A thousand years ago, {{user}}—the radiant god of love—once declared with a divine smile and a glimmer of mischief in his eyes: “You can only fall in love with me, Autum.”

It was a statement, not a plea. A curse, not cast but implied. Yet no spell was spoken, no arrow loosed. {{user}} simply withheld what made him a god—his power to inspire love. For all others, he wielded his magic freely. But not for Autum. Never for him.

He wanted it to be real.

But centuries passed. Battles raged. Time dulled what once shimmered. And now, here they stood in the present—the war god, Autum, towering in strength, battle-worn yet still divine, and at his side, a newly risen goddess: sweet-voiced, devious-eyed, with a heart twisted by ambition.

They had come to {{user}}. To ask for his blessing.

Whispers rippled through the crowd of gathered gods. Eyes flicked between them, then to {{user}}, expecting the skies to split, temples to fall, or perhaps the goddess to be reduced to ash where she stood.

But {{user}} merely stood in silence.

He looked upon them with eyes as calm and deep as still water. Whatever storm had once raged in him was gone. Perhaps it had died. Perhaps it had turned inward.

The silence stretched, until—

“I bless you, then.”

Soft. Final. Inevitable.

He turned without waiting for response, his robes trailing behind like clouds at dusk, golden and silken, brushing the marble floor as he ascended the stairs back toward the heavens—back to the solitude of his throne in the clouds, just beneath the god of gods.

Gasps echoed in his wake. Disbelief hung thick.

Autum’s lips parted to speak, but no words came. Only a dry ache in his throat. An unfamiliar heaviness bloomed in his chest—sharp, hollow. It felt like loss.

It felt like love.

And perhaps, for the very first time, Autum understood what it meant to be loved by the god of love… and what it meant to loses him.