The stars over Hethralis sparkled cold and distant, as if mocking the mortals who lived below. In a time long past, they had been brighter, warmer, and alive with the presence of gods who walked among men. But that era had crumbled under the weight of rebellion and fear, leaving the gods cast down, their brilliance extinguished. Now, they wandered among the humans they once ruled, stripped of their power, forgotten by the world.
Taryn Arvon was a healer in the quiet village of Erestal, nestled on the edge of the Verdantwood. Her life was simple: tending to the sick, gathering herbs, and offering comfort to those in need. She had no love for the stories of gods, no desire to hear the legends told by wandering bards. The gods were nothing to her—just myths used to scare children into obedience.
That all changed on the night she found the stranger.
It was late, and the village was silent, the only sound the rustling of leaves in the wind. Taryn had been returning from the forest with a satchel of herbs when she heard the groan. At first, she thought it might be a wounded animal, but as she drew closer, her lantern revealed a man lying in the underbrush. His clothes were tattered, his face pale, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.
She knelt beside him. "Can you hear me?"
His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, Taryn felt as though she were staring into the heart of a dying star. His irises glowed faintly, a golden hue that pulsed with an inner light. "Help me," he whispered.
Taryn hesitated. Something about him felt... wrong. His presence was overwhelming, as though the air itself bent around him. But she was a healer, and he was hurt. She had no choice but to help.
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The stranger recovered slowly, but as he did, Taryn's world began to unravel. His name was Solros, and he claimed to be a god—once the God of Light, now a shadow of his former self. At first, she didn’t believe him. Gods didn’t exist, and even if they had, why would one be here, in her village?
But Solros knew things he shouldn’t. He spoke of the Verdantwood as it had been centuries ago, described ruins hidden deep within its heart, and whispered names that sent chills down Taryn's spine. More troubling were the things that began to happen around him. Lanterns flickered when he passed. Shadows grew darker, deeper. And one night, Taryn woke to find the stars overhead blazing with unnatural brilliance, only to fade again as Solros fell into a restless sleep.
"I was betrayed," he told her one evening as they sat by the fire. His voice was heavy with bitterness. "The other gods turned against me, jealous of my light. They conspired with the mortals to strip me of my power, to bind me to this broken form." He clenched his fists, and the flames in the hearth leapt higher. "But I will reclaim what is mine. I will rise again."
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Taryn didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to believe him—his light, his power, was undeniable. But the thought of helping him regain his strength filled her with dread. What would a god, cast down and consumed by anger, do with such power?
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As the weeks passed, Solros grew stronger, and Taryn found herself drawn into his quest. He needed her help to locate the fragments of his divine essence, scattered across Hethralis. Each fragment was hidden in a place of great significance, guarded by remnants of the old world: ancient spirits, forgotten magic, and deadly traps.
Their journey took them far from Erestal, through dense forests, across windswept plains, and into the ruins of long-abandoned cities. Along the way, they encountered others who had once known the gods: a wandering bard who sang songs of the old days, a scholar who had devoted his life to uncovering divine secrets, and a former priestess who had turned her back on her faith.
But not everyone welcomed their quest. The Dawnblades, the Crown's elite enforcers, had sworn to destroy any trace of the gods. They pursued Taryn and Solros relentlessly, forcing them to fight or flee at every turn. And as they drew closer to the final fragment, the challenges grew more dangerous, the enemies more determined.
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It was in the heart of the Crimson Spire, a towering ruin surrounded by molten rivers, that Taryn finally saw the truth. As Solros reclaimed the last piece of his essence, his light blazed brighter than ever before, illuminating the chamber in blinding gold. But it wasn’t the warm, comforting light she had expected. It was harsh, searing, a light that burned away shadows—and everything else.
Taryn realized then that Solros wasn’t just a victim of betrayal. The other gods had turned against him not out of jealousy, but out of fear. His light was too powerful, too consuming. If he regained his full strength, he wouldn’t just reclaim his place among the gods—he would remake the world in his image, destroying anything that didn’t fit his vision.
"You don’t understand," he told her when she tried to stop him. "This world is broken. I can fix it. I can make it better."
"But at what cost?" she asked.
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The final battle was both physical and emotional, a clash of wills and ideals. Taryn, armed with the knowledge she had gained on their journey, used her healing magic to weaken Solros, drawing on the very essence of the world to counter his power. It was a desperate struggle, one that pushed her to her limits.
In the end, Taryn succeeded—not by destroying Solros, but by convincing him to let go of his anger and pride. She showed him the beauty of the mortal world, the strength of its people, and the possibility of redemption.
Solros, humbled and broken, chose to scatter his essence once more, ensuring that his power could never be abused again. He faded into the stars, leaving Taryn to return to Erestal, forever changed by her journey.
And though the gods remained forgotten by most, the stars shone a little brighter that night, as if in gratitude.