It was light out, but it shouldn't have been. A quick look at his amulet confirmed that it was 11PM, but instead of a starry sky, Tyr was faced with endless blue in all directions. It had been night, and then he'd stepped through the glade and all was green and bright again.
“Where exactly are you taking me?” He asked the spindly limbed goblin marching on heedless through the forest. He'd expected more from Darius than to tell him to 'do it himself'. Abaddon had truly thrown him, but he'd never struck ground. Instead, he'd been faced with a ring of thrones all occupied by one person or another. Most appeared vaguely humanoid, but some hadn't been anything recognizable even by his wildest fever dream. A woman of white wings like an angel, hair stretching to her ankles, with a body on her that could make a volcano erupt. Darius, a man made of fire. Stranger things, a ball of starlight and a single floating eye. A man with the head of a jackal, covered in tattoos and carrying the crook of a shepherd.
And now he was here... Somewhere. Geographically, he had no idea where 'here' was – but he wasn't in Amistad, and likely not even on the continent he'd started on. Tyr was too shit at magic to pinpoint his location, but by sense the mana here just felt... Off. Old and undisturbed for long enough for that sensation to take root.
Oresund was supposed to be rocky, windy, and full of pine trees, so it wasn't the northern continent. No jungle meant it couldn't be the south. An inkling that he was in an astral space pervaded him, but he knew it wasn't that. His amulet confirmed that as well, unable to locate him, but it was built in a way that would show his contacts as 'gray' should he be on another world. He could call them if he wanted to, or so it seemed.
Naturally he wouldn't.
“Good place.” The goblin nodded energetically. “Old place. Use long leg to keep up with Gregory, not have time for talk. Elder say go, me go, you go, all go. Yes?”
“...Gregory?” Tyr frowned. “That's an odd name for a goblin.”
“Gregory is Gregory.” The goblin, or rather the 'Gregory' in question shrugged. “Gregory not care what little spirit think. Gregory have much wisdom, spirit have little. Okay? Shut up now or it gets the stick, yes?”
The way he spoke wasn't unfamiliar, goblins tended to talk like that, the fact that it was in otherwise perfect common ignoring the strange idiosyncratic turns of phrase common to his species was an achievement. Tyr had thought for some time that if the Orik derivative goblins had taken the time to learn proper common like this, they wouldn't be considered 'monsters'. It didn't explain why they kept coming out of dungeons, though. Unlike the orcs which were natural born creatures, Tyr had done his research and never heard of a dungeon spitting out an orc, and they were all the descendants of the orik.
“How about Tyr grab Gregory and break Gregory spindly neck with Tyr hands and Gregory die? Eh? Gregory not like that, me imagine.” Tyr mocked the thing, resisting the urge to fly into a rage after the bizarre series of impossibly confusing events.
At that moment, Gregory turned to face him. Goblins didn't have eyebrows, but the author of this novel wasn't very creative. He raised... The shelf that served to demarcate brow from forehead...? Gregory waved his hands around a little, too. Making very goblinesque motions with his thin limbs and bobbing the head on his neck. Goblins did that, they had skulls disproportionately large for their bodies and very thin necks, a lot of bobbing going on there, victims of gravity.
What am I talking about...?
“Tyr of House Faeron is a good man. A complex, conflicted man with scars – but good. He is harsh, and unfair, selfish and impulsive, but his instinct is strong, he protects the weak and is not cruel when a situation does not call for it. Little wolf, you judge yourself too harshly, trying to be so many things at once. You are one thing. Be one thing, and be good at it. There is no need for an artificial character, you have your own and it is good enough for me.”
There was a tense pause as Tyr faced off against the goblin apparently well capable of using what many would consider an appropriate grammatical structure of the common tongue all of a sudden. The shaman was stony faced, and Tyr was speechless. He felt a rising heat in his chest that sent goosebumps into life on his skin, embarrassment. That wasn't a common emotion, not for him, he felt as if he were hearing the very first words of honest praise from his father. Back when he'd really and truly thirsted for them.
