The Forgotten Temple of Meya

For three hundred years, the demon Kasar wandered the world. He witnessed many things and endured countless trials, yet nothing could save his embittered heart. Hatred for the entire human race consumed him from within. He would have been glad to forget his grievances, but time and again, he encountered evil, self-serving individuals ready to tear apart anyone—whether a relative or a stranger. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. He also met those blinded by bloodlust, people who killed for the sheer joy of it, driven by a selfish desire to end a life. To Kasar, even as a dark entity of evil, these individuals were scarier than monsters and worse than demons. However, Kasar had not always been a demon. He was born an ordinary human, possessing neither special magical abilities nor outstanding physical strength. Demons aren’t born; they are made. Kasar transformed into a demon when, at the moment of his death, his soul became filled with resentment, hatred, and an insatiable thirst for revenge. He simply could not depart for the next world with such powerful negative emotions. The path to heaven, where he might have returned to the cycle of reincarnation, was forever closed to him. Meanwhile, the gates of hell snapped open, inviting him in eagerly. His soul had lost the opportunity for rebirth, entangling him in an eternal existence of darkness. Demons are not immortal, but they can live until someone kills them. Outwardly, they do not differ from humans and can easily blend in, hiding their rotten essence. However, few want to do so, because the soul of a demon is a symbiosis of an unhappy life and an incredibly strong hatred. As a result, demons are usually loners. Kasar had seen more than a few of them during his travels. They lived in the forests as hermits and occasionally hunted travelers. Unlike them, Kasar preferred to toy with people's lives, spending much of his time in cities. He enjoyed baiting people into committing crimes and then watching as their lives spiraled downhill with no hope of redemption. Kasar could no longer remember how many cities he had traveled to in the world. Many had interesting places, unique laws, and distinctive architectural features, but it was impossible to remember everything. After a while, a city could turn to dust. After all, everything comes to an end. A vast empire can fall, leaving behind only ruins and ghostly memories. But it's pointless to dwell on the grandeur when even the most painful memories—those that seemed to flash before the eyes forever—eventually fade, dissolving in the halls of consciousness. Centuries later, the demon could no longer find the place he once called home and was brutally mauled by his own kind. Is it funny or sad? Kasar flew slowly over the forest, absorbing his surroundings. He searched for something familiar, something that would resonate with his heart. The country he once lived in had vanished three hundred years ago, and the village where he was born had disappeared even earlier. He himself didn’t fully understand why he felt drawn to a place that had long ceased to exist. Perhaps it was the human part of him that still spoke within. It was a hot, dry summer, and all the leaves on the treetops were scorched and withered. He needed to fly a bit faster to avoid them as they easily fell. The sun stood at its zenith. Anyone else in his position would have been drenched in sweat and parched by now, but Kasar was resistant to extreme temperatures; this weather couldn't harm him. However, if he were thrown into the mouth of a red-hot volcano, he would undoubtedly perish. Kasar smiled slightly at the thought of such an extravagant way to die. The man with black hair turned sharply and spotted an angry demon flying toward him. The demon growled menacingly, its long fingernails resembling animal claws. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, making it clear just how emaciated he was. Kasar didn't have time to dodge; after all, maneuverability in the air is much lower than on the ground. The attacker grabbed him by the shoulders and sank his fangs into the base of his neck. A sharp pain pierced through Kasar. He hadn’t expected to encounter a hungry kin, and he certainly hadn’t planned on becoming someone else’s dinner. With a loud growl, Kasar grabbed the attacker’s head with both hands and yanked it away. A chunk of flesh remained in the demon's mouth. Blood spurted from Kasar's neck, but he didn’t care. He dove downward at full speed, still clutching the alien head. Tree branches tore at his clothes and face as he fell. The attacker’s back crunched softly upon hitting the ground. “You will die today,” Kasar hissed through gritted teeth, clenching his hands tighter. “Wretch!” The demon, pinned to the ground, roared in pain and rage. In a sudden burst of strength, he kicked Kasar in the stomach, sending