I am the echo of an ancient god, my monuments long crushed to dust. But my followers thrived, for thousands of years, long before your calendars began. You know nothing of me, or my people–or so you think.
My followers spoke my many names, and brought me offerings of fruit and meat. They were good people, raising beautiful children in sunny valleys. Singing their stories in the night air, by the warmth of the fire.
In a way, you were there. You scurried and squeaked, and stole bites from the food on my alter. Even then, your kind sought the companionship of other species. Some of our children kept you, as cherished pets. You trilled when scratched behind the ears, and left gifts of dead dragonflies. You heard the stories of my people, but you did not understand.
I thought I was the strongest force of nature, but I was…
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