The Radiant Empire encompassed the entire continent upon which it lay, sprawling twelve thousand kilometers between east and west, and nearly half that far from north to south. It traced its origins to the first days of the mortal realm’s existence, and its gilded heights were only made possible by the bloody root and stone of its foundation.
The Pure (as they referred to themselves) were the undisputed ruling class here - pure blooded descendants of the original seventy-four lesser gods exiled to this world. Whether those original gods came willingly, or were muscled out of the heavens by stronger deities was a topic of debate.
While bearing no natural lifespan, gods in the mortal realm were far from invulnerable (especially against the conspiracies of other gods). Out of those original seventy-four, only three remained. Disputes, civil wars, and assassinations had claimed all the rest over the ages.
Un’hana, Beloved by the Sea and Wind, ruled over the western islands and abundant coastline. She was considered to be the most compassionate of the three, but her wrath was as cold and deep as the sea itself when roused. Her beauty went beyond myth, and was nearly impossible to describe. Her skin was soft porcelain, her lips and eyes were midnight blue, and sparkling like the night sky reflecting on a still lake. She was tall, perfectly built, and could move like a summer breeze or a terrible hurricane depending on her mood.
Ogrun, Beloved by the Earth and Flame, ruled over the eastern mountain ranges. He was a notorious drunk, and was disparaged for keeping a vast harem of mortal playthings. He was the image of masculinity, with the bullish physique of an arena champion. His hair was dusty blonde, and his eyes were the color of polished brass. He was by far the most prolific of them all. More than a quarter of the current living population of imperial mortals could trace at least a bit of their blood to Ogrun. Flaws aside, in his more lucid moments, none could hold a candle to his skill in battle or his mastery of the forge.
Ahura-Guru, Beloved by Truth and Tome, ruled over all commerce and acted as an intermediary between his peers. He had abandoned his “inconvenient” flesh and blood form long ago, and now was more artifice than organism. He resembled a silvery golem with a blank mask engraved with thousands of interweaving runes which glowed white intermittently like a heart beat. His territory was a single city, but that city was a metropolis of over a hundred thousand Pure citizens, and more than a million mortal servants.
Together, these three were viewed as a single ruling entity known as The Mercurius Sovereign, the Three Headed Dragon Emperor. For the first time in forty years, all three had gathered physically to speak face to face. The room they chose for this meeting was a remarkably plain affair, bereft of the gold, porcelain, flowers, and other accouterments normally associated with their presence. In truth, gods had little care for such trifles. Obsession with the trappings of wealth was a convention of the short lived. Their one and only focus was the game they played, one of influence and power and their eventual return to the upper realms.
The game was a well oiled machine, and had been so tightly tuned over the ages that even the slightest imbalance could cause the gears to seize and explode. The news that Ahura had broken just now was no mere imbalance, but a gnomish bomb thrown straight into the machine’s heart.
“Between the report sent as Summer waned and this one received yesterday, all of Miraj has been turned upside down.” Ahura’s voice was deep and sonorous as he referred to the collection of kingdoms across the sea by the continent’s largely forgotten ancient name. “Moreover, every single abnormality can be traced to the arrival of one single interloper.”
“Mother’s so called champion?” Un’hana’s beautiful voice was stained with bitter sarcasm, and her dark blue lips twisted beneath the veil hiding the rest of her face.
“The same.” The silver golem god’s tone showed no reaction to Un’hana. He might have continued but Ogrun raised a gold skinned hand to interrupt.
“I only want to know one thing.” He leaned forward over the stone table, bringing his predatory grin close enough to fog the metallic mask with his wine scented breath. “Did he truly defeat a world eater?”
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“Undoubtedly.” The answer was as cold and unfeeling as every other word spoken by Ahura.
“Spectacular.” Ogrun leaned back, and gazed at the ceiling for a moment before suddenly leaping to his feet. The movement took the other two by surprise.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Un’hana called after him as the warrior began to walk toward the exit.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to go make friends.” The flippant answer only angered the goddess more.
