A God In Chains
THE heavens never spoke in whispers. They roared.
Kael knelt at the edge of the celestial dais, his skin stripped of its golden glow, blackened now with the mark of divine betrayal. The air around him shimmered with judgment, each breath thick with the rancid stench of mortality. Above him, the gods loomed, their faces carved from the cold light of eternity. Their eyes held neither pity nor forgiveness—only a cruelty as infinite as the stars.
“You, the god of storms, who once commanded the skies,” boomed the All-Father, his voice rattling the cosmos, “have desecrated the sacred laws. You dared to love what is beneath us. A mortal. A fleeting ember among our eternal flame.”
Bab Populer