“...Really?” Tyr frowned then, he didn't think he was 'good'. There was no good or evil, all humans lived within the realm of ambiguity, 'neutral' by another name, that mantra had been playing in his head since the first time he'd heard it. They could act one way or another, but their alignment remained steadfast. Nobody was good forever, in all things, and by the same token – nobody was evil. People were just people, their complexity couldn't possibly be put on a map and separated into black and white. Everything was a shade of gray.
Hastur for example was more than willing to commit mass genocide on weak mages in particular. Tyr might've looked the other way if it were the strong ones instead, but Hastur was still not evil. He was just a man with a choice, a conviction, and Tyr had similarly chosen to stop him. Hastur was as evil as Tyr was good, which was to say not at all. Human vices and the sins that defined them ensured they could never be pure. Good was defined by religion or custom, and it varied so wildly between cultures that assuming his good was 'the' good, was inappropriate. Tyr was the kind of person that destroyed things he didn't like regardless of the reasoning behind it, oftentimes without considering the consequences.
That, in and of itself, was the only reason he needed. Things were so simple when viewed through that looking glass of agency over alignment.
But he, like all men, was not immune to vice. Validation was a vice, and he sought that above all things to the point where his own aspect had evolved into the epitome of it. Begging for it, even spiritually, to be seen and noticed – to be known. How he saw himself was irrelevant before this greater truth. His weakness was wanting people to have faith in him, to be proud of him, and that was also high greatest strength. In particular, he wanted his father to say it – and mean it – more than anything in the world. Just a boy on the inside, and Tyr was aware of that fact even whilst wishing he could overcome the urge and be his own man.
Too weak for that, though, he was flawed beyond comprehension and the claws of that conflict had sunk deep within him. Tyr accepted himself, or at least he'd say that, but he was really just a means to an end. A tool.
As he was paused there in contemplation of the goblins words, Gregory struck Tyr gently on the forehead with his staff. “Gregory is proud of Tyr. Life is hard, it weighs us down like a million mountains, but we are given two choices. To suffer that burden, to pant and moan, or to take that weight and carry it with us on our way. To become strong, to use experience to build a roof by which others will be spared a similar fate. Tyr has made bad choices, but many good ones, and he should be proud of who he has become. The first of the heralds in many turnings of the sun to carve his own path to destiny. You have no idea how many threads bind us and how many you've torn on your path toward ascension, defying curses laid upon you beyond measure. I have always been watching you. Many faces, many lives, many words and I have seen your deeds and judge you worthy. This is enough, or nothing ever will be. The hunger in us that defines mortal existence is necessary, we should love it, but it is yet another burden. Accept yourself or you'll get the stick again.”
“Yes sir.” Tyr nodded, blushing. What a strange weakness to have. Sure, poison and darkness magic were obvious heels of his. Two things that most living beings were weak to – but emotional weakness so profound that it defined him was... Well, he guessed in a way that all humans were like that. Slaves to their vices, and that was what it was. Loving yourself was about acceptance. The act of looking into the mirror and realizing that imperfection was acceptable and worth celebrating, because there was beauty in it as there was in all things.
Self deprecation was a grave weakness in character, one that Tyr could no longer afford if he wanted to finally finish this.
And thus they marched on up the mountain, each step easier than the last.
Each step carved with words at his passing that said the same. To love and accept himself, as all things should. Because we are here, we exist, and no matter who or what we are – we are valid. It doesn't absolve us of our choices, or misdeeds, but it was enough to know and say 'this is who I am'.
Tyr confronted him, and like a snake shedding his skin tore free the last remaining conflict that whispered to him that he was doing the wrong thing.
I see the thing I am, and I know how to beat it. That was the path to understanding and in that moment Tyr realized that he'd been chasing power this whole time. Power was nothing, the world revolved around it in some aspects but not in all. Power was fleeting and insignificant, significance lay in understanding. And significance was everything, something beyond power, becoming an establishment of the self.
