“Loose me,” she whispered, her voice a feather drifting through the air. The words floated towards him, but landed like a brick against his chest.
No, he wanted to scream, but it was already too late. He was compelled, her words forming a new reality. A mere thought from her, and she was gone. He scrambled for some trace of her, for the print of her existence anywhere in this world, but it had vanished. She was lost to him.
And she had wanted it that way.
Anger rushed in to fill the void that was left behind. He cursed, flailing his arms out in helpless rage. Earth melted away under the power of his blows, trees bent and exploded into shards. His wrath rolled across the face of the world, breaking mountains and emptying oceans. Forests and deserts shred at his bellows. Great crevices swallowed up the plains and meadows and lakes. The night shook under his fury, stars scattering and moons sinking, leaving a sky black and empty. Until finally, there was silence. His violence spent, the world held its last, ragged breath. Life or death for this reality hung in the balance.
He raised his arms once more, to destroy the final, most painful reminder of her. He stared hard at the debris, then turned away. He could not, or would not, destroy the last remnant. There was nothing left of the place they’d made together but this one monument, this one thing. He would leave this, to remember the bitter grief of a god spurned.
And so he left. Abandoned the broken remains of their love. No stars, no gods, no earth or sea to sustain life. Only a dry, cracked memory.
This was the beginning, or so the elders say. The death of the true world, was the birth of ours. We are the spark of life left in the ruins. We move through the ancient devastation, carving out desperate lives, clinging to the hope that the gods will return.
But they didn’t. Time has stretched on in an agony of existence and our suffering has become unbearable. And so, I made my decision. The elders shudder, but I ignore them. They are fools.
I am not.
It is time to find the runaway gods, and bring them home to the wreckage they’ve left. To end us, or mend us- it matters not.
We will not be forsaken any longer. We will not be the ghosts of their folly.
And so my tale begins.