His Forgetting

On the day I was born, the last temple in the world was quietly collapsing.

It was not worn away by wind and rain, nor ravaged by the fires of war. Every stone and every inch of its carvings had simply forgotten, all at once, what a "temple" was. They broke down into the most primitive particles, like sand falling into the void, and silently vanished before my eyes.

The shamans of my clan prostrated themselves on the ground, their eyes clouded with tears. They said the deity they had worshiped had reclaimed the only proof that it had ever existed in this world.

And I was that deity's final... relic in this world.