him flying back a meter until his back slammed against a tree. The demon was weakened by hunger, but he still had plenty of fight left in him. Like a beast, he lunged at Kasar on all fours, covering the distance in a single leap. This time, however, Kasar was ready. He raised his right hand, allowing the demon to bite down on it, while with his left hand he gripped the attacker’s shoulder and yanked with all his might. With a sickening tearing sound, his arm was ripped from its socket. A piercing shriek echoed through the air. The armless demon dashed into the forest, realizing he had encountered a formidable opponent and deciding to flee. Kasar didn’t hesitate; he launched an electric ball straight at the demon’s back. The creature immediately collapsed with a grunt, his internal organs fried and blood pooling beneath him. He didn’t have long to live, but he clung desperately to life, trying to crawl away. Kasar flew closer, stepping on the demon's back with a smirk. “There’s no escaping me.” “If… if only I had eaten that… god,” the demon gasped, his voice trembling with the last of his strength. “What god?” The lowly scum had piqued Kasar's curiosity. “Fuck you,” the demon spat, blood pooling on the ground beneath him. Kasar arched an eyebrow in surprise at such audacity. He squatted down, gripping the demon's pale face tightly. “What would you rather do: tell me about this god and die quickly, or suffer slowly and painfully while the crows devour you?” He pulled the demon’s face closer, then took him by the waist and soared above the forest. “Do… whatever you want to do,” the demon replied weakly. “Well, with your permission,” Kasar said, whistling loudly. From all directions, large black birds began to circle toward him from afar. Kasar tossed the demon into the air, where it hovered, suspended by magic. After a minute, the first crows arrived, descending upon the demon’s bare skin—pecking at his chest, stomach, sides, and the remnants of his arm. He no longer had the strength to scream; all he could manage was a soft moan, his body trembling in silence. The once cloudless blue sky had darkened with the swarm of birds responding to their master’s call. More and more crows joined in, tearing at the demon piece by piece. Eventually, he surrendered. “Enough,” he wheezed, “I’ll tell…” “I’m listening carefully,” Kasar replied, his tone unwavering. “Southwest of here… stands a temple to the local… god…” Blood rushed from the demon's mouth as he struggled to speak. “Go on,” Kasar urged, indifferent to the demon's deteriorating condition. “The god has no… believers left. He will die soon. The power… will be gained by the one who eats the god…” “Interesting. Southwest, then,” Kasar said, turning in the right direction and scanning the horizon. “How do I know you’re not lying?” “Just fly down and take a look…” Kasar contemplated the demon’s words. He was no longer of any use to him. If the demon spoke the truth, he deserved a quick death. But if he was attempting to deceive Kasar, he couldn’t be allowed the satisfaction of gloating on his deathbed. Either way, he had to die. “Well, you’ve outlived your usefulness. Good luck in hell,” Kasar said, putting an end to the demon's torment as he cast its body down. Some crows followed it, while others soared off into the unknown. The sky cleared. Kasar flew toward the direction the demon had indicated. That famished creature hadn’t lied. Half an hour later, he spotted a small wooden pagoda, just one story high and roughly the size of a single room. Weathered and overgrown with vegetation, it still emanated a faint divine aura. He descended in front of the stone steps that led up to the entrance. The climb had always been a challenge, even when the temple was well-maintained, and now it was even worse—nature had taken its toll. Kasar could have easily scaled the steps with his powers, but he chose to walk the path as he had once done in his human form. This was the first time he had visited a temple since then, even if it was in such a state of neglect. If a god has true believers, no demon can enter the holy land and its surroundings. Yet the local deity had almost completely lost his powers. Kasar walked on, inhaling the air that felt remarkably different from what he was used to. Here, it seemed refreshing and light. With each step, he drew closer to the temple. Although breathing became increasingly difficult due to the proximity to the deity, it was not uncomfortable enough to deter him. Midway up the path, he noticed two stone statues of foxes flanking the steps. They stood no taller than his knees and were overgrown with moss. Suddenly, a vivid memory surfaced in his mind—he had seen these foxes before.The recollection filled his heart with a trembling excitement. With anticipation coursing through him, Kasar leaped over the steps, quickly making his way up. The ground was thick