Solaris, called 'Sol' affectionately, was seated over the firmament and watched over the world with a fixation on perfection. It was the day of the Lunar Festival, the Fifth of the Year, and so it was the festival dedicated to Him who came about the Fifth Day of Great Creation. He wasn’t particularly fond of festivals, not since the few thousand millennia welcomed a Goddess of the Vine, who brought with her ecstatic drunkenness. Yet she was an avatar of the Goddess of Plenty, who came from Creation, so he could not interfere. It did not make her presence any less annoying. He wandered the terraces with his advisors, who presented the petitions of his devotees.
After endless centuries, he had become noticeably impartial. He considered it a good attribute for a god, lest they play favourites with the mortal world, which would throw balance into imbalance, light into darkness, and order into chaos. One petition came from a king who had vowed to maintain his temple to the highest standard for the god’s protection in a civil war. Solaris wasn’t fond of war, seeing it as a distasteful sin and the cause of man’s own folly. Still, the idea that maybe more of his priests could prevent these foul actions from occurring appealed to him.
“Send one of the daimons to the prophetess; tell her that he will obtain victory so long as he abides by the fasts. This evening, he must go and hold a vigil in my temple, and I will aid him.”
The assistants nodded, leaving immediately. Solaris continued his leisurely walk, meditating on the various principles that functioned in heaven. He was alerted when cool air blew over him. Turning, he saw Caeli, the Goddess of Heaven. She wasn’t actually the goddess of “Heaven” but rather the firmament, the visible stars and planets that mortals referred to as “Heaven” or the "Heavens." She was smiling, her robes floating about her with their signature embroidery of jasmine flowers and pomegranates. Her hair twirled around her form, as complex as the evening itself, and her eyes showed ancient wisdom and a youthful glimmer.
“Same thing as usual?”
“”Mortals are very predictable, Caeli.”
“Ah, same Solaris as usual,” she teased. “Are you coming to the festival tonight?”
“It is my festival, is it not?”
“Yes, but all the gods attend your festival.”
“And?” Solaris asked, visibly frustrated, as the goddess danced around a problem.
“I’ve invited Noctifer; it’s been too long since we brought him to Heaven,” she finally admitted, coming to finally walk astride Solaris.
“You know well enough why we don’t bring him to heaven; it is not his domain. He is not like us; he is no better than the demons that eat the soil off the roots of the Great Creation.”
“He is still a god,” Caeli defended, folding her hands neatly in front of her as she stared at Solaris.
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“He will not come; I demand it.”
“He will come, and you have no power over the Office of the Night.”
“I have power over my own festival, however.”
“Your invitation, however, says ‘all gods’ without any mentioned exceptions, including Noctifer.”
“He is a sorcerer, a vile magician, and do you see what he does or what those followers of his do?”
“He is coming, and you two will simply remain on opposite sides of the room. It is that simple.”
“It is the principle of it; he will bring impurity to a sanctified occasion.”
“Then he will leave before the rituals begin. Is it that hard for you to see something beyond yourself?”
“There is only 'The Light'; even Light shines in the dark skies.”
Solaris stomped off, leaving Caeli in the middle of the garden. She watched him go to his temple, where he’d do his daily affairs. The air was so deeply tense that she felt his own affairs would be impeded by his own anger, and his own self-righteous hubris. That final part is what she would not say, however. With a silent frown, she faded from the Aethyr and back into her own abode seated over the Seven Planets. She looked down over the earth, then towards the planets which moved in their own orderly fashions.
"Creator preserve Order, even in Seeming Disorder," she said quietly, looking back up at the gates of the Heavens where the other gods resided, those born directly during the Creation. She was among their ranks, yes, but preferred the rotations of the celestial bodies to the echo-chamber that lurked above her head. She was adamant, then, that Noctifer would come to the festival, even if just as peers reuniting after a long separation.
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“Bebeloi is coming,” Solaris sighed as he finished his prayers. The monk who had ascended to his world, now a sage, sat before him with a cup of tea. The monk nodded distantly, contemplating the situation that was unfolding before him. He poured a cup of tea for his patron who drank heartily of the tea, as if to escape the impending arrival of what was considered his 'adversary'.
“Bebeloi, Noctifer, my Lord?”
“Yes, that one, he is coming to the Lunar Festival and I trust you can see why it is not the most permissible thing.”
“That I can, my Lord, but you did say that all gods were invited," the sage mused over his teacup. He took a sip, placing it down quietly before turning his gaze back up to the thoughtful deity before him. Despite the contradiction, there was still a great devotion in the sage as he looked over the one who had ordained his stay in the Abode of the Sun. The very appearance of the deity, from the cerulean blue eyes to the way that the Solar Halo reflected over his cascading red hair, was greater than all the texts the sage had read in his mortal world. Still, at the table, the deity was all too pensive, human in his quiet distress. The way he bit down on his nail as he thought, a testament to the interaction between gods and mortals, and even the way that traits would move between.
“He spends all his time in the mortal world, he can hardly be considered a god.”
“By birth, he is a god, my Lord.”
“He is my antithesis, he is an evil.”
“I may understand your frustrations, my Lord, but even gods abide by the ‘Laws of Hospitable Order’. Since you are the host, you are to accept him, no?”
“Unfortunately, my friend, but I must find a way to mediate between his vile influence and the sanctity of the ritual.”
“Vileness is very subjective, my Lord.”
“It is a state, sage. It is no more subjective than the sun rising in the east.”
“Maybe so, my Lord," the sage relented, swirling the tea in his cup before taking another sip.
The sage poured another cup of tea for Solaris, but he did not see it. Solaris was busy looking outside the window. He was flexing his jaw as he tried to think of how he could handle such a ‘travesty’, which only made the sage feel more frustrated. He hid it quietly, muttering a silent prayer to the All-Creator, who he had hoped would show the benefits of such a situation to the silent god.