Beware, mortal heart, heed my plea,

Lest you're ensnared by divinity's glee.

For gods, ethereal and beguiling they be,

Yet perilous paths they weave, you'll see.

Their eyes alight with celestial fire,

A touch that ignites desires entire,

But their hearts exist in realms apart,

A chasm vast, where love may depart.

They breathe the air of distant skies,

While mortals below bear human ties,

Their love a tempest, fierce and wild,

Leaving hearts broken, emotions beguiled.

Their laughter, a melody that ensnares,

Yet woven with whispers of ancient affairs,

They dance through time, unburdened and free,

While mortals are bound by mortality's decree.

Oh, mortal soul, take heed, take care,

For loving a god is a dance so rare,

In their embrace, ecstasy may thrive,

Yet their departure leaves pain alive.

Their love a flame that burns too bright,

Blinding mortals to the waning light,

And when they tire of human devotion,

They leave hearts wounded in desolate emotion.

So guard your heart, O mortal kind,

Let not their enchantments cloud your mind,

For gods may offer love's sweetest taste,

But in the end, mortal hearts they waste.

The next day, Harahel set out to the Theater of Taliesin, where his disciples were rehearsing for their latest show. She was determined to convince them that Taliesin was in danger and that they needed to help her save him. Harahel's heart pounded as she made her way through the winding streets toward the theater. She knew that time was of the essence, and every passing moment could mean the difference between life and death for her beloved god.

As she made her way through the busy streets, a familiar figure appeared before her: the fool. His mischievous grin seemed out of place amidst the gravity of her thoughts, and Harahel's patience wore thin at the sight of him.

 "Ah, my dear lute-playing friend!" the fool exclaimed with a playful bow, his eyes sparkling with recognition. "Back so soon? It seems fate has intertwined our paths once more."

 Harahel's voice was strained as she replied, "I don't have time for games right now.” 

"Games? Who said anything about games?" he asked, still grinning. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood a bit. You seem awfully serious."

Harahel shot him a withering glare. “I have a serious task, one that can’t be solved with stupid jokes by a silly fool”

The fool's grin didn't waver, but there was a subtle shift in his eyes as he regarded Harahel. The playfulness seemed to dim slightly, replaced by a glint of something more complex, something that hinted at a deeper understanding beneath his facade. “It’s true that a lowly fool such as myself can be of little help to what seems to be a dire problem. But perhaps my God can be of assistance to you?”

"Antioch? Assist me," Harahel began to laugh. "Congratulations, fool, you've managed to make me laugh."

"Are you mocking my God?" said the fool, fanning mock outrage.

"Your God is the God of mockery!" Harahel retorted.

"A valid point," replied the fool. "But if you give him a chance to—"

"I've given that ridiculous excuse for a God all the chances he'll get!" Harahel shouted.

Harahel's frustration blazed through her words, her anger palpable as she confronted the fool. The gravity of her mission to save Taliesin from a potential threat weighed heavily on her, leaving little room for patience with the fool's antics.

The fool's gaze held hers for a moment longer before he finally broke into a sarcastic smile. "Ah, my dear lute-playing friend, you truly know how to kill the joy in any conversation. But go on, march toward your destiny. May the strings of fate play a melodious tune for you."

With that, Harahel turned on her heel, her steps purposeful as she stormed off toward the theater. The fool's laughter followed her for a few moments before fading into the distance.

Harahel walked down a cobblestone street lined with buildings, making her way to the Theater of Taliesin. As she approached the entrance, she could hear the sound of music and laughter emanating from within. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The first thing that strikes those who visit the theater for the first time is its size. It was immense, with towering pillars reaching up to the ceiling and a vast stage at the center. The walls were adorned with tapestries depicting scenes from Taliesin's plays, and the air was thick with the scent of incense.

The theater was bustling with activity. Actors were rehearsing their lines on stage, while stagehands scurried around, adjusting props and scenery. Harahel could see a group of musicians huddled together in one corner, tuning their instruments, and a few audience members were scattered throughout the seats, watching the proceedings with interest.

When she finally reached the stage, she saw a group of men and women huddled together, scribbling notes on pieces of parchment. They were Taliesin's senior disciples, Celia was among them. She approached them, her heart pounding with urgency.

"Please, listen to me," she pleaded. "Taliesin is in danger. I had a dream, and I saw him bound and gagged. We have to act quickly if we want to save him."

The disciples looked at her skeptically, murmuring amongst themselves. 

"Dreams are just dreams," one of them said dismissively. "Taliesin is fine. He's a strong and capable God."

Harahel replied, “You all must feel his lack of presence.

“It is always like that after the ascension.” The disciple responded, “He is probably off in the far realms, and when he returns, oh what beautiful songs and poems he will have for us.”

With a glowing smile on her face, another disciple proclaimed, “Praise Taliesin!”

Harahel felt frustration and desperation welling up inside her. "But I know what I saw," she insisted. “We have to find him before it's too late."

The disciples exchanged uneasy glances, but still, they remained unconvinced. "We can't just drop everything and go on a wild goose chase," another one said. "We have a show to prepare for. Taliesin wouldn't want us to neglect our duties."

Harahel's heart sank. She had hoped that the senior disciples would be more receptive to her plea, but it seemed that they were too focused on their own concerns to listen to her. Just as she was about to make another attempt to persuade them, Celia stepped forward. Her expression was a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Harahel, I understand that you're worried, but dreams can be tricky things," Celia said gently. "Taliesin is a god of dreams and inspiration, after all. Sometimes our own fears and anxieties can manifest in our dreams."