“We have plans in motion, you dolt!” She fired back as she began to stand in protest.
“Ogrun may go. Two rules over one. As it must be, Un’hana.” Ahura’s cold declaration was unexpected to both of the other gods, especially Ogrun who was suddenly very suspicious.
“Why do you suddenly want me to do something fun? How are you not against this? What are you scheming in that ugly egg shell of yours now?” Ogrun planted his hands on his hips and leaned over Ahura, who remained seated.
“Have a wonderful trip, Ogrun. Represent us well.”
The response only deepened Ogrun’s distrust, but after thousands of years Ogrun knew it would be futile trying to unravel whatever plot the big brain Ahura might be cooking up. After a moment of agonizing thought, the warrior threw up his hands and focused on his excitement. Things always worked out as long as he trusted his gut, and his gut was telling him that he would find something exciting across the sea.
Un’hana watched him go, glaring daggers into his back. Her history with the man was less than pleasant. They had once been married, and he had sired many strong pawns for her. Unfortunately, her growing feelings were lost on the brute and that growing schism eventually led to all out war between them. Seven islands had disappeared in the struggle, and a permanent whirlpool still churned in the distant sea as a reminder of Un’hana’s rage.
“I won’t ask why you goaded him into going.” Un’hana spoke flatly to Ahura. “Your foresight far exceeds my own, but I would like to know something.” She lifted her veil, revealing the raging storms brewing in her midnight eyes, and the garish scar left by Ogrun’s great axe that ran from scalp to cheek. It was a reminder that no divine salve could erase. “What is your honest opinion of Mother’s Chosen?”
“He is a creature of exceptional violence, as one might expect. He is also a brilliant schemer, perhaps more so than me.” A strange noise came from the mask, one not heard in thousands of years. Ahura was chuckling. “Nothing upsets a schemer more than a thoughtless dullard only capable of linear action. I have no particular aim in sending the ogre, but more than half of the outcomes I can foresee will lead to the benefit of this empire.”
“And the outcomes that won’t be to our benefit?” Un’hana asked with a slight tinge of fear. She didn’t like when Ahura became excited.
“Our certain destruction, of course.” Ahura sounded almost giddy at the thought. “Now then, what have your own followers reported?”
“Un’kuthuku sleeps near the port in the desert.” He is ready to proceed at my command.
“Yuther’s report is late. Otherwise we would have already begun.” Ahura sounded slightly vexed. “We must secure Fenrir’s vessel. It is the only real thing of value in that region.”
“I still don’t understand how you can be so sure Fenrir even has a mortal vessel. Kutris was a lunatic, and his research did nothing but cause a cataclysm.”
“It is not the research of Kutris, but his master’s prophecy that drove him to madness...”
Ahura was about to recite the same words Un’hana had already heard far too many times, and knew she was about to suffer through the whole poem yet again.
“In shadows cast, where stars once gleamed,
A dire fate, in silence deemed,
Fenrir! Famine's cruel domain,
Shall rise to unleash his endless reign.
From heavens' heights to mortal land,
His hunger vast, a ravenous hand,
Heed the words of this solemn plea,
For Fenrir's fury, none shall flee.
A shroud of hunger, a spectral night,
Famine's grasp, an endless blight,
In his wake, the skies must weep,
As the world below falls into sleep.
Fields once green, now barren, sere,
A world devoid of hope and cheer,
Fenrir's Law, a voracious maw,
No respite, escape, nor thaw.
With eyes aflame, and teeth that gnash,
He'll feast upon both wealth and ash,
The heavens tremble, the stone shall break...”
“Stop!” Un’hana couldn’t bring herself to humor the eccentric Ahura any further. “I remember the poem, and know you think it’s a hint to our ticket back to the heavens. To me they are dusty old words, nothing more.”
“It is more than a mere poem.” Ahura growled back, showing rare emotion. “You shall soon see.”