“A god has died-”

“Granny, how can you say that?! You will bring bad luck!”

“The signs are there. A shadow has fallen over the realm and war is on the horizon. Luck has nothing to do with it, it is nature.”

Cyrus was glad he had lived too many years already to be frightened by the words of a village seer. The children didn’t know any better, so they sat wide-eyed and quivering by the fire as the old woman plucked the feathers from a bird.

“Hush now, you’re going to give them nightmares!” One of the mothers cried.

Cyrus wanted to mumble something about the truth of their circumstances already giving the little ones bad dreams, but he was quickly called away from his eavesdropping by the morning patrol. There was some sort of incident on The Gold Road that had ended with his men losing more than half of the usual supplies, and now he was having to ration their remaining assets and coddle his soldiers’ bruised egos.

Cyrus was trying to hold onto a bit of common sense here, he knew these villagers weren’t soldiers, it was just not a distinction that mattered much anymore. They were here, they were rebels against the King, and they were fighting. They were soldiers. And Cyrus was just trying to lead them in any direction that would save their lives…

It had begun slowly, a gradual shift of wealth and power into the hands of the Kingdom’s rulers. Cyrus had watched it happen during his youth and felt the effects of the imbalance more than most; poverty and homelessness were always easy ways to get brushed aside by the upper class. Then the turning point came. It started with sickness, and with that plague, the true intentions of their King came to light. After that, with the economy and resources in shambles, protests started, and all threats of an uprising were quickly squashed by the royal guard. That didn’t stop the violence, if anything the King’s show of strength and indiscriminate punishment only fueled the rebellion’s fire.

Cyrus had been a young teenager during the years of the plague and subsequent totalitarian regime implemented by the government. What were the reasons for any such power grab? It was simply greed, and a disregard for human life. Cyrus had watched the violence bloom like a bloodstain on the streets of his city, and had himself been on the business end of the royal guard’s swords a few too many times for comfort. What started as lockdowns and curfews for “public safety” quickly devolved into armed guards patrolling the streets, laws being thrown out in favor of bribes and who-knew-who, all out chaos in the lives of citizens as the King taxed the poor to high heaven and postured to the neighboring lands with his perceived wealth and power.

It was killing Cyrus’ kingdom, and it had to stop. If he had to cut off the head of the beast himself, so be it. There would not be a new generation of orphans like him, forced into slavery to pay for food and medical expenses. He would not allow it.

Starting a rebellion hadn’t really been on his radar, then one day there was shouting in the streets, and Cyrus had been too dizzy with rage at the soldiers beating down an old woman who couldn’t afford her bills. He’d accidentally started a riot, and as the one who had thrown the first punch and somehow the only one with a clue what to do when they ended up outnumbered, Cyrus was promoted to rebellion leader as a good portion of that neighborhood had rallied with him to fight back.

They’d been chased off by the royal guard into the forest, but Cyrus had spent a good portion of time there throughout his life, so he knew how to survive. Keeping nearly forty other people alive, at first, had been the straw that nearly broke his back. Over the course of two years, others had come to find them, since the situation in the Kingdom had been growing steadily worse. Now, at nineteen, Cyrus was in charge of nearly one hundred and fifty human lives… more, because his people refused to stop having babies with each other even after he made several pleas with references to their lacking resources.

There had been a surprising common thread that tied him to all these folks, one that the young man hadn’t really expected, because when faced with the kind of oppression they had endured, most people were too afraid to make change. Cyrus had somehow begun a movement which was taking their Kingdom by storm. They had people stumbling blindly into the forest with their hands up, begging to be a part of the revolution, and a quickly growing army of young men who could fight decently well.

Cyrus had started sending out small groups to intercept shipments to Bastia at the very start of their situation, simply to gather supplies, but now it was much more of a strategy. They were stealing needed items right from under their King’s nose and were beginning to amass a large collection of not only wealth, but weapons. Cyrus was convinced that they could hold their own in a defensive battle, but more than that, he was cautiously optimistic that in a few more years they would have what it took to overcome the might of their oppressor.

That was why a setback like losing over half of a shipment meant he spent the next few days in a sour mood. Shockingly, the only one who really took notice of him having less patience than normal and snapping at others, was their newest arrival…

Solis had unintentionally become group nanny for the children that were old enough to have legs that could carry them out of the safe zone of the forest. Cyrus would be returning from a hunt or a patrol, and would often hear giggling in the bushes, or hear the pitter-patter of little footsteps followed by heavier ones; a flash of golden hair in his peripheral vision and then Solis would be there, scooping up the little ones and hanging them upside down as they swung like devilish monkeys back to camp.

