Dear Diary,

This is definitely the last time I will write here. Because where I am going, I will have no way of taking you. I will not take anything except my memories.

Many times I have written about how, when I was younger I went to live with my grandmother. At times when my parents went to work away from home. Throughout my grandmother's life, she traveled a lot in our great country, and would tell me numerous stories about our gods. The creation of our world by the gods, the alliances to appease conflicts, the way in which they were born, their powers… My favorite story was about divine weddings. When she told me that every thousand years, since the creation of the very first human, a god or goddess would come down to earth to choose their other half, who would, in turn, become a divine being, to share eternity by their side.

Thus I learned, that the king of the gods, Ribium, had been the first to choose his wife, a thousand years after the first man was created. He had chosen a farmer's daughter, by the name of Uelia, for her beauty and kind heart. That first alliance symbolized the powerful bond between gods and men. The gods were thanked by humans for all they had done, and the men made offerings to them in exchange for their protection.

There was also Iaris, the patron goddess of travelers, who had chosen a young prince, Qharos. My grandmother was very fond of Iaris, and prayed to her often during her youth, when she spent her life on the roads. In my village, there is a statue of Qharos on the guiding path to the temple, because he lived here before being chosen. It was a great honor for the village and its inhabitants and the statue was erected less than a week after the passage of the goddess.

The list of gods is long, and many of them do not yet have companions.

The new cycle was about to begin. Tonight, a new visit was planned, and again the alliance between gods and men would be renewed, for a thousand years.

Obviously, few people still believed in the divine visit. But everyone had come either by tradition, or to make fun of Master Avione, the temple priest in our village. They certainly expected to see a celebration ; with the selection of someone from the congregation made by the priest himself, rather than a real intervention. I went there out of curiosity.

This year, it was the god Ghame who was looking for his half. He is the personification of the morning dew, the first breath of life, of beauty, and is the guardian of the arts. He is not part of the main pantheon of our deities, but he is very successful. Some girls say he has long golden blonde hair, and his eyes are blue like the great ocean. Obviously, despite the little credit people give to this ceremony, the young girls had come hoping to be chosen, clothed in their best dresses.

However, Ghame never came.

As Master Avione was going to address the crowd of worshipers, a wind suddenly swelled, thick heavy clouds darkened the sky, and thunder began to rumble. Above the ocean, lightning struck the water. Upon contact, an immense column of gray water formed, and in its center, there gradually appeared a silhouette. A tall, wide, dark, and menacing figure.

It was Enos. The ruler of the Realm of the Dead, creator of chaos, keeper of the mountains and master of the wild beasts. The most feared god in this world. There he was, appeared in the center of the raging elements, a few tens of meters from us. His feet up to his ankles were submerged in the water, and a cloak covered his shoulders and his body.

He slowly pointed his index finger at the crowd.

Right at me.