High above the clouds, beyond the stars and realms of men, there existed a kingdom untouched by time.
A place where gold did not glitter—it glowed.
Where wind whispered prayers, and the sky itself bowed to its rulers.
This was the Celestial Realm—the domain of gods.
At the very heart of it stood the Hall of Eternals, its domes rising like sun-kissed mountains. Gods and goddesses wandered its radiant corridors, bathed in the light of creation itself.
And yet, deep within one of its quietest chambers, sat a god who did not glow as brightly as the rest.
His name was Caelion.
He sat on the edge of a marble balcony, legs crossed, gaze tilted downward through a swirling veil of cloud and starlight.
Far below, beyond layers of realm and reality, was the world of mortals.
Caelion whispered, almost to himself, "They laugh… even when their time is so short."
He watched a mother lift her child high into the air beneath a flowering tree. A boy offer his bread to a beggar. A girl kneel to weep beside her father's grave.
Moments so small.
So fleeting.
Yet they burned brighter in his heart than a thousand years of divine banquets.
He clenched his hand. "Why does their love feel deeper than ours?"
A voice echoed behind him.
> "Still watching them, Caelion?"
It was Myrian, God of Time—tall, his eyes spiraling with galaxies. He entered the chamber without sound, his presence like the hush before a storm.
Caelion didn't turn around. "I can't look away."
Myrian stood beside him now, arms folded. "You always were the strange one. Most gods envy mortals' devotion, but only you long for it."
Caelion replied softly, "They are weak, yet brave. Forgotten, yet kind. They die… and still love."
He looked up at the swirling sky.
> "I want to feel that. Even if only once. I want to love—not as a god… but as a man."
The air in the chamber thickened. A thousand stars pulsed with shock.
Within hours, the Twelve High Gods gathered in the Grand Hall—a place where divine laws were spoken, where reality itself obeyed command.
Their thrones circled a floating platform of crystal, and Caelion stood alone at its center.
Elysir, Goddess of Balance, narrowed her eyes. "You ask to descend into mortality. To forsake your immortality. Why?"
Caelion held her gaze. "Because I do not wish to live forever if I've never truly lived."
Vharos, God of Power, scoffed. "Foolish sentiment. You would trade eternity for a woman's touch?"
Caelion answered, calm but firm. "No. I would trade it for the chance to love someone… and be loved in return. Not as a god, but as an equal."
The hall fell silent.
Then, unexpectedly, a soft voice spoke.
Lunara, Goddess of Compassion, smiled gently. "Let him go. For once… let love be a god's purpose."
Myrian stepped forward, hands behind his back. "Very well. We shall grant your wish, Caelion."
A beam of golden light circled above his head, glowing brighter and brighter.
Myrian continued, "You shall descend into the mortal world, born as the second prince of the Kingdom of Theralis."
Caelion's breath caught. A kingdom of vast forests and silver rivers—he'd seen it many times in dreams.
But Myrian wasn't finished.
> "But beware," Myrian warned, "for to love as a mortal is to suffer as one."
Elysir added, her voice heavy with fate, "You shall be born… broken."
Caelion frowned. "Broken?"
Lunara bowed her head. "Your soul shall remain divine, but your body… will be bound. Crippled from birth. You will never walk. You will never wield a sword. Your pain will be real."
A hush fell over the chamber. Even the stars above dimmed.
Caelion lowered his eyes. "…I accept."
The gods stirred.
Myrian raised his hand. "Then let it be done. May love find you, Caelion… in the form you least expect."
A great light descended. Wings of fire and wind engulfed him, wrapping around his form. His glow began to fade as he fell—not through space, but through existence itself.
Down, down, down…
Through time.
Through memory.
Through fate.
---
Somewhere in the mortal realm...
A queen screamed as the thunder of childbirth tore through the palace halls.
The night raged with storm.
And at the stroke of midnight, a child was born.
A boy.
His cry was soft, his skin pale, and his limbs… unmoving.
> "He cannot move his legs," the healer whispered. "They are… lifeless."
The king turned away in shame.
The queen wept bitterly.
And in a forgotten wing of the palace, a cradle was placed far from the throne room—where few would see the child… and fewer would remember his name.
They called him Kael.
---
But the stars remembered.
The heavens watched.
And a girl… far away in a village of no name…
had just taken her first breath.
And though neither of them knew it,
destiny had already begun to stir.