For the sin of killing his kindred

Vhael was to be given a punishment like no other

He was to be condemned to the underworld

Left to rot as the skies unfurled

-Excerpt from the Chronicles of Ishgria

Rhea’s face was still bright red. Her heart beat fast, and she felt very, very warm. It was true that the princess had always admired Remuria. Her attendant was someone competent, professional, and kind. Yet, Rhea hadn’t really viewed Remuria beyond anything more than a close confidant. Not until now.

“How are you doing, Rhea?” Remuria asked with a playful tone, her right hand cradling Rhea’s back. The princess nearly swooned right then and there.

“I uh, I… um.” Rhea stuttered out, blushing an even brighter red.

“Did you not like it?”

“No! Yes? Maybe?”

“Maybe we should try again then.” Remuria whispered, as she pressed her lips against Rhea’s once more.

This time, Rhea relaxed into the kiss, trying to savor the moment as best she could. The princess had dated before: both men and women, to her parent’s ire. She frequently confided in Remuria regarding her relationships. She was rather oblivious to the fact that Remuria was interested in her, believing that her attendant simply saw her in a platonic light. Yet, in hindsight, the signs of Remuria’s romantic interest were present for a long time. Rhea recalled the rare occasions when Remuria would pout, it was always after she had just met a new partner. Other times, Remuria would give her gifts every lover’s day whenever she was not with someone else.

“That’s not fair.” Rhea said, breathing heavily.

Remuria smiled at Rhea, holding back a chuckle, “I’ll leave things at that for now, wouldn’t want you to be too flustered when we see the prophet.”

The princess nodded at her attendant’s words, she rushed towards her horse, her face still flush with a mixture of warmth and embarrassment. Remuria, on the other hand, took her time walking towards her horse, drinking in the image of a flustered Rhea, highlighted under the moon’s pale light.

The two continued on their journey, going at a slower pace during the day, whilst accelerating at night. It was a necessary adjustment, on account of Rhea’s aversion to the sun. Fortune favored the travelers, as no other bandits approached them on their way to the prophet. It gave the pair much needed space and time to collect their thoughts. When Remuria spotted a raggedy hut perched near the edge of a cliff, she knew that they had arrived at their destination.

As Rhea and Remuria drew closer to the hut, they could feel their own hearts pounding in their chests, mirroring a strange, steady rhythm they sensed coming from within. They could feel it, the prophet was there, waiting for them. Despite the countless stories they had heard about the prophet, neither Rhea nor Remuria knew what to expect.

The horses they had ridden stood tethered onto a nearby tree, while the two women approached the hut on foot. As they drew nearer, they noticed a slight movement from within. They paused, before continuing to walk with greater caution.

“So, Princess Rhea and her faithful servant Remuria have arrived!” A voice within the hut exclaimed.

“Are you the prophet?” Rhea shouted back.

“I am, and I know why you are here. Enter my abode if you wish to speak with me, however, the daughter of Vhael must remain outside.”

Rhea and Remuria were taken aback at the prophet’s words. How was it possible that the prophet knew about Remuria’s lineage? Yet, after exchanging some reassuring glances at each other, Remuria gave Rhea a nod and encouraged the princess to meet the prophet.

As Rhea walked towards the prophet’s hut, her mind raced with the many questions she wished to ask of the wise man. There was so much that she wanted to gleam from the prophet, if only she could gain his cooperation.

When the princess entered the hut and saw the prophet for the first time, she was taken aback at their appearance. The prophet was sitting on a wooden stool, in a run-down shack in the middle of nowhere. Yet, they exuded a majesty unlike anything Rhea had felt before.

The prophet’s appearance was otherworldly. The ornate golden mask that covered their face was etched with symbols and names of the gods from the Ishgrian pantheon, shimmering in the dim light of the hut. The rest of the prophet's body was cloaked in flowing, dark blue robes that seemed to radiate with a strange energy that Rhea couldn't quite comprehend. As she looked closer, she could see faint lines of light that seemed to pulse and flicker across the surface of the fabric. It was as if the robes themselves were infused with some kind of eldritch force.

But it was the prophet's hands that truly captured the princess’s attention. They were the only part of their body that was exposed, and they were a stark contrast to the rest of his appearance. They seemed to be made of pure, starry night sky, the moon and stars transposed on their skin, blinking in and out of existence. It was a bizarre and mesmerizing sight, one that left Rhea feeling both captivated and uneasy.

“Take a seat, princess,” the prophet said, their voice laced with a hint of condescension. Rhea sat across from him, her eyes fixated on the prophet’s golden mask.

“It is a pleasure meeting you, prophet,” she said, maintaining her cool.

The prophet cut her off. “Let us skip needless pleasantries, I do not have much time. I am aware of why you are here, and am willing to help you.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Rhea was taken aback. “Apologies, prophet, I do not understand. I thought you spoke on behalf of the Ishgrian Pantheon. Why would you assist me, someone who has made a pact with the harbinger?” she asked, visibly perplexed at the prophet’s words.

The prophet let out a throaty laugh, their voice echoed throughout the small hut. But as the princess was wondering on how best to react, the prophet removed their golden mask, dropping it to the floor. What Rhea saw would scar her memory for years to come.

Behind the prophet’s golden mask: was nothing. The prophet’s head was nowhere to be seen, It was as if there was a hole where a person should have been. Despite this, the prophet’s hood clung onto the air, as if there was still something it had left to conceal.

“Do you see this princess? This is the truth of the gods!” The prophet yelled out, their right hand pointing towards where his mask once was.

