Hello, mortal…
What?
You want to know why I'm considered my own pantheon?
Heh…
How bold of you to ask.
And how foolish not to already know.
They whisper it in your temples.
They debate it in your courts and sanctuaries.
They sketch my face in stained glass and stone —
But they don't ask me.
Not until now.
You want the truth?
Fine.
They call it myth.
They call it metaphor.
A tale to calm trembling minds.
But I —
I lived it.
I stood as the sky split open.
I watched gods — gods older than memory — claw at each other like animals.
I walked through fields where immortality died screaming.
Requius Eterna.
That's what they call it now.
They think it was a war.
It wasn't.
It was an extinction.
It was judgment.
The First Pantheon — Eterna —
My family. My origin.
All of them… gone.
Burned to dust.
Their thrones shattered.
Their names devoured by silence.
Only two of us remained when the heavens bled dry:
Myself… and my brother, Loki.
We stood alone in the corpse of eternity.
And in that silence, we made a choice.
We would begin again.
From the bones of the dead, we shaped the next gods.
We carved time into motion.
We taught meaning to existence.
We crafted mortality — not as punishment, but as purpose.
Your gods?
Your faiths?
Your very existence?
You're breathing in the aftermath of our grief.
But I didn't bring you here to talk about your world.
I brought you here so you could understand mine.
You pray to gods.
You ask them for blessings.
You fear them.
Good.
But know this — before you worship, before you kneel —
They would not exist if not for what I survived.
You want to know why I stand alone?
Because I watched every other god die.
Now sit, mortal.
Listen carefully.
Because no matter how long your life is…
You will only hear this once.