The heavens burned with betrayal.
Lysera had once stood at the heart of dawn, her radiance spilling across the mortal world like a promise of hope. Worshippers lifted their voices to her name, temples rose in her honor, and the other gods bowed to her light. She was the Lady of Dawn, the bringer of renewal, the goddess who loved mortals too deeply.
But envy is a patient poison, and it had seeped into the divine halls until even the stars seemed to dim.
On the day of her downfall, the sky split open. Chains of fire, forged by rival gods, wrapped around her wrists. The council of immortals gathered in a circle of flame and shadow, their faces carved from judgment.
"Lysera," intoned the God of Storms, his voice rumbling like thunder, "you have given mortals more than they deserve. You have weakened the balance. You have loved them as if they were equals."
"I gave them hope," she whispered, her voice trembling but defiant. "I gave them light when all others offered fear." The Goddess of Night sneered. "And in doing so, you have made them forget us. You have made them worship only you."
Her cries echoed across the firmament, but no ally came. The gods she had once called kin turned their faces away. Her wings of light shattered, feathers dissolving into ash. Her crown of dawnfire crumbled, scattering embers into the void.
And then she fell.
Through storm and shadow she plummeted, her body stripped of power, her essence torn from eternity. The chains dissolved as she crossed the veil, leaving her broken and bare. The mortal world rushed up to meet her, not with reverence but with indifference.
She struck the earth in a forgotten meadow, the grass bending beneath her fragile form. For the first time, she felt pain.
The impact drove the breath from her lungs. She lay gasping, her chest heaving, her skin bruised. Hunger gnawed at her belly, cold seeped into her bones. She tried to summon light, but only sparks flickered at her fingertips before dying. The silence of mortality pressed in, heavy and absolute.
Above her, the dawn she once commanded rose without her.
Lysera staggered to her feet, trembling, her golden hair tangled with dirt. The meadow stretched endlessly, but no temple stood, no worshippers knelt. She was alone, nameless, forgotten. Her mind reeled with fragments of memory: the laughter of children who had prayed to her, the warmth of offerings laid at her altar, the songs sung at sunrise. She remembered Kaelen, the mortal knight who had once prayed for courage before battle, though she had never met him, his voice had reached her in the divine halls. She had answered with light, with strength. Now, she wondered if he still lived, if he still prayed.
The gods' voices haunted her. Pride. Excess. Love is misplaced.
She stumbled forward, each step heavy. The meadow gave way to a forest, shadows stretching long and cold. Birds scattered at her approach, sensing something unnatural. She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the fragile beat of a mortal heart.
Perhaps this is freedom, she thought. No temples, no worship, no endless demands. Only silence. Only the chance to live as mortals did. But freedom was cruel.
Her stomach twisted with hunger. Her throat burned with thirst. The chill of evening crept into her bones. She wrapped her arms around herself, shivering, realizing that mortality was not simply weakness, it was constant struggle.
She collapsed beside a stream, dipping her hands into the water. It was cold, biting, but she drank greedily, marveling at the sensation. Mortals lived by struggle, not by divine decree. As night fell, she lay beneath the stars. Once, they had sung to her, their light woven into her crown. Now they stared down with indifference, distant and cold. She closed her eyes, exhaustion dragging her into sleep. Dreams came, visions of the council, of the gods' faces twisted with envy, of her own voice crying out in defiance. She saw herself standing tall, wings blazing, declaring: I will not abandon them. I will not abandon love. But the dream dissolved into darkness, and she woke with tears on her cheeks. Somewhere beyond the horizon, a wandering knight rode with his own burdens, unaware that fate was guiding him toward the fallen goddess. For now, Lysera walked alone, stripped of eternity, her footsteps marking the beginning of a story that would test the boundaries of love, sacrifice, and immortality.