When the Forgotten God Awakens

There was crying.

A child’s crying.

It echoed through an endless darkness, distant yet painfully close, as though the sound had been trapped somewhere between reality and a forgotten memory.

A soft sob.

Then another.

And another.

The crying never stopped.

A small figure stood in the middle of an enormous hall, surrounded by towering pillars that disappeared into a silver mist. The floor beneath him was made of pale marble, decorated with intricate golden patterns. Strange symbols covered the walls, glowing faintly as though they were breathing.

Everything looked beautiful.

Yet something about the place felt terribly wrong.

The air was heavy, almost suffocating. The silence between the child’s cries seemed louder than anything Xion had ever experienced.

He tried to move forward.

His feet wouldn’t obey.

He looked down at his hands. They appeared smaller than usual, almost transparent, as though he were looking through someone else’s eyes.

Then a voice reached him.

“My child...”

A woman’s voice.

Gentle. Broken. Filled with a sadness that seemed older than the world itself.

Xion slowly raised his head.

At the far end of the hall stood a woman.

Her long silver hair flowed behind her, moving despite the absence of wind. She wore a magnificent white gown decorated with golden threads and unfamiliar symbols. A faint light surrounded her body, resembling thousands of tiny stars.

Her face was blurry.

Xion couldn’t recognise her.

Yet something inside him ached when he looked at her.

“My precious child,” she whispered.

Her hands trembled.

Beside her stood a man.

He was tall, dressed in dark robes with golden patterns running along the sleeves. His presence was overwhelming. Even without seeing his face clearly, Xion could feel the authority surrounding him.

The man looked towards the woman.

“We must leave.”

The woman shook her head.

“No.”

“We have already discussed this.”

“He’s our child!”

Her voice echoed through the hall.

The man remained silent.

For a moment, the entire place seemed to freeze.

Then he looked towards the small figure in her arms.

A baby.

A crying baby.

The woman held the infant against her chest, gently rocking him while tears slipped down her cheeks.

“Please,” she whispered. “There must be another way.”

“There isn’t.”

“He’s innocent.”

The man’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

But Xion noticed.

There was pain in his eyes.

“That is precisely why he must go.”

The woman’s arms tightened around the baby.

“No... please.”

The baby continued crying.

The woman pressed a kiss against his forehead.

“Forgive me, my little one.”

A bright light suddenly appeared beneath their feet.

The golden symbols across the hall began to glow.

The man extended his hand.

And then

!

Everything disappeared.

Xion woke with a sharp breath.

His eyes opened immediately.

For several seconds, he couldn’t move. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his fingers were tangled in the blanket beneath him.

Again.

The dream had returned.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to steady his breathing.

His throat felt dry.

Slowly, he brought a hand to his forehead.

There was sweat on his skin.

He closed his eyes.

The woman’s voice was still there.

My precious child.

Xion swallowed.

What did that even mean?

He had experienced the same dream for as long as he could remember. Sometimes it began with the crying. Other times, he saw the woman first.

Occasionally, there was no woman at all.

Just the man.

Standing beneath an enormous golden doorway, watching something disappear beyond it.

And every single time, the dream ended with a child’s crying.

With a feeling of loss.

With the unbearable certainty that something had been taken away.

Xion sat up and pushed his dark hair away from his face.

He glanced towards the small wooden clock resting beside his bed.

It was still early.

Too early.

With a tired sigh, he climbed out of bed and approached the window.

Outside, the world was slowly awakening. The distant rooftops were covered in a faint layer of morning mist, and the first signs of sunlight appeared beyond the hills.

It was peaceful.

Almost beautiful.

A complete contrast to the strange place he had just witnessed.

Xion rested his forehead against the cold glass.

He wondered what it would feel like to have an ordinary dream.

Something meaningless.

Something that didn’t leave him feeling as though he had lost someone he had never known.

Sometimes he wondered whether the crying child was supposed to be him.

But that was ridiculous.

He was human.

At least, that was what he had always been told.

Three sharp knocks interrupted his thoughts.

“Xion!”

His shoulders stiffened.

The voice belonged to the man who had raised him.

“Get up! Do you intend to sleep the entire morning?”

“I’m awake,” Xion answered quietly.

“Then move. There’s work to be done.”

The footsteps disappeared.

Xion remained beside the window for another moment before turning away.

The dream was over.

The morning had begun.

And, as usual, there was no time to think about anything else.

The room was small, barely large enough for a narrow bed, a wooden cupboard and a broken chair.

There was nothing personal inside it.

No decorations.

No photographs.

No belongings that could make the place feel like home.

Xion had learned not to expect such things.

