Chapter Text
In the Month of Gate, it is customary for people to toss away objects from their past that bear bonds to their memories. Widows would toss away their rings given to them by their deceased lovers, mothers and fathers would throw out old clothes their now grown children used to wear. To sever old bonds, remove themselves from the past, and step forward into the vast future’s infinite gates. A voluntary act in efforts to clean the slate.
And now, you are doing the same. Tossing away the ring your fiancé has given you as you gazed over the statue of Kephale forlornly, trying to dry your tears of the painful memory. You couldn’t see how or why he would do this, why he decided to forsake every vow the old titans and new gods have put into place by lying with another in your bed, no less. And you couldn’t fathom why it had to be you, of all people in Okhema, to have to be the one to find out.
So here you are, wallowing in your grief and pity before the old Worldbearer’s statue as you uttered prayers after prayers, hoping the gods would hear your pleas. To Aglaea, goddess of romance and your patron goddess, in hopes that you may yet understand why this romantic relationship has faltered so violently. To Anaxagoras, god of reason, to give you answers as to just why it had to be you. But the two gods you’ve prayed to the most would not give out answers or mercy; Mydeimos, the god of strife, and Khaslana, the Deliverer. To Mydeimos, in the hopes that he would grant you enough burning fury to strangle that little vermin to death. And to Khaslana, in the hope that he would give you deliverance for thinking of such things.
These prayers circled in your mind, and you barely noticed the passing and going of those around you. So stooped in your thoughts that you didn’t notice a gentle hand on your shoulder.
“You know, I figured you’d be here. Not many in Okhema come to this spot to partake in this ritual,” the old bishop sighed, standing next to you and joining in gazing upon the old statue. “Though I suppose, in the many bodies of Tribios, the goddess does not care where the ritual is done. Only if it is done with sincerity in the people’s hearts.”
You turned to look at her, cheeks still stained with tear marks from however many minutes of crying. “Does she also care whether or not the participant is in heartbreak?” You mumbled softly, voice hoarse and spent. “Does she care if I only do this out of rage and sorrow, with the hopes that that filth is burned through?”
The old bishop of Tribios sighed and merely motioned for you to walk with her. “Dear child, the goddess of passage does not worry over the intentions behind the ritual. She recognizes that there are different reasons behind the cutting ritual, whether they be heartbreak or fury,” she spoke gently, leading you through winding market streets and quiet shop stalls. “Your pain is just as valid as your heartbreak, your heartbreak as valid as your fury. Who am I or anyone else to judge why you cut your bonds?”
She sat you down on a bench in the Garden of Life, shaded by the vibrant sun and by the cool garden waters. “I do not doubt that the infinite faced goddess would have questions about what ails you so, but she would no doubt give you mercy all the same,” she hummed, gazing out at the little chimeras so hard at play. “The gods do not fault the reasons why we mortals do things, nor can we strive to understand the gods’ actions in mere prayer alone. It is only through us walking amongst each other that we could ever hope to understand each other.”
You only stared out with gentle somberness, letting a chimera kit hop up into your lap and curl into a ball to sleep. Perhaps it sensed your woes, seeking to comfort you in such rough times.
“Merely think about this, dear child. I have no doubts that the gods will punish that man-child for his wrongdoings to you, be it the Chrysalis of Gold or the Lance of Fury, and you will be healed,” the old bishop of Tribios patted your cheek gently, a smile on her face only a grandmother would have. “Have care, my dear. The gods will smile upon you soon.” With that, the old bishop hobbled away, off to do either more of her duties or give more elderly wisdom to another poor soul.
You sat there for a moment, thinking about what the old bishop said. The gods will smile upon you soon, she said.
“The gods will smile upon me… What a comforting yet vague answer,” you whispered, drying your tears one last time before setting down the little chimera and wandering out of the Garden. If what the old bishop said was true—that the gods would smile upon you soon—then what signs would you have to look out for? How could you possibly see how or when they would grant you mercy or peace?
A quiet sigh left you. Another question for another day, for Curtain Fall Hour was drawing near, and the nonstop crying had made you weary. You figured you would know when the gods had graced you, eventually.
In the depths of Amphoreus, in a realm only the gods could come and go, a thundering voice was heard. The rage within it was palpable, the waters of the Vortex of Genesis quivering in its wake. For the voice belonged to none other than the Lance of Fury, the god of strife, Mydeimos, in his golden armor and permanent scowl as he stared down at the sight of your tears. “The little rat deserves to burn for what he did. I should have the Titankin skin him alive,” he rumbled furiously, gripping his spear with disgust. For months, he had put aside his interests in you in the decision that you needed a mortal lover, and watched you give yourself to that shell of a man; your life, your heart, your very soul. All of it, crushed in an instant because the bastard could not keep it in his pants. If it had been Mydeimos in his place…
“Come now, Mydeimos, still your fury, if it’s even possible,” a calmer voice rang out, threads of gold trembling quietly. Aglaea, the goddess of beauty, moved with such grace that it was nearly impossible for it to belong to a mortal. “We both know that this is an angering situation for us all, but let us refrain from destroying a city-state in your rage.”
