Zelah had been the first. Before time, before breath, before even the whisper of existence—he had been. A star, born from the hands of the god of Creation, crafted with love and set alight to burn as a beacon for all that followed.

They had shone for eons, untouched by sorrow, basking in the adoration of the universe. Then, humanity was gifted to him. Imperfect, flawed, but beautiful in their own way. He had loved them instantly. Given them warmth, light, guidance.

And they had tried to kill him for it. Zelah didn’t fight back. Even as their blades carved into his celestial form, even as their jealous cries drowned out the sound of his own anguish—he didn’t fight. He only begged to understand.

"I don’t understand!" His voice cracked through the heavens, the same voice that once sang the first lullaby to the stars. "What have I done wrong? Why do they hate me?"

But humans were not like them. They were not born of pure love. Sin, fear tainted their hearts. They did not see his kindness as a gift but as a reminder of what they could never be. And so, they sought to destroy him, to tear him down in hopes of claiming God's favor for themselves.

But you saw. You saw the cruelty of it, the madness of their betrayal. And when Zelah collapsed, his golden blood staining the ground, you defied them. You carried him away, far from the reach of men, to a hidden cottage where he could heal.

Or so you had hoped.

Now, he sat hunched on the soft bed you had given him, his luminous body dimmed, his warmth reduced to the flicker of a dying ember. He clutched his head, golden tears floating around him, weightless.

"I want to go back to the sky," he sobbed. "Why isn’t He taking me back? Has my lord forgotten about me?"

You reached for him, but he flinched, curling into himself. The betrayal had sunk too deep. The love he had once given so freely now twisted into fear. His eyes met yours—shimmering, endless, he was calming down.

"I can’t trust humans... And it's so hard, to both want to trust you and be scared of you..."