I never thought I would spend real time with my father. For years he was more a story than a person to me, a figure painted in myths and half-told truths. And when I finally saw him, I couldn’t believe how young he looked. Helios, my grandfather, wears his age like a mantle of fire — but Athros… he could be mistaken for a mortal in his prime. Perhaps that is the way of gods: time bends around them, refusing to leave its marks.
What surprised me even more was his patience. Gods are known to be temperamental, fierce with their moods. But when he stood beside me on the shore, guiding my hands, he was steady. Gentle. He taught me to breathe with the waves, to move with the light that flows from me.
And that’s when I understood the danger. This light — my light — is not a trick or a spark. It comes from the sun itself, vast and unrelenting. When I reached for Ryze during our bond, I could have shattered him without meaning to. The thought chilled me, even as Athros reassured me.
Yet Ryze never flinched. He trusted me completely. And that trust… that trust is love.
I leave Syros with that knowledge burning bright inside me. Stronger than my doubts, stronger than the whispers that haunted me. I am going back to him, more certain than ever.
— Shyne