Admittedly, Cyrus was having a hard time finding the man’s presence disruptive when it meant free child care. He ate and slept pretty sparingly too, and held his own when it came to hunts and foraging, so it wasn’t like Solis was more trouble than he was worth.

There was also the little bit about him being able to tell when Cyrus was in a bad mood, and that was strange, because Cyrus wasn’t used to having to explain himself to others. It wasn’t… bad though. No, it wasn’t really bad.

“What’s wrong?”

Cyrus glared at the man as he dug his knife out of the tree again. Usually it helped him vent his anger, but today it was only making it worse.

“Nothing-”

“When humans say nothing, they usually mean something. So, what is it?”

Cyrus was in a mood to yell at someone and hack up some foliage, but he forced himself to take a breath. When he threw his knife into the tree again it bounced off and landed with a sad thunk on the forest floor.

He seethed, clenching his fists.

“Maybe it would help if what you were throwing at was a little more malleable…”

Before Cyrus could ask what the hell the other man was saying, Solis reached down, picked up his blade, and held it out handle-side toward him. Cyrus took it hesitantly, and then the other man went to stand in front of the tree and extended his arms, smiling like a fool.

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“Alright. I’m ready!”

Cyrus stared at him like he was insane, and he was. They didn’t get many medical supplies out here. If you got hurt that was bad enough, but if it got infected, that was pretty much the worst thing that could happen. Sitting on your ass for however long an infection took to run its course wasn’t only anxiety-provoking, but it fostered resentment among friends. Cyrus had seen it first hand. He’d also seen his people push through injuries, as he himself had, never wanting to fall behind. Solis was playing around like this was some sort of joke. Well, Cyrus wasn’t laughing!

Glaring, the man gestured with his knife and huffed-

“I’m not in the mood for your games, Solis.” And then something else inside him said; “I’m not like the children who follow you around.”

Solis just shook his head, “No. You’re not. And you’re not in the mood to talk about whatever is upsetting you either, so I thought I could distract you. I’m sorry it wasn’t funny.”

Well, now I just feel bad…

Cyrus suddenly felt awkward and unbalanced, unsure in his skin in a way he wasn’t used to. He almost never felt his age anymore, but when he was around Solis he really felt like some stupid kid.

Sometimes Cyrus wishes he could be more like the man. Solis was always kind to everyone, and he was patient no matter what, and always seemed to know the best thing to say. He was always just there too, wherever he was needed. Cyrus would often turn around to ask someone for help and the man would be there in a blink, willing and able. There was no talk of how hard the work was, how Solis didn’t get anything in return, just the pleasure of their exhausted company and a few acres of trees.

Cyrus hadn’t a single clue why he stayed.

“It’s…” Cyrus starts, then something makes him bite his tongue.

God, why does this feel so awkward?! It’s not, I’m just going crazy-

But looking at how open the other man’s face was, his amber eyes intently listening, as if Solis was going to be there no matter what problem Cyrus had, and whether or not he even asked for a fix. Cyrus didn’t know what to do with that level of… kindness?

Is that even what it was? Was Solis not just a rich little lord, spending time away from his real responsibilities for a while? Cyrus had no reason to expect him to stay for long. Maybe that was another reason he felt uncomfortable. What’s to say, someday there would be a problem or a situation that Solis didn’t want to help him solve? There was nothing tying him to their cause, no allegiance, nothing… he could leave whenever he wanted. Cyrus was upset by the thought of it. And, he didn’t know why.

“Nevermind,” he tried to laugh it off, quickly stowing his blade and then turning around, like hiding his face will keep the other from seeing his confusion, or the tears gathering in his eyes.

Cyrus is tired. So fucking tired… of being a leader, when he’d only been living for himself for the past decade. He was tired of problems, of the millions of fires to put out, and a hundred mouths to feed, and the hope of his Kingdom resting on his young shoulders.

He was tired of being angry. Cyrus was tired of the headaches it gave him, and being so fed up with everyone and everything. Solis was like a glimpse into another way of life, of being at peace, and Cyrus felt himself wishing beyond all hope that he could grasp that peace, touch it, taste it for himself, heedless of responsibility or fate. Cyrus wanted to be done, but since he couldn’t, he was angry.

