A sharp wind battered itself against the thick canopy of trees. The thick oak branches reached down, leafless like long fingers. Almost as if to attempt to pluck travelers off the path into the dark depths of their tangled mass of the forest beyond. Along the side of the well-worn path was a small creek that meandered alongside the road. If one listened closely, one would think the whispers of long-departed souls traveled with the soft breeze between the trees.

A gray shroud covered the sky, giving a curtain of light dreariness. The path was long worn and unkempt as tree roots emerged from the ground making the stones on the road uneven and dislodged. In the distance, a looming dark fortress with stark black stones contrasted sharply with the pale gray sky as its backdrop. The fortress walls were imposing and gave a feeling of oppression as one approached it. As if this wasn’t a place built for normal living. It was like it represented the worst fears of what one would have approaching an abandoned fortress.

A howls of anger, fear, and sorrow echoed from the stone walls only to be lost as they bounced from the inky-black stone out to the haunted dead forest beyond.

“How do they expect me to agree to such an arrangement!” the previous howls that had been bouncing along the fortress walls became more coherent, turning into a furious rant.

Perched atop the throne of bronze, was an imposing silhouette—a being more shadow than flesh, wrapped in feathers the color of midnight. His mask, carved to resemble the skull of a raven, obscured his true face, though the gleam of his predatory eyes shone through the narrow slits. Each breath he took seemed to stir the shadows around him, as if the very air bent to his will. His long, clawed fingers tapped rhythmically on the throne’s armrests, each tap echoing like the distant caw of a raven. Black feathers constantly shifted across his form, as though never truly settled, drifting down and dissolving before they could touch the floor. His voice, light yet sharp, betrayed an underlying mischief that contrasted with the oppressive darkness he carried with him. The bronze throne, sculpted into the shape of wings, spread wide.

“My dear Nyxeria! Help me understand why I’m being pushed out of my role in this still-new world! As one of the major creator deities, I have a right to exert my influence!” the voice that didn't seem to fit quite with the imposing presence of the figure whined.

At the base of the bronze throne stood a small, pale figure—Nyxeria, the Raven Lord’s daughter. Her white hair, long and straight, seemed to shimmer faintly in the dim light, as if drawing in shadows rather than reflecting them. Crimson eyes, piercing yet cold, watched the room with an unsettling stillness, betraying the centuries of wisdom trapped behind that youthful face. Her pointed, elf-like ears twitched ever so slightly, as though attuned to whispers only she could hear. Draped in a dark velvet dress, its fabric flowing like shadows—runes stitched subtly into the seams, her raven-feather satchel resting lightly on her hip. Despite her apparent youthful form, an air of weariness and impatience clung to her, as though this world—and her place in it—was nothing more than a tedious burden.

“I am not sure, father. Perhaps it is because you have few serious followers and the people who do acknowledge you do so in passing. Your influence has only fallen among these newcomers in the years since the Transference.” She said in a drool monotone voice. It was not the first time she had heard this rant, but this one was particularly painful to listen to.

“Bahhh! What do those mortals know!” the dark deity, whose name was not known even to his most loyal subjects, pouted. Nyxeria sighed, looking at her pitiful father who, despite being one of the great deities of this new realm, had the least influence in the direction this realm would take. Though it wasn't entirely his fault they all had not taken their duty to gain followers all that seriously.

Nyxeria always felt her father was not serious enough in his duties though she had to admit she wasn’t much better. It was part of their nature it seemed. Her father’s imposing figure was always obscured even though she had not seen his true face, the head of a raven, and the body of a man with a cloak of feathers obscuring his body.

Tapping his finger on his beak, he finally paused, as if an idea had dawned on him. “If mortals will not come to me of their own free will, I must show them what can happen when they do.”

She nodded. “Indeed, Father. The mortals only know of you due to the followers of other deities talking about you, but few ever know what you offer personally to those who dedicate themselves to you. Mortals are like that; they seek tangible things to frame their faith around.”

“If that is the case…it would follow that I need to intervene personally,” he said, standing up and pacing in a circle around his bronze throne.

Nyxeria shook her head, her white hair falling like a silken curtain brushing the top of her shoulders as she let out a long, tired sigh.  “Father…you know you can’t just march down there and make them worship you. The gods aren’t allowed to interfere directly, remember? Or did you forget what happened to that lesser deity who tried to force an entire village to worship him? He wasn’t the same after the punishment, was he?”

The Raven Lord shuddered as his thoughts dwelled on that situation. It wasn’t pleasant in the least. While a deity couldn’t be destroyed…easily, they could receive divine punishment of another kind, which was very unpleasant and not something he wished to experience for any length of time. The Laws established at the foundation of all things were tread on even lightly by deities like himself.

