[Snow crunched under worn boots as the wind whistled between bare trees. The playground was nearly empty—except for the old man with a crooked hat and a satchel full of strange things.]
Unnamed Kid 1: "Hey! Grampy Odd is back!"
He pointed with wide eyes and a toothy grin.
"Let's go! He'll tell us a new story!"
Unnamed Kid 2: "I hope it's better than the last one. That one was too… girly."
She crossed her arms and made a face.
"Let's ask him for something with magic and action this time."
[The old man raised his gloved hand, as if blessing the children from afar. A crooked smile spread beneath his salt-and-pepper beard.]
Grampy Odd: "Yo, bros!"
His voice carried like laughter on the wind.
"I'm back from the shadows of winter. So… tell me—what were you all doing during vacation, hmm? And did you do your homework?"
Unnamed Kid 1: "Gramps! Gramps! Please tell us a story with heroes and demons this time! No more lovey-dovey princess stuff!"
He jumped in place, fists clenched with excitement.
Unnamed Kid 3: "huuhhh whatever"...
Grampy Odd:
He scratched his chin, eyes gleaming with something ancient—something that made the air just a little colder.
"Hmm... So you want a tale of action and magic? A battle between good and evil?"
He paused, his voice lowering into something softer... weightier.
"But before we begin... let me ask you something."
He leaned in, shadows stretching across his face.
"What is good... and what is evil?"
[The kids fell silent. Snowflakes drifted through the air like falling ash.]
Grampy Odd (calmly):
"Sometimes… it's just perception. What you think is good might be evil in someone else's eyes. And sometimes… evil thinks it's doing the right thing."
He stood tall, taller than before—or maybe the world around him had shrunk.
"It's not always about right and wrong, my little listeners. It's about the questions we ask… about morals. And morals,"
he smiled darkly,
"are shaped by fear, pain… and truth."
Unnamed Kid 1 (whispering): "Is this... part of the story?"
Grampy Odd (turning away, his silhouette bending like mist):
"It begins where all real stories begin—when a sword meets a soul... and one must break."
[The wind grew colder, the sky darker. Somewhere, deep in the woods beyond the park, something stirred.]
Unnamed Kid 1: "But Grampy Odd… how do you know so many stories?"
His eyes gleamed with wonder, small boots half-buried in snow.
[Grampy Odd didn't speak. He just smiled—the kind of elderly smile that knew more than it let on. Like he'd seen things… things best left unsaid.]
Unnamed Kid 2: "You shut up!"
She shoved Kid 1 lightly.
"Gramps, you start the story already!"
Grampy Odd:
Ahem.
"Well then… let me take you far, far away—to a world long buried beneath ash and forgotten names."
[The wind paused. Even the playground seemed to lean in.]
"A few hundred years ago, people lived across seven vast, scattered landmasses. The world was in crisis—choked by smoke, boiled by sun. Global warming had pierced deep into its bones."
"Governments, scientists, and rebels alike tried their best to reverse the collapse. But the planet… it didn't care. It was dying. Slowly. Loudly."
Unnamed Kid 3: "That sounds like Earth..."
Grampy Odd:
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Stories, my dear boy, are reflections. Sometimes, they show us a future. Other times… a warning."
"Now—among the ruins of failed empires and drowned cities, a group of archaeologists discovered something ancient. A forgotten shrine buried beneath volcanic glass. Etched on obsidian walls was the image of a god—with flowing hair, a beautiful, almost inhuman face… serene and sorrowful."
[He paused, eyes narrowing like candlelight shrinking in wind.]
"They called him Skarveth . Some believed that a single drop of his blood could bring life back to the earth. A single drop... could grow an entire forest."
Unnamed Kid 2 (softly): "That's... beautiful."
Grampy Odd:
"Yes. And so, out of desperation—maybe madness—a cult formed. Not for power, not for gold… but simply to survive. They worshipped Skarveth. Sang hymns to the forgotten sky. They believed that faith alone would summon him."
"But the earth kept burning."
"Day by day, the world rotted. Earthquakes shattered cities. Floods erased coastlines. Tsunamis devoured villages. Volcanoes howled like angry gods."
"Hope—like the soil—dried up."
"One of the archaeologists, obsessed with the inscriptions, proposed a radical idea: they must recreate the ancient ritual carved into the shrine. The very one said to awaken Skarveth."
