Before the world learned fear,
before prayers were spoken with trembling voices,
Gaia was whole.
The skies were gentle, painted in endless shades of blue.
Rivers flowed without poison or blood.
The land was fertile, warm, and kind—
as if the world itself watched over its people.
Children laughed freely in the streets,
their voices unburdened by loss or hatred.
They cried only when they fell while running,
and even those tears were short-lived,
quickly replaced by laughter.
In those days, sadness was a story told by elders—
a warning from a distant past that no one truly believed.
Gods walked openly upon the land.
They did not rule through fear or dominance,
but through guidance and presence.
Some taught.
Some protected.
Some merely observed.
And among them was the One.
He stood neither above nor below the gods,
yet all of Gaia moved in harmony around him.
Where he walked, conflict softened.
Where he spoke, hearts listened.
He did not demand worship.
He did not claim divinity.
Yet people called him Lord.
Not because he asked—
but because Gaia itself seemed to answer to his will.
He watched over the world as one watches over a beloved child,
with patience, pride, and quiet affection.
Every smile mattered to him.
Every life held meaning.
And Gaia, the Mother of All, responded in kind.
The winds were calm.
The earth was steady.
The nights were peaceful.
For a time,
it seemed as though this world would never know ruin.
No one noticed the first crack forming in the sky.
No one heard the silence growing in the heart of the One.
After all—
How could a world so loved
ever imagine being destroyed by the one who loved it most?