The valley was sealed. My children warred beneath a sky painted with my light, but it was no longer my place to intervene. Not yet. The echoes of Octavian's reign, the ruin of the clans, the fracturing of the prophets — all rang like a slow dirge, winding down the final days of an age I had birthed but could no longer guide.
And so, I turned away.
I stood upon the southern rim, where the last of the glyphs hummed like an ancient bell, sealing the divine breath within. The Gates of Ulmhar. That was their name — those broken archways of obsidian and basalt, carved with forgotten runes now glowing faintly with my departure. It was through these gates that I had once wandered into this world, nameless and shattered, walking across a field of bones under a sky that knew no mercy.
Now I returned, not shattered, but worn. Not nameless, but unknown to myself.
The path wound downward in silence. Forests once thick with life now whispered only in memory. Rivers I had crossed now stood still, their currents burdened by history. The air grew thin, and the stars clearer. I felt every step as if the stone remembered me — and wept.
As I walked, something deep within me stirred — and then quieted. The flame, that sacred core of divinity I had wielded across lifetimes, did not vanish. But it sighed, as if settling into ash.
No longer a blaze. Not even a spark. A coal, red and slow.
I passed old places. The skeletal field, now overgrown with green. The mountain shelf where Eve first called me god. The cave where Kael once swore vengeance and then penance. And always above, the lights of Pyraedros, flickering like stars desperate to be suns.
I crossed the final ridge at dawn.
The horizon stretched before me — a world untouched by prophecy or fire. The lands beyond the valley. Unknown. Unscarred. But not for me.
I turned, and for the last time, looked upon Orethrael.
It was not peace I felt, nor sadness.
Only a great weariness.
I stepped beyond Ulmhar.
The gates shimmered behind me, then closed with a low, harmonious tone. The glyphs dimmed, awaiting the next awakening.
I walked until the world no longer recognized me.
And there, at the edge of all things, where even the gods go nameless, I lay beneath an ancient tree, its branches like arms cradling the sky. No fire burned here. No wind howled. Only silence.
I closed my eyes.
And something within me fell into slumber.
The ember would sleep.
Until it was needed again.