The morning after her fall was cruel.
Lysera woke to the sound of birdsong, sharp and ordinary, not the celestial chorus that had once greeted her dawn. Her body ached from the cold ground, her limbs stiff, her throat dry.
She sat up slowly, clutching her chest as the fragile rhythm of a mortal heartbeat thudded against her ribs. It was steady, but vulnerable, a reminder that she was no longer eternal.
She rose unsteadily, brushing dirt from her gown. Once woven from threads of light, it was now a tattered garment, frayed and stained. She caught sight of herself in the stream's reflection: hair tangled, face pale, eyes hollow. The goddess of dawn looked like a beggar.
Her stomach growled. The sound startled her. Hunger was foreign, a gnawing emptiness she had never known. She pressed a hand to her belly, bewildered. Mortals had prayed to her for harvests, for bread, for sustenance. She had blessed them with abundance. Now she understood the desperation behind those prayers.
She stumbled through the forest, searching for food. Berries clung to thorny bushes, and she plucked them with trembling fingers. The juice stained her lips, tart and bitter, but she devoured them greedily. Each bite was a revelation: the sweetness of survival, the fragility of existence.
By midday, she reached a dirt road. Wagons creaked along its path, pulled by weary oxen. Merchants shouted, children laughed, and peasants trudged with baskets of grain. Lysera froze, heart pounding. Mortals, ordinary mortals surrounded her.
Once, they would bow at her presence, offer prayers, and whisper her name with reverence. Now they passed her without notice, their eyes sliding over her as if she were nothing.
A boy carrying firewood stumbled, dropping his bundle. Lysera instinctively reached out, summoning light to ease his burden. But only a faint glow flickered at her fingertips before dying. The boy frowned at her strange gesture, muttered thanks, and hurried away.
Shame burned her cheeks. She was powerless.
As the sun dipped low, she followed the road into a village. Smoke curled from chimneys, the scent of bread and stew filling the air. Her hunger sharpened painfully. She lingered near the square, watching mortals barter and gossip.
A woman noticed her. "You look lost," she said kindly, offering a crust of bread.
Lysera hesitated. Accepting charity felt wrong, she had once been the giver, not the receiver. But her stomach twisted, and pride crumbled. She took the bread, murmuring thanks. The taste was coarse, but it filled her with warmth.
That night, she found shelter in a barn. Straw pricked her skin, mice scurried nearby, but exhaustion dragged her into sleep. Dreams came again, visions of the divine council, their voices condemning her. You loved mortals too much. You gave them more than they deserved.
She woke with tears on her cheeks.
Days passed. Lysera learned to live as mortals did. She fetched water from wells, bartered for food, and endured the ache of fatigue. Each task humbled her, stripping away the remnants of divinity. Yet in the quiet moments the laughter of children, the warmth of firelight, she felt something she had never known as a goddess: belonging.
Still, whispers of her power lingered. Flowers bloomed where she walked. Shadows recoiled from her presence. Villagers began to notice, murmuring strange blessings. Some called her touched by fate, others warned she was cursed.
Lysera kept her secret close. She feared discovery, fearing the gods would find her. But deep inside, she knew her powers were returning.
One evening, as she sat by the stream, she saw a figure on horseback approaching. A knight, armor dulled by travel, cloak torn by wind. His face was weary, his eyes shadowed by guilt. He dismounted, kneeling to drink from the stream.
Lysera watched him silently, heart quickening. Something about him stirred memory, a prayer whispered long ago, a mortal voice reaching her in the divine halls.
She did not yet know his name. She did not yet know that fate had bound them.
But as the knight lifted his gaze and their eyes met, the world seemed to pause.