"They gathered a thousand cattle. Their tongues were cut. Their blood soaked into the sacred stone."
[He paused. The children leaned closer.]
Grampy Odd (grimly): "Nothing happened."
Unnamed Kid 2 (horrified): "Isn't that too brutal? Sacrificing animals… That's... wrong."
Unnamed Kid 1 (grinning): "Relax! It's just a story. Grampy Odd, you continue. She's always a scaredy cat."
Grampy Odd (chuckling, but his eyes stayed dark):
"Ah, but stories have power, child. Especially the ones soaked in blood."
"When the cattle sacrifice failed, some of the fanatics said: 'Then let us offer what we are—not what we own.'"
"They proposed human sacrifice. Many resisted. But the fanatics said something that chilled even the bravest hearts…"
'Either we die trying... or we die doing nothing.'
[Silence fell over the playground. Even the snowflakes seemed to stop midair.]
Grampy Odd (whispering):
"And so… the altar was built anew. The blades were sharpened. And when the first human screamed beneath the shrine… something finally stirred beneath the earth."
"But whether it was a god... or something far worse…"
"…we may never know."
[Grampy Odd closed his eyes, and for a second, a red glint shimmered across the sky like a crack in reality.]
Unnamed Kid 3 (quietly): "Grampy Odd… was that story true?"
Grampy Odd (smiling): "Truth and story… are cousins, dear child. And some families carry dangerous blood."
Grampy Odd:
"After the humans were sacrificed... the land began to rumble."
[It wasn't just an earthquake—it was as if the world itself groaned.]
"The sky dimmed. The light of the sun flickered once... then vanished."
"A blanket of darkness fell over the planet, thick and absolute. You couldn't see your own hand before your face. Time stood still. Birds went silent. The oceans calmed like they, too, were holding their breath."
[Then—like a falling star in reverse—a blinding ray of silver light burst upward from the sea. It split the night like a blade of divinity.]
"And there, high in the sky… a man appeared."
"Hair the color of silver starlight flowed down to his back, shimmering with divine radiance. His eyes—brilliant green—held galaxies within them. His body looked carved from celestial stone—muscular, chiseled, as though sculpted by a hand that knew only perfection."
"He was tall—six foot three, maybe more—and around his neck, like a crown of sin, was a ring of bite marks, half-healed and ancient. Proof of battles lost… or pleasures survived."
[The people gazed up, spellbound. Some dropped to their knees. Others forgot to breathe. Their minds blurred.]
"They were caught in a trance."
Then he laughed.
A laugh like the thunder of gods... like mountains cracking open.
It rolled across the sky, shattering the trance like glass beneath a hammer.
Skarveth:
"So... why did you humans summon me?"
[No one spoke. Their mouths opened, but no sound came. He was the first god who had ever answered—and now that one had, they didn't know what to say.]
One of the fanatics stepped forward. A thin man with sunken eyes and blood still staining his sleeves. He fell to his knees, bowed low, and began to chant—his voice trembling like a candle in wind.
"Skin tears, bones crack,
In hunger we are made whole.
Skarveth, drain our fear,
Lick clean the soul...
Skarveth, drain our fear,
Lick clean the soul..."
Fanatic (barely able to speak): "M-my Lord… our planet is dying. Please… help us. Do something…"
Skarveth (voice soft—but sharp as razors):
"Are you… ordering me?"
Fanatic (panicking): "N-no! No, my Lord—never!"
Skarveth (suddenly smiling):
"Relax... I was just joking."
He winked. The sky flared with lightning.
"Don't worry. I'll resolve your little... issue."
[Gasps rippled through the crowd like a wave of birds.]
Skarveth (continuing):
"I will give you some drops of my blood. Plant them in your dying lands, and forests will grow where ash once lived. Oceans will breathe. Mountains will sleep again."
He raised one finger… and the air around it began to glow red like molten metal.
"But remember—"
'You want my blood? Gods don't bleed for the weak.
They bleed to remind the world why they're feared.
Sacrifice isn't noble...
It's the entry fee.'
Grampy Odd (narrating):
"And thus, Skarveth gave them what they begged for. But gifts from gods come in jars sealed with teeth… and paid for in regrets."
Unnamed Kid 1: "Whoa… that was awesome!"
Unnamed Kid 3: "Wait… Grampy Odd—how do you really know this story?"
Grampy Odd:
He gave that same slow smile again.