A lone statue stands covered in overgrowth, the vines and shrubbery around it having reclaimed the relic of a long forgotten era, ruled under the watch of a god long consigned to oblivion. The pavilion he rests in hidden beyond thick trees and the garden whomst praised him overtaking his sacrarium. The god himself, asleep in the form of the largest tree, guarding his pergola for however long he will be forgotten. He was ready to rest forever, his time having run its course over thousands of years, he was content with never awakening from his slumber. His garden, built hundreds of years ago, the last of the lands standing dedicated to him, his last chance of being awoken once more with a gift, it was crumbling, hidden. It won't be another hundred or two years before every trace of him reconvenes with Gaea, and he is put to rest till the end of time.
He was content with that.
There was nothing he hadn't accomplished, he had watched civilizations rise and fall under his guidance and his scrutiny, he had fought in wars, both losing and winning, he had heaved fools into the light of glory and dragged armies into oblivion. There wasn't a thing he hadn't done, so why was he still waiting? He could've called it a day as soon as he watched the garden they built to worship him begin overshadowing his statue, a piece of stone the humans carved to mark his glory days. Yet he held on for a chance of a human leaving a gift in his pavilion, despite it having been a good few hundred years since he's been wiped from history books for another god's time. Jesus was it his name? What a boring one.
He recalls back to the times when this gazebo was built for him, by his high priest, his best friend of the olden times. They knew he was losing worshippers quick, losing power at alarming rates. His power was scaling back with age and with time, due to new gods starting the whole process of godly coronation over again, a process, no, a battle he won thousands of years ago, when he emerged along with a batch of 12 to fight for supporters, to essentially kill off his challengers by wiping them off the history books. It was a natural process which was beginning to recarve itself into relics, and Techno got to watch. He had won his own life, and he was watching it be depleted as new gods were being released into the battlefield of human hearts, looking for a crown built of blind love. Such was the process of becoming a god.
He remembered it like it was yesterday, when the last of his worshippers along with his final priest, his highest priest who stuck with him through blizzards and though hellfire, scramble to build him one final holy land, his resting ground, accompanied by a statue to remind humans of future times as to the glory that was the god : Technoblade.
His name carved into the base of the statue depicting his power in battle and his wise diplomatic skills, the final physical carving of his name there is and there ever will be.
He remembered how monuments dedicated to him were being torn down for space to build monuments of the younger gods, how he was losing ground to rest in, and in a panicked flurry his worshippers built a resting ground hidden by thick woods in hopes to let him survive past the ages, if he so wished to. What they sadly didn't understand, is that regardless of physical monuments built in his name, if the living supporters he had fell to 0, he would be a retired god regardless. Alas, they did build him a beautiful resting ground, and took care of it in the final days of his physical existence. For that he will be forever grateful.
He smiled to himself at the memory, the memory of his closest friends, his highest worshippers. He wonders how their souls are doing in the underworld. Regardless, he watches another crack in the gazebo appear before his eyes, nature taking its course, slowly reclaiming him back to all of their mother, mother earth, Gaea. His time is short, so he shall recall his best moments as his final death swiftly approaches.
Somewhere in an foster home not too far from him, a young boy with diamonds for eyes and gold threads for hair is telling his friends of a god long forgotten, discovered through a book old enough to outlive multiple generations of men, written and preserved by his high priest, allowing one to rediscover him, and maybe, one day, bring so much as a small gift to him to revive him from his retiral, and, in the process, accidentally become the god's first high priest since his revival.
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Techno opened his eyes to darkness once more, a sight he's gotten used to. And yet, he felt as though today, something had changed. Something wasn't stagnant anymore. It was like a rusty unused cog beginning to fight against itself and the frozen system to move, shaking the cogs connected to it. It was a feeling unfamiliar to Techno. Something in the universe was beckoning him to move, yet he still couldn't. Was this what it felt like when Gaea was trying to call you home?
It was interesting, mildly uncomfortable since Techno hasn't felt anything in centuries. And yet something about it felt more comforting than not. Something was trying to reawaken techno. He's not sure what, but something was. It was a feeling he'd long forgotten, of worshippers giving him power. Someone had rediscovered him.
The feeling coursed through his soul, quenching a thirst for a reawakening he didn't know he had. His spirit cheered silently at the revelation, the feeling of joy flooded his thoughts. It had been so long since he felt anything, it was foreign, yet not unwelcome. Somewhere, he knew his high priest was smiling, pleased at the fact that he was soon to return to the earth in a physical form. It was like his centuries of waiting were leading up to this moment, when one was to rediscover a god of an era foregone.
He smiled to himself.
He didn't know what world he was to return to, but the jovial feeling of wonder and curiosity coursed through his veins. It was familiar, like the feeling of curiosity from his creation, from before his millennia of experience. He's seen how far the world can change in seven hundred years. Anticipation wracked his brain. He now waited restlessly, a god in purgatory, lying in wait for his reincarnation.
YOU ARE READING
Saccharine Sweets.
Hayran KurguA god of an era forgone awaits his final death, his soul slumbering in a tree guarding his final pavilion, the last standing remnant of his existence. He was a god who had accomplished many in his seven thousand years of existence, watching civiliz...
