The forest welcomed them with a deep silence. Leaves rustled like whispers, and the air hung heavy with an eerie stillness. As the boy—Tio—led Aren deeper, the trees grew taller, thicker, almost ancient, guarding secrets of their own.
"This is it," Tio said quietly, pointing to a clearing surrounded by twisted roots and blackened trunks. "No one comes here. They say ghosts walk these woods."
Aren looked around. "Good. Let them stay scared."
With a raise of his hand, the ring on his finger shimmered faintly. The ground trembled. Vines curled into elegant spirals, and stones floated gently upward. In seconds, they danced under Aren's command, reshaping themselves. Wood bent into beams, stone fused into walls, and light swirled into fire, lighting a hearth that had never existed.
A small house stood before them—modest, sturdy, glowing with quiet magic.
Tio's eyes widened. "You made this? Just like that?"
Aren looked at his hands, still glowing faintly. "I don't know how. It's like... my body remembers things I never learned."
Tio stepped inside, marveling. "I never had a home before."
Aren followed, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. "You do now."
---
Days passed in the hush of the forbidden forest. Tio quickly made himself useful—cleaning, cooking whatever berries or roots they could find, even trying to fish though he often fell into the river. Aren watched, half amused, half unsure what to do with the quiet life.
He trained alone, testing his powers. Every spell came naturally. Fire obeyed. Water danced. Earth moved. But it was destruction that lingered in his touch—things cracked, withered, turned to dust if he lost control.
And yet... when Tio smiled, the world felt quieter. Calmer.
One evening, they sat by the fire.
"Why did you help me that day?" Tio asked suddenly. "You didn't know me."
Aren looked into the flames. "I saw myself in you. No one to help. No one to care."
Silence stretched between them, but not an empty one. A safe one.
Tio leaned against him. "You're like a father now."
Aren tensed.
But didn't pull away.
For the first time in days, he didn't feel like a god—or a weapon. He just felt human.
---
Far above the forest, hidden among storm clouds and shattered stars, two gods watched.
The God of Creation, with his shimmering armor and blazing staff, scowled.
"He is still alive."
The God of Rebirth, draped in silver robes, narrowed his glowing eyes. "Not just alive. Healing. That boy… he anchors him."
"Then the boy must be removed."
The clouds rumbled.
A storm was coming.