The Heart of the Problem

The thunderous pounding of the waterfall draws my attention. This river flows through the country of Precipa like a major artery, carrying the gift of water and life to the mostly dry desert kingdom. But here, by the river, the ground is lush, and full of life. The air smells like a summer rain, earthy and rich, and the chirping of crickets and the buzzing of insects charges the surroundings with life. 

Wind whispers through the branches of the nearby willow trees, and I decide this is the perfect place to stop for the night. I've been walking throughout the day for months now, and despite having clung to the banks of the river for weeks, I'm hot, sticky, and exhausted. Even though the end of my journey is near, one more night won't make a difference. If I'm correct, my goal should be at the top of the cliff, at the bottom of the lake that marks the beginning of the river. 

But it's been centuries since the humans ripped it from my possession and weakened me to the point of unconsciousness. The world has changed much during that span of time. Two weeks ago, I'd surveyed Precipa from the summit of a snow-capped mountain in a range that hadn't existed before my forced slumber. And three weeks ago, I'd sailed across a sea in a location once as barren as the desert that makes up most Precipa. 

I lay out my bedroll in the shade of a willow tree and set my meager supplies down in the soft dirt beside it. My long, lanky body follows as I stretch out, my thoughts bittersweet. Tomorrow, my search for it ends. And while I'm pleased I'll finally regain possession of it, the effects of my heart, the heart of a god, on the land are clear. 

The human realm has grown beautiful since they stole my heart. They've built grand cities with skillfully carved marble columns, and they've cultivated fields of vibrant green grains. Mountains have risen, oceans have filled, and life has thrived.

All because the humans took something that wasn't theirs to take. 

But now, after seeing the marble spires of their great city of Tiersa, and listening to the squeals of laughter from the children there, after smiling at shopkeepers and dodging crowds, a part of me wonders if this is the right thing to do.

My journey started as soon as I opened my eyes. I'd reached inward, planning to draw on all the vengeful wrath that ​accompanied my dreams, but I'd barely felt a thrum of power. And my body, my soul, ​felt dreadfully silent. Empty. 

So I, the former god of vitality, walked, like a common human, to the nearest village, built around the ruins of a temple once built in my honor. The same soft green moss and gray-ish blue lichen that covered the ruins of my temple covered the homes and shops. The people were warm and kind, if a bit confused by my presence. They didn't know who I was, and apparently they didn't get many travellers. Especially not ones in tattered clothes they'd almost died in five hundred years earlier. 

I charmed small stones to resemble the golden coins the humans were using as currency, and purchased myself some clothes, boots, and a bedroll. Then I'd travelled into a brilliant forest that had once been a rolling, golden field. The leaves glowed jade green in the sun, and the forest floor was so soft I didn't need my bedroll at first. 

My second day in the forest, I'd come across a startled doe. Her golden fur ​gleamed in the dappled light of the forest, and then she'd walked up to me and sniffed my hand, her inherent wildness allowing her to sense my former godhood. I'd scratched behind her ears before continuing on my way.

Tiersa lies on the opposite side of the forest. Their banners, gold on blue, held my sigil, an osprey in flight. The marble spires stretched up to the sky, touching the clouds. The streets had been clean, and the air smelled of baking bread and roasting meat, though the earthy scent of the forest still permeated throughout the city.

The humans had been happy. Each and every one of them smiled as I walked through. Many of them waved. 

After spending a night in the city, listening to music and life nearly until the sun rose the next morning, I'd chartered a ship and sailed across both calm and choppy waters, marvelling at the fish brave enough to venture close to the ship to be observed above the water. We'd docked in a small port town filled with laughing sailors. Fields of crops surrounded the port.

Some laid in carefully cultivated rows, while others were more free, with the crops allowed to grow however they wished. And further still, the crops gave way to golden fields of grass, watched over by the peaks I'd known I would have to climb. For the nearer I got to my stolen heart, the more the aching hollowness in my chest grew. 

Now, with it so close, I feel like nothing more than a void. Just an empty shape where one of the most powerful beings in the world had once been.

The mountains were...interesting. At my full power, I would've avoided them altogether, willing myself to my next destination. I'd never scaled a mountain before. While doing so, I'd discovered that though the frigid temperatures didn't touch me, muscle exertion definitely did. 

Each inclined step burned, and the dull ache settled deep within my muscles. 

I had to take my time, scaling it slowly, fearing the whole time that a fall would throw me back into stasis, or would test the limits of my immortality, ending me once and for all. But the view from the summit of the highest peak...it'd been worth it.

On one side, the deserts of Precipa stretched as far as the eye could see, like a golden, glittering sea of sand, cut through with a snaking stretch of green, that being the Heartia river. The other side was just as breathtaking, a patchwork of green and gold, like one of my brethren had sewn the fields together in a quilt of beauty. And above it all, the wondrously unbroken line of the blue sky ​stretched into eternity. 

I hadn't seen the human realm like that since the beginning, and I'm sure, even after I retrieve my heart, the memory will last eons. 

Once I descended the mountains, I'd removed my boots and let my toes sink into the glimmering sand of Precipa, despite the heat. It, like the cold, didn't touch my skin. But the sand had been a pleasant tingling that tried to make me forget the aching hollowness inside was pulsing with the absence of a heartbeat. 

Now here I was, at the foot of the cliff, listening to the pounding of the waterfall reminiscent of the beating of a heart. Because it's my heart, my power, filling the lake, fueling the river. Once I reclaim what is mine, the lake and the river will dry up, and the lifeblood of Precipa will be no more.

My essence will cease to exist on the mortal plane, and the life and vitality they've enjoyed for centuries will fail. My restoration to power will plunge their lands into chaos and decay. Before this journey, I didn't care. That's what the humans deserved. But now I'm not so certain. The mortals alive today had very little to do with my assault centuries earlier, if anything. 

But I cannot continue like this. I cannot continue being a shadow of the being I am meant to be. The human realm is not the only one in need of my essence, my power. 

I fall into my dreams, the steady thrum of my heartbeat echoing in my soul.

The following morning, I scale the cliff next to the waterfall, mist accumulating on my skin like a second sheen of sweat. The clear lake shines crimson in the early light of dawn. And I can taste my power building in my soul, hovering just out of reach. Birds chirp their morning chorus. Another thread of guilt ties me to the ground. 

Then I dive into the lake to reclaim what was stolen. 

My heart sits at the bottom atop an altar encrusted with algae. My hand clasp around it, and it dissolves and merges with the mortal form I am no longer confined to.

My being explodes, and suddenly I am everywhere, watching as delicate flowers wither and die, as rivers and lakes dry up, as laughter dies from children's lips, and as smiles slip from human faces.

I watch as a child is born into a world without the full essence of life within, and as he cries at the loss of a world he'll never experience fully. 

Regret pulses through me more powerfully than the wrath once had. This world was glittering and golden, and now it would become desperate and barren. Wars would spark, and even more lives would be lost.

Humans curse my name, and begin calling me not the god of life, of vitality, but the god of death. They dub me Ceriak, god of death. But I carve out a piece of my essence and leave it with them. 

Perhaps one day, one among them can claim that piece of me, and restore their land to what it was before I brought it to ruin.