Even gods can forget their names. But they never forget love.
Chapter I: The Lake Without Wind
There was a lake the wind could not touch.
It lay in the fold between two forgotten mountains, nestled in silence so complete that even birds did not sing. Time moved differently there — slowly, like breath held beneath water.
And on its shore sat a man, day after day, folding paper cranes.
He never spoke. Never moved from his worn patch of earth. A thousand cranes surrounded him — perfectly folded, impossibly pristine, untouched by rain or rot.
They called him the Nameless One.
Children from nearby villages came sometimes, whispering stories:
"He's a god, punished for loving a mortal."
"He's the last memory of a world we dreamed and lost."
"Don't talk to him. Don't touch the cranes."
But one child did.
Her name was Aima, and she had been born during a storm, cursed with dreams too big for her village.
She found the Nameless One by accident — chasing a cloud shaped like a question mark.
She stopped when she saw him.
"Are you lonely?" she asked.
The man didn't speak.
Only folded another crane.
Chapter II: The Folded Past
Aima came back the next day. And the next.
She brought flowers, sticks, stories. He never replied. But he always folded.
She counted the cranes.
One thousand and nine.
Always.
If one was blown away, another appeared. The number never changed.
"Why do you fold them?" she asked.
"To remember," he whispered.
His voice was like wind on old parchment.
She blinked.
"Remember what?"
"What I was. What I lost."
"Were you a king?"
"Worse," he said. "A god."
She laughed.
"There are no gods left."
He nodded, slowly.
"That's the punishment."
He reached into a pouch at his side. Pulled out golden parchment. Began to fold.
"I loved a woman whose soul was a fire no heaven could hold," he said softly. "I gave up immortality to be with her. And when she died… I forgot her name. But not the pain."
"So you fold cranes?"
"Each one carries a memory I don't want to lose."
Aima stared at the cranes. They shimmered faintly, like reflections in a dream.
"Can I fold one?"
The man paused.
Then nodded.
Chapter III: The Crane That Spoke
Aima tried to fold. Her hands were clumsy. The paper tore.
"Try again," he said.
Hours passed. She finally made one — crooked, strange, but full of her.
He touched it gently.
And gasped.
"What?" she asked.
He held the crane to his ear.
"It speaks."
"What does it say?"
He smiled.
"Your name. And your story. You've given it life."
Suddenly, the wind stirred.
The lake rippled for the first time in an age.
The god stood.
"You've awakened something," he said. "A truth I buried too deep."
Around them, the cranes began to flutter.
Not in wind — in recognition.
"Do you remember her name now?" Aima asked.
He looked at her.
Eyes like dawn breaking over ancient stone.
"Not yet. But I remember what it felt like when she held my hand."
Chapter IV: The Return of the Heavens
That night, the stars came closer.
Literally — the sky cracked open like an egg, revealing a city of light and shadow suspended beyond mortal sight.
Celestial guardians descended.
Not angels — but things shaped like music, stitched from laws and memory.
They spoke in thunder.
"You were exiled, Seventh Flame. Your name unspoken, your station stripped. Why do you rise?"
The Nameless One stood tall, his cranes spinning around him like a galaxy of paper.
"Because I remember," he said. "Because she would not want me to forget."
"Do you seek restoration?"
"No. I seek only her name."
The guardians paused.
"You seek what was forbidden: the memory of a mortal soul within divine mind. That is a heresy of love."
"Then let me burn for it."
Aima stepped forward.
"No," she said. "Let him remember. If gods can love, they must be allowed to grieve."
The guardians looked down.
Then vanished.
And a single word fell from the sky.
"Iliah."
The god sank to his knees.
Tears fell like rivers.
"Her name," he whispered. "I remember it all."
Epilogue: The Cranes Still Sing
They say the lake has a wind now.
Gentle. Warm. Whispering.
The Nameless One is gone. So is Aima.
But in every village, folded cranes appear on windowsills — whispering stories in dreams.
If you listen closely, you'll hear two names spoken in the rustle:
Iliah.
Aima.
One, a mortal remembered by a god.
The other, a child who reminded him why love is worth remembering.