A muffled staccato of gentle raindrops on tiles played an off-beat rhythm on the roof of the eclectic, cozy store building. The subtle glow and radiating warmth of a merrily crackling fire kept the melancholy of the grey sky at bay, and a criminally divine aroma wafted from a large copper cylinder on a smooth wooden table. The young man stared with wide eyes at the container, and the blonde-haired woman looked on with amused eyes and a slight grin.

“Is it ready yet?” Ben asked for the umpteenth time.

Ann chuckled. “Yes. Please allow me.”

The Keeper gently gripped the beautiful copper container with folded linen rags in each hand so as to avoid scalding her pale skin on the hot surface of the metal. She twisted the top end, and Ben saw two holes appear on opposite edges of its upper-most surface. Ann tilted the cylinder, and slow steam swirled from a delicate stream of dark, delectable liquid. She filled a wooden mug with the black brew and repeated the process with another.

The young man was practically drooling at the smell of the heavenly brew. She lifted a mug with dainty hands and placed it on the table before Ben. He slowly lifted the cup to his lips and let the hot liquid caress his tongue. The rich, bitter flavor caused Ben’s eyes to roll back into his head as he sighed in pleasure. He took another slow sip with closed eyes. He savored the divine nectar for a few heartbeats before he heard Ann clear her throat.

“Well… my heart,” she said, and Ben opened his eyes to meet hers. Her cheeks blushed a light shade of pink against her alabaster skin. “I didn’t expect you to react so… passionately. If I’d have known…” she trailed off as she chewed her lip.

“Annie, you’re the best. Have I ever told you that?” Ben said as he held the wooden mug tightly.

“You could tell me more often,” she said coyly.

“Oi! If you two are gonna shag on the table, put a tablecloth down first,” Ainsle hollered from behind her bedroom curtain. She threw apart the fabric and stomped over to the pair in front of the fireplace. “I think there’s still a splinter stuck in my arse from way back when we had our tavern benders.”

Ainsle grimaced as she collapsed in a chair opposite the pair. Her long grey hair was loose, and she wore a plain white tunic and dress. Ben considered the Berserker and decided that if you looked past the scars, the lean muscle, the eye patch, and the generally intimidating aura, the old woman seemed almost normal.

Yeah, no. She’s still scary, even with the granny clothes on.

“Good morning.” Ann smiled at the old woman.

“Morning,” Ben mimicked the greeting.

Ainsle nodded and grinned at the pair while tying her long hair into a ponytail. “Morning, lovebirds,” she said in a rasp made severe by the fact that she had just woken up.

Ben tilted his head toward the copper container. “Would you care for some coffee?”

“Coffee?” she sniffed as she regarded the vessel. “Ah, black brew? Yeah, fix up a cup for Ol’ Ain.”

The young man looked to Ann, who dipped her head and retrieved another wooden mug from the adjacent shelf before pouring the remaining coffee for the Berserker. Ainsle accepted the offered cup and blew the brew before taking a sip and sighing in pleasure. Ben smiled and thought they were indeed kindred spirits, as his Keeper had told him.

“Now that’s some bloody good brew. Did you get this from the market, sweetheart?” the old woman asked.

“Yes. I’d have liked to have bought more; however, the merchant had left by ship back to Yeltia when I returned the following day.”

Ainsle hummed and took another sip from her mug. “Maybe next time, then,” she said with a distant look in her eye, an emotion that Ben couldn’t place clouded her expression.

Does that mean there won’t be a next time?

The young man recalled the conversation Ann had started before he had become so irrationally captivated by the black brew.

“You were saying earlier?” he addressed the Keeper.

“Yes. Seeing as you’re planning to visit the Researcher at the temple, it's prudent that we deal with the topic of the Gods.”

Ben felt a subtle rumble pervade his chest. He frowned as he recalled the earlier incidents when he was utterly deaf to the Deity’s names and, later, the incoherent syllables he made out before being stricken with splitting, paralyzing headaches. A loud crash of thunder brought with it an idea that struck Ben. He gulped.

“Annie, do you have any of that numbing draught left?” he turned his body on the chair to face the Keeper completely.

“Why, yes, my heart,” she said as her brows raised questioningly before settling in understanding. She reached into the small pouch and retrieved the half-empty vial of black and silver swirling liquid. “It’s very potent, so I’d recommend a small sip,” Ann said as she handed the corked tube to the young man.

Ben unstoppered the vial and lifted it to his lips before he heard a grunt from the old woman. He lowered the vial and turned to see a scowling, steel-blue eye framed by a furrowed brow.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Ainsle took a sip of her coffee and exhaled in pleasure, her frown subtly relaxing. “You don’t need that,” she said as her grin returned. “If you can’t handle a little headache, what you gonna do when some cunt’s sword is buried in your gut? You’ll be fine,” she shrugged, “it’ll put some hair on your balls.”

The young man’s gaze flitted between both of his companions and the vial in his hand.

Ah, dammit. Why did she have to say it like that?

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to numb the pain, my darling,” Ann said as she subtly shook her head with slanted brows.

Ben pressed the vial in her hand and closed her fingers around the glass container.

“Yeah, Ainsle’s right. I shouldn’t rely on this stuff,” he said. A deep breath and a nod to the Keeper indicated that he had steeled himself for her words.

Ann regarded the young man with consternation in her soft blue eyes. After a few heartbeats, she cleared her throat. “I’ll speak of the Gods. Their names and their embodiments. Stop me at any time, all right, my heart?”

The rumbling in his chest began to increase in intensity subtly. He felt the promise of a cold sweat on his brow as he clenched his fists on his lap and dipped his head for the Keeper to continue.

