Maria had grown up in a church, in a town so small it would be better to call it a village. Ever since she was old enough to understand what it meant she had been told that she wasn’t normal. A divine miracle, a child given by the grace of a god. She didn’t fully understand what they meant then, she felt like a normal person, and didn’t seem any different from her peers (if you pointedly ignored the whole guardian angel thing). She isn’t sure she will ever fully understand, even now when she has a clear picture of what exactly had happened, the why still lingers.
No one had been helpful in giving her those answers; Solfrid and Solveig, the feared twin suns could only offer theories, Messis, current regent of the Royal Sun had only looked at her with a pitting glare, and Sanctus, the High Seraphim and most respected being among the heavens could only sadly shake his head at her questions. Even the person who had done it, the Fateweaver himself had only given a cryptic answer about it being her fate.
It seems she would never get the answers she wanted. Maria wasn’t angry, she loved her mothers, and she loved her time on Mordin. (Secretly she was happy to have lived as a mortal, even with all the complex issues being mortal brought, she wouldn’t undo the choice.) But she felt she deserved to at least know why it had happened, even if the answer was something as careless as a “I just wanted to” or “I thought it would be interesting.”
What she got instead of answers was silence, misdirection, and lies. It shouldn’t be that hard of a question, and the more she dug the more she started to think there was something else at play. Something she couldn’t fully see. It was only a lingering suspicion for now. Nothing concrete. A hunch she didn’t have much time to ponder in between all her lessons and social gatherings. Maria never expected the life of a god to be so hectic and demanding.
And here she was, once again fulfilling another newfound duty. At least this one was rather straightforward, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to it. The summing of her very own seraphim.
Though she won’t deny the nervousness bubbling in her veins. She had only been in the heavens a little more than a week, and even though Sanctus had explained in detail and at length the process of summoning a seraphim, Maria still wasn’t sure she fully understood. She had expressed these concerns and was only met with a soft indulging smile. The High Seraphim was very calm and logical as he reassured her, promising that he knew she was ready to summon her most important angel. Maria felt like she would need more time to be ready for something so big but relented to the High Seraphim’s wisdom. He knew far more than her about godly affairs, and he had been nothing but kind and patient with teaching her. If he believed her ready, then she must be ready.
Sanctus wanted to hold the ceremony at the Palace of the Sun, and though over the last week, Maria had gotten more used to the floating castle of glass and gold as she attended lessons there regularly with Sanctus, she wanted something a bit more familiar, something less sparkling and bright. So, she requested that they instead try the ceremony on the 1st ring, in the Temple of Accession where she first arrived in the heavens.
Unsurprisingly the High Seraphim did not seem to like that idea, but Maria held her ground, this was her angel, her summoning, and she wanted to it there. She will admit she did have another agenda for choosing the 1st ring, it was a place she always wanted to see. The Garden of Tranquil Day was well known as the most beautiful place to exist in all the realms, a maze of never-ending gardens filled with every species of plant, fungi, and flower. She was the Goddess of Spring now, so knowing all the flora and fauna should be part of her heavenly duties now. (At least this was the logical argument she had carefully crafted as she lay awake in her bed, head racing from the news. Hoping it was enough to sway Sanctus into letting her have a look around the Garden of Tranquil Day after her seraphim was summoned.)
“Maria,” and she snaps out of her thoughts to focus on the golden eyes of the High Seraphim standing next to her with a soft smile, “are you ready?”
She doesn’t feel ready, but she still nods, giving him a smile of her own, shifting her gaze up to the blooming wisteria hanging from the stone arches above their heads. The Temple of Ascension is just as beautiful as she remembers. A gentle white light spilling across the ancient stonework from the early morning hour. The Soul Sun is nearly directly above them, casting its faint snow-like light to spill over the surroundings.
“Remember,” Sanctus chides, placing the last candle in the complex array he has drawn on the ground. Maria couldn’t make heads nor tails of what the magic circle said, and she understood even less how it was supposed to work, but Sanctus had assured her it was necessary for the summoning. “I cannot assist you from this point on,” he warns, as if he hadn’t repeated the same thing yesterday, nor on their way over, nor just five minutes ago, “you must summon your seraphim all on your own.”
“I remember, High Seraphim,” she assures, smiling softly at his worrying, it reminds her of her mom’s soft chiding, scolding her with her words, even as her tone conveyed nothing but love.
“Good, now reach out,” and Sanctus takes her outstretched hands. His hands aren’t much bigger than her own, though unlike hers which had lived 20 years of mortal life, his are perfect, sun-kissed and void of any blemish or scar. Maria’s hands are noticeably darker, tanned unevenly from a childhood of sunburns. A long-healed scar twists across her left pinkie and down her palm, a nasty cut from an accident with a horse’s reins in her youth.
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Apparently, if she wanted, she could get rid of these little marks, could smooth out her skin like an artist covering a canvas. Maria had refused the offer. She had no desire to erase her history as a mortal. She might be a god now, but her past as a human was what had shaped her.
“Like this Maria,” the angel directs, as he gently cradles her darker fingers carefully. Bending and positioning her hands into more of a prayer position, leaving a small pocket of space resting between her palms.
