THE FORGOTTEN GOD

Chapter 1: The Forgotten Child

The heavens trembled as the divine council gathered in the Celestial Hall, their luminous forms casting shadows across the golden marble floor. Titans of power, gods of war, wisdom, and fate, all sat in their rightful thrones, their eyes fixed upon the radiant cradle at the center. Inside, wrapped in silver silk, lay the child—Kael, the forbidden son of two deities whose union should never have been.

"He cannot stay here," rumbled Azeron, the God of Order, his voice like rolling thunder. "His birth defies the balance of the cosmos."

"He is but a child!" Elara, Goddess of Light, protested. "He has done no wrong!"

"But he will," another god countered, his eyes burning with foresight. "The prophecy speaks of the boy who will rise beyond gods and mortals, who will shake the heavens themselves."

Silence fell upon the hall. They all knew the prophecy. They all feared it.

"We strip him of his divinity," Azeron decreed. "We send him to the mortal realm, where he will live and die as a man."

Elara clenched her fists. "And if he remembers?"

"He won't."

With a wave of Azeron’s hand, the cradle was engulfed in divine flames, and in a flash of golden light, the child vanished—banished to a world that would never know his true name.

---

Eighteen Years Later – The Mortal Realm

Kael woke with a start, his breath ragged, his forehead slick with sweat. The dream again. The same dream. A great fire. Voices he didn’t recognize. And the feeling of falling, endlessly falling.

He shook his head and sat up, brushing his black hair out of his eyes. The sun had barely risen over the village of Rendell, its golden light spilling through the wooden window of his small home. Another day of work awaited.

Kael dressed quickly, throwing on his worn-out tunic and boots before stepping outside. The scent of fresh bread and morning dew greeted him, but his mind was elsewhere. The dreams had been getting more vivid. More... real.

"Kael!"

A familiar voice snapped him back to reality. It was Darin, the village blacksmith, a burly man with arms like tree trunks. He was standing outside his forge, waving. "Late again? You’ll never become a master smith at this rate!"

Kael forced a grin. "I don't plan on being a smith forever, old man."

Darin laughed. "Then what do you plan on being, boy? A hero?"

Kael opened his mouth, but no words came. A hero? No, that wasn’t it. He didn’t know what he wanted. Only that something inside him whispered that he was meant for more.

He sighed and grabbed a hammer. "Let’s just get to work."

---

The Awakening

It started that night.

Kael had finished his work and was heading home when he felt it—an unnatural stillness in the air, like the world itself had stopped breathing.

Then, a whisper.

"Kael..."

He spun around. The village was silent, the streets empty. But he wasn’t alone.

A figure stood at the edge of the forest, cloaked in shadows. Its eyes glowed with an eerie golden light.

Kael’s heart pounded. He didn’t know why, but he recognized that light.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

The figure stepped forward, and the moment it did, something deep within Kael snapped—like a lock breaking free.