A figure watched over a sunrise on a cliff edge, feet dangling over. He inched forward just slightly, only to back up a couple.

"I don't know," he sighed, pulling his knees to his chest. He was talking to someone, but no one was there.

"It's destined dear," a voice whispered close by, making the guy turn to look at air.

"But my family will miss me," he argued to nothing.

"They'll forget. Just think of the praise, the worship, you'll represent the skies for centuries," the voice continued, and he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

But nothing was there.

He took in a deep breath and put his legs down again, staring over the edge.

"The sky huh?"

"Worshiped."

"Ok I'll do it."

And he slid off.

--

Sky paces the halls of a temple, hidden from the view of mortals. One of his head followers is leading a few through the halls as well, though being blind.

Worshiped, the person said.

It wasn't worth it.