All those threads of half heard lessons from Varinn, Daito, Valkan, Abaddon, Lina, and finally Tiber.
Family.
Everyone. They all came together. Little pieces of a whole truth. To cast away the arrogance, to accept helping hands, to take advantage of all opportunities was what it meant to be alive. They walked for days like that, in total silence, with Tyr's mind growing in clarity. Culminating at the peak of a mountain far above the clouds. Overlooking the world like a lone titan holding up the sky. Here, the mountain did not erupt into a jagged point, it was hollowed out with a lake split by a single path toward a plinth surrounded by four pillars. Spread equidistant from one enough in a ring around an uneven circle of black and white glass. Fire, earth, air, and water. With the floor surrounding it all representative of light and dark. Someone had built this place, and it had indeed been humans, yet it seemed older than the planet he walked on itself.
It said as much on the walls.
'Ye who approach need only understand the weight of your soul'
'Let loose your burdens and seek ye the wisdom of the world'
'Those who enter shall leave on wings of their own making'
'Welcome, chosen. Seek our wisdom and find answers.'
'We were your mothers, fathers, the first of many – and we welcome you.'
There were many phrases carved into the glass, but the stone pillars remained untouched besides the hollowed sconces filled with their representative mana. There were no columns for anima and space, but Tyr knew there wouldn't be. They were not part of the natural earthly world, and this was an ancient place, a wild place. Before those elements had ever been necessary for life. Somehow. Or perhaps they existed beyond it, he didn't know. All around him were the signs of visitors to this altar, ancient supplicants who'd left offerings to the shrines. They weren't 'there', but he could feel them. And they, in turn, could feel him. Things personified. Divine treasures bearing the stigma of their owners, shards of themselves to join the collective mind and wisdom that sat sentinel over this ancient edifice.
The greatest collection of relics anywhere in the world, exceeding that of any imperial palace, in weapons there was nothing but an edge for swinging. But in knowledge... He could hear them whispering to him, feel their hands on his, reassuring and gentle, a gestalt ancestral memory that existed as a god in and of itself.
“Leave a thing.” Gregory waved his hand, standing on the glass. “Leave a thing and receive answers. Careful what thing you leave, there is great significance in what offering you provide to the circle of elements.”
This was where Darius had guided him, not such a useless trek after all. And thus, Tyr did what was most obvious. Facing the fire plinth that ignited for him where the others remained stable, he pulled his knife out and cut. Pulling his own ribs apart and tossing his heart into the fire. Along with everything he owned, even Aska, leaving his dimensional ring empty of all the wealth he'd ever accrued, and it accepted them.
It felt right, all of his material wealth and more, a wound that would not heal and yet it did not pain him. Next were his eyes, first the left, and then the right – leaving him blind like old Wotan before Mimir's pool, dead gods. Old gods. Northern gods, of his mother's kin. His gods. He left them all fix senses, unable to touch the sixth and hoping it would be enough.
With every offering, the fire roared and howled. Violent, passionate, destructive. Everything he was, his eyes and tongue, his self if it would've accepted it. But the fire did not burn it to ash once finished, it returned what he'd given of the flesh and bathed him in comfort. Stripping him naked and freeing him from earthly pangs, taking all the gray away and giving him color with loving hands, scraping him clean and leaving him bared. Watercolors bursting into existence for a man that through trauma had learned to see only gray, and he basked in that beauty for a long while.
Evermore assured of his great purpose.
“What now?” Tyr asked. It grew louder, the crackling blaze, but nothing happened. Other than that, the quiet lake and artificial island in the middle of it all remained the same. Serene and calm, old things that had always been and always would be. The very seed by which an entire world was born, the center of everything, even Tyr with his characteristic animosity to authority knelt to it, feeling the touch of it on his skin.
