Aureon arrived at the village just before sunrise.

  He always came after the raids, glowing in pale gold, robes untouched by ash or dirt. Villagers rushed to greet him—crying, pleading, asking why the bad god tormented them.

  Aureon smiled gently and placed his hands over the dead. A faint white light flowed from his fingertips. Some bodies stirred. Some wounds closed. Some mothers got their sons back.

  But not all. Aureon never saved everyone. He saved just enough for the villagers to love him forever.

  Lyra approached him as he knelt beside a burned soldier. She wore a heavy leather cloak, her hands never far from the recurve bow strapped to her back—a habit of the Village Commander’s daughter.

  “Why doesn’t Varkhul speak?” she asked quietly. “He comes, he searches, he leaves. Doesn’t that feel strange to you?”

  Aureon looked up, eyes warm, voice soft: “You see confusion because you expect reason in evil. Evil has no reason.”

  Lyra frowned. Something about his tone was… rehearsed.

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  “He didn’t attack us this time,” she said. “He searched for something.”

  Aureon’s smile never moved, but a faint coldness flashed in his eyes.

  “Did anyone find anything unusual?” Aureon asked.

  Lyra shook her head.

  But not far away, Kaelen stood in the shadow of a hut, hiding his right arm. He felt the weight of his lineage pressing on him—he was the Village Elder’s son, expected to be greeting the god, not hiding from him.

  The bracelet on his wrist faintly glowed.

  Aureon’s gaze drifted past Lyra… straight toward Kaelen.

  For a brief second, their eyes met.

  Aureon’s smile disappeared. The god’s face shifted—from gentle to alert. From calm to calculating. He looked at Kaelen’s bright green eyes, searching them for secrets.

  Kaelen gripped his wrist tighter.

  Aureon stepped toward him, but Lyra stepped in front to block his view.

  “My lord,” she said, “we need you to bless the fields. The storm destroyed our crops.”

  Aureon hesitated… then smiled again. “Of course.”

  He followed Lyra away.

  Kaelen let out a shaking breath. Inside his mind, the whisper spoke:

  “He lies.” “He fears me.” “He knows what you carry.”

  Kaelen’s pulse pounded as he whispered. “What… what am I carrying?”

  The voice answered with hunger: “Hope.”