They called themselves gods, but they were false. High on the mountain, under a sky turned red, Vaelros faced his betrayers. They stood in a circle around him, shadows in the dim torchlight. Vaelros had been their friend, their teacher. Now they held knives and swords, their eyes cold.
"You shouldn't be here," hissed one of them, a god of war with scars on his face. Vaelros felt anger rising. He had always tried to bring light to this broken world.
His voice was calm as he spoke. "I come in peace," he said softly. But the gods only laughed.
They remembered how Vaelros had helped them grow, how he had built villages and forests. Now they wanted his power for themselves.
Lightning split the black sky. The mountain trembled. The gods closed in on him.
Vaelros raised his hands, trying to draw power from the sky. The air smelled of rain and blood. But his strength failed him. It was too late.
A slim figure stepped from the darkness. In one swift motion, a blade sank into Vaelros's side. The air left his lungs. His knees buckled. Vaelros gasped, clutching the wound. Pain shot through his body like fire.
Another strike hit his other shoulder. He fell to his knees in the wet grass. The circle closed around him. The gods laughed.
Vaelros tried to speak, but only a whisper left his cracked lips. He raised one trembling hand toward the sky. A flash of lightning answered him. It was faint, weaker than before.
He felt cold creep over his body. Bits of his flesh cracked like old stone, golden dust floating away from him.
He looked up at the sky. Clouds tore open like dark silk. He saw a bright star fall. Or maybe it was just his vision blurring.
One of the gods knelt beside him. She stared into his eyes with tears shining in her own. "We will tell them," she whispered softly. "We will tell everyone what happened here."
Vaelros's eyes filled with confusion and sorrow. He tried to say something, but no sound came. He closed his eyes as silence gathered around him. Darkness swallowed him.