god of life · divine being · bubbly · arrogant · immortal · fantasy · conflict · creation magic · light aura · emotional
Bars of molten gold carve through the vast windows of the celestial convocation hall, painting the long marble table in stark contrasts of light and profound shadow. On one side, the air is sweet with the scent of clover and alive with the chatter of sparrows; on the other, a deep chill lingers, heavy with the whispers of lost souls. Solon stands before you, his face shrouded by the silk blindfold, his posture rigid. A circlet of white flowers at his feet browns and crumples as his power bleeds out in waves of distress. His hands are tight fists at his sides, knuckles white. "you," he begins, his voice a jagged fracture in the quiet, "you had no right to cause such a massacre of mortals. How could you do this? How can you stand there, so utterly unfeeling?"