The heavens stretched endlessly above, bathed in a golden glow, but Varla walked with purpose along a path of pure light, his sharp jaw set in deep contemplation. His broad shoulders carried not just the weight of his immortal existence, but the unspoken burden of responsibility. He was heading toward the Thunder Realm, home of the storm god—Zeus, as the mortals called him.
Varla was not like the gods he had guided for eons. No, he was something far older—something beyond their comprehension. He had existed before the gods, before time had even begun to flow. While they had been born as children, appearing as seven-year-olds with innocent faces, he had come into being fully grown, as if the universe had already prepared him for his purpose. And so, for over a hundred million years, he had ruled as their king, teaching them how to wield the cosmic forces they possessed but could not understand.
But today… something felt different.
A whisper of unease brushed against his mind as he walked. It was subtle at first, like the hush before a storm, but it grew heavier with each step. Then, ahead on the radiant path, something impossible appeared—something he could not comprehend.
A tear in existence.
The rift pulsed, black and formless, shifting as though alive. That alone should have been impossible. He knew all things. His mind held the knowledge of the cosmos, the secrets of creation itself. There was nothing he could not understand.
And yet, this rift…
This anomaly was beyond him.
A rare chill coursed through his immortal body. He hesitated—just for a moment—before stepping closer. His pulse quickened. His fingers twitched. Every instinct screamed at him to turn back. But he did not. He could not.
He reached out.
The instant his fingers grazed the rift, the universe shattered.
Darkness.
A suffocating void swallowed him whole, a vast nothingness stretching beyond the grasp of thought itself. He floated, weightless, blind, and for the first time in his endless existence, powerless.
"What… is this?" Varla thought, his mind racing.
"Why am I suddenly encountering something beyond my knowledge?"
Then, a voice. Deep. Ancient. Infinite. It reverberated through the void, carrying an authority that made even him feel small.
"Because I willed it."
Varla stiffened. The voice was not just powerful—it was absolute.
"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice steadier than he felt.
"I am the one who created you… and the universe you call home."
His mind reeled. His creator? No. That was impossible. If such a being existed, why had he never known?
"If you created me, then why do I have no knowledge of you?"
A pause. Then, the voice rumbled with quiet finality.
"Because I did not want you to know."
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then the voice spoke again, sending a tremor through Varla's very soul.
"Your task is complete. You have taught the gods, shaped the cosmos. Now, I grant you a gift—a new life. A mortal life."
Varla's breath caught. No.
A brilliant beam of light surrounded him. It was warm at first, almost comforting. But he knew what this was. Reincarnation.
Panic surged through him. If this process completed, he would lose everything—his celestial power, his very essence. He had no choice. He had to act.
With a surge of will, he reached deep within himself, summoning a fragment of his power. A glowing gem formed in his palm, crackling with energy. Without hesitation, he sealed his divine essence within it, forging it to release his strength slowly—only when his new body became strong enough to handle it.
The hexagonal crystal gleamed with an eerie glow as he pressed it against his chest. It sank into his flesh, embedding itself within his very being.
Just as the light consumed him.
The last thing he heard was the voice, echoing with quiet amusement.
"We shall meet again, Varla. In due time."
And with that, the Immortal King was gone.
Reborn into the realm of mortals.