Mejias was a beautiful baby when she was born. At least in Iseult’s eyes. She had loved her as soon as Orikka put the sweet little girl in her arms. She had a little baby sister. One with a very heavy destiny, she frowned briefly. Mejias had a thick thatch of dark hair, tiny squinty features, the time opal from Yanus a just barely there bump under the squishy palate of her baby soft skull, lodged in her temporal cortex. The godseed bequeathed by Orikka was a small star, a protostar just born, like Mejias, buried deep in her heart. Iseult’s birthing day gift was a scrimshaw flute, carved from her own old bones. She had carefully made a trip back to her old city to collect them, avoiding the gods that occupied her previous home. The flute made no sound discernable to a mortal besides Mejias, but would call Iseult immediately. She frequently played lullabies from her childhood, back when Idelos was more affectionate to the finicky baby, soothing her to sleep.
Mejias’ position as a demi-god child to Orikka had taken nicely, the protostar in her heart cementing her designation and relationship. They had some resignations about placing a piece of Yanus in her, concerned that the remaining soul shard might awaken and cause some grief to the girl, but the benefits outweighed the cost. An innate ability to see the realm of souls, in combination with Orikka’s access to the moribund as a demi-god had good potential for seeding any abilities she might develop when she ascended to godhood.
Orikka’s pregnancy in their proxy body had been an odious affair, at least to the old god, who found the flesh to be messy and uncomfortable. Iseult found the whole thing quite funny, though she tried not to smile too much when her god voiced their discomfort. In retrospect, what they said about human bodies was true - they had a number of unpleasant bodily functions, mostly involving fluids of some kind. There were a great many aspects of being alive that Iseult found she didn’t miss. Iseult suspected that Orikka disliked being alive a great deal more than they let on, and that their parental relationship with Mejias suffered for it. But that was ok, Mejias would always have her, Iseult thought as she stroked the infant’s baby soft hair.
As a more conspicuous being, Elske only visited infrequently, often sending Shaia in his stead. Most of her visits were updates, Elske seemed to have blossomed within the role of angel overseer. Since they had decided to pursue a god-messiah hypothesis, his deployment of the angels for the purpose of investigating the moribund had decreased significantly. Instead he focused on monitoring the other gods in case they too found a way of consuming souls that expedited their own corruption. Elske himself seemed rather indifferent to Mejias, interested only in so much as she was another descendant of Orikka. Iseult privately speculated that he was a tad jealous of the new baby, Mejias was yet another being drawing Orikka’s attention away from him. Shaia on the other hand was fascinated by the child. As a vulture, she didn’t have many opportunities to interact with human young, despite her cheery personality. She cooed over Mejias with her raspy voice whenever she visited, peering at her with fond eyes.
It was around Mejias’ fifth birthday that Iseult began to have doubts about her decision to create a god messiah. Mejias was such a precious little girl, and the inevitable future hung over Iseult’s head as she played with her. But they had committed, events were already in motion and it was too late to go back, she repeated to herself, watching Mejias play with her toy lamb. Orikka had gotten it for her as a birthday gift, to Iseult’s discomfort. She suspected that it was Orikka’s way of subtly rebuking her for the decision she had introduced. She would take the punishment, and the guilt, as she had said she would back when they had begun this plan. Though she hadn’t anticipated it would feel like this. Perhaps she had been a soul for so long that she hadn’t remembered what certain sensations felt like. Guilt, she found, was so very heavy. It clenched in her stomach, a fist twisting her insides, a heat rising to her cheeks whenever she remembered. Shame, she realized. She was ashamed of herself. She hadn’t expected to love Mejias quite so much. And if she hadn’t, what then? Would she still be alright with the future they had set in motion, the future she had condemned some hypothetical child to? She knew in her heart what that answer was, and it was not one she was proud of. She was selfish. She had known it growing up. It was so easy for her to get whatever she wanted, despite her contentious relationship with her father, he never deprived her. Anything she wanted was at her fingertips, no matter how extravagant. So, she had taken advantage of the nepotistic power she had inherited. It was not an environment that grew an altruistic person. She had been generous with her friends, of course, but that was because they were hers. Her people, and she was jealous when they showed attention to others, she could never stand to share. So she should have seen this coming, but instead she had rushed headlong into the decision, impulsive. And now Mejias would suffer for it. The irony of it all burned.
‘Izzy!’ Mejias cried, snot running down her face, as she raced into Iseult’s arms as she frequently did, her knee a bruised amber, hinting at the god-ichor gold running through her veins beneath her skin, scratched up from a fall down while chasing the strange, monkey rooster-headed creatures that scampered about in the city. Such a crybaby, Iseult thought fondly. She had been exactly the same. Mejias had formed a stronger bond with her ghost sister than with her godly parent, to Orikka’s confusion. Despite having read a great deal of human literature on the raising of a human child they remained bemused by most every of Mejias’ emotions. Which was about what Iseult had expected. Having spent well over a hundred years with the god she had low expectations for their ability to relate to the youth. They were a different generation, a generation all to their own.
