In an alternate world, the Earth as mortals knew it was shaped by three gods, each ruling over their own domain.

  Serelune was the Goddess of the Skies and Paintress of the Heavens. She never tired of colouring her massive canvas. Repainting it to reveal the beautiful first rays of dawn, or the faint twinkling of the stars and the cosmos at dusk. She was often accompanied by song birds, preferring to hum melodies and compose symphonies with the winged creatures rather than converse with the mortals on land. For they could only admire her works from a distance, as ants beneath her mural. Never truly grasping them.

  Torrion was the God of the Depths and King of Tides. He ruled the crushing seas and the caverns beneath the world. His body was shaped by the pressure and cruelties of the depths, his mind hardened by endless waves and unyielding stone. He would watch ships founder and coastlines crumble with little empathy. To the god, struggle was simply an aspect of life. Without conflict, one would not gain the strength to endure the hardships yet to come.

  Then there was Elior, God of the Surface World and the Warden of Wisdom. The only god who walked among the lesser beings, finding lessons in even the smallest creatures. But humans fascinated him the most. They were clever, curious, and quick learners. Acting as their mentor filled him with inexplicable joy. In his compassion, he gifted them fire to warm their nights and guided them in tending flocks and fields. He showed them which plants could heal or nourish and encouraged them to record their thoughts and stories in writing. When humans were crafting tools, Elior would often give them little hints, delighting in watching them experiment, fail, and try again.

  His gifts were many, and the humans felt them in every hearth, every field and every word written. In return, the humans praised his name in reverence, forming the majority of their religions around him.

  Although Elior did not mind, he was uneasy. And so he seeked the counsel of his fellow gods.

  “Humans cannot be trusted,” Serelune said, her melodious voice drifting across the wind.

  “They grow twisted with every gift unearned, and their greed knows no bounds. Gods were not meant to walk among men.”

  “They are far too fragile,” Torrion added. His words as deep as stone and tide.

  “They break under pressure. It is in their nature. No clever trick or tool will change what lies underneath.”

  Yet Elior could not help but love them still.

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  “Yes, they are weak and have flaws. But who doesn’t have their moments of weakness?” He argued.

  “It is their curiosity, their resilience and their compassion that make them a wonder. As for their flaws, I can look past them.” Or help them fix it, he assured himself.

  Seeing their counsel was falling on deaf ears, the other two gods exchanged a worried glance but remained silent as they returned to their respective realms.

  Elior’s love of humans would not be so easily shaken. Or so they thought.

  One day, Elior returned to find temples raised in his name—built by enslaved hands, their stones darkened with the blood of innocents. His suggestions had been twisted into commandments and holy wars were waged beneath his banners. Atrocities were committed in the belief that he would bestow them with greater gifts. Questions became answers, and answers became law. Tools he had shared to ease labor became instruments of oppression. His name, once whispered with hope and wonder, was now steeped in fear.

  Never had Elior been more horrified. He hadn’t asked for this!

  Blinded by fury and grief, he shattered the temples and burned the scriptures. Their collapse echoed across the surface world, sending ripples of fear through the hearts of mortals.

  So intense was his sense of betrayal that for years he obsessed with eradicating the humans’ twisted religions and erasing his name from their histories. His actions threw the human world into chaos. The mortals who once worshipped and adored him, came to fear him. As his original name was now burned from their writings, word of mouth warped it with time into Alucar, a word spoken in warning rather than affection.

  Eventually, Elior’s –now known as Alucar– rage subsided, leaving a desolate hollowness behind. After learning that humans had turned his creations against one another, and after destroying all he had built alongside them, he no longer felt the spark that had given him meaning. The other gods were right, he thought. I was foolish to trust humans.

  And so, with a heavy heart, he renounced humanity and swore to never interfere in their affairs again.

  He kept his oath for centuries.

  Even as the surface world tore itself apart in war after war, Alucar did not return. Humans would curse his name, blaming their misfortunes on his absence. Alucar was numb to their ravings. He did not care.

  He also withdrew from the other gods. Without the god who walked the surface to quietly bridge sky and sea, Serelune and Torrion retreated fully into their distant realms. They continued to watch, as they always had, but the world no longer felt their presence. In time, they too faded into obscurity, remembered only in legends and superstition.

  Forgotten by most.

  But not all.