---
Aetherion stepped through the veil.
The void behind him folded in silence, erasing itself as if it had never been. Before him stretched a horizon—vast, luminous, alive. The air carried warmth, taste, weight. Suns burned above a sapphire sky, their light dancing upon emerald valleys and rivers that shimmered like living glass.
For the first time, he felt gravity.
The pull of existence.
The texture of a world that did not belong to him.
He took a breath—not because he needed to, but because the world demanded it of all who walked upon its soil. And for a fleeting instant, he tasted something he had never known: finiteness.
He could hear the cries of children, the chanting of priests, the hammering of blacksmiths beneath the beating heart of a kingdom. Spires of gold reached toward the heavens, their tips piercing the clouds. Flags fluttered like fragile wings.
Aetherion walked unseen among them.
He passed through walls, through shadows, through lives. None saw him, but he saw all.
He saw hunger.
He saw laughter.
He saw love—tiny sparks flickering between fragile hearts that would one day stop beating.
"How curious," he whispered to no one. "They know they will die… yet they sing."
He sat upon the edge of a marketplace, invisible, watching a child give his last piece of bread to a starving dog. The act was small, meaningless to eternity—but something within Aetherion trembled.
They give away what little they have, he thought.
And find joy in it.
He raised his hand, and time slowed. The child froze, mid-smile. The dog hung in the air, its tail forever in motion.
Aetherion stood, surrounded by stillness. "Is this your meaning, mortals? To find peace in suffering?"
He could end all hunger with a whisper.
He could halt time forever and trap this perfect smile within eternity.
But he didn't.
He let the world move again.
And as the boy laughed, something cracked softly within the god's boundless heart.
---
He wandered further—past rivers that sang to the moon, past cities carved into mountainsides, past temples whispering the names of gods long dead.
Everywhere, mortals built and destroyed, prayed and despaired, fought and forgave.
He saw a battlefield at dusk—thousands of armored men clashing like storm and thunder. The ground drank their blood greedily, painting itself crimson. The screams were not of victory, but of remembrance.
He stepped among the dying, unseen.
Some called for mothers.
Some for gods.
Some said nothing at all.
Aetherion knelt beside one—a young warrior whose lifeblood was spilling into the dust. The man's hand trembled, reaching for a sword that was no longer there.
Aetherion touched the blade, and it appeared in the warrior's grasp once more, whole and shining. The mortal blinked, eyes wide.
"Who… are you?" he rasped.
"I am… a witness," Aetherion replied softly.
The warrior smiled, faintly. "Then… witness this. We… fight for tomorrow."
He coughed, the light fading from his gaze. "If one heart remembers… we are never truly gone."
And then—silence.
Aetherion stared at the body. The words echoed, burning deeper than any cosmic flame.
If one heart remembers… we are never truly gone.
He could resurrect the soldier with a thought. Undo death. Bend time. Rewrite the battle's outcome.
But he didn't.
For the first time in eternity, Aetherion bowed.
He placed his hand upon the soldier's chest, and the body turned to light—ascending like starlight into the clouds.
---
That night, Aetherion stood upon a hill overlooking the ruined kingdom. Fires burned in the distance. The smell of ash clung to the wind. Yet above all that chaos, the stars still shone.
Mortals still sang by candlelight. Lovers still whispered promises in the dark.
"Even when the world burns," he murmured, "they choose to hope."
He looked to the stars—those tiny, fragile lights—and smiled.
Perhaps for the first time since creation, Aetherion did not feel infinite.
He felt small.
And it comforted him.
He closed his eyes and whispered to the void,
"Not every power is meant to rule. Some are meant to understand."
The wind carried his words into the night.
---
In that moment, the god of infinite worlds learned the first secret of mortals:
Power creates existence… but fragility gives it meaning.