Fury Kuranes had been standing shirtless on the top of the Mountain of Blood for ten years, his eyes were closed, and hundreds of small blazing pearls that turned out to be miniaturized suns floated around him.
This place was a holy place where you were supposed to enter and not leave, but like all traditions it could be bent to accommodate certain needs, and it had been done a few times in history, Fury was just the latest person to bend that law, and for good reason, he thought.
He looked up to the skies, his gaze unmoving as he stared at the passing stars, the wind caressing his long red hair that had remained unchanged even with his ascension to a god. He had noticed after standing here for ten years that there was something wrong with the stars.