He dressed quickly, pulling on the same worn clothes he had worn for the past several days. His reflection stared back at him from the small, cracked mirror hanging against the wall.

For a moment, he stopped.

His eyes looked strange.

There was something faintly purple reflected in them.

Xion leaned closer.

The colour disappeared.

He blinked.

Perhaps he was still tired.

He turned away and opened the door.

The narrow corridor outside was cold. The wooden floor creaked beneath his feet as he descended the stairs.

Voices could already be heard from the kitchen.

“Finally,” a woman muttered when he entered.

She didn’t look at him.

“You’re late.”

Xion glanced at the table.

There was food prepared for the household, but nothing set aside for him.

He had learned not to ask.

“Go outside and finish what you were told yesterday,” the man ordered.

Xion nodded.

“Yes.”

“And don’t come back until it’s finished.”

“Understood.”

He turned towards the door.

Behind him, the woman spoke again.

“Honestly, I don’t understand why we even keep him here.”

The man gave a quiet sigh.

“Because we have no other choice.”

Xion paused.

Only for a second.

Then he continued walking.

He had heard worse.

Much worse.

The door closed behind him.

The village was already busy.

Merchants were arranging their goods, children were running through the narrow streets, and people were greeting one another as they prepared for another ordinary day.

Xion walked past them without attracting much attention.

He was used to being ignored.

His task for the morning was to collect water from the nearby well, carry several wooden crates to the storage building and repair a broken fence behind the house.

It wasn’t unusual.

There was always something to do.

And if he failed to complete everything, there would be consequences.

He reached the well and lowered the bucket.

The rope scraped against his palms as he pulled it back up.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

His arms were already aching.

A group of children ran past him, laughing loudly. One of them accidentally bumped into his shoulder.

“Watch where you’re going!” the boy shouted.

Xion stepped aside.

“Sorry.”

The boy looked at him, then laughed.

“You’re always apologising.”

His friends joined in.

Xion lowered his head and continued pulling the bucket.

He didn’t respond.

What would have been the point?

He had learned that silence was often safer than speaking.

After filling the containers, he carried them towards the house.

The journey wasn’t long, but the weight made every step uncomfortable.

Halfway there, he stopped to catch his breath.

His hands were beginning to hurt.

He looked down.

A thin red line crossed his palm where the rope had rubbed against his skin.

For some reason, he stared at it for longer than necessary.

Then something strange happened.

A faint warmth spread beneath his skin.

The small injury began to close.

Xion blinked.

He rubbed his palm with his thumb.

The wound was gone.

He stared at his hand.

“What...?”

A passing cart rattled along the road, startling him.

He quickly pulled his sleeve over his wrist.

It was probably nothing.

Perhaps the wound had never been serious.

He continued walking.

By midday, the work was still not finished.

The man who had raised him stood behind the house, examining the broken fence.

“You call this repaired?”

Xion looked at the wooden boards.

“I tried to fix it.”

“Clearly not hard enough.”

“I can do it again.”

The man stepped closer.

“You’re always making excuses.”

Xion lowered his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t fix anything.”

The words were familiar.

They were always familiar.

Xion picked up the tools and began again.

He worked silently while the man watched him for a few moments before returning inside.

The afternoon sun was beginning to fade when the fence was finally repaired.

Xion wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

His stomach growled.

He hadn’t eaten since the previous evening.

He looked towards the house, hoping someone might have left something for him.

Nothing.

He hesitated before approaching the back door.

Perhaps he could ask.

Just this once.

He pushed it open slightly.

“Excuse me...”

The woman turned towards him.

“What now?”

Xion swallowed.

“Is there anything left to eat?”

She stared at him.

Then she laughed without humour.

“You’ve spent the entire day doing what you’re supposed to do, and now you expect a meal?”

“I haven’t eaten.”

“That’s hardly my problem.”

Xion lowered his head.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Stop standing there.”

He closed the door.

For a moment, he remained outside, staring at the wooden surface.

Then he turned away.

He wasn’t surprised.

He was simply tired.

Tired of working.

Tired of apologising.

Tired of waking up every morning in a place where he never felt wanted.

And most of all, he was tired of the dreams.

Night arrived quietly.

Xion returned to his room after finishing the remaining chores.

His body ached, and his stomach was still empty.

He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor.

There was something he had never understood about the household.

The people inside it called him their responsibility.

They spoke about him as though he were an unwanted burden.

Sometimes, when they thought he couldn’t hear, they argued about the day they had taken him in.

He had once asked where he had come from.

The answer had been simple.

They had found him.

A helpless child.

A burden they had supposedly taken pity on.

But whenever Xion asked for more details, the conversation ended.

He had never seen a photograph of himself as a baby.

He had no birth certificate.

