Ohh, Elionis…
The voice crept through the void like poison, cold and biting.
"How long are you going to keep delaying this? By the time he gets up here, you and that damn face of yours will have been dead for a long time!"
A mocking, distorted laugh.
"If I didn't have to keep creating new ones all the time, this would've already ended seventeen years ago!"
⸻
The old man was still sitting on the floor, completely lost in his thoughts.
"They're all…
All bearers of this clothing… and Lum…" he murmured."… years ago…"
Without another word, he lay down on his back, staring at the ceiling, completely lost in thought.
But Noen didn't feel any better.
Still chained to the wall, he desperately tried to piece together everything he had just learned.
Too many puzzle pieces. Too little sense.
In this brief, overloaded mind-fog, he began to speak.
"I mean, we can keep thinking about this, but—"
"Oh right, the chains!"
The old man snapped out of his thoughts, quickly got back up and walked over to Noen. With a short, practiced motion, he removed the heavy iron shackles from his wrists.
Metal clattered as they hit the floor.
Noen's arms immediately fell limply to his sides.
They were numb. No circulation. He could barely feel them, let alone move them.
As he rolled his shoulders, trying to get feeling back, he asked quietly, still dazed:
"May I… know your name?"
The old man had already drifted off into his thoughts again, staring into nothing — until the question pulled him back. He blinked once, then replied shortly:
"Rhuven."
He looked at Noen.
"And you?"
"Noen."
"You know, Noen, back then there were many like you…"
⸻
Many years earlier:
The morning fog lay heavy over the river, and the damp cold crept through every fiber of the soaked clothes. The village had gathered along the riverbank. Men, women, children — all of them stared at the unfinished structure stretching shakily over the raging water.
"Slowly… now!"
A young man pulled on the rope while two others heaved the final piece of wood into position. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still — then the crossbeam locked into place, and the bridge held.
An excited murmur passed through the crowd, followed by relieved cries. An older gentleman with a weathered face stepped forward. His hands trembled as he reached out toward the young man.
"Thank you so much, boy ! Without you, I never would have finished this bridge!"
The bearer of the mini god's power shook his head and gave a faint smile. "No, we thank you for your trust — in the name of Elionis."
Other bearers of these special powers stood beside him. Their posture was upright, their eyes clear, almost solemn.
Suddenly, a desperate cry broke the atmosphere.
"Please! Help me!"
A woman staggered through the crowd, a small, motionless child in her arms. The girl's face was pale, her lips almost colorless.
"She's dying… she's slipping away…"
One of the bearers knelt down in the mud in front of her and gently placed his hands on the child's chest. A soft, warm light began to glow, pulsing calmly, like a second heartbeat.
The girl twitched slightly. Coughed. A faint sound escaped her lips. Then her eyes slowly opened.
"She… she made it… my baby…" The woman burst into tears. "Only thanks to you and your healing powers! How will I ever repay you?"
"Do not thank us," the bearer said calmly. "Thank our lord Elionis."
A reverent silence spread. Heads bowed, some people fell to their knees.
"The powers of the minigods strengthened the people," Rhuven said. "They gave them healing, helping abilities…"
He paused briefly.
"And thanks to Lum, no one could ever misuse those powers."
"But then, exactly twenty-one years ago…"
⸻
The wooden sword now lay whole in the boy's hand again, as if it had never been broken. No crack, no mark. He turned it in the light in amazement and broke into a wide grin.
"Thank you so much, mister!" he called happily, and ran off, waving the sword through the air as he went.
The bearer of the mini god's power watched him for a brief moment. A gentle smile was on his face.
"Don't thank us, thank El—"
He broke off in the middle of the word and collapsed to the ground.
Instantly. Motionless. Dead on the spot.
"What… what's wrong with him?" someone whispered.
A second bearer knelt down beside him, placed his hands on his chest — and slumped over in the very same moment. A third ran up. Half-kneeling, he tried to help... and also fell forward.
Panic broke out.
People screamed. Mothers grabbed their children. Some ran. Others stood frozen, unable to look away.
Not all of them died that day.
Many lived on. For hours. For days. For months. Completely fine... and healthy.
But one by one, they collapsed. Dead. Without warning. Without any visible cause.
Over a period of four years, every single bearer of the mini gods powers died.
"All... dead...."
Noen swallowed. He saw Rhuven holding his tears back..
"Yet the powers of the mini gods…" Rhuven began, almost sobbing, "…they never truly died out. For after those four terrible years, people with the powers of the mini gods returned."
⸻
"Father! Father, look what I've carved!"
The little boy stepped proudly into the room, his hands stretched out in front of him. In them he held a roughly carved wooden figure... a man with broad shoulders and a notch in his face. His father.
The mother looked up and smiled. "You made that all by yourself?"
"For Papa," the boy said.
The father looked down at the figure. For a brief moment, something like surprise lay in his eyes.
"Oh… you did that real—"
In the middle of the word, his expression changed. In an instant.
His features hardened, the amazement twisted into a distorted grin.
"What the hell do I care about this?" he suddenly laughed. "Who are you little brats anyway?!"
The mother froze. "What's wrong with you…?"
The man grabbed the empty bottle on the table, lifted it, shook it once. Nothing. With an angry curse, he hurled it to the floor where it shattered.
"Bring me more alcohol, you damn woman!"
Immediately, the woman pulled the boy to her. They began to tremble.
"Did you not hear me…?" the father growled. His voice sounded strange, distorted. Then he stretched out his hand.
A glaring flare burst from his palm.
The heat slammed into the mother.
A short, piercing scream.
Then... nothing anymore.
The mother, who had been trembling only moments before, did not move anymore. Her arms lay limp, and the child had slipped from her grip and lay crying beside her on the floor.
The father let his hand fall.
"Stupid damn woman…"
Then he looked down at the boy, his eyes empty, burning with rage.
"And you, brat! BRING ME ALCOHOL, GODDAMN IT!"
"No more than a week lay between the death of the last bearer of the mini gods power — with Lum and the holy garments — and the appearance of these new, corrupted bearers," Rhuven said. "They reappeared almost immediately. Without guidance. Without limits. Without protection."
He lifted his gaze.
"These… evil bearers of the mini gods power, as we call them, still appear to this day."
He took a short breath before continuing:
"We of the Black Synod have been trying ever since to prevent as many of them as possible from causing harm. But… we have only been partially successful."
"The Black Synod?"