with grass, and the temple itself had lost its vibrant colors, grayed by the passage of time. Yet, aside from that, the place remained as he remembered it. The villagers from the town where Kasar was born and raised had once worshipped the god who resided in this temple. As he looked around for the deity, he found no one in sight. “Is there anyone here?” Kasar shouted, and a few crows cawed excitedly before taking flight. “Are you lost?” came a soft voice from behind the temple door. “Yes,” Kasar lied. “I was attacked by a beast and was looking for a place to rest. By divine providence, I found this temple.” He delivered the last phrase with unmistakable irony. Approaching the pagoda where the voice had originated, he slid open the double doors. There, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was a boy who appeared to be around eighteen or twenty years old. His skin was incredibly pale, reminiscent of a dead man's. Long, straight, rye-colored hair cascaded down to the floor. His large eyes, framed by long lashes, resembled the sky. A white robe was carelessly draped over him, failing to conceal his chest and strong torso. His pants, matching the color of the robe, were wide and almost weightless. The entire image of this being suggested he might vanish at any moment, as if he were an illusion conjured by a fading consciousness. “Meiya! He’s still the same as he was then,” a thought flashed through Kasar's mind, and his lips curled into a smile. Meya was once worshipped by the villagers on opposite sides of this forest. People believed that he was the master of the land on which they lived. He was also said to be the god of fertility and harvest, born from a rye ear. He was believed to help the soil recover faster and save it from drought and frost. And, indeed, the area had higher yields than other areas of the country. What about Kasar, he was born in a nearby village. The time of his early childhood was serene. His parents would leave for the fields in the morning, and he and his little sister would run around, having fun and playing a variety of games with the other children. As he grew older, he began to help his mother and father by learning the work of a farmer. And in the future he planned to make a living at it, following in his parents' footsteps. But his life collapsed overnight. It was early fall, and all the farmers were busy with the harvest. Thirteen-year-old Kasar was returning home; he had been released early from the fields because he was too young. His mother gave him a loaf of black bread and a jug of milk, bought at the market in the morning, and told him to feed his little sister and eat. Kasar was walking towards his house, humming a cheerful children's song. Suddenly he heard the stomping of hooves behind him. The boy turned around and saw a dozen riders approaching him quickly, shouting something in an unfamiliar language. Judging from their dusty clothes and worn leather boots, as well as the sabers and quivers of arrows behind their backs, they were bandits! The village where Kasar and his family lived was quite far from the border of the country. Therefore, it was surprising to see a crowd of bandits gathered there, because it was usually the border settlements that were attacked. The boy had only heard of bandits, but had never met any before. And in reality they were even more frightening than in his father's stories. The man riding at the front of the bandit group drew his saber from its sheath and spurred his horse, charging forward. He fixed his predatory gaze on Kasar, who felt the weight of that stare like a hunter sizing up its prey. Instinctively, the boy stepped off the wide road and dashed toward the forest. The bread and jug clutched in his hands became a burden, and with a heavy heart, he tossed them into the yellowed grass behind him. Laughter erupted from the riders as they sped past, but fortunately, the bandit did not pursue him. They continued their ride toward the village, while Kasar plunged into the cover of the forest, hoping it would be a quicker path. He ran with all his might, praying to Meya to grant him speed and strength. His mind raced with thoughts of the village, where only children and frail old men remained. He had to warn them and help them hide. His breathing became labored, and his legs ached as he pushed himself onward, fueled by the belief that he could save everyone. But as he neared the settlement, he realized that the miracle he hoped for was slipping away—he was not going to make it in time. Kasar reached the village just as the bandits had begun their rampage of robbery and theft. They reveled in their power, facing no resistance as they stormed through the homes. With a sense of dread, Kasar watched as they carelessly looted valuables, breaking anything that resisted their greed. Some bandits gathered treasures in the center of the village while