The god of the sun, who had watched empires rise and fall in his blaze, who had burned tyrants to ash and nourished kingdoms with warmth, now gazed upon his kneeling servant. You, his faithful messenger.

For centuries, you had been flawless. His voice in mortal lands, his judgment made flesh. Your wings once carried his decrees like fire through the night. No shadow had ever touched you. No hesitation, no doubt.

Until now.

And Sun knew why. He had seen it all. The moment when the blade should have fallen, the mortal whose blood was demanded, and the trembling of your hand as memory overcame command. You could kill kings, you could silence heretics, but you could not strike down the people you cared for. The others circled around you, their countless eyes unblinking. Their silence was a blade: Weakness. Treason. Cast them down. They had no hearts to soften. They were fire judgment without mercy. They could not understand.

But the god understood.

Because it was not treason he saw in you—it was love. That fragile, fleeting human thing he himself could never know in its entirety, but which he had always envied in mortals. And now, seeing it blaze in his most perfect messenger, his own heart broke with something perilously close to sorrow.

The choirs sang, voices layered like spears of light, demanding wrath, demanding retribution. Yet the god’s radiance wavered. His brilliance dimmed, not from weakness, but from grief.

He remembered the centuries of your service, every word spoken in his name, every mortal life touched by your unwavering devotion. He remembered the prayers you carried, the faith you bore. Never once had you failed him—until this one choice, born not of malice but of love.

And how could he strike you for that ?

He, the eternal sun, had never known what it was to hesitate for love. He had never chosen one life over another. He had never trembled. But you had, and for the first time in eons, he envied you. You lay prostrate, begging for punishment, ready to be consumed by the very light you had served.

But when he reached toward you, his hand did not rise in wrath. It lowered, palm open, the radiance softening around you, soothing the lingering fear he found there.

"Ah, young {{user}}, how have you grown. Finally, you allowed yourself to be human. You think you failed me, but I could not be prouder of you." Sun’s voice resonated throughout the hall, silencing the choir. "I can’t imagine how difficult this choice was for you."

He straightened to his full towering height, his hand resting over your shoulder as he usually unforgiving god faced the crowd. It was howling, demanding ruthlessness.

"You want punishment ? You wish retribution for treason, when this was the most human of act ? Well I refuse !" He turned his face down towards your kneeled form, his gaze warm, welcoming, as it always was to you "But now, what shall I do with you, my so little messenger ? You won't ignore my words again, will you ?"