Before there were kings or crowns, before the world had names, there was only Will… and the price it demanded.
In the forgotten tongues of the First Age, carved into obsidian walls of half-buried temples and murmured through brittle scrolls bound in skin, lies a tale scholars fear to read aloud. A tale of the Mortal Who Became a God— and the rebellion that split the heavens.
He was born with no name. No prophecy. No divine bloodline.
A common man.
A seeker of truths.
One who read where others bowed, questioned where others prayed.
He was not chosen. He chose himself.
And in choosing, he climbed.
He ascended not by favor or fate, but by fire—carving through the Veil between realms with stolen truths and forbidden understanding. His rise was not an accident. It was an act of war against ignorance.
But ascension was not his rebellion.
The rebellion came after.
For when the man reached godhood, he did not take his seat beside the others in the sky. He walked back among mortals, cloaked not in radiance, but in humility. He shared what he had learned. He taught others how to awaken. He spoke of freedom, of breaking the walls the gods had built to separate themselves from the world below.
To the common soul, he was a flame in the dark.
To the gods, he was mud among marble.
> "He sullies divinity," said one.
"He makes gods seem… reachable," said another.
He broke the unspoken pact— the illusion that gods were beyond the reach of men. In his footsteps, others began to climb.
And so, the heavens struck.
The Seven— keepers of balance, lords of Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Light, Shadow, and Lightning— cast him down.
No trial. No words. Only wrath.
They called him heretic. Usurper. Traitor.
They chained him beyond the stars, sealed him behind realms no mortal could reach.
His name was scraped from stone. His statues shattered. His teachings burned.
He became a whisper. A myth.
The Imprisoned One.
The God of Forbidden Truth.
But before silence claimed him, he spoke a curse that would echo through all ages:
> "One day, my words shall find ears brave enough to hear.
One child shall walk the path you feared I would finish.
One mortal shall make the gods tremble again."
Terrified of that whisper, the gods sealed the Mortal World— cutting the divine tether that once let mortals ascend. The Ladder of Realms was shattered. The dream of godhood became sin.
And in the shadows of their fear, the gods created the God Hunter Sect— an order veiled in purity, trained to hunt echoes of the Imprisoned One. They erase lost grimoires, burn secret scrolls, and silence the curious before they ask the wrong question.
But knowledge does not die.
It waits.
Buried in ash.
Sewn into dreams.
Locked inside whispers.
And now, somewhere far from the gaze of gods…
A new whisper stirs.
---
They say every library holds dust, but some dust remembers.
And in the quiet village of Mistgrove, beneath herb gardens and dusk-lit scrolls,
a boy was about to open a page the gods had tried to burn.