The wind carried the scent of salt and smoke long before the danger appeared.
Azerion stood at the edge of the ocean, watching the horizon darken under heavy clouds. His son, a small boy no older than three, clung to his leg, pointing at the sky with wide innocent eyes.
"Papa… thunder?"
Azerion smiled faintly, brushing the child's hair aside.
"No, little lion. Just weather."
But even as he said it, something inside him tightened—an instinct he didn't recognize, a forgotten echo of a life he no longer remembered.
The waves trembled.
The clouds twisted unnaturally.
The air throbbed with something alive.
Azerion felt a shiver crawl down his spine.
In the distance, a silhouette emerged—massive, crawling across the ocean with impossible speed.
Villagers gathered, murmuring prayers, stepping back from the shoreline as the thing rose from the water like a mountain of flesh and fury.
Four glowing eyes.
Scaled limbs.
A roar that shook the bones of the Earth.
The ocean itself recoiled.
Azerion froze.
His heart pounded.
And then—
A burning, familiar pain flared across his shoulder, on a mark he didn't even know he carried beneath his skin.
The beast's eyes locked onto his.
"YOU…"
The voice wasn't heard—it was felt, pressed into every mind like a hammer.
Azerion staggered backward, clutching his son tightly.
"Everyone! RUN!"
The villagers scattered. Houses shook. Nets and boats flew into the air.
But the beast was not here for them.
It charged straight toward Azerion.
The creature stopped just ten steps away, water steaming off its scales. It lowered its head, sniffing him like a predator confirming its prey.
"After cycles… after ruin… you still live."
Azerion shook his head.
"I don't know you."
"LIES."
The beast flared with divine pressure. The mark on Azerion's shoulder burned like molten iron.
"You carved this into me… when you shattered my godhood."
Azerion staggered, confusion drowning his fear.
"I—I'm just a fisherman!"
The beast's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, hatred twisted into something like pity.
"Then perhaps… that blow struck deeper than I thought."
The creature raised a claw.
And the village died.
Huts splintered. Flames erupted. Bodies fell in seconds. The screams of women, men, and children were swallowed by the beast's rage.
Azerion fought with nothing but panic and instinct, dodging blows that should have splintered mountains. Somehow—some impossibly familiar reflex—kept him alive for a few moments longer.
But he was no god anymore.
A claw sliced across his chest, sending him crashing into the sand.
Blood soaked the shore.
The boy screamed, reaching for him.
Azerion crawled, forcing out one last breath—
"Run…"
The beast slammed a foot down and crushed him.
The sand turned red.
Lightning flashed.
Silence.
With that, it turned and vanished into the sea, storms parting around it as if fearing its presence.
The boy sat among ashes, tears cutting paths through soot on his cheeks.
Hours passed.
Then—
A shimmer of light descended from the heavens.
A figure cloaked in ancient energy appeared briefly at the edge of reality, watching the child.
The Supreme Lord of Avalon.
He said nothing.
Did nothing.
But his eyes lingered on the boy longer than they should have… curiosity glimmering behind them.
"A remnant of a forgotten god," he whispered.
"Fate moves strangely."
With a wave of his hand, the winds shifted. A portal opened, swallowing the child in gentle light.
The boy disappeared.
The ocean returned to silence.
And the village was left as nothing but charred memories.