The Will of Gods

You will hear stories of me from the divine realm of Eclise, to the mortal shores of Lyro. Whether they are stories of valor and heroism, or of blasphemy and betrayal is beyond me. The marks of Glory that cover my skin will tell you how I served them well, the gods that is. They value it above all else in existence. Above their duties and certainly those who share half their blood. My father is among them. One of the Prime Gods that rule Eclise with golden fists, demanding devotion and obedience as if it were the price of being allowed to live. Creators and their creations.

I gave you life; you now owe me for it.

That is what they would say. A grim reality I learned through steady attempts at gaining my father’s attention, only to be lost among the sea of my siblings trying to do the same. You cannot hold Glory in your hands, still it binds the most powerful creatures of existence in golden chains. My family can summon tsunamis and break apart the earth in quakes of impulsivity, yet they bow at the chance of having the most.

I come from the loins of Koran. The Dark Blade, God of War and Conflict. Violence is as common to me as breathing. My blade is stained with blood. From minotaur in the forgotten labyrinths of Wildweald. From sirens in the eastern seas, and the many cyclops that made their homes in the cragged mountains of Forefield’s fallen isles. I have repaid my father well in Glory over my extended years.

The last time I fought for my father was during the scouting period for the Eclise Academy of Divinity. Bouts were set up in the amphitheater featuring demigods that qualified for the upcoming year. If they possessed enough vigor for attaining Glory, a Prime God could accept them into their house to sponsor their time at the academy. Graduates of EAD went on to acquire massive amounts of Glory for their sponsoring house. And in time, be granted full godhood. It was a vicious wheel that kept Eclise divine, and Prime Gods empowered. One that I had mastered spinning.

It was nearing the end of scouting. My father had not approached me to cement my allegiance to his house, but that was not something I expected from the elusive man. Lesser demigods had that privilege. To be recognized by a Prime God enough that they wanted you to bear their name in battle and honor for Glory. It was simply expected that prime demigods would align with their parents. But it was not a requirement. All demigods were free to choose. It was the only thing they allowed us to decide for ourselves.

My reputation then was noted by many. Emrys, the son of The Dark Blade, was a respected name before I hit my twenties. How that has changed by the time this account is read, I may never know. My last match was against a Minotaur at the Ampi with a crowd of over twenty thousand come to watch. It always had to be a Minotaur. Brutish creatures made of muscle, fur, and horns. It had only the sole purpose of skewering me on the end of its pointy, curved tip in the middle of the Ampi. My previous encounters taught me how to dispatch it efficiently; a straightforward slice to the soft underside of its head would be effective.

At the end, I was hanging off the side of the creature with a roaring crowd behind me. I dug my heels into the dirt to slow it down, kicking up dust and rocks while we clashed along the circular arena of the Ampi. The speed we were moving wasn’t enough to break the entry gate, but it would hurt like hell to crash into it. At the last moment, I brought one of my legs up and pushed against the gate. The Minotaur flopped onto its back while I rolled away. More cheers. Which meant more Glory for me at the end. I righted myself and threw one leg over the Minotaur’s thick neck. My hands grab a horn and lift. Once its head was off the ground, I twisted my arms. Twisted and twisted, until the heavy crunch on the Minotaur’s bones vibrated through my arms. It stilled on the ground. Dead, with a serpentine-like neck. It had been the first time in many years that my father directly acknowledged me.

“Emrys, congratulations on your victory. You bring great pride to your house, as always,” he said. The sentiment would mean more if he didn’t have over a dozen children collecting Glory all over Eclise and beyond. Even the mortal realm had enough to garner a decent amount. If only to be noticed by a godly parent. Glory manifested as intricate markings covering the body. Growing with every addition of detail to the quest from which it was gained. The more Glory a demigod collected, the closer they are to achieving godhood if allowed.

Then, my markings spanned from one arm to the other, creeping down my back and abdomen. I can no longer tell where they end, and my dark brown skin begins. But I can still point out that fight by the two horns spanning across my abdomen. I left the Ampi through its golden gates and stone pillars. Koran was gone before I could change out of my fight gear.

A long marble path stretched far in front of me. Buildings made from sandstone reached far into the blue sky above with flat tops. In the distance sat the Prime Temple. One tall structure in the middle, with two smaller ones on either side descending in height.

All the Prime Gods had their flags hanging from the temple. It was the only place they could exist together. Balance prohibited a Prime God from leaving their domain to enter another’s. Significant dealings took place on the neutral ground of the temple. The Ampi was another loophole, but it was rare to see more than one prime there. These rules did not apply to us demigods. We traveled freely throughout Eclise, provided we committed no wrongdoing in foreign domains. I belonged to Ironclad, my father’s domain. The temple and the Ampi sat in Mular. It was in no domain, but sat in the middle of Eclise on an island surrounded by glistening water. But just as I was about to leave the Ampi entirely, a warm and steady hand was placed on my shoulder.

Praxion, The Golden Builder and Prime God of Civilization and Prosperity, stood with his coined, charming smile. Though now I know how often charming and wicked are confused. He approached me with an offer to align with his house and attend EAD with him as my sponsor. It would only be years later that I learned just how much he hated my father. But the reason is still lost to me. I declined his offer; another harsh lesson slapped on my back that left red welts.

I had no desire to attend EAD, in truth. Nor was Glory all that appealing to me. I obeyed my father because I had to. Because there was something I needed from him. I suppose Praxion could have given it to me as well, but I preferred the evil I already knew.

Lord Praxion was less than pleased with my decision, but he left the matter as it was and permitted me to rest. Perhaps if I had actually gone to rest, I would be telling you this story in person. Not written on paper from my cell. But I did not, and you do not care about what ifs. But that what if cost me everything.

