The Forbidden Love Of The Mountain God

The gods of the high mountains were not known for love. They were known for judgment, for power, for storms and lightning. But Damien, the mountain god of Eloria, had long since grown weary of it all. For centuries, he had stood watch from the cliffs, veiled by clouds and ancient spells. The villagers still made offerings, still prayed to him for good harvests and protection from war, but none of it touched his spirit anymore. His divine heart had grown heavy with loneliness. Until the day she arrived. Down in the royal palace of Velaria, Princess Melissa lived like a shadow. The forgotten daughter of King Eravon, born to a concubine he no longer acknowledged, she spent her days alone, watching the other princesses flaunt their silks and jewels. Her mother—gentle and quiet—had died long ago, leaving her with nothing but whispered memories and an old locket with no portrait inside. Melissa often slipped away into the woods at dawn, a place where her father’s soldiers rarely searched. That morning, as golden rays broke through the mist, she wandered deeper than ever before. Her feet found an old, moss-covered trail, and her heart beat with strange excitement. There was something in the air. A presence she couldn’t explain. At the peak of the mountain, Damien stirred. He felt her before he saw her. A heartbeat—mortal, but familiar. A soul that pulsed like it had once touched his, in another life. He stepped to the edge of the summit, his dark robes fluttering in the wind, his silver eyes narrowed. And then he saw her. A young woman, climbing past the ancient trees like a dream forgotten by time. Princess Melissa. For the first time in a thousand years, Damien’s god-heart skipped a beat. --- Meanwhile, in the palace... King Eravon sat on his throne, furious. Word had reached him that Melissa had been seen wandering near the mountains—territory long forbidden. He banged his goblet against the table. “She shames the royal blood. Her mother’s weakness lives in her,” he growled to his guards. “Find her. Bring her back and she will be taught a lesson for trespassing.” --- Back at the mountain Melissa reached a clearing, her breath hitching at the sight of a temple carved into stone, ancient and glowing faintly under the light of dawn. Her fingers brushed the stone carvings, and suddenly the wind stopped. Silence wrapped around her. And then… he was there. Damien emerged from the mist like a phantom. Tall, glowing faintly with divine light, hair like nightfall, and eyes that saw through to her soul. “You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice a deep, aching song. “I didn’t come here on purpose,” Melissa replied, though her heart trembled. “But I think… I’ve been here before. In my dreams.” Damien took a step closer. “In your dreams you say.” Melissa was to frozen to speak, so she just stood in silence. --- Damien watched the girl with quiet curiosity as she stood frozen in place, her eyes wide with both wonder and fear. He realized immediately—she was afraid of him. The mountain air whispered around them, but he made no move. Slowly, deliberately, he softened his posture and took a cautious step back. “You don’t have to be afraid,” he said gently, his voice low and calm like the evening breeze. She looked at him with uncertainty but didn’t run. That was a good sign. Over the next few minutes, he tried to make her feel safe, offering her a seat on a moss-covered rock and asking if she was hurt. His presence, though godly and otherworldly, soon began to feel less threatening. Still, she avoided looking directly at him. Every time her eyes met his silver gaze, a soft blush rose on her cheeks, and she’d quickly look away. Damien noticed, of course. He said nothing, but he couldn’t help the small smile that touched his lips. She was safe with him—at least for the short time they’d share. Then, suddenly, her body tensed. She turned slightly, looking in the direction of the path she’d taken. Damien felt it too—a shift in the wind, a disturbance. Someone—or several people—were coming. "They're coming for you, aren't they?" he asked. She hesitated, then sighed. “I guess the guards noticed I wasn't in the palace.” Damien blinked. “Palace?” he echoed. “Are you of royal blood?” She turned to him with tired eyes. “I wish I could deny it,” she said, her voice heavy with sorrow. “But yes.” She stepped back, preparing to leave. “Are you going to be okay?” Damien asked, genuinely concerned. She forced a small, pained smile. “Yeah… after a few whips.” His heart clenched at her words. Whips? For a simple walk? He watched her in stunned silence as she turned away. Her steps were light, but her soul felt heavy. Just before disappearing into the trees, she glanced back at him with a softer smile. “I’ll be back, Damien,” she said. “It was nice meeting you.” And just like that, she was gone—leaving Damien alone with the sound of her name echoing in his heart and a question burning in his soul: Why would a princess be punished for seeking freedom?