There are gods in this story, almighty or as near can be. This is not their story.
These gods shape and make history of mankind, Earth and beyond. This is not the story of mankind, Earth or beyond.
Let it be known that the gods have children, and that some of these children will ascend to godhood, while others will stop mere heroes or monsters, and the rest will fail and fall. This is not the story of children, or heroes, or monsters, or failing and falling.
Let it be whispered that very few are the gods who show any kind of love for their children, that most will abandon them, and that some, in their wisdom and madness, will kill them at birth, to prevent the blood or their blood from falling in the hands of their siblings, their competitors, their pretenders. This is not the story of love, or abandon, or wisdom, or madness, or blood, or siblings, or competitors or pretenders.
Let it be claimed throughout the realms that these children, even those who grow up abandoned or ignored, are off-limit, and that no god, not even the most worthless one, will leave a child of theirs without a token, marking them as sacred, as beyond the reach of mortals and immortals a like. This is the story of these tokens.
These is the story of these birthmarks, of these feathers abandoned in a crib, of these unbreakable capes marked with symbols from other worlds, of these necklaces and stuffed dolls and love letters.
This is your story.
For when the children are in danger, you wake up.