Isshakhu was not a bad woman, if I can add my own opinion to the story. I used to run into her from time to time, and there was nothing unethical about her. She had a mischievous personality, as I recall, and another thing was, that she definitely didn’t like being taken advantage of. That’s how it is with a lot of smart people. It’s like they always have to come out on top all the time.

I’ll give you an example.

Like this one evening, we were at the Table of Heaven. Imgaggu had painted a delicious meal for us with her mind. Usually, you ate her meals with your mouth, but sometimes it went differently, and that was one of those days. The meal entered one’s body through the pores on his, her, or their skin. It was a unique experience.

Anyway, after the meal, we all thanked Imgaggu and went on our way, but Isshakhu lingered. She was of higher rank than me, so I was not allowed to leave the Table of Heaven until she got up. As a matter of fact, as the god of kinetic energy, Isshakhu was quite a high-ranking deity, and so by remaining seated at the table, she forced everyone else to sit around and wait for her.

This was her little trick, her little bit of harmless mischief for the evening. There was just one little problem. There was no way she could keep up the charade.

We all knew what she was up to. She had that stupid smirk on her face, just sitting there pretending everything was normal, just a bunch of minor gods waiting at the table, staring on ahead or making uncomfortable chitchat while Isshakhu held total silent control over the room.

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We knew what she was doing, but there was nothing we could do except wait. And we didn’t have to wait long. If there was one thing Isskakhu despised, it was sitting still. After the first minute, she was starting to fidget. After the second, her whole body was squirming. After the third, she was tapping the table with her dessert spoon, which had remained until then on the tablecloth untouched, as dinner had been an osmotic, more than comsumptive, affair, and there had been no need for silverware.

We were all waiting for her to get up. We knew it couldn’t be long. Finally, Eenmmee, one of the higher-ranking gods, whose rank was near, but just under Isshakhu’s, spoke up.

“Oh, Isskakhu, why are you being so stubborn, fighting against yourself like that? Just give in, get up. It was a stupid prank, anyway.”

Isshakhu was so angry about being wrong, about her failed prank, about being called out for it by a lower-ranking god in front of everyone at the Table of Heaven. She bit her lip. Then, furiously, and without saying anything, the goddess of kinetic energy produced a thin notebook with glowing runes scribbled all over its pages. She read the runes aloud, enunciating guttural vowels and bending diphthongs. She ended this show with a flick of her wrist, followed by a flick of her finger, in Eenmmee’s direction.

Suddenly, with a great burst of energy, Eenmee flew back out of her chair and out of the room. Her body went streaking across Heaven and into the skies of Cannesia. There she spun around and around, whipping violently until the world’s first cyclone was created. This cyclone eliminated several eldred races of magical beings, ushering in the Third Cannesian Age.

Isshakhu watched from her seat at the Table of Heaven. The scene kept her rapt enough to remain seated for five minutes, which is a lot longer in Cannesian time.

Finally, when Isshakhu was satisfied with her revenge (or maybe when she got bored), she read another set of runes. Eenmee immediately returned, and no one ever spoke about it again. At least, not in front of Isshakhu.