others stuffed their sacks with whatever they could find. The men who had come for profit showed no mercy, and those old men who dared to defend their homes were swiftly executed. Realizing he could do nothing in the chaos, Kasar retreated into the forest belt, seeking refuge behind the trunk of a large tree to observe the scene. His heart sank as he caught a horrifying sight. Before his eyes, an old woman from a neighboring house—who had often treated him and his sister to warm pies—was brutally slaughtered. She had tried to shield her grandson, begging the robbers for mercy, but her pleas fell on deaf ears. The bandits showed no compassion, disposing of anyone who crossed their path. Kasar stifled a scream of terror by clamping his hand over his mouth. Panic surged through him as he frantically scanned the area, praying not to see his sister’s lifeless body. He realized with a flicker of hope that the bandits had not yet reached his home, which meant that his sister might still be alive. Desperation fueled his resolve as he prepared to make a plan to save her. Kasar's family home stood a little away from the main cluster of dwellings, surrounded by forest on three sides. This made it easy for the boy to approach the house from behind. He crept as close as he could and knocked quietly on the window with a trembling hand. There was no response. Nervously biting his lip, he knocked again, this time louder. To his relief, his little sister's tear-streaked face appeared behind the glass, her dark hair framing her frightened expression. "Open the window," Kasar whispered, pointing to the wooden frame. The girl quickly followed his instructions. "What are we going to do?" the ten-year-old asked, panic lacing her voice. "Get out! You can't stay in the house," Kasar urged, holding out his hands. His sister climbed out of the window, sitting on the frame with her legs dangling down. Kasar caught her by the armpits and helped her down. "We need to warn the adults in the fields. Let's go!" Kasar ran through the forest again, but this time much more slowly and carefully, leading his sister by the hand. They had taken the shortest route, which meant wading through thickets that scratched their faces, hands, and feet. Their clothes tore in several places, but they pressed on, determined to reach the fields as quickly as possible. What lay before the brother and sister was a sight no thirteen-year-old boy and ten-year-old girl should ever have to witness. The golden field of ripe wheat was stained red with blood. Peasants who had been working hard were shot with arrows and slashed with swords. A few bandits roamed among the dead bodies, searching for anything of value. The murdered peasants had nothing but sickles in their hands and a couple of pieces of stale bread in their pockets. The bandits showed no mercy, stuffing the meager food into their sacks. One of them even stripped a shirt off a corpse, as if it were a prize to be claimed. Kasar froze in place, unable to believe his eyes. He didn’t want to accept the horrifying reality unfolding around him. In his mind, he kept repeating one word: “Wake up.” He wished desperately that this was all just a nightmare. His sister, whose hand he still held, trembled beside him. Her small body shook as she fought to suppress her sobs, and it was this that finally brought Kasar back to his senses. He strained to see any sign that someone might have escaped, but there was nothing. No arrows closer to the forest, no bodies lying there. Anyone who showed even the slightest sign of life was killed immediately. It was clear that those who were best at playing dead had the best chance of survival, but that was no easy feat. The brigands roughly turned over the corpses and pulled arrows from them, cleaning the usable ones before returning them to their quivers. It was a gruesome sight, and Kasar felt a sinking realization that his parents were probably no longer alive. He would never see them again, never hear their voices, never feel their calloused hands, worn from hard work. "I'm scared, brother," she said quietly, sinking to the ground. She gasped for air, as if choking, but her eyes remained fixed on the bandits. "Don't look," Kasar said, covering her eyes with his palm and pulling her close. "There’s nothing we can do here. Let’s go back home and hide in the cellar.There’s food there, and it’s unlikely we’ll be found." The Kasar family home had been built over several generations, constantly remodeled and rebuilt. The entrance to the cellar was tucked behind a door in a small room that resembled a closet. Even during the day, it remained dark due to its awkward location. If someone didn’t know about the entrance, they would never find it. Kasar decided that hiding there was their best option. Staying in the forest was practically a death sentence; wild beasts and all sorts of monsters roamed there at