The skies of Aetherion shimmered with golden light, a realm untouched by time, sorrow, or decay. Floating palaces made of crystal and gold drifted among endless clouds, and music hummed in the air like a living thing. At the heart of this divine kingdom stood the Temple of Eternity, where goddesses ruled the fate of mortals with wisdom beyond human understanding.
Among them was Lyra—the Goddess of Life.
She stood barefoot upon a balcony carved from starlight, her white gown flowing like liquid moonlight around her. Her silver hair cascaded past her shoulders, glowing faintly with an ethereal hue, and her eyes—soft green like spring meadows—held a sadness that never seemed to fade.
She watched the mortal realm below, her gaze fixed on a small village wracked with sickness and famine. Children cried in their mothers' arms. Fields lay barren. Bodies were being buried with no prayers said. All of this she saw—and still, she was forbidden to act.
"It's wrong," she whispered into the divine winds. "To stand by and watch them suffer... when I could help."
Behind her, a voice echoed—firm, yet laced with sorrow.
"Lyra."
She turned and found herself face to face with Altaia, the Goddess of Fate. Her silver crown gleamed with stars, her eyes sharp as knives.
"You know the laws," Altaia said. "You must not interfere with the natural order."
"They are dying," Lyra said, her voice barely a breath. "I can save them. I did save them—"
Altaia's expression hardened. "You already went down, didn't you?"
Silence.
Lyra lowered her head, her hands trembling at her sides.
The room filled with divine energy as Velmira, Goddess of Time, and Kaelith, Goddess of Balance, appeared in shimmering spirals of light.
"You descended into the mortal realm without permission," Kaelith said. "You cured their plague. You made the wheat grow. You extended the lives of those meant to die."
"It was a village of innocents!" Lyra cried, stepping forward. "Children. Mothers. I couldn't just stand by—"
"And yet you did more than save them," Velmira cut in, her voice as smooth as falling sand. "You altered the weave of time. You changed what was meant to be."
A terrible stillness fell.
Lyra stood alone now, before the three ruling goddesses, no longer just a sister but a transgressor. Her hands clenched into fists.
"I only wanted to help."
"And you did," Altaia said. "But help has a price. For your disobedience, you are hereby stripped of your divinity."
The air around Lyra pulsed. A glowing aura lifted from her body like steam rising from water. She gasped, stumbling backward, clutching her chest as warmth drained from her limbs.
"No... please..." she whispered. "I love them."
"Then live among them," Kaelith said, her voice final. "As one of them."
Lyra's wings—once made of light and wind—shattered into dust.
She collapsed, breathless, on the cold marble floor, her gown fading from white to a dull gray. Her powers, her immortality, her memories—they were unraveling, being sealed away deep within the soul she would no longer remember.
A tear slid down her cheek, glowing faintly before vanishing.
"We do not cast you out in hate," Velmira said softly. "We grant you this life to understand. Perhaps one day, you will return—not as a goddess, but as someone who truly understands what it means to live."
The last thing Lyra saw was the sky of Aetherion, turning pale gold as her vision faded.
Then—
Darkness.
And falling.
Endless falling.
---
The mortal world was quiet that night. Clouds parted above a sleepy village nestled between misty hills. The stars were bright, and the moon was full. All was still—until a sudden streak of light tore across the heavens like a flame.
Farmers would later call it a falling star. A sign. A blessing. But at that moment, it simply crashed into the earth with no sound, no explosion, no chaos.
Just light. And silence.
A woman named Marien, the village baker, awoke from her sleep. Her husband snored quietly beside her, unaware. But something in her chest stirred—an instinct, a pull.
She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the night.
The air was crisp. Dew clung to the grass like tiny pearls. And there, in the middle of their wheat field, something glowed.
Marien's breath caught.
It was a baby.
Wrapped in nothing but warm light and golden threads that melted away as she drew closer, the infant girl lay nestled between stalks of wheat, her tiny hand curled near her cheek.
And she was smiling.
Marien fell to her knees, tears already forming in her eyes.
"By the stars..."
The baby opened her eyes—soft green, too deep for a child.
At that moment, Marien didn't question the how or why. She didn't think of gods or omens or miracles. All she saw was a child—alone, helpless, and somehow meant to be hers.
She cradled the baby in her arms and whispered,
"I don't know where you came from, little star... but you're mine now."
---
Lyra did not remember the sky of Aetherion. She did not remember her wings, or the temple, or the warm voice of Altaia as she cast down judgment.
All she knew was warmth.
Arms holding her. The scent of bread baking in the morning. A lullaby hummed by a mother who had never given birth, but loved as though she had.
As the baby nestled against Marien's chest, stars continued to fall—just a few, quiet and soft, unnoticed by most.
The heavens mourned. And the earth began again.
In the village of Eldoria, on the edge of a forgotten kingdom, a goddess was reborn... not in fire or glory, but in the arms of a baker.
And somewhere far away, the wheel of fate turned once more.
---
> "To love them is not a crime."
But in the heavens, even love must follow rules.