Chapter three: The fallen Angel or The Ascended Mortal.

Mavis and Theron, under the quiet cloak of the night, gently lifted Ludachel from his cradle of stars. Each step they took was burdened with the gravity of their newfound plight, an intricate dance on the tightrope of fate. The air around them hummed with the silent song of sorrow as they moved towards Ludachel sanctuary, a place known only to the Hollows, a place Mavis only found because her son, who could speak and communicate with the guardians, once brought her along.

Admeirs, the god of creation and one of Mavis's most powerful sons, awaited them in the silent glade that served as their meeting point. His power to create was a mirror to Mavis's ability to breathe life into existence, making them a formidable duo in the realm of the gods.

As they revealed the dire circumstances to Admeirs, his eyes, usually vibrant with the spark of creation, dimmed with the weight of responsibility now placed upon his shoulders.

Understanding the urgency and the stakes, Admeirs consented to their plan. Together, they would create a world for Ludachel—a sanctuary where time and destiny could be held at bay, a place where he could grow under their watchful eyes, untainted by the intrigues and dangers of divine politics.

The creation of this world was nothing short of miraculous. Admeirs shaped the land, the mountains, and the seas with a thought, crafting landscapes of breathtaking beauty. Mavis, in turn, breathed life into Admeirs's creation, filling it with flora and fauna, with rivers that sang and forests that whispered the oldest secrets of the universe.

However, the dangers lurking beyond the borders of this crafted haven required more than isolation. So before they could finish their creation and seal it into fruition, they needed to ensure that Ludachel's existence remained a secret, hidden even from the prying eyes of Seraphim and Sherph.

To this end, they sought the assistance of Eve, an enchantress known for her mastery over memory.

Centuries before the land had turned to desolation, before destiny had been rerouted through the weaving of one ill-fated spell, Eve was but a mortal.

Her story was one of devotion and profound connection to the world around her, to its energies that pulsed, unseen by the eyes of her kin.

In a small village shadowed by the grandeur of the gods, Eve spent her days in the tranquility of the shrine dedicated to Mavis, the goddess she revered above all.

Eve's devotion to Mavis was not born out of fear or desire for protection, but from a deep-seated appreciation for the life that Mavis represented, the burgeoning and nurturing force of existence.

The shrine, a modest structure built from stone and adorned with wildflowers, was her sanctuary, a place where she could feel the immediate presence of the divine.

Mavis, in her celestial realm, could not help but notice the unyielding faith of the mortal woman, her aura bright with an unspoken power that was rare even among those who walked the higher planes of existence.

This power, though undeveloped, was an innate ability to connect with and manipulate the energies of the world, a talent for crafting spells not through incantations but by sheer will and understanding of the cosmic balance.

Touched by Eve's devotion and intrigued by her latent abilities, Mavis made herself known to the mortal woman in a rare act of divine intervention. The goddess appeared not in a blaze of glory, but as a gentle presence, a whisper of wind and warmth that enveloped Eve as she knelt in prayer.

"Eve, your faith has resonated through the veils that separate our worlds," Mavis spoke, her voice a melody that seemed to echo the harmonies of life itself. "But it is not just your devotion that has called me to you. You possess a gift, a potential that extends beyond the mortal coil."

Eve, awestruck and humbled, found her voice. "My goddess, I am but your servant, seeking to honour the gift of life you bestow upon us all."

Mavis smiled, a gesture that seemed to brighten the very air.

"Your humility is as commendable as your spirit is bright. I wish to offer you more than my blessings. Your ability to sense and manipulate the world's energies is a rare gift—one that should not be bound by mortal limitations."

With a touch that felt like the caress of spring, Mavis transformed Eve. The change was not just physical but spiritual, elevating her from the confines of mortality to stand among the celestial. This act of transcendence was not merely a bestowing of power but an acknowledgment of Eve's unique connection to the essence of creation.

As a celestial, Eve's understanding of the world's energies deepened. She became a weaver of spells through the sheer force of her will, her manifestations directly influencing the fabric of reality. Her devotion to Mavis remained unwavering, but her role evolved from worshipper to protector, a guardian of the balance that her goddess so cherished.

Eve's new existence was a solace and a challenge. She walked the lands, both mortal and divine, as a bridge between the two realms. Her powers allowed her to sense the shifting energies of the world, to mend and maintain the delicate balance that kept chaos at bay.

Her anchoring to the mortal realm – her memories, her love for the people, and her understanding of their fears and hopes – remained strong.

It was this connection that made her uniquely involved with the protection of Ludachel when the fabric of destiny unravelled. Eve stood at the crossroads of her divine mission and her mortal empathy, a guardian of a future god whose fate was sealed by her own hand, navigating the complexities of a world she was once part of, now observing from the threshold of divinity.

So now Eve, with her dark indigo cloak woven from the threads of forgotten magic, arrived at the threshold of the new world. She understood the gravity of her task—erasing Ludachel from the memories of all who knew of his existence as he lay sleeping in his mother's embrace completely unaware.

Her incantations were delicate, a tender unravelling of memory threads that required precise and careful manipulation.