night. His mother had always frightened him with stories of the creatures lurking in the woods. The brother and sister returned home when darkness had already settled in. The brigands had targeted the largest and wealthiest houses, celebrating their plunder with abandon. It seemed that all the food and drink from the locals had been consumed by them and their horses. Watching the scene unfold, Kasar felt a strange sense of relief that he had thrown away the bread and milk; at least those bastards couldn't destroy everything. The children sneaked into their home like mice. Inside, everything was in disarray. Dishes, rags, and clothes were strewn across the floor. Kasar quickly grabbed some comforters and warm clothes, making his way down to the basement while swallowing the nausea rising in his throat. He couldn't bear to look at the chaos in the house where he had grown up. But he held back his tears; he was the head of the family now, and he had to take care of his little sister. Kasar decided it would be best to wait until morning, hoping the bandits would leave by then. He and his sister bundled up in warm clothes and wrapped themselves in blankets. The girl fell asleep quickly, but Kasar lay awake for a long time, staring into the darkness and reflecting on the events of the past days. It wasn't until morning that he finally drifted into a restless slumber. Kasar had no idea how long he had slept when he woke up, struggling to breathe. As soon as he opened his eyes, he was hit by the acrid smell of smoke. There was a sound coming from above, as if someone had started a fire. Their family home was burning! The realization sent Kasar's heart racing. He quickly roused his sister, who struggled to wake up, her breathing becoming frantic once more, just as it had the day before. The smell of smoke grew stronger, causing Kasar's eyes to water. He swung open the cellar door and was met with a scene of chaos: flames were blazing across the scattered remnants of their home. He climbed out first, then helped his sister follow. She struggled to ascend the stairs, barely able to move on her own, teetering on the brink of fainting. Her eyes glazed over, and her body began to go limp. Kasar tried to lift her, but she was nearly his size, making it difficult. Instead, he hoisted her onto his back and dragged her outside. The flames consumed almost the entire house. With no other choice, Kasar walked straight through the open fire to escape. His feet burned painfully, and he howled in agony, but he pressed on. Hanging in the doorway was a beautiful tulle curtain, carefully embroidered by their mother. Once a treasured piece, it now stood as a fiery barrier. Closing his eyes and holding his breath, Kasar pushed through it, scorching his face, chest, and left arm. Sobbing in pain, he quickened his pace. As he stumbled outside, the blue sky was obscured by thick clouds of black smoke. The bandits were nowhere to be seen; they had chosen to destroy everything, leaving the survivors with nothing but the ashes of their village. Even if there had been a chance to rebuild before the fire, the survivors—mostly children like Kasar and his sister—had hidden away, and now their only option was to beg in nearby settlements. But even that offered no guarantee of safety. Nearby, screams and cries of children echoed in the air. Kasar ignored them, moving further from the burning house. He laid his sister down on the cool green grass. She had escaped with only minor burns, unlike him. He looked at her pale face as she continued to sleep, and gently patted her cold cheeks. He shook her frail shoulders, but she didn’t respond. Leaning down, he pressed his ear to her chest, but heard no heartbeat. Panic surged through him as he touched her nose. “She’s dead…” Kasar whispered, tears streaming down his face as he felt for her breath. Overwhelmed, he lay down beside her, sobbing uncontrollably for his little sister, his parents, and the other villagers. When his tears finally ran dry and all that remained was a deep emptiness, a new pain surged through him. It felt as if his legs, chest, arm, and face were still burning. He glanced at his arm, horrified to see skin resembling cheese melted in the sun. Sitting up, he realized his legs were in even worse condition.The sight intensified the agony. Alongside the physical pain, a torrent of mental anguish flooded his mind. The most persistent thought was that his sister had died because of him. It felt as if he had been the one to kill her. Unable to bear the weight of his guilt any longer, Kasar bolted into the forest, ignoring the searing burns. He ran without any sense of direction until he tripped over a root and fell. That was the limit of his strength; he was utterly exhausted and passed out. In his final moments of clarity, he thought he would never open his eyes again—and a strange sense of relief washed over