AukomDerf

Life can push you to the age of insanity,.A brief glimpse into Errin’s Journey and The Forgotten Valley.

Errin, a man of unknown origins, stumbles upon The Forgotten Valley, a place of profound mystery, where time moves differently, and reality bends like a dream. Drawn in by its untouched beauty and the simple life it offers, he soon finds himself entwined with its people, its customs, and a woman who binds him to the valley in ways he never anticipated. As he fathers children, his role transforms from an outsider to an integral part of the valley’s hidden truths.

But The Forgotten Valley is not just a place—it is an enigma. A world that exists between existence and illusion, where time can stretch a century into a fortnight. Errin lives through lifetimes, experiencing the joys of family, the serenity of nature, and the burden of questions that have no answers. His children grow into extraordinary beings, drawn into powerful sects beyond the valley, where cultivation, trials, and the fate of entire bloodlines are decided by strength.

Yet, a lingering uncertainty remains. Is The Forgotten Valley a sanctuary or a prison? Is his life there real, or merely a fleeting dream? When he finally leaves the valley, time reveals its cruel hand—only twelve years have passed in the outside world, while he has lived for over a century within (144year). Doubt consumes him. Was it all an illusion?

As he nears the end of his life, longing for the valley but unable to return, he entrusts the journey to his sons. Three set out, but only one succeeds. That son finds the valley changed—vast, filled with countless souls living in quiet harmony. His experience mirrors but does not replicate his father’s. And in the end, when Errin dies, he wakes once more… Was The Forgotten Valley real, or was it simply a dream too vivid to forget? Is life real, a dream or a mirror of domething else?

join me and lets walk the journey of ERRIN the outsider

ERRIN THE OUTSIDER

The God With No Throne

He sat among roots older than language.

The Valley had no temples, no golden halls or marble spires to enshrine the newly born god. There were no high priests anointing his brow, no trumpets proclaiming his sovereignty. Instead, there was moss beneath his feet, birdsong above his head, and the warmth of a child's hand in his.

Nayel—the god born without fury—watched the world with wonder, not dominion.

Not into the sky. But through the villages, the rivers, and the broken places.

He sat with a blind blacksmith who could still shape stars in iron.

He laughed with orphans playing in the mud, asking them if they remembered flying before they were born.

He held a dying elder's hand, and whispered the names of flowers she'd forgotten.

Not because Nayel demanded worship.

Why do you fear death when you already carry it in your breath?

Why do you seek gods when you can become legends yourselves?

Why do you bind your children in fear, when your ancestors were once stars who danced?

He was not gentle. But he was kind.

And kindness—true kindness—is the sharpest blade the heavens ever feared.

Above, the remaining gods debated.

"This child is unmaking the Order," said one cloaked in thunder.

"No," said another, wrapped in silence, "he is reminding it."

But the oldest god, whose mouth had never spoken, wept.

"We built the heavens on chains," he said. "He offers wings."

Back in the Valley, the boy stood at the broken vessel that had once cradled him in divine fire. The cracks still glowed faintly, like memories not fully lost.

Echo stood behind him, her voice soft.

"You do not need to carry the whole world, Nayel."

He turned, eyes brighter than morning.

"I don't want to carry it," he said. "I want it to walk with me."

Ka'il'a leaned on her sword beside them. "And if the heavens demand fealty?"

"Let them descend," he said. "Not to conquer—but to remember how to kneel in awe."

But they did not burn with cold light.

Each constellation twisted subtly, realigning into new stories—ones of mothers who birthed hope, of valleys that held back gods, and of a child who refused the throne but became the way.

In a distant realm, the great Celestial Thrones turned to dust.

Chapter 117 : THE GOD WITH NO THRONE