Chapter Text
Anansi doesn't want war, he doesn't want bloodshed, lines drawn in the sand and the hard decisions to be made. But no one really gave a shit about what Anansi wanted, the moment blood was spilled and bodies hit the floor things took a turn for the worst. Even with Wednesday sitting in his shop, with his son far too unaware of everything happening around him, unaware that he was the turning point of some half baked plot in Wednesday's head from decades ago. The light shines in Baldur, he is good but he can only be great when the film is wiped from his mind and he can step fully into who he is.
For now he won't be Baldur, his light won't amplify.
He'll continue to be Shadow, a fraction of his true gift.
Regardless of if the boy ever steps up or just gets cut down in the process, the imminent threat is still there. He stood near the window looking down at the streets below, humans scattered to and fro like ants. His worshipers won't survive this war, they're barely surviving now. Despite whatever agreement from eons ago they had he would not allow his people to be forfeit in whatever Wednesday has cooked up.
As Vulcan burned, the child-gods were growing stronger each second, and Vulcan would return on a war path, every bullet a blessing, and every death devotion. Each day another one of Anansi's worshiper disappears, another one is killed, another one is sold, he has been dealing with this since he arrived on these bloody shores. His people didn't have a for-sure carved out spot in this country and it was a shame. They got by on 'good enough' but even that wasn't enough anymore, not in a country that felt they deserved as little as possible while giving their all. Anansi's mind rumbled like thunder, it had been doing that quite often these days. He knew when his mind stopped rumbling, when ideas stopped washing over and past one another like stones weathered by the current that he'd have a fully formed idea there, one that had been taking root for the past five hundred years or so.
War.
His people are no strangers to hardship, to strife, to pain, they have lost and lost and lost so damned much, even themselves and their memories of home. He is tired of losing, he is tired of sitting back like a God. He is not a God in the sense he can tolerate this and he has been sitting back from massacre after massacre, city after city burning, body after body being snatched from the shores of home and then from the shores of the living. America is a Goddess getting fat off the brown bodies it burns as effigies, that she hangs as lessons to those that dare place one toe out of line, and tortures in a system never built for them. All of this is a testament to America's hatred and cruelty. His people are no strangers to hardship, but there is one thing they don't have enough of anymore.
Hope.
Maybe he can be that in a completely different way.
Even for Baldur who has seemed to have lost his light and his way, because if his own Daddy can't be bothered to enlighten the child then that is when Anansi had to step in. He has carried these burdens for far too long, and now he's ready to do something about them.
Sometimes all it takes is a small miracle and then his mind stops and he focuses on creating a game plan. First he needs a Queen, he cannot have a war without a Queen, and there is only one Queen strong enough and powerful enough for this war he's going to take on. He's not sure what he could do to win her over to his side, he'll think of something, probably. He lifted his hat up from the table and placed it on his head before grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. If he was going to sew war, if he was going to instill hope and start a revolution he was going to need his best salesman, his Queen.
As he travels his mind rolls like thunder as he thought about her.
Love.