It comes to him in a dream, with a voice that says:
"Write the truth. Or die with the lie."
Kael'ith Varion awoke with blood on his fingertips—though no wound could be found, and no memory explained why.
The smell of scorched parchment lingered in the air, as if someone had burned a book within his bones.
His room was still.
The candles, long dead.
The ink bottle on his desk—shattered.
And upon his bed sat a quill. Black as midnight. Gleaming not with light, but with the absence of it.
He did not remember placing it there.
He did not own it.
But as he stared at it… something ancient stared back.
---
They said dreams were windows into the soul.
But this one felt like a prison—crafted for him by something that had studied the inside of his mind like a sacred text.
He should have screamed.
He didn't.
Because in his bones, something deeper than fear stirred.
A memory—not his.
A voice—not human.
A truth—that the world was not real. Or worse… rewritten.
---
They told him history began after the Black Erasure—a divine catastrophe that purged "unworthy truths."
They told him the gods wrote the world, and to question their authorship was treason.
But now, Kael'ith remembered a name from his dream—one struck from every scripture, every tomb, every mouth:
Seryphiel.
Not a name.
A title.
The God of Forgotten Sins.
---
Kael'ith touched the quill.
It pulsed—once—like a heart that had waited a thousand years for its hand.
And then, ink formed on the page before him.
By itself.
I have returned, Kael. The world you live in is a lie I wrote to protect you. But I am no longer its author…
You are.
---
Outside his window, the bells of the Cathedral of Holy Scripture tolled thirteen times—though there were only twelve hours in a day.
And somewhere, in the heart of the city, an ancient page turned by itself.
The first sin had been written again.
And this time… the world would never forget.
---