Morgath

Chapter 0: "Fragments Of The Lost"

In the beginning was the Void, a vast, silent expanse untouched by light or life. From this endless darkness emerged a goddess, both its creation and its sovereign. She was a being woven from shadow and silence, yet her heart pulsed with a warmth that defied the emptiness around her.

The goddess brought forth the world, breathing life into barren lands and filling the sky with stars. Her creations thrived, and she ruled over them with a love that was boundless. She nurtured life, lavishing her creations with gifts of wisdom, luxury, and strength. Her people adored her, and she reveled in their devotion, for it gave meaning to her existence.

Yet, as ages passed, an unease began to stir within the goddess's heart. She looked upon the Void, her ancient origin, and felt a deep, inexplicable jealousy. The Void was eternal, untouched by the burdens of creation, while the goddess found herself increasingly entangled in the lives of her people.

This envy festered, darkening her once-bright heart. In her longing to reclaim the emptiness from which she had come, the goddess began to withdraw from her people, casting shadows over the lands she had once illuminated. Her kindness faded, replaced by a brooding resentment. She began to view her creations as chains binding her to a life of care and watchfulness, far from the unfeeling calm of the Void.

Then, in a final act of betrayal, the goddess turned her back on the world she had created. She called forth the darkness, unraveling the light she had woven into existence, watching as her beloved world fell into despair. Her people, once cherished, now became victims of her wrath, haunted by the one who had once nurtured them.

"At least that's how the story is written.", the old man said, his voice echoing softly through the ancient stone temple.

The children gathered around him sat in silence, the tale leaving a shadow over their young faces. The temple's single torch flickered, casting shifting shadows across the towering statue behind the old man—a figure of a goddess carved in ancient stone, her eyes serene yet unknowable.

A small, quiet voice broke the silence. "Does the goddess have a name?" the question came from Morgath, a boy with intense, curious eyes.

The old man looked at Morgath, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Ah, a good question, Morgath," he said, his face half-lit by the torch's warm glow. "But, alas, the goddess's name remains a mystery. Not even the oldest books, nor the most ancient songs, offer a whisper of it. They say that names hold power, and perhaps hers was hidden for a reason—or perhaps it was never known to begin with."

He lifted his gaze to the statue looming behind him, the goddess's face a silent enigma. "Some say this is her face," he continued, gesturing gently toward the stone figure, "though who can say if it truly resembles her? Stories are like threads, woven and unwoven by each voice that dares to tell them. What we have now may be little more than a shadow of what once was."

The other children leaned closer, their eyes wide with fascination, their breaths quiet as they hung on his words. Morgath watched the statue with an intensity, a question in his gaze that he did not voice. Nearby, two mysterious figures, seated quietly, observed Morgath for a moment, their expression unreadable, before they turned their attention back to the old man's tale.

The old man paused, glancing around the dimly lit temple, as if ensuring they were alone. The flickering torch cast shadows that danced across the ancient walls, and he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low whisper.

"There is... something more to the story," he said, his eyes narrowing as he held the children's rapt attention. "A secret known to very few, spoken only in hushed voices in the darkest corners of old libraries and ancient temples like this one."

The children leaned in, holding their breath. Morgath's eyes were fixed on the old man, a flicker of anticipation crossing his face, while the two figures, quiet and attentive, watched with a gaze that seemed to pierce through the old man's words.

"They say," the old man continued, "that before the goddess turned her back on the world, she left behind a piece of herself—a shard of her heart. It is hidden somewhere in the darkest part of the land, a place scarred by her betrayal, untouched by light to this day. This shard... it is said to hold both her warmth and her sorrow, all that remains of the kindness she once had."

He paused, glancing at the statue of the goddess, its face as serene and unknowable as ever.

"Those who seek it may gain her favor... or risk falling into the same despair that consumed her. Some believe that whoever finds this shard can either restore the goddess to her former self or, if their heart is strong enough, even become her successor. But beware," he said, his voice a trembling whisper, "for the Void has marked that place. It tests all who venture near, whispering truths and lies that only the strongest minds can withstand."

Morgath felt a chill run down his spine, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the statue. Something within him stirred—a strange feeling, almost like a memory, as if he had always known this secret deep down.

The old man's gaze softened as he looked at Morgath. "Some say," he added, "that this shard will reveal itself only to one who shares a bond with the Void, one who can look into darkness and find purpose within it."

The other children shivered, glancing at each other, but Morgath's face remained thoughtful, his mind racing with unspoken questions. The two figures' gazes flickered over Morgath, a guarded expression in their eyes, as if they sensed something the others did not.

Finally, the old man leaned back, his voice no longer a whisper but a solemn murmur. "But remember this, children... not every mystery is meant to be solved, and not every truth brings light. There are some paths that, once taken, can never be walked back. Even the brightest flame cannot burn without casting a shadow." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in, his eyes sweeping over each child. "And it's in those shadows that the most hidden truths lie—waiting for those who dare to look."

In the silence that followed, Morgath felt a strange pull—a silent invitation from the darkness itself, beckoning him to uncover the secrets left by the goddess and the Void.