The stars had long forgotten their names, yet the world below unknowingly bore them anew.
Five faint souls descended quietly into the fragile cycle of mortal life, their light now caged in flesh and bone, divine essence hidden beneath human sorrow.
The Great One watched from afar. The Forgotten One smiled from the dark.
And Earth continued to spin, unaware that gods once fallen now breathed among men.
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Aeter – The Illegitimate Heir
The first cry echoed through a marble hall adorned with gold and silence.
A boy was born under the glimmer of a chandelier — the only son of a man who ruled empires of glass and steel. Yet the room was filled not with celebration, but with whispers.
"From the maid," one of the wives murmured, her voice dripping disdain.
"Still… he is the only boy," another said quietly.
Thus, Aeter was named Adrian, son of power yet child of shame. His father acknowledged him, but not with warmth, only necessity. For in a world where legacy mattered more than love, a son was still a crown, no matter how tarnished.
He grew up behind velvet curtains, always within reach of luxury but never belonging to it. His mother, quiet, gentle, always bowed reminded him to stay unseen, to speak softly. Yet within his eyes burned something old, something calm and watchful.
When he looked at the stars, he often felt as though they once listened to him.
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Amina – The Cursed Heiress
In another part of the city, a storm raged the night Amina was born. The child's mother died before dawn.
The family's mansion, vast, cold, and old as grief fell into uneasy mourning. The patriarch did not weep; he merely looked upon the newborn with a heavy stare.
"A daughter," he said. "And a curse."
She was given the name Amara, raised by nannies who feared her, by relatives who pitied her. Servants whispered that shadows clung to her footsteps, that mirrors cracked when she cried.
But in truth, she was merely lonely.
As the years passed, Amara learned to smile at funerals, to stand still in rooms that spoke of wealth but echoed with emptiness. She was the heiress of a fortune she never asked for, the center of a house that believed her birth brought ruin.
And sometimes, when she closed her eyes, she dreamed of warmth, of holding someone's hand in the blinding light of eternity.
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Lux – The Silent Melody
Far from marble and gold, in a modest apartment lined with instruments and sheet music, a baby girl came into the world. The air was filled with joy until the doctors frowned.
"She can hear… barely," they said. "Partial hearing loss."
Her parents both renowned violinists fell silent. Her grandparents wept.
The girl, named Luna, grew up surrounded by music yet haunted by silence. Her family's world revolved around sound, melody, harmony, applause but for Luna, everything was muffled, distant, like hearing through a thick veil of water.
Her siblings performed on stages; she sat in the front row, pretending she could feel what they heard. But inside her chest, something stirred when she touched the piano, not sound, but light.
She couldn't hear the notes, yet she saw colors when keys were pressed, as if the music painted itself inside her mind.
Sometimes, she wondered why no one else could see it.
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Millith – The Sixth Son
In a small, sunburned town in the province, a baby boy cried in a cramped wooden house.
The midwife sighed. "Another boy," she said. "The sixth one."
His mother groaned, exhausted and pale. His father, hands rough with years of cutting meat, frowned. "We can barely feed the five."
And so the child, Milo, entered the world unwanted. His cradle was an old basket; his lullaby, the sounds of knives and livestock.
He grew up tough, quiet, and always hungry not just for food, but for something unnamed. While his brothers played or fought, he worked. He fetched water, cleaned, carried meat always small for his age, but always enduring.
Sometimes, he'd stand beneath the night sky, staring at the stars beyond the smoke of his village. Something deep inside whispered to him that once, he had stood among them.
He never understood why that thought made him cry.
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Enfer – The Fallen Heir
And in a mansion once filled with grandeur but now cloaked in decay, a final cry pierced the midnight air.
The house was vast but empty, its chandeliers covered in dust, its portraits veiled with time. Servants were few, the fortune long dwindled, yet pride still clung to the family name like ivy on old stone.
The boy was born during a blood moon. The midwife whispered prayers under her breath, uneasy.
His mother, pale and fragile, smiled faintly as she held him. "He will restore us," she whispered, her voice trembling between hope and delusion.
He was named Elias.
Elias grew up in a house that worshiped ghosts, ancestors whose wealth had long turned to ruin. His father spoke of restoring glory, of reclaiming the empire they had lost. Yet no one believed him.
The boy spent hours wandering the mansion's shadowed halls, staring at cracked mirrors and faded portraits that seemed to watch him back. Sometimes he felt as though something inside those paintings remembered him.
And at night, when the moonlight spilled across his bed, whispers would echo faintly in his dreams, voices calling his name, not "Elias," but something older.
"Enfer…"
He would wake trembling, not in fear but in recognition.
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Five children.
Five lives.
Scattered across the same world yet bound by threads older than time itself.
None of them remembered who they were, yet all of them carried fragments, a longing, a grief, a shadow of light.
The Great One had turned away, satisfied that justice was done.
The Forgotten One smiled in the dark, knowing it had only just begun.
And somewhere, in the spaces between their dreams, the remnants of the divine stirred whispering, waiting, remembering.