The god of strife scoffed, still enraged, but heeding the goddess’s words. She was right, in more ways than one, as always. But it did little to quell the fire within, not when it came to you. “It’s easy for you to ask this of me, as nonchalant as you are. One would think you’d be just as angry as I,” Mydeimos grumbled, crossing his arms with a sigh. “Isn’t the one thing you despise most after liars those who commit infidelity? Had this been Castrum Kremnos, he would have been skinned and fed to the lions.”
Aglaea chuckled, a smile on her face that did not quite reach her eyes. Those swirling pools of turquoise and gold held only plotting contempt, a gaze reserved for cheaters and homewreckers alike. “Even if I do not voice my anger, Mydeimos, rest assured, I am just as furious. To see such a beautiful soul, such as my disciple, be taken advantage of makes me crave to usher the sweetest of punishments unto him. But even I know that the two of us cannot act within a city-state that is not our own.” The goddess moved next to him with quiet anger, staring down at the scene of you looking up at the old statue of the former Throne of Worlds. “You and I know that we need permission from Khaslana, you more than I, considering the bond the two of you share.”
Mydeimos couldn’t help but snort at the latter sentence. To say that he and the Deliverer had a bond was putting it lightly; he hadn’t stopped pestering him since they were human once upon a time, to the point that Mydeimos was no longer immune to Khaslana’s antics. Aglaea called it ‘a romantic conclusion to rivalry’. Mydeimos called it a solution to Khaslana’s nonsense.
“Of course, we can get permission from him… He’d be just as furious as I am,” the god of strife sighed roughly, gripping his spear just a bit tighter. When it came to you, the Lance of Fury and the Throne of Worlds were your biggest protectors, even if you did not know it yet. To them, it mattered not what lengths it took to achieve your happiness. “But just how do you intend to make this plan of yours a reality? I doubt your own lover would see reason in this, pun fully intended.”
To say that the smile Aglaea wore sent chills down even Mydeimos’s hardened shell was an understatement, for he knew exactly what that meant. “No… no, you cannot be serious. You did not use that trickster of all beings to put this into action,” he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “You know she’s going to see this as one of her games, or worse—expect payment.” Aglaea merely shrugged at this notion, that smile on her face not loosening up as she turned away from Mydeimos. “You would think that as a part of the gods of calamity, you’d be all for having Cifera be a part of this plan. Matter of fact, you didn’t seem to be against it when she had already made her move.”
A soft cackle resonated in the cavern, the sound of coins clinking together in a whimsical jingle. “Aww, have some belief in me, little prince. Who could say no to a little bit of mischief, hmm?” Cifera, the goddess of trickery, pranced over to the spirit basin with a mirthful grin. It seemed the thief was in good spirits, if she was more than willing to indulge in the romance goddess’s offer. “A chance to humble a little upstart like him, and have the seamstress get out of my fur? It’s just too good a deal.”
Mydeimos grumbled, rolling his eyes at Cifera’s rambles. For the sake of duty, he had tolerated the Coin of Whimsy. Not hatred or approval, just… tolerated. “Such noble reasons for your involvement. Tell me then, how did you make your stake in Aglaea’s plan, thief? Surely you’re not going to steal from him and dump him off in some desolate corner of Amphoreus, are you?” He snorted, looking down at the trickster. “That would be too boring even for you.”
Cifera only chuckled, a sound bordering on cackling rather than laughter. “Oh, don’t you worry about it! You’re right, that would be too easy. So the seamstress gave me a better idea. But I’m not gonna tell you anything about it, little prince. You’ll have to figure it out for yourself!”
With that, Cifera sent Mydeimos a grin and tossed up that accursed coin of hers, and she was already gone before anything could be said.
Aglaea only chuckled, shaking her head as she walked past Mydeimos. “She hasn’t changed a bit, has she? As quick to leave as ever,” she hummed, taking a glance at the basin once more before speaking once more. “... Mydeimos, tell me something. Why are you and Khlana so enamored with this one particular mortal? There are tens, if not hundreds, of thousands of them in Okhema alone, and countless more in Amphoreus. So why them?”
The god of strife thought for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say the reason before letting out a deep sigh.
“Because… because they are the one mortal in all of Amphoreus that makes us remember what it is like to be human.”