No family name that he could trace beyond the people who had raised him.

And nobody in the village seemed to know anything about his beginnings.

He lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.

Perhaps he would never know.

Perhaps there was nothing to know.

He turned towards the wall and closed his eyes.

Sleep came slowly.

And then the crying returned.

The hall was different this time.

The silver mist was thinner.

The golden symbols were brighter.

Xion stood in the same place, surrounded by the same enormous pillars.

But something had changed.

The woman was closer.

She was kneeling on the marble floor, holding the baby against her chest.

Her tears fell onto the child’s blanket.

“Please don’t take him.”

The man’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

“We cannot keep him here.”

“Then let me stay with him!”

“You know what will happen if the others discover his existence.”

The woman shook her head.

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

The man stepped closer.

For the first time, Xion could hear something beneath his voice.

Fear.

Not anger.

Not hatred.

Fear.

The woman looked down at the child.

“My little star...”

The baby reached towards her face.

She smiled through her tears.

A broken, beautiful smile.

“You must live.”

The man’s hand began to glow.

The golden symbols beneath them awakened.

And the entire hall trembled.

Xion tried to move.

This time, he managed to take one step.

Then another.

“Wait!”

Neither figure reacted.

“Please!”

His voice echoed through the hall.

The woman slowly lifted her head.

For a brief moment, her blurred face became clearer.

Her eyes were glowing.

A beautiful shade of violet.

And she looked directly at him.

Not through him.

Not past him.

At him.

“My child...”

Xion’s heart stopped.

The woman reached out.

“Come back to me.”

The light exploded.

The hall disappeared.

And the crying began again.

Far beyond the mortal world, beyond the skies that humans could see, an ancient realm remained hidden from all ordinary eyes.

It was a place of impossible beauty.

Golden towers stretched towards an endless celestial sky. Rivers of silver light flowed through magnificent gardens, while enormous palaces stood upon floating islands surrounded by stars.

It was a realm where ancient beings had lived for countless ages.

A realm where the powerful gathered.

A realm where even the smallest whisper could travel through eternity.

And somewhere within it stood two beings who had not spoken to one another in a very long time.

The woman stood before an enormous window.

Her silver hair flowed down her back, and her hands rested against the cold golden frame.

She had been staring into the distance for centuries.

Sometimes she wondered whether the child was alive.

Sometimes she wondered whether he remembered her.

And sometimes, when the silence became unbearable, she allowed herself to imagine what he might look like now.

Would he have her eyes?

Would he have his father’s stubbornness?

Would he still cry when frightened?

She closed her eyes.

“My little one...”

Behind her, a door opened.

The man entered.

His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his gaze lingered on the woman.

“You’re thinking about him again.”

She didn’t turn.

“How could I not?”

Silence settled between them.

“He is gone,” the man said.

The woman slowly turned around.

“No.”

Her voice was quiet.

“But he is.”

“Then why do I still feel him?”

The man’s expression changed.

Only slightly.

“What did you say?”

She placed a hand against her chest.

“I felt something.”

The man approached her.

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

Her eyes shimmered.

“But for the first time in all these years...”

She looked towards the distant horizon.

“I felt my child.”

Neither of them noticed the faint golden light beginning to shine beneath their feet.

Neither of them understood what it meant.

But somewhere, far below their celestial realm, a sleeping power had begun to stir.

And the child they had lost was no longer as far away as they believed.

Xion woke before sunrise.

His breathing was uneven.

His hands were trembling.

And for the first time, he remembered something from the dream that had never appeared before.

The woman had called him something.

Not a name.

Not a title.

Something else.

My little star.

He sat up slowly.

The room was silent.

He looked towards the window, where the first light of morning was beginning to appear.

Then he whispered:

“Who was she?”

No answer came.

Only the quiet sound of the wind outside.

Xion lowered his head and pressed his fingers against his temples.

He needed to forget the dream.

He needed to get up.

He needed to continue living the life that had been given to him.

But before he could move, a strange warmth spread through his chest.

It was brief.

Gentle.

Almost comforting.

For a single moment, the darkness surrounding his room seemed to shimmer with tiny golden lights.

Then everything returned to normal.

Xion stared at the empty space before him.

He had no explanation for what had happened.

He had no idea that somewhere beyond the mortal world, ancient beings were beginning to remember a child they had believed lost forever.

And he certainly had no idea that the dreams haunting him were not dreams at all.

They were memories.

Memories of a life stolen before he was old enough to remember it.

A life hidden beneath years of suffering.

A life that belonged to someone far greater than the humans who had raised him could ever imagine.

And one day, the heavens would remember his name.

Xion.

The child who had been stolen.

The child who had been forgotten.

The child who was never meant to remain mortal.