Jillsen, greatest of all gods (In size?) made the skies and the dragons that inherited them. Atop his hoard of clouds, ether and thunder the father of all dragons rested, watching over the young world that unfolded down below. Aeons passed like this (How long are eons in Bengia? Investigate later,) with the other gods working on their own projects, and leaving him and his dragons alone.
But this frail equilibrium was not bound to last, and when Morganuca, the goddess of beasts, a wild beauty, a damsel to rival Lady Scarlet that you may picture like a more refined and divine bear (exact words of Gadorprims), got into a petty quarry with the god of knowledge, Salomenon. It was all part of his plan, to do little devilries here and there to upset the goddess. Cause a bit of mischief, get on her nerves by providing a lesser creature or two with forbidden information, uplifting them, in layman terms (again, as Gadorprims said). He did this until Morganuca decided to come out of her reign in the jungles of the world and travel to his, claws protracted, ready to maul if that would settle the matter. And where did Salomenon live and reign? In a lonesome mountain, a long dead volcano, deep into a cave of white stone (composed mostly of plagioclases, maybe?). She descended, from step to step, boulder to boulder. She had the deftness of a lynx aiding her, and could hear the voice of the God of knowledge rambling, like he often did.
Know that even a lynx can indulge in the sin of carelessness when excited, and so, she did not watch her step as much as she should, and when she went for his throat, or the closest thing for a throat a god made out of pure information may have, she fell into a roughly made pitfall trap. She tried to come out of the hole, but the stone, smooth and flawless like if it were a fine gem, cut with methods unknown to mortals to this day, did not provide any point of vantage. Some say he then spat over her out of despise, others say he right out urinated on the goddess to humiliate her, to mock the way her children marked their territories all over the world.
The goddess roared at him, showing her teeth, inevitably swallowing some of the foul substance and immediately falling unconscious. During her blackout she dreamed with things beasts are not supposed to: numbers, truths of the mundane, truths of the arcane, and other things that went beyond feeding, fighting and reproducing. When she opened her eyes again, she screeched in pain, feeling bloated, her stomach distended and about to tear —and I must clarify that that I mean the acid filled digestive organ, because, for all the animal anatomy your kind knows, you often call parts of the reproductive tract stomach too. Morons (I feel that meanness is unjustified, but Lord Gadorprims ought to know what’s best for the tale).
She squirmed for the greatest pleasure of the god of knowledge, who watched from above. Eventually, she got on all fours, raised her heckles and started retching. Her breath was foul and smelled of putrefaction, of stagnant knowledge expired long ago.
She felt the cursed substance crawling up her throat, choking her, and felt like dying. For moments, her world went dark, only for consciousness to come back and find her still trying to barf. Finally, after several days of struggle, exhausted, with her limbs burning and each centimeter of her torso and neck feeling like they had been cut in two, she opened her mouth wide and a head came out of it. What followed, naturally, was a baby. A big headed, small bodied baby, covered in bile and stomach acid, crying without solace.
Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
She collapsed for a long while, and when she recovered her strength, she took the baby, that wandered near her belly and tried to latch onto her teats like younglings of many beasts do, and full of righteous fury against her captor, she launched the child against Salomenon.
Catching the crying child, Salomenon gave it a hard look, and realized that, indeed, this half beast was as much a son of his as it was of hers. From their mutual hatred a new god had been born. Your former god, the god of humans: Saho.
Soon after, Salomenon got tired of the image and growls of Morganuca, sealing the pit with a lid of stone the goddess could not reach nor lift.
Saho grew inside the cave, under the extensive tutelage of Salomenon, who, in time, came to despise some of the more… beastly aspects of the child. Saho was noisy, impulsive, hirsute, and did not have an easy time learning the more abstract concepts. His grasp of them, compared to animals, was flawless, but for Salomenon that was not enough for a child of his. Saho had failed to uphold the status of prodigy Salomenon expected of any progeny of his, which was a sure recipe to breed spite and slowly erode the relationship between father and son.
At first, Saho isolated himself with his tools and writings. That’s when he carved, into stone, the description of the first men, and then his words like snakes flowed into the world, picking up life and form on the way downstream. When the making of people stopped being enough to sate the mind of the young god, he went to the old pit and, in defiance of his father, slid the flat stone to a side to take a peek inside.
And when he saw her, curled at the bottom of the pit, hopeless, phobic to the scant light that came from the torches on the cave, he knew that he was beholding his mother. He swore, in a language they both understood, if only because of the bond they shared, that he would come back for her, and immediately afterwards slid the stone back shut.
With the knowledge inherited from his father the god of men crafted a rope out of braids of his long, long hair, grown for decades (where is the male balding pattern?), never having met the sharpness of a tool until then. He worked day and night to fashion a fishing net in secrecy, away from the prying eyes of his progenitor. Bags appeared under his eyes as he lost sleep, sacrificing it for the sake of his captive, and now beloved, mother.
Eventually, his father noticed, and managed to catch him in the act without Saho noticing. So he waited patiently, he waited until his son hid the net below the rock he always did, and went out to hear the petitions of the new inhabitants of the world, the men and women he had brought to life, and aid them to overcome their shortcomings. Your god, human (Gadorprims refers to me, I believe), he was a good parent to your species.
And in that expression of paternal love Salomenon found the chance to snatch the net and, under moonlight, cast it in a bonfire so hot it softened the very stone upon which it was built. Then, once the fire had died out, he collected the few remaining ashes of his son’s hair and stashed them in a vial. Sitting at the entrance of the cave, he waited for his son to return.