Ravus stood before the mirror, his magitek prosthetic reflecting the dim light of the room. The weight of the day still clung to him—the endless responsibilities, the gnawing resentment that had been his constant companion, and the ever-growing burden of his family's legacy. As he adjusted his collar, preparing for what was supposed to be a quiet evening, he felt it again—a familiar presence.

The air around him seemed to shift, a subtle ripple, followed by the soft sound of something delicate brushing through the air. Ravus sighed as he turned to face the source of the disturbance. Floating close, as always, was the minor god that had taken an inexplicable interest in him. It was odd—this being, so powerful and yet so playful, persistent in its strange affection for him. He couldn't escape it, and honestly, he never tried to. What was there to do when a god decided you were worthy of their attention?

"You again," he muttered under his breath, but there was no real anger in his voice. In fact, there was a strange sort of resignation that clung to him whenever this occurred.

The god, with their shimmering form and mischievous aura, giggled softly, floating closer. In their hands, they held offerings—gems that sparkled like the stars above Tenebrae and flowers. Ravus didn’t have to ask where they had come from; gods had their ways, after all.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Ravus reached out, accepting the gifts. The weight of them felt odd—both beautiful and burdensome, a reminder of the bizarre connection that had formed. The god hummed happily as they hovered around him, their playful antics almost like a warm embrace. Ravus’ lips quirked slightly, his gaze softening ever so slightly as he stepped closer to his bed.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, the words tasting unfamiliar on his tongue. Was this how one spoke to a god? To the very being that had turned his life into this endless game of whimsy and duty?

He wasn’t sure, but it was clear that he couldn’t deny them. Who was he to deny a god?