The known gods created a world just like them—flawed, imperfect, rife with anger and strife that overpowered the possibility of love and joy. Bekin and Emaya’s creation was full of chaos—they created children, Aimiki and Itoki, to help balance that creation. Animals were made to fly into the heavens, delve far beneath the surface of the earth, or reach the depths of the sea. Thus, the world was close to perfection—although animals ate away at the plants and flowers, creating a barren landscape devoid of any life, and when predators were created to manage the problem, their small prey were captured and killed. Still, this amount of imperfection was allowed, as it gave balance to the young world.
Human beings were created for Aimiki and Itoki’s pleasure, who often grew bored simply playing with the wild creatures. A set of twins caught their attention, and despite their parents’ warnings the younger gods fell in love with the mortals.
From this love Ginshin and Kurokami arose, born from an immortal and human parent. The boys were cousins, but they were raised as brothers—as twins themselves. The difference between them, however, was like night and day; to some, they were night and day. This was never so apparent as when they were dueling, a common pastime since their childhood.
They grew into strong men—young despite their decades of life. Neither felt strong remorse as the first generation of humans died, and they both felt little attachment to the second generation that came about the land. Ginshin and Kurokami were revered yet feared, admired yet warned against. Due to that fear and concern, they were relocated time and time again.
Once they ended up in a holy place, where Bekin and Emaya had first come to the world. Although briefly accepting that it would clearly mean their ancestors’ wrath if they were to fight there, Ginshin and Kurokami nevertheless grew bored of the mundane life their mortal peers lived. They resumed fighting mere days upon arrival.
The two dueled without acknowledging how their blows broke trees and shook the very ground, without realizing that their ancestors had taken on physical forms to spectate. Their ancestors gave many warnings.
“Children.”
Yet they refused to listen, still fighting.
And again, “Children.”
When the half-mortal gods did not answer, both ancestors spoke at once.
“Children.”
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Only when their duel ended, both weapons shattered, did they turn towards their respective ancestors: Ginshin spoke to Aimiki, while Kurokami spoke to Itoki. These words were spoken among them:
“Mother Aimiki,” Ginshin said, bowing to his mother.
“Father Itoki,” Kurokami said, offering his father the remnants of the training sword. “Mighty is the strength you have given me.”
“Mighty is the power you wield,” Itoki replied calmly, “And mighty is the path which you must walk.”
“Shortly,” Aimiki added, carrying on with her brother-cousin’s tone, “Father Bekin and Mother Emaya will descend to this place. Behave, young children—they bring with them good tidings and gifts. Obey the higher gods, and they shall bless you.”
“We shall obey the higher gods, so that they may bless us,” the cousins responded in unison.
Remnants of their duel vanished as each cousin took their place next to their respective parent. Strong winds and rumbling earth, albeit only present for a short time, heralded the arrival of the first two gods. They spoke these words:
“Children of mortals and gods,” they said, both speaking together, sky and earth seeming more beautiful and glorious once its creators stood within it.
“We are at your whims, Creators,” Ginshin and Kurokami replied.
“You have exceeded your mortal parents’s lifetimes,” the creator-gods said. “What have you seen of the world?”
“It is beautiful,” Ginshin said.
“Wonderful,” Kurokami added. “But also hurtful.”
“Harmful.”
“Deadly.”
“Cursed.”
“We have observed your actions,” the creator-gods said, speaking in a firm tone that demanded reverence, “And we have decided on your role in the gods’ realm.”
“Shall we be protectors?”
“Guides?”
“Or dangers?”
“Demons?”
Bekin and Emaya both gestured to the world around them, Bekin to the east and Emaya to the west. “Just as mortals have capacity to do both, you do as well,” they said. “Ginshin and Kurokami, from this day onward you shall rule this island and all creatures within it. This shall be your shared nation, for you to do what you wish as long as you obey your parent-gods.”
They took a step away from each other; Bekin approached Ginshin, and Emaya approached Kurokami. Each put a hand on the top of their heads, and brushed their hand down the length of the men’s hair. Ginshin’s shimmered from dark brown to a bright, silvery white; Kurokami’s became a deep, pitch black.
“This is a sign of your heritage,” the creator-gods said together, “And shall be passed down through your blood. Go forth, and make this island yours.”
Bekin and Emaya disappeared, leaving nothing behind; Aimiki and Itoki disappeared as well. The cousins glanced at each other, but their rivalry returned.
It was the beginning of two nations—just as it was the beginning of the end. Ginshin and Kurokami quickly used their greater powers in a war against each other, eventually involving the mortals as well, that lasted even after the two men died.