After the gaze, there was no miracle.

  No thunder from the heavens.

  No divine voice tearing the sky.

  Anor’Ven struck no one.

  He saved nothing.

  He judged nothing.

  He remained there,

  motionless,

  his eyes fixed on a point no man could follow.

  Then, without a word,

  he walked.

  Again.

  **

  But men,

  they did not stay silent.

  They spoke.

  They shouted.

  They interpreted.

  Those who had fled returned.

  Shaking, changed.

  They told tales of what they had seen —

  or thought they had seen.

  “His gaze burned my soul.”

  “He forgave us, surely.”

  “He chose not to destroy us.”

  “He waits for us to prove our worth.”

  From silence, they carved a message.

  From a man, they etched scripture.

  From a void, they built a truth.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  **

  The peoples gathered.

  Villages raised black stone pillars.

  Priests — self-proclaimed and ragged —

  chanted words he had never spoken.

  “He has seen our sins.”

  “He offers us another chance.”

  “His absence is his presence.”

  The paradox became law.

  **

  Scholars,

  hidden away in ivy-choked towers,

  tried to understand.

  They drew circles in fading tomes.

  They traced ancient empires and ruins to his passing.

  They searched desperately for meaning in his silence.

  **

  Others,

  sharper,

  hungrier,

  did not seek to understand.

  They saw in the name “Anor’Ven”

  a banner to raise,

  an idol to forge,

  a mask to wear.

  They built orders.

  Cults.

  Courts of judges robed in black, speaking in his name.

  Armies rose,

  claiming his favor,

  marching under standards he had never blessed.

  **

  The world,

  once more,

  wrapped its chaos in the shroud of faith.

  Painted its vices in the colors of devotion.

  And he —

  he kept walking.

  **

  He crossed a battlefield where a thousand banners bore his name.

  He did not look.

  He entered a city where choirs sang his virtues.

  He did not listen.

  He passed between two children playing at being “the one who sees.”

  He did not stop.

  **

  He was everywhere.

  A rumor given form.

  And yet… he was nowhere.

  He blessed nothing.

  Condemned nothing.

  Destroyed nothing.

  He observed.

  **

  He saw man resume his endless cycle:

  domination,

  fear,

  the need to build order from dust.

  He saw lies shape themselves into faith.

  He saw wars born in the name of peace.

  He saw greed dressed in purity.

  And he did not look away.

  He knew.

  This was not the first time.

  **

  And deep beneath the world,

  in tunnels where words became whispers,

  other voices began to rise.

  Not prayers.

  Not songs of hope.

  Strategies.

  Chains.

  Plans.

  Instruments.

  For if a being could survive anything,

  then perhaps it could be used.

  **

  And while they plotted,

  he,

  Anor’Ven,

  crossed a nameless desert,

  the sun at his back,

  the shadow ahead.