Leath-Dhia (Lah-Thee-ah)

The Leath-Dhia are the children of two worlds, born from the convergence of divinity and mortality. Their lives are etched with paradox — vessels of godly power yet tethered to human frailty. They walk among mortals with the bearing of kings and the longing of exiles. Their stories are never quiet: they are written in the clash of sword against prophecy, in the silence of temples built in their name, and in the tremble of a mortal’s breath when touched by one who holds too much of the stars.   Their existence is a negotiation between purpose and passion. Some are born to it — molded from birth for heroic tasks or divine missions. Others stumble into awareness, their powers blooming only after a brush with death or destiny. While many are guided by the voice of their divine parent, others wander without instruction, seeking meaning in a realm too vast and too small for their nature. This search often draws them into pivotal events, whether they wish it or not — for the world seems to bend around them, recognizing what they have yet to become.   Leath-Dhias are not static beings. Their nature evolves, shifting with choices, allegiances, and emotional tides. Some become champions of mortals, protectors of a people or place. Others are drawn to solitude, fearing what their presence disrupts. A few succumb to the loneliness of being too much and not enough — divine by blood but not by belonging. Their power often isolates them, even as it draws others near. Love, when it comes, is profound — and often tragic.   Physically, they bear the marks of both realms. They bleed, but not easily. They age, but not quickly. When angered, they may glow from within; when grieving, their presence can still entire forests. Some bear physical traits of their divine heritage — radiant skin, celestial auras, voices that hum like wind through marble. Yet their bodies are also grounded in the familiar: hands that can comfort, shoulders that carry weight, eyes that remember pain.   They are not worshipped in Tír na nÓg, but they are respected. Many dwell quietly, serving as scholars, warriors, healers, or wanderers. Their divine origins do not entitle them to power — in fact, many choose humility, finding peace in the very humanity that once felt like a flaw. In a realm where immortality is shared and divinity is common, it is their internal struggle, not their strength, that makes them remarkable.   Those who meet them often come away changed, not because of miracles performed, but because they stood near someone who embodies contradiction — a creature who walks the middle path between god and mortal, never fully either, and therefore fully both. The Leath-Dhia are not icons of power — they are proof that the divine, too, can ache, strive, and grow.  

Aetherkin

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