2 - Farewell, Heaven

Valrion wouldn’t be the first god cast away to Eru. Before him, at least a dozen others had been condemned to wander the lands of mortals, witnessing the fleeting nature of human existence while remaining ageless. Those around them would wither and pass, leading most to choose a secluded life, as getting close to anyone would only bring anguish. A few who couldn’t bear the endless solitude eventually sought peace in death.

Knowing that would be his future, Valrion did his best to maintain his solemn composure, only taking a quick glance at his mother and sister, who furrowed their brows in disbelief. A part of him wanted to believe that his high status would shield him from such a severe sentence, but his father had never taken back his words, particularly not in the presence of the other gods.

What he had done wasn’t something easily fixed. He understood that. It wasn’t like when he had run around the Garden of Reveries as a child and knocked over a few potted orchids. The Twelve Eidolons could rival thousands of gods and stand until the very end. His father had even warned him to escape the Vault, knowing he would lose. What other reason could there be for not a single god chasing after them?

He understood the severity of his actions, so why did shame clench at his chest, making his heart race? He tried to control his breathing, doing his best to conceal his struggle in front of the crowd. Not once did he avert his gaze from his father’s throne—this was the least he could do.

“This can’t be his fate! We will need him if the Twelve Eidolons rise against us once more, and you know they will!” his mother pleaded, laced with urgency. Many others murmured in agreement.

His father didn’t flinch in the slightest. “Heaven has always been just. If it isn’t him, is anyone in this hall willing to shoulder the weight of his sin?”

“Yes.” His mother couldn’t hide the fright in her voice. “Let it be me. Allow me to bear the punishment instead.”

“Mother, please don’t say reckless things!” his sister shouted before stepping forward and glaring at the king, who kept looking straight at the crowd. “Father, you know the truth! Everyone here knows it! You’ve shown it to them—”

“Hold your tongue, Asterra,” Valrion said at last, calmly yet loud enough. He glanced around, frowning at the dismay on everyone’s faces, including his own family. “How dare any of you question the King of Heaven? He sees the future more clearly than any of us. His judgment is never flawed.”

Asterra shook her head a few times. “But, Valrion—”

“I said enough,” he demanded, facing his father again. His next words caught in his throat, but he forced himself to go on, “King of Heaven, I accept your punishment.”

He sensed a glimpse of astonishment in his father’s eyes—the first time the immutable figure showed a shift in his disposition, though he couldn’t tell if it was out of wonder or disappointment. Perhaps his father deemed his verbal consent unnecessary. After all, the decision was absolute, regardless of his reaction.

“Very well,” his father said. “Do you have any last words?”

Will I face my ultimate demise, Father? was the first thing that rushed into him, but he quickly suppressed it. Loneliness wasn’t the only thing that could kill an unguarded fallen god in Eru—mortals, monsters, the other fallen gods if they were aware of each other’s existence, or eidolons themselves. If that happened, he would cease to exist. His essence would be pulled back into the Source, where form and free will could no longer persist, but he should not fear.

The second was, Will I ever be given a chance to redeem myself? Once again, he decided against it. His father had never mentioned any of the fallen gods after they left Heaven, let alone consider their well-being. Atonement was never within his father’s thoughts.

Humorously, he still harbored the notion that he would be treated lightly as the Son of Heaven, but he shook his head slightly, trying to erase the naive hope. Had the positions been switched, he might have only forgiven his child if they had managed to recapture every single eidolon and restore peace to its former state.

If only it were that easy.

“Farewell, then, everyone,” he said, choosing the most ordinary parting remark as his gaze landed on Asterra. “Especially you, Daughter of Heaven. You’re the next in line.”

It was evident that Asterra hated hearing those words. Her lips curled downward, but she didn’t look away like before. Seeing how bravely she tried to present herself in front of the crowd brought some sort of relief to him.

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And, Father, forgive me for being a failure, he said to himself. Even though his father didn’t react, their minds were intertwined. As long as he allowed it, his father could perceive his thoughts as clearly as if he had stated them aloud.

The moment he realized he had been stripped of his divinity was when shivers coursed through his body. His joints felt as if they detached from one another—a sensation he had only heard through human descriptions of physical discomfort. Panic gripped him as he realized the majesty of his surroundings: the building, the sun, even the clouds.