Rhea's heart raced as she swallowed hard, the nervousness evident in the dryness of her throat. The prophet's words had left her shaken, but she made a conscious effort to project confidence. With determination, the princess straightened her back, looked forward, and asked, "Could you please elaborate, prophet?"

"The gods are too preoccupied with their own conflicts in the heavens above, unconcerned with the lives of their mortal followers," the prophet explained.

Rhea's heart sank as she questioned, "So, have the gods truly forsaken us?"

A pang of bitterness filled the prophet's voice as they replied, "It would not be the first time they did so, and it would not be the last."

Rhea felt conflicted upon hearing the prophet's words. She struggled to comprehend why someone so intimately connected to the divine would speak of them in such a dismissive manner.

“Forgive me for this, prophet, but I must ask. Why do you speak of the gods as if they were malevolent? I was under the assumption that you would be advocating for the gods.”

The prophet shifted, rising from their stool and moved to the rear of the hut, their hollow visage never seeming to “look away” from the princess. “It appears that my true purpose has yet to be understood," they remarked.

The prophet stood completely still as they questioned the princess. "Have you ever experienced a vision, Princess?"

Rhea's eyes followed the prophet as they moved about, "I have not."

“Then let this be your first.” The prophet stated, raising both of their hands. “I suggest you shut your eyes, lest you wish to become blind.”

Rhea was hesitant, but she was not keen on challenging a representative of the gods. As she closed her eyes, she felt a sudden surge of energy coursing through her body, and a brilliant light piercing through her eyelids. For a fleeting moment, she felt weightless, as if suspended in an infinite expanse of space, leaving her breathless and disoriented. And then, just as suddenly, the prophet's voice resonated in her mind, pulling her consciousness back .

"Open your eyes, Princess," the prophet commanded.

As Rhea opened her eyes, she was struck by a sense of vertigo. To her astonishment, she found herself suspended in the air beside the prophet, high above a scene of utter chaos and carnage. In the distance, she could see swarms of harpies swooping down from the skies to clash with an army of minotaurs on the ground below. And amidst the tumultuous fray, she caught sight of a figure that she knew could only be the sky goddess herself, Arisine.

Arisine's form was not unlike that of her harpy offspring, adorned in feathers that replaced her hair and covered nearly every inch of her towering frame. Her powerful legs ended in razor-sharp talons, and she brandished a colossal spear that was twice the length of any mortal man.

Leading the charge of the minotaurs was none other than Crozius himself: the embodiment of strength. Like Arisine, Crozius’s appearance was akin to that of his sons, with a bull's head atop a massive, muscular frame. But where his children had only two horns, Crozius boasted four, each one thick and curved like a scythe. Standing at what Rhea approximated to be over 40 feet, Crozius loomed over the battlefield like a vengeful titan, easily dwarfing even the largest of his sons. His hooves pounded against the earth with earth-shattering force, sending tremors through the ground.

The god of strength was clad head-to-toe in armor that glimmered with an otherworldly radiance, crafted from a metal that mortals could not name or comprehend. In his massive, muscular hands, he wielded a battle-axe that seemed almost comically oversized, yet appeared more than capable of cleaving through entire groves of trees with a single, devastating swing.

Rhea saw as the battlefield was filled with the clash of gods and their spawn, each fiercely loyal to either Arisine or Crozius. On the side of the sky goddess was Yithi, the god of fortune who rode alongside his mighty pegasus knights into battle, their wings beating like thunder as they charged into combat. Meanwhile, Arkhari, goddess of the hunt, commanded her Dread Wolves, massive beasts of ancient lore with teeth that could crush steel, and fur which could resist even the sharpest spears.

On the opposing side, joining Crozius, was Hamon, lord of lightning, who summoned countless lightning elementals, each crackling with the energy of ferocious storms. They hurled bolts of electricity at their enemies, turning waves upon waves of them into charred dust. Zefra, master of metal, led an army of golems in his likeness, each one towering over the battlefield and capable of crushing anything in its path.

As Rhea watched the gods and their spawn clash, she could feel the raw power of their conflict, the very air around her seemed charged with energy. The sound of battle echoed through the mountains, and the ground shook beneath her feet. It was truly a spectacle of divine proportion.

"This is what the gods have reduced themselves to," The prophet's voice was laced with bitterness, as they gazed upon the ghastly scene before them, at the mangled corpses and the destruction that was left in the wake of the divine conflict. Even so, the gods and their kin continued to fight through the corpses of their fallen brethren.

"They care not for mortals, princess, only for their own dominance over other gods," the prophet continued, their tone heavy with disillusionment.

Rhea looked around, and the devastation and carnage of the battlefield seemed to stretch out before her endlessly. It was difficult to believe that the gods, whom she had always thought to be benevolent beings, were so eager to clash with one another with what appeared to be a zealatrous vengeance. Although Rhea was not the most devout of Ishgrian worshippers, she had always believed that the gods had the best interests of mortals at heart. But as she watched the bloody battle unfold before her, that belief became more and more untenable.

“Prophet, how did the gods come to clash in this way?”

“It is quite simple, the gods are powerful, but even they can fall to mortal desires.”

“So, did one god become too ambitious?” The princess asked.

“That is correct, princess. Crozius sought to become first among the gods, to lead them all in a new pantheon. But as you can see, many viewed his declaration with disdain at best, and open retaliation at worst.”

“How long has the war lasted?”

“It started only this year. Just around the time when Ishgria began to experience great droughts.”

“If the gods are so busy with their war, where does your power come from?”

“I used to receive power from the gods, but that is no longer the case. So, I made a choice.” The prophet stated.

“Which is?”

“To reject the gods.”