Gaia's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Gaia walked the edges of the land she had chosen for the grove, searching for some sign that mortals still remembered. The ground beneath her feet felt strange, almost unfamiliar, as though it had forgotten who she was. She needed to build a place where people could return to the old practices—where they could light fires, leave offerings, and simply sit with the earth instead of always taking from it. But first, she needed to know if anyone still carried that instinct at all. She found the child at what remained of an ancient altar, half-buried in brambles behind a converted temple that now housed modern apartments. The stone pillars still stood, though cracks ran through the carvings like spider webs. Moss had claimed the steps where mortals once knelt. But there, on the weathered stone, someone had placed a small loaf of bread studded with nuts, its golden crust still warm. The boy couldn't have been more than eight. He knelt before the altar with his eyes closed, lips moving in words too quiet to hear. No one had taught him the proper phrases—Gaia could tell by the way he hesitated, making up what felt right. He placed his small hands flat on the stone as if listening for something. Gaia stepped closer, her presence barely a shimmer in the air. The boy opened his eyes and looked directly at her, unafraid. "I thought someone should remember," he said simply. In that moment, watching this child offer what little he had to stones that didn't know her anymore, Gaia understood that the grove didn't need to teach mortals from the beginning. The knowing was already there, waiting to be called back. She just needed to give it a place to grow.