Halmyra remembered being born.
And remembered death.
The two memories existed side by side.
One heartbeat apart.
One eternity apart.
The moment faith had ignited, she had come into existence.
Not as a child.
Not as an adult.
Simply... aware.
Aware of fields.
Aware of growth.
Aware of seeds breaking soil.
Aware of farmers looking toward the sky and hoping.
Aware of hands planting with no guarantee of reward.
That was what she was.
Harvest.
The promise that labor would become abundance.
The hope that tomorrow would feed today.
And then she had met her siblings.
Briefly.
Painfully briefly.
Solyrr.
Bright and warm.
Not merely sunlight, but certainty.
The feeling that dawn would always come.
Thamriel.
Steady.
Unmoving.
The comfort of standing on solid ground.
The certainty that something would hold.
Eryndor.
Gentle.
Quiet.
Life itself continuing despite hardship.
A child taking its first breath.
A seed refusing to die.
A wounded animal surviving the winter.
For a moment, there had been five.
For a moment, there had been family.
Then there had been two.
Halmyra sat alone within her divine realm.
A place that was not quite a place.
Endless fields stretched beyond the horizon.
Golden wheat swayed beneath a sky that never fully settled into day or night.
Fruit trees stood heavy with harvest.
Vines climbed ancient stone walls.
Everything grew.
Everything flourished.
Everything lived.
And it felt wrong.
Because three voices were missing.
"They were just born."
Her voice sounded small.
Even to herself.
"They had just arrived."
She knew what had happened.
The knowledge had come with divinity.
Faith.
Worship.
Domains.
Anchors.
The rules that governed gods.
She understood them.
That understanding did not make it hurt less.
Solyrr had faded first.
Not because he was weak.
Not because he was lesser.
But because people depended on the sun without worshipping it.
They expected it.
They trusted it.
But they rarely thanked it.
Thamriel had suffered the same fate.
People stood on the earth every day.
Built homes upon it.
Buried their dead within it.
Yet very few thought to pray to the ground beneath their feet.
And Eryndor...
Halmyra closed her eyes.
Life was everywhere.
Which meant no one thought about it.
Not until it was threatened.
Not until it was slipping away.
Not until they feared losing it.
By then...
They prayed elsewhere.
To healing.
To Vaelis.
Halmyra felt her chest tighten.
An odd sensation.
One she suspected mortals would call grief.
"They never even had a chance."
The fields around her responded.
Wheat bowed.
Leaves drooped.
Flowers closed.
The realm mirrored its goddess.
For a long time, she simply sat there.
Thinking.
Remembering siblings she had known for less than a moment.
Yet somehow loved.
Was that strange?
Perhaps.
But they had been the only beings in existence who truly understood what she was.
The only ones who had awakened alongside her.
The only ones who had shared that impossible first moment.
And now they were gone.
Not entirely.
That was the cruel part.
Halmyra could still feel traces of them.
The earth domain rested within her now.
Not all of it.
Only what remained.
Only what faith had carried forward.
She understood soil now.
Stone.
Roots.
Foundations.
Mountains.
The deep patience of the land.
Those things had once belonged to Thamriel.
And because they belonged to her now—
She remembered him.
Not perfectly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to hurt.
"I don't even know if these memories are mine."
The confession escaped softly.
Were they truly memories?
Or merely echoes carried by domains?
Did it matter?
The grief felt real.
And that was enough.
Elsewhere, another presence stirred.
Vaelis.
The God of Healing.
The inheritor of Life.
Halmyra could feel him.
Not through distance.
Through divinity.
The same way one feels a heartbeat.
He was grieving too.
Of course he was.
Eryndor's domain had flowed into him.
Life itself now rested partially within Healing.
An inheritance neither of them had wanted.
An inheritance purchased with death.
The irony was almost unbearable.
The God of Healing.
Unable to heal his own sibling.
Halmyra laughed.
A single broken sound.
Then cried.
Not because she wanted to.
Not because she chose to.
But because she suddenly understood why mortals cried over harvests lost to drought.
Why they cried over graves.
Why they cried when winter came.
Loss existed.
Even for gods.
Perhaps especially for gods.
For a long time, she simply sat among the fields.
Watching wheat sway.
Watching fruit ripen.
Watching life continue.
Eventually she looked downward.
Past her realm.
Past the veil separating divinity from mortality.
She saw villages.
Farmers.
Families.
Children.
Fields.
And she felt their prayers.
Not grand prayers.
Not dramatic ones.
Please let the crops survive.
Please let winter be gentle.
Please let there be enough.
Tiny prayers.
Countless prayers.
Faith flowed toward her.
Steady.
Warm.
Constant.
For the first time since her birth—
Halmyra understood why she still existed.
Because people needed harvest.
Needed food.
Needed abundance.
Needed hope.
And because of that—
She had survived.
Not because she was stronger.
Not because she was better.
Because she was remembered.
The realization hurt almost as much as the grief.
Because Solyrr had not been remembered.
Because Thamriel had not been remembered.
Because Eryndor had not been remembered enough.
And now she carried part of one of them within herself.
Halmyra lowered her head.
The fields bowed with her.
"I'll remember you."
The words were spoken to no one.
And to three people at once.
"I don't know how long gods live."
"I don't know what happens after this."
"I don't know if you'll ever return."
The harvest goddess closed her eyes.
"But I'll remember."
Far above.
Far beyond gods.
Far beyond faith.
The System continued running.
Unaware that the first true mourning in divine history had just begun.
End of Chapter 10