He had no illusions of surviving this war. He’d made his peace with that, but now, here was a stranger who seemed to embody everything Cyrus wished he could have, and there was a knot in his throat at imagining the day Solis would inevitably leave, and that vision of the future would be taken from him. God, he was so confused…

The next time Cyrus spoke to Solis alone was a few days later. The man had been strangely quiet, not like his usual self for a while, and Cyrus had in fact gone looking for him at dusk, surprised to find the man cross-legged under a tree, meditating with a distinct frown on his normally bright and eager face.

“What’s the matter with you?” Cyrus said, putting his hands on his hips.

When Solis opened his eyes, it was clear that the answer was something very serious. Despite himself, Cyrus immediately knelt and reached out a hesitant hand, placing it on the other man’s knee in an uncharacteristic show of support. Cyrus was finding, oddly enough, that in his heart he possessed endless softness for this stranger.

“What happened?” He asked, in a tone far gentler than any he’d used before.

Solis drew in a shuddering breath, then seemed to nod. When he glanced up at Cyrus, there was a strange flicker of stillness between them that the boy was afraid to admit he felt, just in case the other hadn’t.

Maybe it was just deja vu, but… he could have sworn he had a sudden recollection of being chased through this very forest by Solis once upon a time. He really must be losing his mind-

“Can I tell you something?” Solis says, a little out of breath. “A secret?”

Cyrus nods. He’s pretty good at keeping those. Whatever it is must be hard for Solis to get out, because he stops and starts a few times.

“I am actually a god…”

Cyrus feels like an idiot. When Solis sees his expression, his eyes crinkle at the edges and he laughs awkwardly, then clears his throat.

“Ah, that feels strange. I’ve never told anyone. We’re not really supposed to, you see… I am from The Heavenly Realm, but it’s a mess up there right now. A god recently passed away, so there’s all this traffic in the communications array. It feels like shouting in my head, all the time. It can be very disorienting. That is why I was trying to meditate…”

Cyrus just blinks at him, waiting for Solis to grin and say he was joking just to get a reaction out of him. That doesn’t happen, and Cyrus is left even more confused than before.

Solis is obviously waiting for his response, but he really doesn’t know what to say. What is more believable; that this man is just crazy, or that a god of The Heavenly Realm decided to take a vacation and spend a few months living in the forest with a band of rogues?

“I, uh… can prove it, if you want?” Solis smiles a bit shyly.

Cyrus sits back and then Solis closes his eyes. Only a second passes before Cyrus’ hand shoots out to take Solis by the wrist, and then he’s stammering-

“N-No, no. I believe you. You don’t… have to prove it. Don’t, please.”

Why he did that, he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it’s because he would rather choose to believe that Solis is telling the truth, over having to face the certainty that he is either lying or crazy. Cyrus thinks he can handle blind faith. Anything, instead of Solis being out of his fucking mind. Cyrus doesn’t think he can take that.

The other man blinks, then smiles.

“Okay.”

Because Cyrus is a fool, he releases the man and breathes out;

“Who died? You said… someone-”

“Oh, yes.” Solis frowns again, “The god of life and death passed away. He had lived for many centuries and according to the others, died peacefully, of old age, which for gods usually just means a lack of power. I didn’t know him well, but a god’s passing is always a difficult time for everyone in The Heavenly Realm.”

Cyrus swallows, anxiously stammering;

“S-So, is that why you’re here? To… get away?”

The man pauses for a bit, then shrugs.

“Actually, I’m not sure. I came here a long time ago and just never left? The Heavens can be so strict and confining. I really prefer it here. Things just feel… a little more important in The Mortal Realm, you know?”

Cyrus lays there in his tent that night and can’t seem to bring himself to sleep. There is a freshly burning truth inside his heart that hurts like nothing he has ever known, and as the hours pass, he continues to refuse to admit it, knowing it will kill him if he does.

So… Solis is a god. Or, he is a fool, and I definitely am, for having fallen in love with him-

Cyrus is afraid to admit that, even knowing this, it changes nothing.

How did he get here, huh? Finding peace in a man who might very well have come from the Heavens? Wanting a man who is likely just insane? Cyrus wishes he could forget him, so it would hurt a little less on the day he inevitably had to return, fade back into obscurity like the heavenly fool he is.

Cyrus wishes he didn’t have to grieve a love that would never be.