Mejias’ preteen years were just as awkward as Iseult remembered her own being. Not only the time where her body started changing with puberty, it was also the time when she began to question why her innate abilities were not present in her peers. As a child she had just accepted her world as truth, unquestioning. She wasn’t the only of her friends to have an imaginary friend. But as she got older her friends matured past that, while for her, Iseult remained. ‘I’m not like my friends, am I? It’s not normal to see things others can't.’ It was the beginning of many questions that Iseult wasn’t ready to answer.

Orikka and Iseult disagreed on a great many things in their parenting, but none quite so critical as when to talk to Mejias about her godly heritage. ‘Let her have her childhood!’ Iseult was adamant on this point, frustrated that they were having this argument again. In the back of her mind she could tell her feelings for Mejias were getting in the way, but, she reasoned, it wouldn’t be so bad to wait just a little longer. ‘We don’t have time, every moment of procrastination is tenuous, each stolen moment could be our last.’ Orikka was firm. Iseult scoffed, ‘we had all the time in the world for investigating the moribund, it took forever to get you to give up that line of inquiry, I had to push and push for you to try a messiah.’ Orikka stilled, one of the only indicators Iseult had ever observed to express their feelings. They must be frustrated, Iseult thought, frustrated herself. ‘Alright,’ she said, a hand drifting to her forehead, finger to her temple, begrudgingly willing to make a concession so at least they didn’t have to have this argument once again. ‘Just about her demigodhood, but nothing else. Not yet.’ Orikka inclined their head, accepting the compromise.

Iseult insisted on being the one to lead their talk with Mejias, worried that Orikka would reveal more than they had said they would. She had tried to start the conversation several times, asking about Mejias’ feelings on gods she already had familiarity with.

Eventually her opening came, though not in the way she had hoped. ‘Yanus says that you’re lying to me.’ Mejias said out of the blue, eyes downcast on her spoon, which was mulling around in her yogurt as she sat, hand bracing her cheek at the breakfast table. Iseult froze in her chair across from Mejias, while Orikka turned from the sink, their human hands wrapped in pink rubber gloves still sudsy with soap from the dishes. Iseult had never really learned how to clean up after herself when she was alive, she had always had a maid to clean up after her, so messes didn’t even really register in her mind as something that needed addressing. Orikka however had become quite the opposite, needing everything to be in order after the whirlwind that was Mejias passed through. ‘We should have called her Messy,’ she often grumbled.

‘Yanus?’ Iseult murmured, blindsided. She hadn’t thought about the crazed god since she and Orikka had encountered her in the forest. Mejias looked up, a slight wariness in her eyes, a hostility that hadn’t been visible before. ‘The voice in my head,’ she said, matter of factly. ‘She says I’m special. That I’m not human. That I’m a demigod.’ It was unsettling to hear Yanus’ name after so long, and to hear that she was in Mejias’ head. How long had the rabbit god been there, whispering in Mejias’ ear, Iseult wondered, disturbed. And what else had she told Mejias?

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This had her completely wrong-footed. She had been working up to talk to Mejias about her demigodhood, yes, but had expected to do so on her own terms, and now, instead, it was sprung on her, and at Yanus’ prompting. She wasn’t sure how to proceed. She didn’t really want to lend credibility to Yanus, was worried about what else Mejias might believe from Yanus’ words. But it couldn’t really be helped. ‘That’s true,’ she sighed, resigned, ‘but being a demi-god doesn’t make you less human,’ she appended, eager to negate some part of Yanus’ assertions. Mejias looked down at her bowl again, her messy bangs swinging to cover her eyes, her hand clenched around her spoon. ‘And you didn’t tell me,’ she said, her voice accusing and flat, without inflection. ‘I just grew up, thinking there was something wrong with me, why else could I see things no one else does, or have a voice in my head!? Do you have any idea what it’s been like for me to be so, so weird?!’ her voice increasing with each word. She slammed down her spoon, her hand flat, splayed overtop of it on the table. Looking up, her eyes flickered between Iseult and Orikka, searching for something. ‘If I hadn’t asked, would you have ever told me?’ She whispered after a moment of silence, her voice hoarse with raw anger as a tear dripped down the curve of her cheek, dropping onto the flower patterned cloth of the table below.

‘Of course we were going to tell you.’ Iseult said, reaching out to touch the tear track on her cheek gently. She sighed, shaking her head helplessly, ‘I’ve been trying to bring it up for weeks now, I just, couldn’t find the right way to do it.’ Mejias looked at her, distrust clear on her face, though she clearly wanted to believe. Iseult took a breath in, gathering herself. She’d have to say something to prove to Mejias that she was telling the truth, something to restore her faith in both herself and Orikka. But she just couldn’t tell her the whole truth. Telling Mejias that she was destined to kill her parent in order to open a gate into the soul world and save all the other gods was too much to put on a teenager. Mejias’ birth, yes, she could tell her about her conception, that for now was safe.

‘We,’ Iseult indicated herself and Orikka, ‘wanted to give you access to the soul world, something that would let you see the world as we see it. And Yanus, well, she was a god. A dangerous god. But when she dissipated,’ Iseult glossed over Yanus’ demise, ‘we kept her eye. It was, is, a tool for seeing into time. A little sliver into the world of souls. We put it inside you. In your temporal cortex,’ She paused for a moment, gauging Mejias’ reaction before continuing, the girl lifting a finger to her temple. ‘And your heart, it’s from Orikka. A beautiful protostar, born the same time as you. Linking you with our Nobi. So,’ Iseult said, reaching for Mejias’ hands, laying hers on top, ‘you’re not weird, not even a little. Not you, not the things you can do. Your abilities mark you as a demigod. And someday, when you’re ready, when you want to follow your heritage, you’re going to be something amazing.’ Mejias looked up at her, her bowl of yogurt forgotten, with a watery, hopeful smile. She smiled back at Mejias, her sweet baby sister. The hope of the gods, of the world, though she didn’t yet know it.