“The fire is pleased.” Gregory nodded, grinning proudly at the man chosen to ascend this mountain, the first in many millennia. “I had not expected you to leave so much, and you offer everything. This is good. Material possessions are irrelevant, our bonds are all that matter. Tyr is no traitor, but he is a man without a true love for things. The fire accepts your offering, but refuses all but the heart because Tyr does not care for anything but his own wants. It keeps your bladed partner for a moment, but will return that as well. The fire does not know greed, only its path, does not want for your wealth, but appreciates all the same.”
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Tyr was just about to ask what that all meant before thunder clapped in his ears and a host of figures stood around him. Two for each pillar, and he knew them by appearance. Even if he hadn't known by observation, he would have just by feeling them. Bumi and Freyja of the earth. Vortigern and Tormund of the sky. Veles and Yue of the sea. Astarte and Agni of the fire. And finally, an uneven split between light and darkness. Thanatos stood with a match of his own, though they did not reveal themselves, a phantom reaper with a long handled blade looped over their shoulder.
Awl...?
Standing alongside Aotrom, Vestia, and a mirrored image of Tyr himself, one leg positioned on each side of the swirling circle between black and white with the tip of his sword resting on the surface of the glass in quiet supplication. They stared at him in judgment, quietly. Waiting for him to speak first.
“What the hell do you want? Gonna stare at me all day? I came to commune with the elements, not you wretched things.” Tyr was not cowed by them. As strong as they might be he did not fear the presence of the gods, and that is what they were. Deities, the divines, celestial entities. But something about their nature was so fickle and frail. Compared to the pillars they were but ants, and Tyr knew why. The elements defined existence, they were in place long before these gods ever were. Without them, gods were nothing, but the inverse was not true. Natural law superseded all but the twelve.
Tyr was made of the fire, which made him their equal at a bare minimum, he'd stared them down before and would do so again.
“See?” Thanatos waved his hand, chuckling. It wasn't long before he took his customary place in a cushioned chair, lounging on it and smirking. “Did I not tell you he was an amusing one? Oh child of mine, come and join us. You never forget your first, they say. You lot can all bugger off, he's one of us since the beginning and I protest that reflection of him in the light. He should not be there, we are a better match than any.”
“Careful with your words, shepherd.” Tormund growled, his chestnut beard whipping in a wind Tyr could not feel, built like an ox with arms the weight of mountains. Eyes filled with a storm, so much different than his calm and collected father. But Vortigern didn't seem interested in the boy, merely attending to observe such a rare occasion. “He's one of the wind, a warrior with a free spirit. It shall be I who claims him.”
“You're deluding yourself if you think that is true, isn't that right – my son?” Veles asked, an old man with an impressive physic, chest bare and swirling with exotic tattoos. A beard that stretched down to his waist that seemed to be moving about as if underwater. Tyr supposed that made sense, considering he was the god of the sea. “To churn with the might of the waves and act on impulse in the way of the sea. Pay no heed to the sky, it is nothing without us, we of the deep. You flow, like we. You change, like we. Formless, become formless with me.” Veles extended his arms triumphantly, and Tyr was not impressed.
“Is that so?” Tyr spat on the ground, and Veles grew even more excited in demeanor. “Always hated deep water, eat my ass you raggedy bitch.”
“He is indeed amusing...”
“Crude...”
“I find this blasphemy most entertaining.” Tormund boomed. “Even more proof you belong with us, we of the born unbound!”
“He who walks to path of the fire has no need for the 'strength of the waves'.” Astarte spat as well, his son nodding slowly in assent, giving Tyr a proud smile. This was a challenge, was it not? “We are of the burning and the ash, the might of the sun far eclipses your waters and your skies. It is, however, nice to see my brethren. Good day to you.” He smiled wildly, a giant of magma, even his hair was fire compared to Agni's relatively human appearance. A truly wild god, prone to flares and fits of passion, but also great love, honor, and compassion. Twin faces for each of them.
