DIVINE TALES 1

Rise of Winter, Week 1, Day 3

A woman stood, towering over a realm that was all her own. Waves struck her legs and caused the pale blue of her dress to become translucent, revealing the sapphire tone of her skin for all to see. If anyone else had been allowed in her realm. But the Tydes of Fate were closed to outsiders, and they had been so for over a season.

Ever since that thing had intruded on her Tydes predictions.

Turning her head to the side, the woman watched as another disruptive wave crashed against her.

Her whirlpool eyes glowed white as she screamed. Every crash elicited a new screech, a new wail of agony, of rage.

“Not again!” She howled across the ocean at her feet, the near-black water receding just to form a new wave.

The woman braced herself, digging her heels into the white beach she ruled and throwing her arms out. As if to catch the wave in an embrace.

This time, when the wave crashed, it hit a barrier. The water swelled and whirled and grew angry, but the woman did not allow it to pass. Her long navy hair whipped around her with the force of her magic. Unbound by Skills, controlled only by her own Divinity.

“Who? Who dares to bring a soul into this world?” The woman hissed, “Who messes with fate, yet again?”

The oceanic divine realm churned with her rage, but the waves did not abate. Not for an hour. Nor for a day. Nor, even, a week.

The woman fought the disruptions, the ripples turned tsunamis that threatened the peace of her realm. The realm she called home. Against her were past, present, and futures yet to come true. Only, the Tydes had already read the proper futures. These ones were new. Some terrible, some beautiful, all chaotic. The woman, no— the Goddess, tried to absorb the waves. Tried to take it all in.

She used every ounce of will her Divinity gave her, forced every bit of Control and Observance and Luck she could wield into action.

It was not enough.

Images berated her mind. Pictures of a girl, pink haired and manic, flooded her vision. Trapped her mind in an inescapable torrent of Possibilities. Some saw the girl dead, impaled, eaten, drowned, poisoned. Some saw the girl triumphant, standing atop the new dead. Some saw her aflame, self-immolated yet unburned. Some saw her burned to ash. In some, she screamed. In others, she laughed. Ever more Possibilities flowed.

All the Goddess could do was take in what she could —decreasing the force of the Tydes. Attempting to spare the other Divine Realms from the flood. Attempting to protect her title as Keeper of the Tydes, Mistress of Fate.

Time passed, and the barrage of futures never slowed, never dimmed, never weakened in its fury at being held back in the Goddess’ realm. Still, she never wavered, either.

The Goddess knew how long it had been, knew three weeks had passed. She knew the ins and outs of time better than most. It was, after all, part of her Domain. That, and Gambling. And though she could continue on, she knew she could not withstand the flood alone.

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So, she separated her mind from her body, just for a fraction of a second. Just enough to force a blast of meaning through her realm and across the Great Divide that separated her and the other Divines.

She needed Peace and Patience and Perseverance.

So, she called for Mace and Greta and Mera.

Her soul shattered into four, three shards streamed through the bright white sky, away from her body. The final piece sunk back into where it felt most at home. Within herself.

“You will not fell me, you blasted fiend!” The Goddess snarled at the all-consuming wave.

She closed her eyes, just for a moment, just to recollect herself. And when she reopened them, there were three figures behind her, within her protection.

The first to speak was a woman surrounded by floating swords, her skin and eyes a vibrant shade of pink. Her hair a deep magenta. Mera, Goddess of Perseverance.

“You called, Scylla?” Her voice was jovial, and her smile feral. She could no doubt feel the need to go beyond themselves to face this threat.

The Goddess, Scylla, need not turn to perceive such things within her Domain. Even distracted as she was.

“You will name your price, Sisters and Brother, and you will help me to contain the Tydes of Fate.” Scylla’s voice was clipped, strain slowly filling her.

“I will help, free of charge, Darling Youngest,” came a man’s voice. The middle figure was simply light, the whiteness of his skin and clothes so bright there were no features to be seen. Not in a way any mortal could comprehend. This was Mace, God of Peace. A flare of light separated from his body and shot through Scylla’s back, but rather than pain, it felt like coming home. “Take your soul shard back. You will be needing it.”

Scylla did not question Mace, for he knew all ways of Peace —even fighting to maintain it. Despite his name, he was the Lord of True War. For one cannot be a peacekeeper without holding the power to maintain it.

The third figure simply sighed.

“Oh, Sister, I will help, but my price will depend on how long I must stand as the bulwark.”

Greta was shades of gray, and was the Goddess of Patience. The Lady of Attrition. Another war god.

“Oh, Youngest, you know I never shy away from a fight.” Mera’s smile never wavered, never stalled. The sword halo around her proclaimed her a martial Goddess that was rivaled by so few. “But I do not come free. We shall discuss your Prophecy in depth.”

As they spoke, both Greta and Mera sent out their own bright lights into Scylla’s back. Scylla happily took back the shattered remains of her soul, strengthening her hold on her Domain.

“A deal has been brokered, Sisters. Now, help.” Scylla forcefully agreed.

“Mera, to the midline, destroy the waves that I cannot stop from approaching shore,” Scylla commanded, power lacing her voice. The pink Goddess simply jumped backward. Thousands of swords appeared and glowed with a rosy hue.

“Brother, to the frontline with me. You will hold the Tydes while I absorb them.” Mace darted forward, taking the space next to Scylla.

“Greta, you will hold the realm together. Your power will outlast the flood should we all fall.”

Greta simply nodded grimly, levitating into the air and summoning a dull barrier to encompass the oceanic realm.

And so, they fought the Tydes of Fate.

The Divines stood their ground. Mace created a barrier of light, Scylla took in the waves of possibilities, Mera destroyed the remnants that made it through, and Greta stood sentinel with her barrier.

Their Domains flared and they became More. More of who they were meant to be, yes. But, more importantly, they transcended. Much like they had to become the Gods they were now.