The Suns God's Blind Artist

The sun never truly rose in this city. To Elias, it was a wretched irony. For a being who once commanded the first light of creation, watching the sky choke under a veil of smog and steel was a lingering insult.

But he was not here for the heavens. He was here for the girl.

"You’ve returned," her voice was a soft melody, nearly drowned by the rhythmic hum of the rain against the window of her cramped apartment.

Liora sat before a blank canvas, her slender fingers stained with deep indigo oils. She was blind, her eyes a clouded, ethereal grey that seemed to stare directly into the fractured pieces of Elias's soul.

"I was merely passing by," Elias lied. His voice was like velvet over gravel. He stood in the deepest corner of the room, letting the shadows cling to his tailored black coat. He looked like a god carved from obsidian and gold—lethal, radiant, and utterly broken. He dared not step closer; his presence was a wildfire, and Liora was a masterpiece made of parchment.

"You’ve been ‘passing by’ at this exact hour for seven days," Liora let out a faint, melodic chuckle. She began to smear paint onto the canvas with her bare palms, guided by instinct rather than sight. "You smell of things that shouldn't exist in a city like this. Sandalwood, ancient ozone... and the scent of the sun after a storm."

Elias clenched his jaw, his golden eyes flickering with a suppressed glow. *Seven days.* It was a new record. Usually, the curse claimed her mind within three.

"What are you painting?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave.

"A dream I keep having. A man with wings forged from pure noon-day sun, but the feathers turn to black ash the moment he reaches for the horizon." She paused, tilting her head. "Why is your heart racing, stranger?"

*Do not love her. Do not let her love you.* The warning echoed in his mind like a funeral knell.

"It is a foolish dream," Elias said sharply, stepping out of the shadows. The light caught the sharp angle of his jaw and the haunting beauty of a face that had launched a thousand myths.

As the distance between them closed, the mark on Liora’s wrist—a jagged, blackened ring that looked like a permanent burn—began to pulse with a faint, sickly heat. Nyxara was watching from the depths of the Underworld, waiting for the exact moment Liora’s heart bloomed with joy so she could tear it all away again.

"What is your name?" Liora stood, her hand reaching into the void, searching for him.

Elias should have vanished. He should have dissolved into light and returned to the cold, marble halls of Olympus. But he was a selfish god. He caught her hand, guiding her ink-stained fingers to his cheek.

The contact was electric. Elias closed his eyes, stifling a shuddering breath as his divine essence bled out of him just to hold the curse at bay for a few more seconds.

"Elias," he whispered.

Liora smiled. It was the most radiant thing he had ever seen, and the most devastating. "Elias... it feels like home. I think... I think I am very happy that you stayed."

**"NO."** Elias wrenched himself away, but the damage was done.

The black mark on Liora’s wrist flared a violent, blood-red. Her eyes widened, then went terrifyingly vacant. She slumped forward, her strength vanishing like a snuffed candle. Elias caught her before she hit the floor, pulling her fragile, mortal frame against his chest.

In his mind, a cold, feminine laughter rang out.

*"Another day, another death, my Sun King. How many times can you introduce yourself before you shatter along with her?"*

Liora groaned softly in his arms. She blinked, looking up at Elias with pure, unadulterated confusion. The spark of recognition was gone. The warmth was replaced by a hollow chill.

"Who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling as she pushed against his chest. "How did you get in here? Please... leave me alone!"

Elias stood slowly, his heart breaking into shards sharper than any glass. He said nothing. He simply turned and walked out into the pouring rain, letting the water wash away the golden tears of a god that should never have been shed.

He would have to kill Nyxara. Or he would have to kill himself. Because watching Liora forget him was a hell more real than any underworld ever created.