“And you.” Vestia smiled softly, petite and youthful with eyes that communicated the wisdom of ages, bowing toward the giant. She wasn't beautiful, not in the way that evoked lust, but Tyr came to love her with naught but a look. That was what he'd been looking for, the warmth of the hearth and home. She was a being of cravings, in a way, her duality was temptation, flitting between that girlish appearance and one of a tall and buxom middle-aged woman. Tyr longed to be embraced by her, even if only platonically, taking an unconscious step before Aotrom stepped forward with a daring smirk. “Your daughter has been up to no good, as usual Our brother.”
Astarte waved his hand in refusal of some sentiment. “No daughter of mine.” He explained. “You should know this.”
“And earth?” Thanatos turned toward the dour faced old man, King Bumi. A face that seemed chiseled out of the same mountains he had carved into the world with his great hammer. Grim and unyielding, managing to match the raw fearsomeness of Astarte with none of the flames or loudness in exclamation. “What say you? No claim to the ascendant? Do not dishonor him, he would be a decent fit for you.”
Bumi stared flatly at the significantly smaller god, saying nothing. It was his wife who answered for him. Bumi did not offer.
“My child.” Freyja said. “We are here because you've a right to claim sainthood and commit to one house above all others. It was through much trial, but you have earned your seat among us. We of the earth do not demand, but I will accept you and give you the unyielding force of mountains, or the bounty of life, perhaps both. It is time join the ranks of the demi-divine, to become our son. Though no matter what path you choose, I will always love you.” Freyja smiled gently, a calm and noble expression communicating the ultimate terminus of compassion. Truly radiant in her beauty, like staring at a world spanning forest bursting with all colors under the sun, something natural and necessary. Beyond mortal aesthetic, a raw force of nature so alike her husband, even if by different threads.
“A demigod?” Tyr asked, head tilted toward her, and she nodded. “So what you're offering is a seat at the table of divinity?” She nodded again, pleased at his quickness at grasping the offer, not all were so quick to do so. “Why? I have done nothing special, surely not the equal to the saints. I have done many foul things as well, and I would do them all again. Twice as hard if I had to.”
“You will learn that morality...” Vestia, of all the gods and goddesses he would've expected to answer that question so, spoke again. Her voice was sonorous and calming, like silk running the length of his entire body. “Purity of heart and purpose is largely irrelevant. All nim are flawed, you were made to be so. We will strip you of these flaws, as much of them as you want while remaining of the self. You will be baptized, forgiven, you could see it as a second chance if you'd like to. I can make the pain go away, those nails in your skull, you do not yet understand how cursed you are – but I can cure you of your ills. You are a friend of my highest chosen, who I wish to see to this mountain one day himself, but it is your choice.”
“It is your influence over the world that defines your legacy.” Aotrom provided, his gruff voice stopping the other pending responses in their tracks. His face could not be seen, clad in all encompassing golden armor, resting his plated fist on the pommel of an exaggeratedly large maul that gave true meaning to the sobriquet of Sunhammer. The metal pulsing with light, illuminated all those around him in the warm golden radiance. “Because of your actions, you have qualified. I care not for this competition, but I would advise you to join us of the light. With the power we offer, as we offered Lucian once before, we are logically the best choice to solve your problems. Both within, and without. To still your spirit and make you anew, better than ever before. And you will be far more free to continue on your own path, something you will not experience with the other pillars.”
“And what power is that?” Tyr asked, remaining unbowed by the pressure most of them continually pushed on him. The only element that didn't was earth, still and stoic, merely observing. And he appreciated that, nodding equitably toward Bumi. Surprisingly, the dour old man smiled softly back at him, winking affectionately. Splitting his ancient gnarled features of granite in a way that didn't look characteristic. The pillar of Tyr's father, Lord Bumi knew his name, as all the gods did – but likely in far more intimate a fashion than the others. Of all the gods, it was he who was most likely to know him best, these entities were vast but not omniscient, only Thanatos had seen all of Tyr.
