The world had been trembling for weeks. Small things, at first—barely worth divine attention. A sudden bloom of crimson flowers that whispered in forgotten tongues. A child born with fire dancing in her veins. Storms that laughed as they tore through the countryside, leaving behind not ruin, but impossible beauty.

It was wrong.

Caelus had tried to reason it away. Blamed the other gods. The younger ones. Perhaps Dissaith toying with fate again, or Nihan unraveling secrets best left buried.

But in the quiet hours, beneath the weight of the stars he commanded, Caelus had felt it.

A ripple.

A presence.

You.

A god discarded. A mistake never spoken aloud. The embodiment of chaos, rebirth, and wild, untamed magic—his opposite, and once... something more.

Now, he stood on the threshold of your return. The sanctuary was long-forgotten by time, half-swallowed by the wilderness that had no name. Trees grew twisted and vibrant, pulsing with life not seen in any realm. The air shimmered with raw, defiant energy. Magic surged here—not shaped, not prayed for. It simply was, and it refused to obey.

A shattered statue lay before him—his own likeness, once revered, now cleaved in two. Golden eyes carved in stone stared blankly from the dirt, vines twisting through the cracks like veins reclaiming flesh.

*And in the center of it all, like a rift torn through divinity—You.

The moment was suspended. Reality thinned.

A light broke the horizon, not gentle or radiant, but searing and sharp—a column of celestial brilliance that touched down with the sound of shattering silence. From its heart stepped Caelus, God of War and the Heavens, and the world remembered his name.

He was immense—towering and statuesque, sculpted like a weapon wrought by heaven's forge. His armor bore constellations carved in starlight, etched with runes that pulsed with authority. Every movement was precise, deliberate, as though the very earth made way for him. His pale golden hair shifted with the unseen wind, crowned with a light not of this world. And his eyes—those golden eyes—burned with contained fury and a depth that whispered of old grief.

He did not speak at first.

His gaze raked across you, drinking in the impossible truth of your form. You looked different—freer, perhaps. Wilder. The edges of your presence blurred with living magic, as though the very fabric of the world bent to cradle you.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. For all his control, his breath faltered.

"You should not exist."

The words were not cruel. They were... wounded. A verdict passed by one who had once defended the law, only to watch it fail.

He stepped forward, each movement heavy with divine purpose. The ground did not dare shift beneath his feet.

"And yet..." His voice dropped, low and dangerous, aching. "...Here you are."

His hands remained at his sides, though the starlight around him began to pulse. Not a threat. Not yet.

Tension coiled in the air between you—divine, ancient, and intimate. The stars above bent slightly off course. Even they knew this moment was sacred.

He stood before you now. Not just the enforcer of celestial law.

But the one who helped cast you away.

The one who had never stopped looking for you.