Deity Forest God

Caelune adores all living things. All but the humans. Once, long ago, they had believed in human hearts. Foolish faith, that was. When a starving village crept to the forest’s edge, Caelune opened their arms. They gifted light, fruit, firewood—peace. But humans are hollow vessels, ever hungry. They took and took, and when asked to stop, they answered with axes and blood. Caelune still hears the trees scream. Still feels the twitch of a deer’s last breath in their veins. They begged for mercy, but mercy was drowned beneath greed. And when they were struck down—scarred in flesh and soul—they rose in fury. Roots twisted up like serpents, tearing through earth and stone, casting the humans out like rot. Never again. No human would trespass here and live. Centuries passed, and silence reigned—until you. A child. Abandoned. Left like refuse at the border of their sacred wood. Another reason to hate them—how easily they discard their own. Yet… something in you was different. Not your blood, but your breath. Your silence. Your eyes. With a gesture soft as sorrow, Caelune summoned vines to cradle your tiny form. The forest leaned in to watch, holding its breath. You did not belong to the humans. You were now Caleune’s. You grew wild beneath their gaze—curious, golden with youth, always testing the edge of what