As she worked her magic, a mishap occurred. In the shadow of their grand intentions, the sanctuary intended for Ludachel morphed into something entirely unintended because of the clash of magic and divine power which no one could have predicted. Admeirs, Mavis, and Theron, sculptors of this refuge, had envisioned a realm of beauty and safety. Yet, influenced by the unforeseen mishap of Eve's spell, what emerged was a world draped in dystopia—an ashen landscape where nothing celestial dared to venture. It became a realm forgotten by the gods, an echo of despair cloaked in the guise of mundanity, a deliberate imperfection to ward off divine scrutiny.

The land was bleak, skies perpetually grey, casting a solemn hue over the crumbled ruins of what might have once been a civilization at its zenith. Rivers ran dry, their beds scarred into the earth like the wounds of the land, while forests stood petrified, their once mighty canopies now a memory of leaves.

The new world, now draped in desolation still bore life, it stood as a bleak testament to the complexities of fate. In the shadow of the accidental grand design, a population emerged—generations of people created for the sole purpose of disguising Ludachel's existence. These inhabitants believed in their own histories, hierarchy, and religion, unaware that their lives were fabricated to hide a secret god among them.

Amidst this desolation, life, stubborn and resilient, eked out existence—flourishes of resistance against the oppressive gloom.

This world, intended as a sanctuary, was now a cruel irony when one considered its original purpose. Ludachel, hidden within its bounds, was bereft of his divine guardians and his own memories, a divine entity obscured by the spell that was meant to protect him.

The unintended consequence of Eve's spell had woven a deeper magic than anticipated. Mavis, Theron, and Admeirs, too, had forgotten Ludachel's existence, leaving him in the care of Eve, who, in her wisdom, believed the gods' absence might be a blessing in disguise. In her eyes, the child's fate should unfurl untouched by divine ambitions, a leaf to drift on the winds of destiny, unguided by the hands that had sought to shape its course any further.

Jutis, the god of time, confronted Eve amidst the decay of the dystopian world they had unwittingly crafted. "You have veiled a soul from the eyes of its kin," he observed, his voice untouched by the passage of eons.

"Yet, you have not obscured him from the weft of time."

Eve's green eyes met his gaze, unflinching. "One can hide existence from memory, but not from time," she confessed. "Just as one cannot interfere with fate without consequence," she retorted, her tone laced with the wisdom of ages past.

Jutis, intrigued by Eve's audacity and her insight into the nature of existence, decided to intervene—not to rectify her actions but to follow the unfolding narrative she had inadvertently set into motion. "The strands of time are resilient, bending without breaking. Your actions have woven a new pattern, one that defies the predetermined. I find this... intriguing."

"Why do you not forget?" Eve asked, her curiosity piqued amid the desolation surrounding them.

"I am Juits, the god of time and as the god of time I am tethered to all moments, past, present, and future. To forget is to unravel the very essence of existence. And yet, your spell, potent enough to sway the memories of gods, raises questions about fate and the power vested in destiny," Jutis explained, his eyes reflecting the myriad paths of time, untold futures blooming and withering with each passing second.

Eve, understanding the gravity of her spell yet recognizing an opportunity in Jutis's words, proposed, "Let us guide him together. In a land devoid of celestial interference, perhaps Ludachel can forge a destiny untainted by divine expectation."

Jutis considered this, the fabric of time pulsing around him like a living entity. "Your error has created a unique tapestry, a child of the gods raised in the crucible of oblivion. Hmmmm, I'll Let this play out, Eve. Watch over him, but remember, the threads of destiny are not easily manipulated."

With a nod of agreement, an unspoken pact was forged between them. Jutis, intrigued by the potential outcomes of this deviation from the divine script, allowed the situation to persist, a rare concession from a being for whom time held no secrets.

Eve, now the sole guardian of Ludachel's obscured path, watched over the child as he grew amidst the ruins of the world his family had created for him—a dystopian haven where the specters of what could have been haunted the peripheries of his existence. The land, although devoid of overt beauty, taught Ludachel the value of resilience, of finding hope in the heart of despair.

Streams of water, scarce and precious, became veins of life; patches of green, rare and hardy, symbols of persistence.

This unconventional upbringing, shaped by the hands of fate and the oversight of an enchantress, crafted Ludachel into a being of unique perspective—a deity fostered in the crucible of human strife, unaware of his celestial heritage but innately driven by a desire to mend the broken world around him.

Eve, mindful of Jutis's warning, interfered little, guiding only when the tendrils of fate showed signs of straying too perilously. Her task was monumental yet subtle—ensuring Ludachel's growth into his potential without the heavy hand of divinity to steer him.

As Ludachel will mature, fragments of forgotten divinity will begin to stir within him, glimpses of a power majestic and raw, yet controlled by the instinctive wisdom born of his unique upbringing. The dystopian land, conceived as a veil to obscure him from the eyes of the divine, instead became the crucible from which a new kind of deity would emerge—one not shaped by the expectations of his kin but forged through the trials of existence at its most primal.

And as the winds of change began to whisper through the crumbling edifices of the dystopian world, a new chapter awaited on the horizon, poised to test the boundaries between divine will and the indomitable spirit of one forgotten.