Caeli stumbled when she came to a halt. She had run after the storming god of the night to the edge of the Aethyrs. There he stood, on the edge, looking down into the vast point where all three worlds connected. He didn’t seem to be his joyful self, and Caeli wondered whether he was to travel or to fall through the worlds until he was fulfilled. Gods couldn’t die, surely. She took a deep breath, steadying herself and the alcohol, which had robbed her of some mobility. Reaching out, she tugged at the bag of Noctifer’s robe, as he did for her hours before.
“He banished me,” he whispered to the winding space of energy. His voice was deeper than usual, burdened with anger rather than melancholy. Caeli didn’t know how to answer it, so she chose to simply be there with Noctifer as he stood at the edge. Her hand rested in the small of his back, an attempt at comforting him, though she didn’t know if he needed comforting or intervention.
“What will you do now?”
“I will take what is mine,” he said simply, looking down into the vast, whirling pit. Caeli stiffened at the implications—the myriad of implications—that fell with his words. He turned to look down at Caeli with a weak smile before turning back to the pit. He took a deep breath, and he saw how remarkable it was.
Caeli stared in awe as his skin glowed brightly with all the light of the moon and stars. He looked at her with a final smile and then fell over into the pit. Caeli realized too late, and she fell to the edge in an attempt to catch the falling god before he faded. All she saw was the world-ending smile as he faded to who knows where. She grabbed at the swirling energy pleadingly, begging for the god to return. The night had darkened entirely, losing its beauty and light, and she knew that this was the beginning of a great catastrophe.
—-
Solaris placed the lamp at the altar, praying quietly to calm his nerves. It wasn’t a tradition amongst the Young Gods, but many of the Old Gods still prayed to the Creator who had formed them. ‘Praying to the inner nature’, is what Sala described it as. He looked at the drawing done in grain and flower petals on the floor with some modicum of peace until a shiver struck him like a spear.
He bent over, his body spasming with the sudden change. He looked around him, knowing something was amiss. Something had moved out of its way and left a gaping hole in its place. He looked at the lamps, which now gave off less light.
“Nox,” he whispered to himself, breaking the circular pattern of the mandala as he ran from the room. He sought out anyone who could help him, running into Sala, who fell to the floor in his haste. She looked up at him in frustration, but then saw the frantic look on the sun god’s face and the way his hair clung to his head and face, tears and sweat covered.
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“What did you do?” demanded Sala as she climbed to her knees, grabbing Solaris’ arms and shaking him for an answer.
“He’s gone.” Solaris shook, feeling that great emptiness spread. Sala only stared blankly before realizing what had happened.
“Oh, little Adonis,” she lulled, as Solaris fell down into her arms in hysterics.
“I banished him, Sala,” he confessed to her shoulder as he wept. Sala only looked into the distance, stroking the solar god’s red hair.
“I banished him, and now he’s gone forever,” he continued, his voice breaking as tears and mucus seeped into Sala’s robe. She didn’t move but stayed there with the weeping god, who gripped tightly at his clothes.
“A god of many years, but still a child,’ she thought to herself as she rubbed his back. She knew this was bound to happen. Solaris was temperamental, to say the least. She patted his back soothingly, seeing him as nothing more than a sniffling toddler. She realized what she was doing and smiled to herself.
“What do I do?” Solaris asked, his face still pressed against the taller goddess’s shoulder. She was quiet, but her jaw flexed as she thought of some solution.
“The heavens will be in imbalance until he returns his share of the power,” she stated plainly. This did not make Solaris feel any better, but it made him cry again as the consequences weighed heavily against him.
“We’ll have to find him then before the hole becomes too big to patch,” she whispered. She knew it was easier said than done, but she looked to the sobbing god regardless.
“Did he say anything when you banished him?”
“I don’t think so,” said Solaris between hiccups. He hated crying for a few too many reasons, and one of them was how painfully hard they made it to control his body. Sala hummed pensively, her brows knotted together in frustration.
“Did he come with anyone?”
“Another goddess, Caeli.”
“We’ll have to question her then.”
Sala held the shivering god closer to her, her hand tracing the serpent bracelet around Solaris’s wrist. She hid a chuckle when she realized the irony. The snake eating its own tail, a sign of eternity.
"You devoured for the sake of sanctity, but have now devoured yourself,” she thought as she looked down at the god. He wasn’t entirely present but was looking at some distant horizon. His breathing had leveled, which was a good sign.
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Caeli was frantic. She couldn’t move from the edge of the portal, and her entire body burned. She felt that she could throw up at that moment, but not even that happened. She stared down into the swirling colors that were the only remnants of her friend. The air only got worse, and it felt as though the Aethyrs had begun to collapse on themselves, losing a foundation. She knew that it would only be a matter of time before the other gods felt the disturbance, but how it would be handled was what worried her.
‘What if he’s in one of the Lower Realms? No god would go down there,’ she thought, pulling at her hair as she tried to think of something to say or do. She felt helpless, and every time she looked back into that swirling pool between spaces, she only felt more insignificant. She wanted to blame the gods. With all her anger, she wanted to shout at the gods and have them take Noctifer’s place and return him to the Heavens. Even that, that one primal desire for vindication, seemed far away from her. It was like everything had been placed behind a glass pane, and she could only think and see it but never touch it.
With a shrill cry, she slammed her hand against the floor. Forgetful of her power, the floor cracked around her with the fierce strength she put into the hit. She looked around, seeing how the cracks formed around her—a testament to her power and rage—and could only weep bitterly.