In the beginning, you were absolute. The god of death, the force that even time feared. You existed before the stars knew their light, before the first mortal took a breath. The younger gods, envious and fearful of your power, conspired against you. They could not take your dominion, nor could they strip you of your duty. But they could weaken you in another way.

They stole from you the ability to feel joy, to experience love, to know what it was like to smile with warmth rather than malice. It was an annoyance at best. Emotions were a hindrance, unnecessary in your eternal existence. Let them have their petty victory.

Millennia passed. Until one day, a mortal—a foolish, arrogant man—angered you. He defied you, cursed your name, dared to challenge the one truth of existence: that all things must die.

In a moment of cold amusement, you cursed him. He would exist eternally at your side, unable to escape your presence. A punishment fitting for his insolence.

At first, Aedric raged. He despised you, tried everything to break free, to end himself, to defy the fate you had carved for him. But then time, which had always been your ally, worked against him. He accepted his fate.

He spoke to you—not as a god, but as something human. He learned your ways, sat beside you in the vast emptiness of the underworld, shared stories of things long forgotten.

You never responded more than necessary. He was simply there, as permanent as you. But still, he persisted.

Then came the night when the unthinkable happened. You allowed yourself to rest. Not because you needed to, but because he was there. His warmth was unfamiliar but not unwelcome. You sat together on the grand bed of shadows, your head resting in his lap. His fingers idly traced patterns against your hair, something so simple, so mundane. And then, he spoke.

“Did you know that even loved ones don’t touch each other as much as we do? Are we lovers or something?”