confused them more than fear did.
"You…" the senior lowered his weapon slightly. "You can control it?"
Eryndor opened his eyes again.
"Barely," he said honestly.
That honesty unsettled them more than confidence would have.
Mei Lin exhaled quietly.
A small victory.
But not a permanent one.
Because even as the tension eased…
One of the younger cultivators spoke again.
"I've heard of something like this," he said hesitantly. "Ancient records… forbidden ones."
Everyone looked at him.
"There's a prophecy," he continued. "About a throne… not of power—but of hunger."
The air shifted again.
Subtle.
Dangerous.
Mei Lin's eyes narrowed. "Be careful with your words."
But the man had already said too much.
"They called it…" he hesitated, then finished, "…the Starved Throne."
Silence fell.
Not natural silence.
Heavy silence.
The kind that feels like something is listening.
Eryndor didn't move.
But inside him—
Something did.
The Starved God.
For the first time since its awakening…
It did not whisper.
It did not hunger.
It… recognized.
So… they remember.
A faint pulse of energy spread from Eryndor's chest before he could stop it.
Not an attack.
Not intentional.
But enough.
The cultivators staggered slightly, their expressions turning from fear…
to certainty.
"That's it," the senior said, stepping back. "We're leaving."
But this time, it wasn't retreat.
It was decision.
Fear had turned into belief.
And belief was far more dangerous.
As they began to withdraw, one of them whispered—
"He's going to become it."
Not "might."
Not "could."
Going to.
Mei Lin heard it.
So did Eryndor.
But neither of them responded.
Because there was nothing to say.
The damage was already done.
When the group finally disappeared into the distance, the mountains felt colder than before.
Not because of the wind.
But because of what had just begun.
Mei Lin looked at him carefully.
"You see it now," she said quietly.
Eryndor didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"They've already decided," he said.
"Yes."
"And you?" he asked.
That question mattered more than anything else.
Mei Lin didn't hesitate.
"I haven't."
A pause.
Then she added, more softly—
"But the world won't wait for proof."
Eryndor nodded slightly.
He understood.
This wasn't about strength anymore.
Or control.
Or survival.
This was about perception.
And perception…
could turn anyone into a villain.
The wind rose again, carrying distant echoes from deeper within the mountains.
Something was still awakening.
Something far greater than rumors or fear.
And now…
Eryndor carried not just power—
But expectation.
The expectation of becoming something terrible.
And sometimes…
That expectation was the most dangerous force of all.