Celestial Glitch

The Fall

The first thing he noticed was the noise.

It was not the roar of battlefields or the deep hum of the underworld's gates. This was different-sharp, dissonant, alive. Honking horns, distant music, a woman yelling into something small and glowing in her hand. Light buzzed him like angry spirits.

Erevan, God of forgotten dead, lay sprawled on a cold concrete sidewalk.

And no one even noticed.

He groaned, trying to rise. His limbs felt like they were made of stone. A pair of humans stepped over him like he was a trash, muttering something about "cosplay addicts". Someone laughe. Another threw a crumpled paper cup his way.

He clenched his fists.

No shadows answered.

No wind obyed.

He was truly, terrifying- mortal.

"Curse me again", he growled under his breath, and I swear I'll-

you already have.

The words echoed in his mind, a celestial whisper left behind like the sting of blade. The memory was fading fast, but he still saw flashes- the judgement chamber, the gods in gold, the breaking of his chain bound throne, and above all her voice:

"Let him walk among the living. Let him feel. Let him fall."

and fall, he had.

onto this street. This world. This... chaos.

He staggered to his feet. People streamed past him without a second glance. Building stretched higher than the mountain of his realm, glowing with artificial stars. Moving boxes- vehicles he remembered- rushed by. The didn't breath like his underworld; it trembled with mechanical life.

He tried to summon shadow.

Nothing.

He tried to speak ancient tongue.

only silence.

A flare of panic rose in his chest- foreign and choking. Fear. He who had once ruled death itself, was afraid.

Amile was late again.

She balanced a half eaten sandwich in one hand, a textbook in other, and tried not to trip over a mysterious man standing in the middle of sidewalk like he was starring in a Shakespearean meltdown.

She swerved around him but caught a glimpse. Tall. Raven-haired. Barefoot? His eyes were… odd. Not insane-odd. Ancient-odd.

She turned back. He was still staring at the sky like it had betrayed him personally.

“You good, sir?” she asked.

No response.

“I mean, standing in the middle of the Place like that, you’re either very lost or a street performer. Ten points if you're both.”

He slowly turned his head. His gaze locked onto hers—and something flickered in his eyes. Recognition?

“You… see me?”

Amile raised an eyebrow. “I have two eyes and basic peripheral vision. Yeah.”

He stepped forward. “They’re not supposed to.”

“Who’s not supposed to what now?”

“You’re not one of them.”

“Excuse me?”

“The mortals.”

She blinked. “Wow. Okay. You’re either high or deep in a mythological roleplay. I dig the vibe, though. Very intense. Love the robes.”

He looked down. He was wearing tattered, ancient robes—black and ash-grey, embroidered with silver glyphs. No wonder people ignored him. They probably thought he was promoting a temple drama.

“I am Erevan,” he said flatly.

“…Cool. And I’m Wonder Woman. Come on, let’s get you off the street.”

She reached for his arm. The moment her skin touched his, a flash of cold surged through her spine. Like winter itself had blinked.

She yanked her hand back.

“What was that?”

Erevan stared at her. Something had shifted. The mark on his chest—the brand of exile—glowed faintly.

He should have been invisible to all mortals.

Except her.

Who was this girl?

Later that evening, Erevan sat stiffly on a metal bench outside a coffee shop while Amile bought two cup of coffee and tried to make sense of her impulsiveness. She never helped strange men who thought they were gods. But something about his presence made her stay.

She handed him a cup.

He stared at it like it was a bomb.

“You drink it,” she said. “It’s coffe.”

He sniffed it. “It smells like burnt leaves and—heat.”

“You’re not wrong.”

He sipped.

He froze.

Then stared at the cup like it had just explained the secrets of the universe.

“This is… divine.”

She grinned. “You have no idea.”

Back in her tiny apartment, Amile flipped open her mythology notes. The name Erevan wasn’t listed anywhere.

But something about him tugged at a deep part of her memory. Not just from books—but from dreams. Forgotten ones. Shadows whispering her name.