Ashborn City,

Kingdom of Lucia,

The Third World,

Mortal Realm

The garden pavilion was draped in flowers and ribbons, a whirlwind of colour against the gleaming white marble floor. Sonia sat at the head of the long banquet table, trying to smile and look regal as her descendants peppered her with questions.

"Great Goddess Sonia, what is it like to live in the Immortal Realm?" asked Tavin, her great-great-grand-nephew, his eyes wide with awe.

Sonia forced a gracious smile. "It's wonderful. The palaces are made of gold and crystal, and we feast on ambrosia and nectar every night."

"Wow," breathed Lissa, Tavin's younger sister. "You must be so important and powerful up there!"

"She sure is!" boasted Jonna, one of Sonia's distant cousins. "Our Sonia is the youngest mage to become a demi-god in over fifty thousand years. She's brought such honour to our family."

"Tell us more, please!" the children begged.

Sonia held up a hand for silence, "Now, now, that's enough about me. This is a celebration for all of you! I want to hear about what's been happening here in the mortal realm. Tavin, I heard you won the citywide magic tournament?"

As Tavin launched into a breathless account of his victory, Sonia nodded along and made appreciative comments at all the right moments. But inside, she was sighing with exasperation. If only they knew the truth.

Up in the Immortal Realm, she was hardly treated with respect by the other gods. As the Divine Messenger, her role was little more than a glorified errand girl. She spent her days delivering scrolls and relaying orders, constantly at the beck and call of temperamental deities. It was only a tiny step up from being an ordinary servant.

But of course, she could never tell her family that. To them, having an ancestor as a demi-god, even a lowly one, was the highest possible honour. It had raised their status immensely here in the Third World. Once just a humble family of artisans, they now had noble titles, vast estates, and more wealth than they could spend in ten lifetimes. All because of her.

Sometimes, Sonia wondered why she even bothered returning to the Immortal Realm. Here in the mortal world, she was treated better than royalty. Up there, she was little more than a piece of furniture. Maybe it would be better to just stay here permanently.

Sonia shook her head. The quantity of magic here was pathetic, the quality even worse. Sometimes it was difficult to breathe with how thin and wispy the mana of the Mortal Realm was. Whilst, in the Immortal Realm, she could almost sculpt reality with a flick of her finger. Here, even the simplest divine spells took effort.

No, she couldn't live out her days in this magic-starved wasteland. She had to keep striving for more, had to find a way to elevate herself to full godhood. Then she would have respect, real respect, not just the fawning flattery of her mortal relatives.

If only she knew how. The secret to becoming a God was one the deities guarded jealously. In all her centuries as a demi-god, Sonia had never found even a hint. It was maddening.

Suddenly, she felt a tingle run down her spine, like a finger of ice tracing her vertebrae. She sat up straight, the chatter of her family fading away. It was time. The great prophecy was nearly upon them. As the Divine Messenger, it was her sworn duty to witness and record the Prophet's words.

"It is time I leave," Sonia said, rising from her chair. "I am needed back at the Immortal Realm."

Her family broke into a chorus of protests and pleas for her to stay longer, but Sonia quelled them with a wave. She couldn't afford to be late, not today.

"I will return as soon as I am able. Keep the festivities going in my absence."

With that, she sketched a series of silver sigils in the air, pouring her strand of divine will into the world. The children gasped and clapped as reality bent around her, tearing open into a swirling portal of light. With a final nod to her descendants, Sonia stepped through the rift, the cheers of her family echoing in her ears as she crossed the boundary between realms.

As always, the Immortal Realm hit her like a rush of icy water, the intensity of the magic enough to make her gasp. Sonia took a moment to orient herself, feeling the comforting weight of her sigil settle around her neck. No matter how much the other gods might sneer at her lowly position, they couldn't deny the importance of her role today.

Squaring her shoulders, Sonia set off for the Prophet's palace, the rainbow-hued clouds of the divine city swirling beneath her feet. The palace loomed ahead of her, a twisting confection of glass and diamond that seemed to glow from within. As she approached the towering gates, a pair of guards crossed their spears, barring her way.

"None may enter the Prophet's sanctum today. The Eternal Augury is for the gods' ears alone."

Sonia lifted her chin, letting her sigil catch the light. "I am the Divine Messenger," she said coolly. "My presence is required to record the prophecy."

The guards hesitated, exchanging uncertain glances, but finally stepped aside. "Apologies, Revered Messenger," one said, bowing. "You may enter."

Sonia swept past them without a second look. Inside, the palace was eerily silent, she could only hear the soft sound of her silk slippers on the crystal floor. As she made her way through the corridors, a strange sense of foreboding appeared in her gut. Something felt different about today. Momentous. Like the universe itself was holding its breath.

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After what felt like an eternity of walking, she finally arrived at the entrance to the prophecy chamber. The massive doors swung open at her approach, revealing a vast, circular room with walls of pulsing light. And there, in the centre, stood the Prophet himself.

He was tall, taller than any mortal man, with long silver hair that fell to his waist and eyes that glowed like molten gold. His presence was overwhelming, the sheer force of his divinity pressing down on Sonia like a physical weight.

"Divine Messenger," he said, his voice a soft rumble that seemed to reverberate through her bones. "You have come to witness."

It wasn't a question, but Sonia nodded anyway, not trusting herself to speak. The Prophet studied her for a long moment, his divine eyes boring into hers as if he could see straight through to her soul. Sonia forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to show even a hint of the fear and awe that gripped her.

Finally, the Prophet looked away. "It is time," he said simply.