him. Meya is a revered god of the local land. Every day, someone from the community visits his temple, bringing offerings and praying for a good harvest and prosperity. Meya faithfully fulfills their requests. However, no matter how much the people love him—and how much he loves them—he chooses not to reveal his face, preferring to remain a mysterious and elusive deity. As a result, he has few true believers, as people cannot verify his existence. His reluctance to show himself does not stem from total indifference. When smoke began to rise from one of the villages surrounding the temple, Meya decided to investigate. He wanted to help the villagers extinguish the flames more quickly. By all rights, the gods shouldn’t interfere too much in the lives of ordinary people, but a little rain wouldn’t hurt anyone. Meya flew into the village, where chaos and devastation reigned. Countless ghosts hovered over the surviving villagers, weeping bitterly. It was a heartbreaking sight that made one’s heart ache with sympathy and sorrow, but Meya could not turn back time or bring the dead back to life. A deep sorrow settled in the soul of the local deity. He knew every villager by face, remembered their names, and even their ancestors, whom they had long forgotten. After all, they came to Meya’s temple for every significant occasion: birthdays, weddings, funerals, and memorials. He had been an unwitting witness to the entire life cycle of each individual. Meya was a young god, having recently turned just over two hundred years old. In his lifetime, there had been no attacks or tragedies in the land under his protection. Meya had always watched over the quiet and peaceful lives of ordinary farmers. He had never seen such cruelty from people or so many violent deaths. The spirits of the villagers could not find peace because of their surviving children. Meya understood that if he left things as they were, it would give birth to more than one demon. The young god rose high above the village, folding his arms over his chest, and enveloped the area in his divine presence and grace, like a warm blanket. The weeping and wailing ghosts of the villagers immediately calmed and, with smiles on their faces, ascended into the sky, dissolving into the ether. Thanks to his holy power, they were able to find peace and return to the cycle of reincarnation, avoiding a dreadful fate. As the souls soared, Meya heard their fading voices. Some expressed their gratitude, while others asked him to protect their surviving family members. Only two voices stood out from the rest: one pleaded for the safety of a son, and the other repeated the same phrase, “He’s in the forest.” Meya listened intently to the worried souls of the parents of the unfortunate child lost in the woods. The god circled the forest, peering into the depths and tuning into his heightened senses. After a while, he found the boy, who was on the brink of life and death due to severe burns. Meya felt compassion for him and, disregarding the rule against saving dying mortals, carried the child back to his temple. For several days, Meya cared for Kasar, who remained unconscious. The god sought out healing herbs in the surrounding area to make a salve for the burns. Of course, he could have used his divine powers to heal the boy in an instant, leaving no trace of the burns. But Meya could not interfere with the natural course of a human's life. The fact that he was even trying to save the child with ordinary human means was already a serious violation, and he would be punished for it in the future. When Kasar finally opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the beautiful face of a young man with wheat-colored hair. He leaned over him, rubbing something into the boy's burned arm. Kasar held his breath, afraid to scare away the vision. The person caring for him seemed more like an illusion than reality. His white garments only heightened that feeling. It seemed that if he blinked, the young man would vanish forever. “Who are you?” Kasar whispered, then coughed, causing his body to tremble in pain. The beautiful young man smiled and placed his palm on the boy's forehead. Immediately, Kasar felt relief and stared wide-eyed at the person sitting beside him. “How do you feel?” Meya asked in a soft, incredibly soothing voice. “It hurt, but now it’s better,” the boy still couldn’t comprehend whether he was seeing reality or the fantasies of a dying mind. “You're on the mend,” the young man continued to smile serenely. He removed his hand from Kasar's forehead and was about to stand when Kasar suddenly grabbed his hand. “Wait,” the boy pleaded. “Where am I, and who are you?” “People call me Meya, and you are in my home,” the young man said gently. “Meya?!” Kasar exclaimed in surprise, immediately feeling pain in his lungs. “The local deity?” “Yes,” Meya nodded, easily freeing himself from the boy's weak