A voice within insisted that he didn’t belong here, though he couldn’t pinpoint what or why. He recalled mortals describing it as an itch that couldn’t be scratched or a knot inside their stomach— something that once seemed so pathetic, yet it had been gnawing at him constantly since the Vault.

Without notice, an inexplicable force pulled him backward. In the blink of an eye, he was miles away from the Celestial Hall, then Heaven itself. He crossed an unseen threshold separating the mystical realm from the outside world. When he finally came to a stop, he was floating alone in the cosmos.

He had never considered Heaven’s ideal temperature before. He had known mortals complain daily about being too hot or cold, but the air in Heaven had always enveloped him in comfort. Now, he understood the chill they experienced every time winter approached. It wasn’t biting at his skin, but it certainly wasn’t comfortable either.

Glancing around, he took in the vastness around him. Stars sparkled like tiny, colorful beacons in the endless black. Asteroids drifted nearby, rough and unyielding—a testament to the passage of life. He had only watched this beauty from his safe standing in Heaven, never so up close. The experience was breathtaking yet isolating.

What was he supposed to do? He wanted to scream for help—something he had only done a handful of times, but mostly when he was just a coddled newborn—but no sound escaped his throat.

Concerns regarding his loved ones emerged in his mind, overwhelming him. What was his ever-loving father thinking, throwing him away like this? Were his mother and sister truly accepting of the decision? Where were his friends? Why did the other gods not fight for his freedom?

Never in his life had he longed to see them again, but he was never away. He wished for another chance to talk to them. The desire was beyond his control, and it angered him even further that he couldn’t do anything about it. His hands and legs flailed aimlessly, hoping to find a landing place, but he was rooted to the spot.

The agitating silence was cut short by the sudden appearance of a transparent gray rectangular image right before his eyes, a soft glow emanating from its edges. The faint white text within stretched from one corner to another, perfectly legible against the muted background.

[Initializing the Handbook.]

He blinked at the peculiar message. Before he could grasp its meaning, the words slowly transformed.

[Rise with wisdom, for through it alone will you reclaim what was lost.]

The image flickered in and out of focus, but he could perceive it well. To reclaim what was lost. His immediate thought was the divinity that was taken from him. A rush of thrill filled him as his thoughts went to the possibility that the message was from Heaven—offering a chance to return to his former life so soon.

Shouldn’t this mean that his wish was coming true? That he would be treated differently as the Son of Heaven?

[You have lost all your godhood abilities.]

[You have retained all your past memories.]

[Preparation completed. You will be reborn in Eru.]

Just as quickly as the new sets of words appeared one after another, his joy vanished. The image still stuttered, leaving only the last part, but it didn’t hinder him when he could read everything: You have lost all your godhood abilities. You have retained all your past memories. You will be reborn in Eru.

He didn’t need to be informed of the first two—he could feel his weakened body—but why would he be reborn in the place of his condemnation? It seemed nothing more than an additional punishment. Could this message really be from Heaven, or was another entity trying to make a fool of his unguarded state?

Carefully, he reached out to touch the image. As his fingers passed through, it distorted, then faded until it disappeared completely.

Remarkably different but oddly familiar to his last moment in Heaven, he was thrust forward instead of yanked behind. He couldn’t spare a moment to ponder when the stars around stretched into vibrant streaks of light, creating a tapestry of luminous lines that raced past him.

Soon, they started fading away as thin clouds formed around him. Their shapes thickened before he passed through, unveiling the grand view below: a range of lush green forests and sprawling fields with shimmering lakes and winding rivers glinting in the sunlight.

The fear was ever-present, but alongside it came wonder and excitement. Letting himself be absorbed in the unfolding scene, he gradually lost awareness of his physical body. He could no longer feel his limbs, but it didn’t disturb him as it once would have.

He continued to descend, nearing a village nestled among rice paddies. As he approached, a two-story house that looked considerably bigger than its neighbors opened its roof to the sky. In one of the rooms, a woman lay in bed with her knees drawn up while two others stood at the foot of the mattress. To her right sat a man holding her hand. Their forms were obscure like shadows in a dream, and their exchanges a murmur.

The closer he got to the woman, the more he sensed her pain. Her face was a vivid red, stark against the others, who were enshrouded in the same monotonous darkness. She was sweating—breaths coming in ragged gasps and mouth widening in a silent struggle. Just when he was about to crash against her, he realized the warnings weren’t a jest, and everything faded to black.