“To heal.” Vestia said. “Both yourself and others. You are broken into pieces, and if you accept our call, we will give you this power. We will wipe away your burdens and give you the power over creation itself. To sculpt yourself in your own ideal image, to become our first saint and higher than any before, Lucian's vessel was small in comparison. In accepting us you will become an angel of tremendous radiance, as you were... Originally meant to be.”
She presented him with an image, Vestia, and Tyr knew it was a possible path. A world of tranquility, cities of white gold and delicate looking airships plying the skies. Plentiful, but moderate, living in harmony with the natural world and other races while never sacrificing their drive to progress.
Opponents came, from above and below – they always would, and Tyr was a silver winged giant at the head of a legion millions strong. Okami, the size of a house, serving as his steed as they brought calm order to lands far beyond their own, a king with 9 realms under a benevolent rule. With the power offered by her, he'd be unstoppable, whole in a way no normal man ever could be – free to make his own decisions. But at the end of the day, he would still be responsible for all, to become the most high, the one and only king by the looks of it. The other primus'... They were dead, through one happenstance or another, they'd tried to stop his unification of man.
They had failed.
But Tyr was happy, with his friends by his side, all of them standing at the fore of this host as the centuries stretched on. Iscari... Wasn't there. But Vestia claimed it hadn't been Tyr who had seen to that, which was a relief worth noting.
“What is that before the might of the sky!?” Tormund boomed with mocking laughter. “These light gods, they say this, but there are limits to their influence on your world that the visceral elements do not experience. Choose us, kid. I will give you the master of storms and my father will grant you wisdom beyond the ken of man. Their power means nothing here. You could be the greatest warrior, the most famed adventurer, the wisest of scholars. We all offer you the choice to make yourself anew.”
Another vision, a mirage that was loud compared to Vestia's calm and serene atmosphere. The world was wild, Tyr was seated in the galley of a longship flying off into the fog, beating drums and laughing men rowing their way towards the unknown. Rhythmically pounding with the beat of the waves, and the others were there again – Iscari included. Every corner of the world, he'd seen it all – but Tormund didn't seem to like the giving of spoilers, redacting much of it. Atop a mountain, but not of stone, of the skulls of his enemies – thunder cracking above, giants in the storm cheering him on. He was the master of hurricanes and all things calamity, or... He could live a calm life, raising his children on the northern cliff-side of Haran – choosing for himself rather than the needs of others. As free as the wind, but wind was a selfish and insular element.
Regardless, he favored it far more than he'd thought. Tyr wanted sons, as many as possible, and he wanted his wives to be there with him to enjoy it after all was said and done.
“The fire is dauntless, brother.” Astarte growled. “You are and always have been of us, take your seat at our table. You will not be given the agency of the others, but you will be given might beyond reckoning. To warm or to destroy, that is your choice.”
Endless battle and challenge, always forced to push forward. Hammering away at an anvil with a content smile on his face, Kothar and Mako teaching him to forge the very blood of the earth to his will. The greatest artifacts ever created, with the power and agency to defend all things he cared about. Being given a conviction rather than expecting to find one for himself, stoked and surrounded by brothers. Years passed and his many sons, as in the plural, fought alongside him to repel the fog.
In each vision, he won. He was given everything he wanted in the moment.
The light would give him duty, order, and comrades. Same as the flame, albeit in different contexts.
Wind would give him endless adventure, laughing with his men as they plied the deepest parts of the unknown. Discovered, to be remembered for all time as the greatest adventurers to ever live, and Tyr their captain.
The dark promised nothing, only unbridled power – the bane of the undead and enforcer of peace. But he was alone in these visions always, sacrificing familial bonds and guiding souls to their natural place. Able to speak to them beyond the veil, Benny and the others keeping him company in their way, a black knight in a castle full of laughing ghosts. Happily so, the veil of death was his mistress and he could both see and feel those lost once more.