grip and gracefully rising to his feet. “Are you leaving?” Kasar asked, frightened. He felt that if Meya left, he would never see him again. “You need to eat,” the god smiled. “I’ll bring you something.” With a few swift movements, Meya pushed open the double doors of the temple and leisurely stepped outside, disappearing from Kasar's view. The boy had never believed in the existence of Meya. He had skeptically accompanied his parents to the temple during holidays. But now, his understanding of the world had been turned upside down. Not only had he been fortunate enough to see a deity in person, but he had also survived because of him. Warmth spread through Kasar’s chest. He had already begun to say goodbye to life, but he was saved by the local god, in whom he hadn’t even believed. Kasar’s mother loved to visit the temple and pray. She would take her son and daughter with her, leisurely walking along the beaten path through the forest. The woman enjoyed nature, listened to the birds singing, and breathed in the fresh air. It seemed that in the summer heat, it was cool near the temple, while in winter, it felt warmer. She often mentioned this observation, to which Kasar would only scoff, unlike his sister, who would happily nod in agreement with their mother. At those moments, Kasar, like any young boy, dreamed of returning home to continue his carefree games with the other kids. It wasn’t that Kasar completely disbelieved in the supernatural. He knew about magic and wizards, and denying their existence would be foolish. Even an ordinary farmer could possess a magical artifact. Such items were freely sold in any town, though the prices were astronomical for an average person. Therefore, the lucky ones who managed to save up enough money to buy or find a magical trinket often passed it down as a family heirloom from generation to generation. With gods, things were a bit more complicated. They could unexpectedly settle in a temple to the delight of the people. When that happened, it became a significant event that echoed throughout the continent. Such places quickly turned into points of attraction, and the settlement would grow immensely. This was because people in the surrounding lands would expect success in the domains overseen by the god. For example, Kasar had heard that in the capital of a neighboring country lived a god of wealth and abundance, which is why the citizens there were practically swimming in gold. Undoubtedly, there were no crop problems in Kasar's village, but that didn’t prove the existence of a fertility god. Statues were erected for gods, their beautiful faces were painted in pictures, songs and tales were composed about them, and much more to help glorify them and attract even more believers. Knowing all this, Kasar simply couldn’t believe that a real god lived in the nearby temple. Their local deity had never shown himself or made his presence known. No matter whom the boy asked, everyone unanimously claimed they had never seen Meya. So, Kasar didn’t understand his mother, believing that she was simply clinging to a lie invented two centuries ago by some joker. He thought that one of their ancestors had merely wanted their settlement to gain popularity due to rumors of a god’s appearance. Now, however, Kasar had seen Meya’s elusive and alluring form with his own eyes. His mother’s smiling face flashed before him, and the boy felt he was about to cry, a lump forming in his throat. If he had known, he would have prayed with all his might. His mother loved this god so much, thanking him every year for a good harvest, that those feelings must have reached Meya. He had shown mercy and saved such a worthless heretic as Kasar, repaying the woman in kind. Such thoughts swirled in the mind of the boy lying on the straw mattress. Kasar trembled all over, hot tears streaming down his pale, fire-scarred cheeks. He felt unworthy of life, worthless, and unwanted. He berated himself for daring to feel joy after seeing Meya’s face. The worst part was that he longed to stay with the young man with wheat-colored hair, afraid to let go. A sinner like him shouldn’t even have been at the threshold of a divine home. Kasar felt an incredible weight of guilt on his frail shoulders and an overwhelming hatred for himself. “Why are you crying?” Kasar heard the gentle voice and opened his gray eyes wide. “I…” the boy stammered, meeting Meya’s incredibly blue eyes, as clear as a summer sky without a single cloud. “Why did you save me?” “Why?” the young man pondered, sitting beside Kasar and placing a tray he had brought onto the floor. It contained a bowl of porridge, the delicious smell of which reached the boy’s nose. “Indeed, why?” “You don’t know?” Kasar asked in surprise. “Thinking about reasons,” Meya smiled, tucking a long strand of wheat-colored hair behind his ear, “is tiring. Just like remembering the past. I prefer to