Chapter 26 – Aric
The valley was alive with whispers. Aric crouched low in the tall grass, his heart hammering as he peered down toward the village square. He had followed his father's instructions to observe and learn—but nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to witness.
The air itself shimmered.
It began like heat haze rising from stone, but the distortion thickened, warping the sky as if reality were bending under pressure. The villagers dropped to their knees at once, their chants rising in unison. Aric had never seen such unity, such terror, bound together in worship.
A figure emerged from the distortion.
Golden radiance bled across the square, and with it, the weight of divinity pressed down like a mountain. Aric's breath caught in his throat. He had read of gods in his father's texts, but reading was nothing compared to this suffocating presence. Every fiber of his being screamed to kneel, to lower his head and surrender.
He resisted, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
The figure descended slowly, taking the shape of a tall man wreathed in light. His features were blurred, ever-shifting, as though the mortal eye was unworthy of fixing them in place. But his voice—his voice was clear, echoing through the valley as though the very stones spoke his words.
"Children," the god intoned, "your devotion has been weighed… and found sufficient. The harvest will be spared."
A wail of relief swept through the villagers. Some wept, others pressed their heads to the dirt. Aric only stared, trembling. This… this was what true power looked like.
But as he looked closer, something disturbed him. The golden aura flickered—not naturally, but in rhythm with the kneeling villagers' chants. The god's form seemed to brighten whenever the prayers swelled and dim when they faltered.
Aric's eyes widened. He's feeding on them.
His father's words came rushing back: The gods do not live by strength alone. They live by faith. They thrive on worship. Without it, they would wither.
The realization hit Aric like a cold wind. The god's power was immense, yes—but it was borrowed, drawn like a parasite from the people who feared him.
The god extended a hand, and the sky rumbled. Rainclouds rolled in with unnatural speed, releasing a soft drizzle over the dry earth. The villagers cried out, praising his mercy. But Aric noticed again—each drop of rain shimmered faintly, carrying traces of mana. The land was replenished, yes, but something else was siphoned away.
Mana drained from the soil. From the crops. Even from the villagers themselves, though they did not see it. Their devotion blinded them.
Aric's fists clenched. His stomach churned with conflicting emotions—fear, awe, and fury. Was this protection, or was it enslavement?
The god's head turned suddenly. For a heartbeat, Aric was certain those golden eyes locked directly on him. His breath stopped. His body screamed at him to run.
But the god only smiled faintly, a smile that carried both amusement and contempt.
"Even the curious among you serve, whether you know it or not," the god murmured, his words reverberating in Aric's mind rather than his ears.
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, the figure dissolved back into light. The distortion closed, leaving the square drenched in silence except for the villagers' sobbing gratitude.
Aric remained frozen in the grass long after it was over, his body trembling. He had witnessed his first godly phenomenon—and with it, the truth of the divine.
They were not saviors.
They were leeches cloaked in holiness.
And one day, he swore silently, he would stand before them without bowing.