Date: Year 559
I spoke against destruction.
That alone is treason to some of them.
The others watched in silence as Malrath prepared to unmake the child. They saw blasphemy. I saw recursion. Another loop in the great pattern, a variable too new to discard. What is a god of knowledge if not a student of the unexpected?
The child bore Felotl’s light—not metaphorical, literal. A residue clinging to his essence like morning dew on untouched grass. Mortal, yes. But limned in something higher. No prophecy named him. No song spoke of his birth. That was why I knew he mattered.
I offered to take him. Not to raise—but to observe. To understand. I lied.
Malrath relented. I took him to the outermost sanctuary, far from the divine chorus. I cloaked the place in silence, where even the threads of fate dared not vibrate.
He was quiet then. But I saw his eyes. They glowed like equations solving themselves.
Entry 1111 – “Naming”
Date: Year 568
Elydris.
I crafted it from the First Tongue: elyda, meaning “fractured sky,” and drissel, “hopeful root.” A paradox, fitting. His growth has been erratic, but stable. He speaks in full sentences already. At night, he listens to stars.
He asks me why I live alone.
I cannot tell him that I hide him from gods who believe they are still just. That I sealed entire sections of my library from Krorone’s vision. That I edited myself from prophecy.
He plays with spheres of light. They don’t obey him—they follow him, like pupils to a teacher.
He is not safe in this world. But I begin to wonder if the world is safe from him.
Entry 1136 – “On Potential”
Date: Year 589
He makes things. Small ones: hovering crystals that hum in perfect fifths, a net that collapses light. I give him no books—he invents language. I test his logic—he builds mazes I cannot exit.
Elydris is not powerful. He is precise. That is worse.
The Weave trembles when he’s near a leyline. Not as if strained, but… awaiting instruction.
I once called him a variable.
I was wrong.
He is a solution.
To what question, I still do not know.
Entry 1220 – “The Divine Drift”
Date: Year 658
The pantheon frays further each decade. Bhita pushes progress beyond measure. Felotl has withdrawn to the mortal plane. Ilmos isolates himself among beasts and old trees. Krorone... watches too closely.
And now, silence. Not peace—pause. Egos are already starting to simmer, waiting to ignite.
I look to Elydris and feel dread. He is untouched by divine politics. And yet I know the war will not be fought with legions or stars.
It will be fought with meaning.
And so, I must make him into a meaning none can undo.
Entry 1347 – “The Sundering”
Date: Year 1036
It is over.
The skies are cracked. Heavens have split. Angelina fell.
The rules are broken. Creation holds itself together only by memory and denial.
I wept for the first time in three epochs.
I went to the child—now grown. I told him what I had never said:
“You are not an accident. You are a buffer between belief and betrayal.”
He did not speak. But he understood.
That night, I began drafting the Forge.
Entry 1349 – “The Secret Plan”
Date: Year 1038
I cannot stop the next war.
But I can slow it.
Elydris will enter the heart of Krorone's territory. The people will take him in. They will believe he is a gift from the Moonweaver. Let them. The lie is beautiful, and beauty has always been a powerful form of truth.
He will forge weapons.
Not for domination. Not even for peace.
He will forge reminders.
To the gods: that their actions echo.
To mortals: that power need not corrupt.
To me: that intelligence without empathy is nothing more than calculation.
Entry 1355 – “Departure”
Date: Year 1045
He’s gone.
I watched him step beyond my wards, into the frost-lit dark of Nocturnis.
I did not cry. I am still a god.
But I burned the door he used, so that no one else could follow.
Let them call him myth. Let them call the forge divine.
Let them never know he was mine. Let him forever be the Star Smith.
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