“There are six major Deities worshipped in Aetheria. Each of Them embodies different aspects of human nature and ideals. The power you wield is said to be gifted to Champions who are paragons of said aspects and ideals, and each God, excluding one, has been recorded in history to have granted a total of three Avatars each.”

Ben took another deep breath and nodded for Ann to continue.

The Keeper’s expression grew thoughtful. “I’ll start with the most commonly worshipped Deity, as Her temples are the most prevalent in the Empire of Caemire.” She paused. “The wife of the Sovereign God and patroness of Healers, Farmers, and children. The Goddess of Life and Fertility and Love…”

The magnitude of the rumble in his being had grown to where Ben physically trembled.

“Iorilai.”

A sharp pain bloomed in his head, and he felt the claw of the beast dig into his shoulder. It felt as if the entity had braced him. Kept him from succumbing to the assault on his consciousness. Ben exhaled slowly after he felt as if a membrane had been pierced in his mind, and a foreign essence flooded his veins. The pain receded gradually, yet Ben fixed his gaze on the Keeper’s own.

Ann’s resolve began to waver at what Ben thought to be her perception of his turmoil through their bond. She nodded and continued.

“The Goddess’ Avatars were the most well-known in times past.” Ann paused once more as she leaned forward and spoke hushedly.

“Empathy, Protec-”

Ainsle held up a hand to interrupt the Keeper. Ben squinted at Ann after he glanced at the old woman. The blinding headache had receded, yet the names of the Avatars seemed to absorb all sound upon their utterance. In his periphery, he saw Ainsle’s head shake slowly, and he turned to face the woman once more.

“I think that's enough,” was all the old woman said as she fixed a stern eye on the Keeper. Her grin was absent, her lips pursed.

Ann dipped her head, chastised, as she sat straight in her chair, her hands resting on her lap.

“Forgive me.” Ann met Ben’s gaze. “Ainsle is right. It’s unwise to invoke the names of other Avatars so carelessly. Lest we draw attention to ourselves.”

“There’s enough bloody weight here in this room, let alone the province. Nobody has time for a fucking meet and greet,” Ainsle interjected before shifting to get comfortable in her seat and sipping at her mug once more. “Go on, sugar.” She nodded to Ann.

So, Ainsle feels the presence of other Avatars as weight, too?

“I don’t think I follow. Why can’t you talk about them?” asked Ben.

The Keeper took a deep breath and cleared her throat. “If people other than Champions were to speak of Avatars, it would be but names. For those who wield the ideals, it carries more… significance.”

Ben frowned as he struggled to decipher the exact meaning of his Keeper’s words. He wasn’t sure if she'd meant the mentioning of a name to be a challenge, a slight, or just plain blasphemy.

You’re getting sidetracked again…

“I won’t lie- I don’t really get what you’re saying…” he considered both women for a heartbeat. “But I’d like to hear more of the Gods for now.”

“Yes, of course. Without further digression, then.” Ann said as she began to twirl her thick, blonde braid in her hands absently. “Iorilia is wife to the Sovereign God of Order, Yeulidias-”

Ben felt the name echo within his being, and he wasn’t sure whether or not the beast had growled, yet the entity seemed to react to the name. His body had not ceased its subtle vibration, and his heart thrummed in his chest, the rhythm of which quickened at each syllable of the name before settling.

“-He is the Leader of the Pantheon and the King of the Divine realm. Similarly, Leaders, Generals, and Kings call Him their patron.” Ann paused with brows raised in consternation. “Are you all right, my heart? Please tell me if I should stop.”

“I’m fine, I can handle it now. Thanks, Ann. Please continue,” he said.

The Keeper’s expression hadn’t changed at the affirmation, yet she continued nevertheless. “Okay. Next, I suppose, would be their daughter, Lilitia. She is the Goddess of Knowledge and the Keeper of Secrets. The patroness of Scholars, Casters, and Recluses.”

Knowledge and Recluses… huh. So, Jor’s first Avatar was granted by Lilitia?

Ann’s face settled into one of impassivity, and Ben frowned at the change in her demeanor. She spoke with an even tone. “The Goddess of Death and Decay, sister to Iorilai, mistress to Yeulidias, and the Ruin of my God. Nachanu.” Ann almost spat as she spoke the name. “She is known as the pact maker and patroness of Necromancers and Witches.”

Ben’s cheeks flushed with heat, and a sudden intense feeling of anger roiled in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t discern whether his reaction was born from the overwhelming emotions pouring into him through his Keeper’s bond or the entity's rage inside him. He felt a subtle pulse of Ainsle’s aura wash over him, and he turned to see the old woman’s brow furrowed and grin absent as she sat silently across the table.

“Lastly...” Ann sniffed, her soft blue eyes glistened, “the betrayed. Patron of Warriors, Martyrs, and Seekers of Vengeance. The God of Conflict and Struggle, Illephrre.”

The young man’s ears began to ring ever so quietly. He felt light-headed, and his body trembled subtly. Ainsle sniffed and cleared her throat. He considered each of the women, who sat in silence and contemplated the depth of connection between the three of them. Something nagged at Ben’s subconscious, and a thought struck him.

“You said there are six Gods, yet you only named five. Who is the sixth?” he asked.

Ainsle drummed her fingers on the table and drew Ben’s attention to her. She regarded him with an uncharacteristically impassive expression.

The Berserker spoke slowly with a measured rasp. “Folks tend not to talk about that one. But times are changing, as seeing as we’re pretty much fucked anyways…” she trailed off and glanced toward the Keeper.

Ann sat rigidly in her chair, and Ben could’ve sworn he heard a distant giggle of countless voices brush his mind. The Keeper strained as she spoke.

“The One without a name. The Goddess of Murder, Deceit, and Madness.”