The Forgotten God
The sound of trumpets bellowed, sky trumpets, a phenomenon many had only heard tell of.
Only Atum knew their origin, and he was not speaking. Simply watching as the world attempted to heal.
'They will much work to do,' he thought, glancing up briefly at the sun, swelling and pulsating as if it might explode. Where it was night, the moon would be doing the same. 'All will have memory of an earthquake, or some other disaster to explain it. It would be far too dangerous for all to remember the reality.'
The sun bulged, stretching far and wide, before snapping back to its normal size, still tinged with a hint of bloody red that smeared its rays.
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