Harahel's frustration surged again, but she tried to keep her voice steady. "I know that dreams can be deceptive, but this felt different. I've never had a dream like this before. It felt... urgent."

Celia nodded, her eyes thoughtful. "I believe you believe what you saw. And even though I'm not entirely convinced, I'll talk to the elder disciples. They have a deeper connection to Taliesin's energies and might be able to sense if something is amiss."

A glimmer of hope sparked within Harahel. "Thank you, Celia. That's all I ask. I don't want to disrupt your preparations, but if there's even a chance that Taliesin is in danger, we need to act."

Celia smiled softly. "I understand your concern, and I appreciate your dedication to Taliesin's well-being. Let me talk to the elder disciples. In the meantime, try to stay calm and keep faith."

As Celia turned away, Harahel experienced a blend of thankfulness and unease. She knew that time was of the essence, and waiting for the elder disciples' assessment would be agonizing. But at least someone was taking her seriously, and that gave her a sliver of hope that they might be able to help Taliesin before it was too late.

Harahel turned to leave. But as she walked away, a voice called out to her. “They don’t believe you because they are jealous” Harahel turned to see the bard she meant at the ascension a few days ago. “Jealous?” she asked. “Yes,” He responded, “Of you and your relationship with Taliesin” “My relationship with our lord is no different from any other believers,” She replied. ”Then maybe they are suspicious,” he replied “Of me?” Harahel said, off-put by the accusation. The young Bard begins to strum his guitar and sings.

(Verse 1)

In shadows deep where secrets lie,

A tale untold, a lover's cry,

A passionate affair concealed,

A heart once bound, now left unhealed.

(Chorus)

Oh, Antioch, his heart laid bare,

For a disciple's love, he did dare,

She chose her god, her path divine,

Leaving him with love's cruel sign.

The melody seemed to hang in the air, its bittersweet essence weaving a tale of love and loss. Harahel's heart clenched as she listened to the bard's words.

(Verse 2)

He sang of nights, their whispers sweet,

A love forbidden, hearts did greet,

But duty called, and she did choose,

Her god's embrace, her heart to lose.

(Chorus)

Oh, Antioch, his heart laid bare,

For a disciple's love, he did dare,

She chose her god, her path divine,

Leaving him with love's cruel sign.

 The bard's voice carried a weight of emotion. The story he sang spoke of a love that had been sacrificed for a higher purpose, a love that had left scars upon the heart.

 (Bridge)

A god's love burns fierce and bright,

A disciple's loyalty takes flight,

Two paths diverged, love's fate decreed,

Leaving one heart to softly bleed.

(Chorus)

Oh, Antioch, his heart laid bare,

For a disciple's love, he did dare,

She chose her god, her path divine,

Leaving him with love's cruel sign.

As the bard's song reached its conclusion, the final notes lingered in the air, like a haunting echo of the emotions he had woven into his melody. Harahel was left speechless, the weight of the bard's song sinking in. Her mind raced, connecting the dots between the song and the words of the fool. The fool had mentioned forbidden love before, and now the bard's song seemed to echo that theme. Could it be possible that they were aware of her own past? That they knew about her relationship with Antioch, a relationship that had once burned passionately but had eventually been extinguished by the demands of duty?

Harahel's heart pounded as the realization settled in. She had kept her past hidden, buried deep within her heart, believing that it was a secret known only to herself, Antioch, and Taliesin. But now, the possibility that others might have uncovered her truth left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.

She turned to look at the bard, his expression serene as he continued to strum his guitar. Was he singing about her and Antioch? Could he have known their story? And if so, what did it mean for her mission to save Taliesin? Was her connection to Antioch somehow entwined with the danger that she had sensed?

She approached the bard, her gaze steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. "That song..." she began, her voice a mix of curiosity and caution. "Is there more to it than just a tale? Does it hold a message that I need to grasp?"

The bard looked at Harahel, his eyes shimmering with a knowing glint. His serene expression carried a weight of understanding that sent a shiver down her spine. Slowly, he strummed his guitar, the melody he played echoing the haunting sentiment of the song he had just sung. The notes seemed to reverberate with a cryptic and sinister energy that unsettled Harahel.

"You seek answers, dear Harahel," the bard's voice was soft yet laced with an unsettling undercurrent. "But some secrets are better left untouched, for they are woven into the very fabric of fate itself. The web of destiny can be cruel and unforgiving, revealing truths that can shatter even the strongest souls."

 Harahel's heart raced, and she felt a chill run down her spine. The bard's words left her both intrigued and unnerved. She sensed a darker meaning behind his cryptic response, a warning that she was stepping into territory fraught with danger. Her desire to uncover the truth warred with the growing fear of the unknown.

Before she could respond, the bard's gaze turned distant, as if he were looking beyond her. "Remember, dear Harahel, that in seeking the truth, one might unravel not only the mysteries of the world but also the fragile threads that hold one's own existence together."

Harahel stood there, her heart pounding, unsure of how to interpret the bard's words. The unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach only deepened as she considered the implications of his enigmatic response.

Without another word, she turned and walked away from the bard, her steps heavy with determination and uncertainty. The path she was on had grown even more complex and treacherous, and the revelation that her past might not be as hidden as she believed left her feeling exposed and vulnerable.