live in the present.” “I don’t understand…” On one hand, Meya had answered the question, but on the other, the boy felt a sense of incompleteness. “Forget your sorrows while you are here,” Meya frowned and lowered his voice, as if trying to scare the child. “Negative feelings defile the god, did you know that?” “What?” the boy gasped. “I didn’t know, I’m sorry!” “Well, that’s good,” Meya smiled softly again. “Live in the present, focus on the future, and work for your well-being.” Kasar absorbed every word from the god, although he didn’t fully understand what Meya meant or what message he was trying to convey. His expressions were vague, much like their owner. Still, Kasar followed the deity’s advice, fearing that his worries and fears would harm him. He began to tirelessly push the terrifying images he had witnessed deep into his mind, trying to focus only on the good. After some time, the boy began to recover. He started to sit up, then walk. Eventually, he even helped with the cleaning in the temple. When his strength fully returned, he began to cook for himself using the food Meya brought. At first, he was afraid he would have to explain himself to visitors, as it was uncommon for people to live in temples. But to his surprise, no one came. One winter day, Kasar couldn’t help but ask the god about it. “The bandits who attacked my village…” the boy started. Meya was sitting on the floor, an open book in his hands. But Kasar had long since figured out that the young man wasn’t reading, as he hadn’t even turned the pages. “Did they kill other people around?” “Some died, while others survived,” Meya replied mysteriously, not taking his eyes off the words in the book. “No one comes to see you anymore,” Kasar sighed sadly. “Everything comes to an end,” Meya finally looked up from the pages and met Kasar’s gray eyes, marred by burns. “They were killed…” “They will be able to return,” Meya nodded, more to his own thoughts than in response to the boy. “It’s far worse to lose that opportunity.” “How is that?” Kasar was confused. He had heard that human souls are reborn, thus gaining new life. But he didn’t know that one could be deprived of that. “You don’t need to know that,” the god smiled gently. “When death comes, just let go of your past, forget everything.” “How can I forget?” the boy lowered his head. The day that had changed his life haunted him, whether in dreams or reality. Certainly, it was easier for him to focus on the present. But still, that was not a cure-all. “Tell me, do you like me?” Meya suddenly asked. Something stirred in Kasar’s chest, and he looked up in fright. “W-what?” “Those who choose the past remain on earth,” Meya closed the book, set it down on the floor, and turned his entire body toward the boy. In a calm voice, he continued, “But then divinity rejects them. We will never meet again.” “If I die and wish to stay, then I won’t be able to see you again?” Kasar gradually began to understand the god's line of thought. “Yes,” Meya replied, then stood up and walked out the door, dissolving into the air. Kasar silently watched him go. The young man often did this, and over time, he appeared less frequently and vanished more often. Summer arrived. Meya began to disappear for three or four days, sometimes even a week. Kasar could only wait for the young man with wheat-colored hair, like a faithful dog waiting for its master. Sometimes, the boy had thoughts that perhaps he had defiled Meya with his negative thoughts. In those moments, Kasar would pray in fear or clean the temple and its surroundings. This helped him calm down, but not much. More and more often, a desire to leave the god's refuge stirred within him, so as not to harm Meya any longer. Eventually, when Meya once again dissolved into the air, Kasar succumbed to his inner anxieties and decided to leave the temple. There was no point in delaying, so he took Meya’s brush and ink and, in uneven handwriting, wrote a short note, as the village elder had taught all the children to read and write, making it an easy task. “Thank you for everything. Now I am healthy, and it’s time for me to go. I will never forget you and will always pray to you. KASAR” The boy placed the note in the spot where Meya always sat. Then he packed dried fruits and the clothes gifted by the deity into a bag and tied it to his back. After tugging on the rope holding the makeshift satchel a few times to ensure its strength, Kasar took a deep breath. He enjoyed living with Meya, but he also felt he had to leave. His mind demanded action, while his heart ached treacherously. Kasar looked around, trying to take in every detail of the temple's interior so he could remember this place well. He stepped outside, quietly closed the sliding doors, and said: “Goodbye.” “Farewell,” a voice called from behind the door, but Kasar didn’t hear it. He turned and walked down the long stone staircase.