The Chronicles of Marum - The Primordial

Change (Zilevo) - Part I

ACT I

"From the sea came life. To the earth went death."

"Where did you come from?" I ask, letting a bit of my fascination slip into my tone. My eyes are fixed on the maritime-looking god. His navy blue hair, moistened by the ocean's own waves, gently cascades over his shoulders.

"I came from the ocean," he replies. His answer, simple yet resonates in the confined space, filling the air with a sense of unknown vastness.

As my eyes continue to study him, I notice a connection between him and the god beside him. An intrinsic similarity, though nuanced by subtle differences that further pique my curiosity.

"What are your names?" I ask, drumming my fingers slowly on the wooden table between us.

"My name is Lesus," he introduces himself, and as he runs his wet hands over his legs, small droplets of water leap off, like tiny pearls shimmering briefly before disappearing into the fabric of his garments. His gaze shifts, meeting that of the god beside him, and a complicit, light smile dances on his lips. "And this is Pólimos," he concludes, indicating the crimson-eyed god, who until then had remained in contemplative silence.

Lesus's smile, full of unfathomable nuances, contrasts with the seriousness of Pólimos, whose crimson eyes emit a hidden intensity.

I look into Lesus's eyes and immediately notice the physical distinction. His pale skin accentuates his deep dark blue eyes, his navy blue hair, dark as a starless night, falls straight and shiny, framing a face of hard, majestic lines.

Thick, slightly arched eyebrows add intensity to his gaze. His nose is straight and well-defined, just below, his lips are a note of softness amid the severity, finely drawn and pale, closed in a serious line, at odds with his casual demeanor.

The bone structure of his neck is elegant, a perfect transition to broad shoulders suggesting a robust constitution, even if hidden under layers of clothing covering them.

"I am Zilevo," I declare, attentively observing how the droplets of water, detaching from Lesus's navy blue hair, trace a slow, deliberate path until they settle on the fabric of his shoulder. The scene, small and seemingly trivial, evokes in me a moment of profound introspection.

I can't help but compare the eloquence and ease with which Lesus expresses himself with the experience of Bucu, who faced significant challenges in articulating his first words in the days following his birth. Lesus's innate ability to communicate so fluidly, despite his recent entrance into the world, intrigues me. His capacity seems to defy the natural norms of learning and development that I observed in Bucu. This thought envelops me, leading me to ponder the numerous possibilities and mysteries hidden behind the essence of the bastard gods.

My eyes shift to Pólimos. He is the visual incarnation of a bellicose spirit. His face is stern, marked by hard lines and a look that is a challenge in itself. His crimson eyes are like two embers, capable of casting a gaze that is both penetrating and unsettling. The dark, straight eyebrows seem permanently furrowed in a countenance of challenge or concentration.

His hair is black and cut simply, falling in straight lines around his angular face. The pale skin starkly contrasts with the darkness of his hair and the vividness of his eyes, giving him a somber aura. A straight and firm nose lies at the center of his face, below which a pair of thin lips often remains in a tight line. His jaw is like the cut of a sword, defined and imposing.

Pólimos, despite the natural-born warrior's face etched into his facial features, has a slender build, not as threatening as his gaze. His well-structured shoulders, though not imposing.