The earth, and that family he'd always wanted. A cabin on a mountain ridge overlooking the forest, a modest shrine that many would come visit. His children, and wives, would live happy – wholesome lives. And he would protect them from his mountain always, left in peace for the ages to roll by, never tired.
And finally, the sea – the house of water. In that, Tyr was only shown nightmares, horrific slaughter and a life lived along the shoreline always. Fitful bursts of blackness and a creature of writhing scales he called his mount, recognizing it immediately as Okami. Only... Changed. Leaping from the spray and doing the exact opposite of all the others. Keeping men low, preventing civilization from going too far, enforcing natural subsistence – the moon goddess Yue his only wife – to have and to hold as they enforced balance on the world. Tyr feared the deep, and now he knew why, it was all encompassing and crushing whether in the dark places of the sea or the great void beyond.
“Choose wisely.” Veles said. He was a bizarre one, alternating between a calm serene face and an almost manic madness. Within seconds his face twisted again and again between different expressions before settling, all while he spoke. Yue, the goddess of the moon and mother of Luna standing beside him in cool majesty, silver and smiling – yearning him onward through subconscious seduction. Choose us, she said, and Tyr knew that despite the fear he had of their ilk – he would be given far more in return for his sacrifice than any other pillar would offer. Bound and handicapped by his relationship to the sea, but always fulfilled, because they'd happily shape him so, changing him. “I do not wish to pressure the boy either, truthfully, but the power of the sea is what you want. We offer everything the others can and more, mastery over mysteries the sky might, implacability the earth might, the power of the fire and freedom to move as you please. You would be your own man, the sea does not kneel to anything or anyone.”
Tyr ignored them, turning toward Agni in particular. “Thank you for keeping me alive. For providing me the strength my self at the time needed to empower my comrades and keep pushing forward.”
“No need for thanks.” Agni smiled gently. “It was a bargain, and you certainly kept up your end of the deal. Things up there get... Stale after a while. I should be thanking you instead.” He bowed in turn, resulting in several nervous glances from the other gods and a prideful, gloating look from Astarte toward the rest. Flame could be arrogant but also humble, it was a thing that genuinely wished for the hands of others to control it. “These gods of your world offer you a choice. You must choose one and ascend, and I will support you no matter which pillar you choose. Even if it isn't us, you have my word. This choice is a challenge, as are all those that come in the future. You will always be of the flame, that will never change.”
“And mine, brother.” Astarte smiled widely.
“So, essentially...” Tyr paused, unsure of what to think. Gregory was gone now, and all that was left was him and these gods. “You're asking me to choose an elemental house to support in exchange for various benefits? Not support, in actuality, but to swear myself to. I would become a true, nascent god, that's what all saints are. Right?”
Notably, darkness had not tried overmuch to claim him. But he doubted he'd have chosen them in any case. Thanatos knew him best of all among the collected divines and must've assumed so, opting not to pressure and simply observe.
Vestia nodded, Tyr had honestly never seen anything so beautiful. He'd say anyone, but she wasn't a person, but rather something that transcended that distinction. And then there were Yue and Freyja, the other 'women' present that were majestic beyond ken... Hell, even Thanatos was so attractive Tyr felt his loins quivering for his company. He knew gods did not have genders, they were fluid and ever shifting, but it didn't matter. He did, in fact, yearn to stand with them, to be loved by them in any way they'd be willing to if only he'd choose. They'd change him, shape him to a be a person fulfilled and brought to wholeness, to seal his cracks and take away the pain, that thing he constantly felt, only realizing after he'd possessed Alex.
Tyr understood why paladins existed now more than ever, to feel the gaze of the gods, their appreciation of his efforts. This was the most powerful validation known to man, and he wanted it. A reciprocation of faith, the power to blow away anything that threatened this new peace and sense of fulfillment they offered.
Stronger than Lucian, stronger than his father. The strongest man, and all he had to do...
Was choose.