"There is no such thing as restoration… only repetition disguised as mercy."
They call it the Fractured Garden — a place where nothing truly dies, yet nothing is ever whole.
Drosen's domain glows with the illusion of life. Golden fields shimmer under a sky that bends inward, rivers flow in reverse, and blossoms open to reveal pale, blinking eyes. Every inch of soil hums softly, like it remembers the pulse of what was buried within it.
This is the god's mercy — the endless mending of what should have been allowed to end.
But Drosen broke the oldest law of divinity. While the other gods remain bound to their celestial prisons, unable to tread upon mortal soil, he found a way. Each generation, when a child takes their first breath, a part of Drosen — a splinter of his own soul — slips into their being.
The parents call it a blessing, unaware of the rot that sleeps beneath the newborn's flesh. The child grows, lives, laughs, and dreams… until the god within awakens.
When Drosen takes the body, it does not resist. The eyes go still, the voice deepens, and from the throat of the once-innocent comes his laughter — hollow, endless, and kind. He walks again among mortals in secret, tending his Fractured Garden in human form.
When his work is done, when the borrowed flesh begins to decay under his power, he returns home. The body is offered at the Sanctum of Renewal — a cathedral of living bone and blooming fungi — and there, priests sing his name backward until the host is devoured by the land itself.
In this way, Drosen's sacrifices are chosen. Not by ritual. Not by fate. But by the god himself.
The domain is both grave and womb — a place where life is forced to repeat itself, each rebirth more grotesque than the last. They say if you listen closely in the garden, you can hear them: the voices of those who lived as Drosen once did. Their prayers are stitched into the air like broken lullabies.
And somewhere in that garden, Drosen walks once more, wearing the face of someone's only child.
"Is this life?" he whispers to the wind. "Or just another form of my death?"