And with that, his eyes rolled back in his head and he began to convulse, his body jerking and twitching like a marionette with its strings cut. Sonia watched in horrified fascination as the convulsions grew more violent, the Prophet's limbs flailing and his head whipping back and forth. A high, keening wail tore from his throat, rising in pitch until it was almost painful to hear.

And then, abruptly, it stopped. The Prophet went rigid, his back arching into an impossible curve. His mouth opened, and when he spoke, the voice that issued forth was not his own.

"Beware the fall of the Time God's reign,

For mortal ambition will end his domain.

The death of eternity's warden draws near,

As factions grow restless, and souls lose their fear.

From celestial order shall come chaos and strife,

New rulers ascending to godhead in life.

But hope may yet glimmer for those in the fray,

If unity rises to win the dark day."

With a final, shuddering gasp, the Prophet collapsed to the floor, his body going limp. Sonia stood frozen, her mind reeling as she tried to process what she had just heard. The fall of the God of Time? New rulers rising? It was impossible, unthinkable. The gods were eternal, their power absolute. How could any of this come to pass?

Slowly, shakily, the Prophet pushed himself to his feet. When he raised his head to look at Sonia, his eyes were haunted, filled with a bone-deep weariness.

"You have heard the words of fate," he said quietly. "Go now, Divine Messenger. Spread the prophecy only when the time is right."

Sonia swallowed hard, trying to find her voice. "But...what does it mean? How can a god fall?"

The Prophet shook his head. "That is not for a mere demi-god to know. You are but instruments of destiny's will. Now go, before the other gods grow suspicious of your presence here."

Numb and reeling, Sonia turned and stumbled out of the chamber, her mind buzzing with questions. The corridors of the palace passed in a blur, and before she knew it, she was standing outside the gates once more.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to centre herself. Destiny. Fate. The fall of gods and the rise of new rulers. It was too much, too big for her to comprehend.

What was she supposed to do now? When was the right time to reveal what she had heard? And what would happen to the Immortal Realm - to reality itself - if the God of Time truly fell?

Sonia shook her head, trying to clear it. She couldn't dwell on these questions now. She had a duty to fulfil, a role to play. Whatever came next, she would face it as the Divine Messenger should but deep down, a traitorous part of her wondered if perhaps their fall was long overdue.

***

As the grand doors closed behind the messenger girl, Arkanias slumped on the cushions with a weary sigh.

Amongst the gods he was known as the Prophet, but he was also the God of Time. He controlled the celestial cycles and the flowing river of fate. Yet never in a thousand millennia had he foreseen that he would prophesy his own destruction.

Arkanias shook his head bitterly. Just because he had seen it in a vision did not make it certain. The prophecies were always difficult to interpret, with layers of metaphor and meaning. There were always ways to change them.

He only needed to survive for a millennium - that was how long his prophecies usually lasted before coming to fruition. He was an immortal god. Surely, he could find a way to avert this fate.

Arkanias summoned his powers, divine energy swirling around him in prismatic colours. He sent his consciousness forward through the myriad streams of time, seeking a future where he survived past the prophecy.

Yet in every branch and eddy of the possible timelines, he saw his own death.

In some futures, he was murdered by gods or demons that sought to steal his power over time. In others, he fell in battles that shook the celestial sphere. He even saw timelines where he took his own life willingly, for reasons obscured from his sight.

After searching millions of timelines fruitlessly, Arkanias felt the first stirrings of despair. Was there no way to avoid this prophecy?

Then finally he saw a glimmer of hope. One narrow stream of time held a slight chance he might cheat destiny. The path was risky, but Arkanias was willing to gamble everything on even a sliver of hope.

He decided to split his divine essence and power, dividing it into seven pieces, and merging each piece with a different mortal soul. The soul of a mortal naturally inclined towards defying their fate. Tying his own fate to theirs could shield him from harm. Then in a millennium, when the prophecy window closed, he would reclaim the pieces of his essence and be reborn whole.

Why seven pieces specifically? Arkanias did not know. He only foresaw that any more or less would spell certain doom.

With growing hope, he proclaimed, "Then so it will be!"

Once his essence was scattered among the seven, they would end up gravitating towards each other until one remained. Even if they were all killed off somehow, his essence would just pick another host.

However, there was only one problem, the other gods…

If the other gods discovered what he had done, they could easily destroy the mortal vessels holding his power and steal his essence. If his essence was in the hands of the other gods, then he would be doomed.

No, he needed a way to conceal and protect the mortals.

Arkanias sank into a meditative trance, gathering his concentration. He drew on his mastery over the celestial cycles, the patterns that governed reality. Arkanias reached into the fabric of creation itself to weave a new enchantment - one that would hide and shield.

Slowly, intricately, he spun the threads of magic, each strand resonating with cycles of concealment, confusion, and misdirection. He imbued the enchantment with his authority over time, declaring that it would endure until the prophecy came to pass. With a final surge of power, the spell coalesced into glowing sigils circling his outstretched hands.

"Hakeie dejda eejariun da," Arkanias murmured the words of activation. The sigils flared once and faded, sinking into his skin. There the magic would remain, ready to impart its protection when the time came.

Satisfied, Arkanias inspected his work. Now when he transferred pieces of his essence, the seven mortals would bear this Mark of Hidden Potential. It would conceal their true nature from the sight of gods.

Filled with new determination, Arkanias strode from his chamber. He had a destiny to outmanoeuvre.

There was much planning to be done, hosts to be chosen. He did not spare a thought for how the seven mortals might be affected by sharing his essence, or whether they may be tempted to use that power for their own ends.

Arkanias was certain the pieces of his soul would be waiting for him when the time came.

After all, it was impossible for a mere mortal to ascend to true godhood within only a millennium...was it not?