The temple stood at the edge of existence, where the sky bled into the void. Its marble pillars, cracked and weathered, bore witness to countless prayers—some answered, many forgotten. It was here that I waited, listening to the echoes of the universe, until he arrived. Mydei.

The god of death moved like a whisper, his presence swallowing the warmth around him. Where he walked, silence followed. I, Phainon, the god of life, had always been drawn to him, though our natures opposed each other. I was light, he was shadow. I was warmth, he was the chill of finality.

Yet we stood in the same temple, neither belonging entirely to it nor to the world beyond.

"You called for me," Mydei said, his voice low, steady, inevitable.

I exhaled, letting the weight of existence settle on my shoulders. "I did."