With a chuckle that rumbled through the chamber, sending a ripple of darkness along the walls, as though the very shadows recoiled in fear. His feathers stirred, and his masked face tilted slightly toward her, amusement lacing his words. "You underestimate me, Nyxeria," he murmured, his voice soft but menacing. "There’s always a way around these so-called rules. You are right, Nyxeria! I cannot directly intervene or manifest, but the rules are far less strict in other areas!” His beaked head turned to his small white-haired daughter, causing her to get goosebumps along her entire body.

Having seen the mischievousness her father would get into and often saw his schemes turn out in completely unintended consequences; she had been with him since near the start of this mortal realm; prior to that, she knew little of her father’s existence.

“F-fa-father…you know I am technically a deity as well, right?” Nyxeria stuttered, trying to dissuade his bad instincts. It has been one too many times she saw this reasoning from him. Bad things were almost always a result of it. It was partly why the other creator deities pushed him to the wayside now.

Waving his hand as if her retort was nothing more than some smoke floating around his head, he looked her up and down, his bird-like eyes sizing her up. “While you are correct, you are also half your mother and therefore, you can act on my behalf in the world. I just know those other shameless deities are probably doing that with their numerous children, the damned sex fiends!”

“If Mother discovers you sent me away, she will not be pleased when she returns…” Nyxeria held onto the small hope that her mother’s fury could dissuade her father’s less desirable instincts. Taking a step backward away from her father's imposing form. It was times like this that she wished she could see his face.

“Your mother is going to be in a comatose state for quite a long time before she ascends. You being born with half a foot in both worlds means your means of fully ascending are different. Even I am not fully aware of it since it is different from person to person, besides my dear daughter, you have been cooped up in our lands for far too long and I am sure going to the mortal plane will give you a fresh experience.”

The Raven Lord nodded. “Yes…Nyxeria, prepare yourself to journey to the mortal realm. We naturally cannot let you go with your full power, but I’m sure with time, you will regain access to it.”

Nyxeria’s heart dropped to her stomach as she heard her father decide. Once he had his mind set, nothing would dissuade him, not even her mother. Steeling herself, she stood up straighter. “Fine. If you’re going to make me do this, at least give me one of your Nightmares. Otherwise, I’ll just find the first quiet spot and do nothing for the next century. Your choice.”

Her father paused as he considered it for a moment. “Very well.” Flicking his wrist out, a dark inky substance dripped from the feathers on his forearms into a puddle. As if swimming across the ground, it came over to Nyxeria and swam into her own shadow, hiding in it.

Nyxeria knew how valuable her father’s Nightmares were, but to her, this just reminded her that while he was malevolent in many ways, he did care for her and her mother behind it all.

“Good. Now learn about the mortals and spread my name amongst the people. I need to gain as much influence as possible in order to gain more sway in the next council. Show those shameless bastards up for snubbing me.”

Below her feet, a pool of dark energy began to churn, expanding like ink spilled into water, devouring the space beneath her. Tendrils of shadow coiled upward, wrapping around her ankles, pulling her into the abyss. “I should note, dear daughter,” her father’s voice lingered, cold and distant, “that while you are indeed half-divine in the mortal realm, it is your mortal half that will take precedence.”

Nyxeria frowned, the weight of his words sinking into her chest like ice. She didn’t fully understand what he meant, but there was a bitter edge to his tone that suggested the outcome would be far from pleasant.

As the darkness swallowed her whole, Nyxeria felt her senses reel. The transition between realms twisted her perception, warping time and space as though she were being pulled through an unseen vortex. It was like falling into a black ocean where light could not reach. Shadows writhed around her, suffocating her senses until her body became weightless, suspended in a liminal state between existence and oblivion.

Then, something shifted. A force tugged at her core, and the sensation of falling returned, but this time, it was as though she was plummeting through layers of existence. She looked down, and from the void, an endless horizon began to materialize, the ground below emerging from the night sky itself as if born from stardust and darkness. The burning started then—a searing heat rising from within her.

As she descended, she felt the pressure mounting, crushing her from all sides as if her divine nature was being sealed away. Mortal chains, invisible and relentless, coiled tighter, strangling the power that surged within her. There was pain—more pain than she had ever known. It radiated through her bones, gnawing at her soul, tearing at her mind like jagged shards of glass piercing her very essence.

It felt as though her being was being stretched to the breaking point, pulled apart strand by strand, only for something alien and cold to force its way deep inside her, locking her true self behind an impenetrable wall. Sensations she hadn’t known existed surfaced, sharp and brutal, revealing parts of her she had never thought to confront. The agony was endless, raw, a primal scream trapped inside her, clawing to escape.

It was the pain of suppression—of losing her divinity to the cold grip of mortality.

With one final, bitter thought of resentment toward her father, her consciousness slipped away, consumed by the merciless void.