Chapter 13 – Seeds of Division
The Village Splits
Breya had always been a place of peace, where every family shared bread in winter and stories in summer. But after the battle, peace withered.
Some villagers now bowed when Eryndor passed, leaving offerings at his doorstep—candles, bread, even carved wooden charms. They whispered prayers to him as if he were already a god.
Others avoided him altogether. Mothers pulled children from the streets, fathers glared with suspicion. One night, his foster father overheard men muttering near the well:
"He attracts gods and monsters. How many more must die before we drive him out?"
When Eryndor learned of this, his chest burned—not with anger, but sorrow. "I never wanted them to fear me," he whispered to Aethros beneath the stars.
The old sage's voice was steady. "Fear and worship are two sides of the same coin. The test now is not whether you have power… but whether you can hold your place among mortals while carrying it."
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The Pantheon's Watch
Far above, the gods observed the division with sharp eyes.
The Twin Serpents of Fate coiled around the divine mirrors. "The people waver. Their faith weakens. Push them further, and the boy will break from them."
The God of War spat, "Strike again and be done with it!"
But Solenya, High Goddess of the Pantheon, shook her head. "No. Steel failed. Fear alone will not kill him. Instead, let us test his heart. Let us show him what he could be."
Her hand swept across the mirror. Golden fire shaped itself into the form of a young woman, cloaked in silver and flame. Her eyes gleamed with both innocence and cunning.
"She will descend among mortals," Solenya said. "Not as an assassin. Not as a judge. But as a friend."
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Foreshadowing
That same night, as Eryndor lay awake, he felt it—a presence at the edge of the forest. Soft, warm, almost comforting. Not like Kaelith's rage, nor Lysera's judgment.
It was something gentler. Something dangerous in a different way.
A voice brushed his thoughts like a whisper carried on the wind:
"You are not alone, Balance. I am coming."
Eryndor sat up, sweat cold on his skin. For the first time, he wondered: what was more dangerous—an enemy who sought his death, or a friend who sought his trust?