The mortal world of Lyro existed under a veil next to Eclise. The veil was a sensitive thing. Naturally, crossing between the two forged a great deal of fussing. Wardens sanctioned the crossing, using keys to create tears. The gods will tell a story of how I stole it from the Wardens in a battle of blood and barbarity. If that were true, there would be no question of it. But I used the key to commit the greatest sin divinity could make. I used it to visit a mortal woman I had fallen in love with.

A quest from my father required me to track an imp that escaped to Lyro. I found it hiding in a forest near her village when I saw her foraging for medicinal flowers. She dressed my wounds, and I offered the god’s favor in return. There was never a mortal who valued anything above such empty promises. But not my love, never her. She laughed in my face and sent me on my way.

I would use that key to visit Valerie often. Once the tear was wide enough, I stepped through. My fist closed tightly around the heavy brass as the crossing felt like little hands grabbing at my arms and legs. Stories described it as souls making their way towards the Lowlands to meet their new mistress, so that she might guide them to the afterlife.

Lyro looked as if it were Eclise, only a hundred lifetimes ago. No smooth stone pillars or fine silks. Just thatch huts and less impressive attire. A haze of gray covered the realm, making it seem like color was reserved for divinity. It was less of a sore on my eyes.

From there I strolled along the dirt path, circling around the bend of trees leading deeper into the lush forest. Ahead was the clearing where I met her. The blurred silhouette of a hut grew clearer with every step I took. Burning wood filled my senses, erasing the honeydew scent found all over Eclise. It was another pleasant change. One I looked forward to each time I crossed the veil.

Sitting in my cell gave me the gift of reminiscence, every detail of my nights with her. I revel in picturing the smoke that crept from the chimney above, and soft lights flickering in the foggy windows. A number of spiderwebs hung there. Valerie had little tolerance for violence, even the kind that would keep her from swelling bites and infestation. She would rather live in discomfort than see a life as small as an arachnid’s diminished to mush under a heel.

Soft crunching of browned leaves underfoot created a steady beat as I followed the path leading up to the front door. Nothing withers or dies in Eclise. The door was wooden, with a metal ring for a knob. I pulled it open and stepped into the circular room, warmed by a fire.

Valerie stood over the enclosed flames of her hearth, stirring a spoon in the pot hanging above. Quiet hums mixed with the crackling fire as she swayed softly to her own tune. I crept closer, stuffing my blade into my belt and holding the key behind me. My free hand came up to pull her chin towards me with two fingers. I ignored her subtle jump and pressed her lips to mine in a deep, passion-filled kiss. She returned my fervor in kind, turning to face me fully. Whatever was in her pot quickly succumbed to neglect for a moment that couldn’t last long enough for me.

What I would give to have another moment like that.

She pulled away first with an amused huff, but I caught her lips again before she grew too far from me. The shorter woman indulged me for a while longer until her delicate hand gently pushed against my chest.

“Is this how you greet all the women you sneak off from your paradise to see?” She laughed, bumping me back with her curved hip.

“A thousand women couldn’t excite me like the mere thought of you does,” I hummed into her neck. She smelled of flowers and ash.

“Hmm. Flattery will get you very far, demigod. Sit down. I made your favorite.” From then on, every chance I could, I would sneak off to Lyro and visit my love for one night. Valorie was a healer among mortals. Not relying on the gods for such things branded her an outcast among beguiled mortals. She was a striking contrast to the mundane environment of Lyro, much like a rose blooming in a desolate landscape.

At times, I believed her to be a test of faith and loyalty. A temptation meant to deter me from completing the first quest I’d gone on in Lyro. I’ve come to realize she was a test I’d fail again and again if it meant sitting across from her, shoveling beef stew down my throat.

While she worshipped the Gods, she did not devote her life to them. She did not wait for their healing miracles and created them herself instead. I suppose that is what I appreciated her for. A reprieve from my divine responsibilities and expectations. A creation not fully under their control. But I loved her because she was kind. Because she did not hide herself behind honeyed words of devotion and had the strength to criticize me when I was arrogant. Valorie held me when I cried and cleaned my calloused hands of blood and battle. She sang to me when I could not sleep and kissed me through my stink of divinity.

And when my father drove his dark blade through her abdomen, Valorie whispered her love for me in a dying, rattled breath. Heartfelt and shameless. I begged my father to show mercy. To take my divinity away and leave me to rot instead.

I should’ve known better.

Violence was all he understood, and I did not wish Valorie to see me in that horrid light. Our fight would have ripped Eclise into fragments that not even my aunt, The Weaver of Threads, could stitch back together. Koran cared for mercy as much as I cared for my divinity. I only wanted it so that I might be granted godhood and share it with her. But she is dead now, and I am gone from Eclise. Their gilded cages could not withstand my grief.

That was the last time I saw my father. The last of my devotion died with my love, and I feel nothing for him but hatred. Lord Praxion was there at my trial. His account of following me, watching as I used my key, and when I laid with Valorie, is burned into my mind. Praxion stared at my father while he set my world on fire, charmingly wicked smile and all.

Gods are tyrants. They thrive off blind devotion while giving nothing in return. The gods do not care for us. I have fought their battles, won their wars, worshipped them like the saviors they believe themselves to be. No more. They have given me their strength for Glory, so I will use it for blasphemy instead. There will be new stories told throughout Eclise. Ones of creator vs creation that breaks the wheel of divine peonage. I will see it burned to the ground for what they have taken from me.

Because of my Valorie, I will no longer be a slave to the will of gods.