Once he’s satisfied with how she’s standing he steps back, outside of the circle of chalk she’s standing in, “Now, focus. Feel the Song of Creation around you. Find the melody that is yours and pull it free.”
Staring intently at her hands, she tries to tap into the Primordial Creation that makes up everything. Several minutes pass as she struggles to keep her thoughts away, trying to focus and listen with every fiber of her being.
The minutes tick by slowly, and Maria is starting to get a bit spacy, thoughts slowing down as tiredness tugs at her, her lack of sleep catching up with her. A sudden soft note of something that isn’t music, but it’s the closest thing she can liken the sound to rings in her ears. She’s memorized by the single note, it hums in her bones like it is a part of her, vibrating in the deepest part of her soul, and by the time she realizes what it is, it’s gone.
She forces down the rather rude words that want to bubble out of her mouth, she was so close-
“Relax Maria,” Sanctus advises, and she startles as she feels hands clutching at her shoulders. His skin leaks a heat that’s just bordering on being uncomfortable. Firmly he pushes her shoulders down, forcing her back to straighten and unhunch, “You don’t need to force it. Many gods take several days to find the right melody, and months after that to form their own seraphims. We have plenty of time before you are to be wed.”
Maria tries to hide her flinch at that reminder, she still wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about that. Not that it really seemed she had much choice in the matter, it was her FATE after all. And just thinking the word soured her thoughts further, mind replaying the last time she had met the Fateweaver. She knew gods could be cruel, had heard the whispers about the cold God of Fate ever since she arrived, but she didn’t think anyone that rotten would be among the heavens. It was clear to see how much he was feared, how a simple frown or scoff would send other Celestials scurrying away in fear of his wrath.
At first, she had assumed it was some sort of misunderstanding, something like how Vae was disliked because of the macabre nature of her divinity. Even now, after she knew how terrible he was, there are still too many things that don’t completely line up. For whatever reason he seemed to care at least a little bit about Cadeyrn, but at the same time he kept the demon bound to him, his magic permanently staining the demon’s skin in the form of spiritual chains. He had brought Vae a rare and precious gift and yet had dismissed her so easily. It didn’t make sense; he didn’t make sense-
“Your mind is wondering Maria.”
She snaps back to attention, sending Sanctus a sheepish smile, “Apologies High Seraphim. I was just trying to imagine what my angel will look like.”
He raises an eyebrow, obviously able to tell that was a lie, either way, he chooses to not address it, “Find the Song first, we still have many steps to complete before we can begin to shape your seraphim’s form.”
Properly chastised, she goes back to clearing her mind once more, searching for that beautiful sound.
It takes another hour before she feels a featherlight buzz of power starting to hum around her, a formless melody echoing just beyond her hearing, but she can tell it’s there. This has to be the Song.
Taking a deep breath, she tries to reach out towards it, but the second she tries to grab for it, the feeling abruptly ends, like a shattering glass that cuts across her hands.
She hisses in pain, and glances down, surprised to find her hands are actually cut, little lines of iridescent silver blood trailing down her wrists and staining the sleeves of her pastel blue dress.
“Careful,” Sanctus warns, glancing at her from where he’s pacing around the circle, “the Song of Creation is not an untamable power, you can force it to obey, but you must be patient. Wait for the right time to assert your strength over it.”
Some part of her shifts uncomfortably at that, perhaps the still mortal part of her that recoils at any mention of fighting something so divine, but she was divine now herself. Yes, it didn’t feel right by any means, but it didn’t feel wrong exactly either.
Sanctus must see her hesitate because his pacing stops, eyes shifting like molten gold as they stare at her intently, “You are a god, Maria,” he reminds with an exasperated sigh. She flinches at his disappointment, vowing to try harder. “You need not bow to anyone anymore. The Primordial Creation bends to the will of Celestia. You are the legacy of my emperor; it will obey you. Do not be afraid of your power.”
He was right, if she wanted to survive in Celestia she was going to need to temper her more human instincts. So, finding no fault in his logic and dreading his disappointment again, she nods. Ignoring the slowly scabbing cuts covering her hands he closes her eyes, quieting her thoughts to listen for the song once more. It takes longer this time, the suns high in the sky above her, radiating a heat that’s hard to ignore in her several layers of silk, but she catches just the faintest note, a foreign and yet deeply familiar sound. She’s more forceful in her attempt this time and she can feel the Song burn, hot and cold at the same time, healing her in the same moment it hurts her.
She falters for only a second, a quiet part of her whispering if this is truly the right thing to do, and the power rips through her hold like a rabid creature. She flinches back, hissing in pain as she looks down at her hands. Deep scratches line her palms, the glittering blood of a god dripping from her fingers and covering the ancient stonework under her feet.
Sanctus hums, evaluating her from outside the circle. She waits for him to offer to help or to tell her to take a break. He does neither, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on her, waiting and watchful. She can feel the tension inch back into her shoulders, something almost like fear licking up her spine before she forces it back down.
‘I’m being ridiculous,’ she chides in her own thoughts, hardening her resolve and meeting Sanctus’s stare head-on, “I’ll try again.”
He nods, smile proud. She smiles back, pleased that she has passed his little test. She was a god now; she couldn’t falter so easily.