Chapter Text
Five thousand and ten years after the world was new, you all find yourselves listless. You’ve done the things you’ve wanted to do, you’ve found temples to yourselves sunken deep into the sea, you’ve lived normal people lives, you’ve done normal people things, and you’ve grown up. And you’ve grown restless. It was interesting being teenage gods in a modern, mortal world, but son of a bitch, you’ve gotten bored, too. And now you’re all just adult gods, doing vaguely adult things, running companies and doing, what, taxes? Those of you not actively ruling things are paying taxes, you guess.
It starts out as one of Dave’s ideas at the tenth annual Can City God Meeting. You’re all adults now, your mid-twenties making it seem like you all have shit figured out. The trolls are all reaching their twelfth sweep, time only showing in their horns and irises, jade and candy red and cobalt blue with age. He pitches it to the table pretty simply.
DAVE: so were all bored as hell
You hum in agreement; Rose and Jane nod.
DAVE: and yknow how theres all those myths of us appearing to old settlers and shit?
You’re… not sure where this is going, actually.
JADE: sure…?
DAVE: and you know how we jumped forward five thousand years to get here
JOHN: get to the point, dave.
DAVE: what if we go back
DAVE: and make all that shit happen
DAVE: like for real
Rose puts down her knitting needles.
ROSE: Are you suggesting we return to this world’s inception and become gods?
DAVE: exactly
DAVE: im sayin we go back n be gods n stuff
DAVE: rule over dominions and shit
DAVE: make prophecies
DAVE: invent things for people
DAVE: there might be some paradoxes or whatever but thats fine i mean
DAVE: were all basically paradoxes anyway
The table is quiet. You’re all considering what Dave’s just put on the table. It’s certainly an idea. There’s an old story in every children’s myth book about you. A woman went to the altar of the Prince, hoping for favor from the often-distant god, and begged for the body of a man. The Prince took pity (or, in some versions, said “Sure bro, got it,”) and changed the woman to a man. The Prince also gave him skin of stone, so that he would not be harmed by any blade. Sounds like something you’d do. You get it. Skin of stone would be pretty rad too. You kind of want to know now if the myth is true. You want to be able to give exact quotes to the mythology buffs you absolutely would have been if you had lived in an era of a populated internet.
Jake’s the first answer.
JAKE: We could build our own olympus!
JAKE: Find a nice mountain, pretty up the... transportalizers,
JAKE:... Hide it… from people and...
He trails off, voice getting quieter and quieter as he went, and decides it better to just twiddle his thumbs and stare at the table. Vriska laughs.
VRISKA: 8eing a god would be fucking gr8, don’t get me wrong, 8ut wouldn’t that be tacky as all fuck?
VRISKA: An Olympus? Talk a8out cliche, English, come up with something original!
ROXY: like ud even KNOW what olympus IS serket!
ROXY: a cool ass kingdom of just us in the CLOUDS???? FUCK yes
KANAYA: Well, There Was Trollympus.
KANAYA: In Theory, All Ancestors Went There Post Mortem And
ROXY: really not helpin my case here kan
ROSE: Jake’s right.
Rose has picked her knitting back up, needles clicking together as she starts another row.
ROSE: An Olympus of our own could be interesting. The hilarity of being roommates with the added bonus of being immortal. Imagine the hijinks.
JANE:... What about all those people who say they’ve seen us in the last five thousand years?
JANE:... Who’s to say that they didn’t actually see us, if… we haven’t experienced it yet?
The table is quiet again. Everyone seems to be considering. You’d bring the alchemeter and other tech, wouldn’t you? You’d still have your own creature comforts in whatever godly home you come up with, no matter how medieval the world outside may be. John - ever the leader, no matter how secluded he gets - speaks up.
JOHN: should we put it to a vote?
Everyone kind of looks around the table awkwardly. You can’t handle it, someone’s gotta get this in motion.
DIRK: Sure.
DIRK: Let’s vote on it.
You do it the same way you’ve done all your other super important godly votes: you pretend you don’t recognize each other’s handwriting on each piece of paper placed in the voting cup, and read them all out once the votes are in.
It’s a unanimous yes.
It feels, all in all, like you’re just moving house. You’ve got all your prefabricated robotics parts in a couple different boxes. The TV and movies are in a box, Jake’s relics were donated to a museum, all your bedding is sealed into something waterproof. You have ideas as to how the house of the gods will look, but you’re sad to leave this one behind. A couple of curious consorts ask where you’re going with those boxes, and how long you’ll be gone. You tell them it won’t be too long, you’ll be back soon.
You took a closer look at some of those children’s mythology books. They generally reiterate the same myths - the Seers, Light and Mind, giving advice and, allegedly, turning the Thief into a spider; the Page causing eternal nights in his sadness and bringing daylight at war’s end; the Maid restoring life and wellness to sickly children; the Rogue creating food and objects by wishing them into existence; the Sylph, Mother of Trolls, rescuing the Mother Grub from dangers unknown; the Knights, Red and Grey, fighting off evil creatures when the Heir went missing; the Witch creating the stars.
And, of course, you, the Prince, doing what you always do: creating, destroying, changing yourself and others and losing your head when things go wrong. The books always describe you as cool and distant, fiery and temperamental up close, filled with rage and loneliness and sadness and pain. They always describe you, though, as finally cracking when the other gods are around, finally allowing your stone facade - depicted as a literal stone mask in some illustrations - to break away and show your true, caring nature.
A generous depiction, in your opinion.
You’re exploring the Human Kingdom in some kind of disguise in the days before you leave for five thousand years, when you find a myth book about… you. Not all of you, not the whole group and all of the gods, but you specifically. The Seven Deaths of the Prince of Heart. Dramatic, you think. There’s no way you died that many times. You purchase the book, go home, and turn to the first chapter.