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‘What’s wrong sweetheart?’ She asked, gathering the girl into her ghostly arms, the barley impreceptible coolness of her skin heating in contact with the living. They had been trying to get Mejias to better use her words. The girl twisted in her arms, she still struggled with not holding Iseult too tightly and phasing right through her, but she seemed to still draw comfort from the action. ‘Hurts!’ Mejias seemed too distraught to say anything more, but the single gold droplet of blood making its way down her shin seemed self-explanatory. Orikka brought over their small first aid kit, finding a small band aid with a character from a popular children’s show ongoing at the town square, a regular play put on each morning for any child passing. Though this city was technologically behind Iseult’s previous home she found she preferred it. The time skips made it so that most residents were more relaxed, less harried about getting anywhere promptly. It had taken some adjustment in the beginning, but gradually she came to love it. That and there were so many more community events, more vibrancy and public spaces. It was the perfect environment for a child learning about the wide and varied world around them.
Mejias’ tears dried up as soon as the bandage was applied, the attention of her guardians more soothing than the dressing. ‘Is Meme ok?’ her friend Hija asked Orikka, hovering nervously over Orikka’s human-skin shoulder. Mejias gave him a wide smile, her tears suddenly evaporated, ‘it’s ok, Jia, it doesn’t hurt anymore’ taking his hand in hers, the two scurried off once again. Mejia had a number of friends, the neighborhood children all playing together, ranging in age from four to ten. Hija was the child of an acolyte, a priestess of Veris, god of chaos. Many of Veris’ devotees and acolytes found home in the city, the inherent turmoil making it easy to fulfill their duties and prayers to the god. Veris required a certain degree of pandemonium in the lives of her worshipers for the collective mindthink to take. Originally a pack of hyenas that had taken down a god and eaten its body, the pack members were linked by the act and created a collective consciousness, until the transformation killed all but Veris, leaving her as a fraction of what she had been. She mentally connects with all of her followers upon initiation, recreating the family that she lost.
Hija was a wild child, fitting his mother’s profession, likely half fulfilling the chaos requirements for his mother on his own. Iseult found him endearing, his free spirited behavior reminding her of her own rebelliousness when she was a child. And his pretty, dark eyes and dimpled smile reminded her of Mnomo. She still found herself missing her twin brother, every now and then, but not enough to manifest as a ghost again.
He and Mejias had first bonded over their birthmarks, Hija with poliosis giving him a white forelock and a single shocking blue eye, contrasting with his other dark one, all of which were inherited from his mother Vili, while Mejias had her extensive portwine birthmark, coving both her hands up past her wrists. Though none of the other children had made much of a fuss over their respective differences, the city being filled with people of all sorts, the two childrens’ unspoken comradery brought them together instantly when they first met.
Mejias’ other friends had a smattering of devotees, though none from the kin-killing Zsa Zsa, luckily, but no more acolytes, as most of the childrens’ parents were unaffiliated. Hija’s familiarity with a god made him more understanding of some of the peculiarities of Mejias, namely her frequent conversations with the pure souls, beyond the ghosts that were visible to her peers, ‘Meme just sees more than other people,’ was one of the ways he explained it. Despite his otherwise untamed behavior, his innocent yet staunch support of Mejias earned him Iseult’s approval, no matter what trouble he caused.
‘Izzy! Izzy! Jia told me if I ate a beetle that crawled across the crying god I would be able to fly, but I’ve eaten five and nothing has happened!’ Iseult had come to expect that hearing Mejias call her with that particular ‘Jia’ tone would inevitably be followed by something outlandish. Just the other week was a very raunchy song that ‘Jia taught me!’ Hija followed behind, ‘It’s true! She just hasn’t eaten the right one yet!’ He looked so sincere that Iseult almost found herself believing him. He had become quite comfortable addressing the empty air that Mejias said her sister Izzy inhabited. ‘Ask him where he heard that,’ Iseult said to Mejias, who relayed the question to Hija. He suddenly looked a little shifty, before giving a big huff of air, fluttering the fluffy white of his forelock which wafted high in the air before setting back on his forehead. ‘I saw a bird do it!’ he finally burst out. Iseult couldn’t help but smile.
Hija and Mejias had recently started school, something Mejias had originally been very excited about before learning it just meant she had to stay in a building for several hours a day. Luckily Hija was in the same class which reduced the amount of resistance Mejias might have put up each morning. ‘Meme!’ he announced, throwing their front door open, such that it bounced, as was his custom. His bag wriggled suspiciously. Mejias thumped down the stairs, clumsily pulling on brightly colored socks. ‘Mejias, can you ask Hija what he has in his bag?’ ‘I don’t have to Izzy, it’s show and tell and he’s going to bring his cat!’ She said enthusiastically, looking up at her ghost sister as she struggled with her shoe laces. They had only recently switched over from velcro. Iseult wasn’t quite sure how to handle this particular situation. ‘Is there something else he could bring, I’m not sure the cat likes being in the bag.’ The bag burst open and the cat made a run for it. Well that seemed to solve that. Hija looked briefly dejected, ‘Spot got away.’ The cat, of course, was pure black. He brightened up, ‘luckily I brought some of my mom’s face paints.’ He meant her makeup. Oh no. Though she supposed it was a bit of a step up. She’d have Orikka call Hija’s mom and let her know the latest havoc. Mejias and Hija returned that day decked out in Hija’s mother’s makeup, their faces glittering with eyeshadows. ‘The class really liked my show and tell!’ Hija said as Mejias grinned. Even her teeth were painted.