Prologue

Varyssa lay sprawled in her loveseat atop a spire that pierced high above the mortal world. Through the window beside her, the divine clouds morphed with delicate permutations of purple and pink. The slightest breath of intention escaped from her lips, and the clouds took on a deep shade of midnight blue, like the deepest parts of a dream.

Cool rain pattered against her window, each drop shimmering like fragments of forgotten visions. Varyssa admired the perfection of her ethereal design, but even such beauty could not pull her mind away from the terrible burden she carried this evening.

Mortals were often entranced by Varyssa’s gaze. Her eyes kaleidoscoped with the many futures that danced before her, fractals of ever changing color. But tonight, they were void of any color at all.

“The Gods are growing restless, Gadolc,” she said, and turned her attention to the figure that had just appeared in her doorway. He was strong and silent, stoic in nature and very hard to read. His physical features reflected his demeanor: not a warrior or fighter, but someone who carried the weight of the world on his back. His expression was vague as usual, like he was looking right through her, his attention held by cosmic forces beyond their world. The others could say what they would about Gadolc’s aloof nature, but to Varyssa, he was nothing less than her only friend.

“You are speaking of the business with Lustra’s children,” said Gadolc.

“Sakassen continues to sow fear amongst the gods,” she said, a trace of uneasiness coloring her voice. “He says that the Elves will soon render us obsolete.”

“Nonsense.”

“Yes, I know, but still, I worry about Sakassen. There are whispers. He is planning something.” Gadolc paused, a habit of his that often preceded profound insights. He stood at the precipice of his words, eyes narrowing as if calculating the weight of each possible outcome. Varyssa both hated and loved him when he was like this. He was the only one who saw things as she did, but when he looked past her like this, she felt so alone.

“Your worry would be most optimally directed towards the lesser gods. They have already begun to feel a dip in their power. Conflict is likely to emerge as they attempt to consolidate what they perceive to be a dwindling supply of mortal worshippers. Our efforts must turn to preventing war,” said Gadolc. Varyssa absently thumbed the soft, woven blanket draped over her lap, its intricate patterns reflecting her own turbulent thoughts. Even now, she resented Gadolc for his apparent ease, his constant, unwavering composure.

As she considered the situation, the risks became clear. Should the gods sense even a whisper of their powers being jeopardized, unrest would be inevitable. Rational or not, the truth was that those who felt their dominion threatened would be driven to war, their divine pride demanding nothing less. 

Rain pelted against the window in unrelenting waves. If only this could be the limit of her troubles. There was something else they had to discuss tonight, but not yet, not quite yet.

“We are too late, Gadolc. There will be war,” she said, stalling.

“So this is what your dream predicted? Then our attention turns to ending the war as soon as possible to minimize the loss of mortal life. This is a reasonable goal.” The situation was comprehensible to Gadolc. He kept track of the gods in his mind, weighing each of their strengths and weaknesses against each other, spinning together permutations of alliances that might form, what would come of these potential outcomes. All variables could be accounted for, all potential futures could be predicted. Varyssa looked back out the window at the darkened clouds, the rain, the void that dropped down from below them where, far below, the mortal world hummed with activity.

“How much damage do you envision?” Gadolc asked. Varyssa did not hear his question. She could not keep up this ruse any longer.

“There is something else, Gadolc, another prediction.” Her voice wavered, the break in her usually steady timbre betraying her fear. She hesitated, the words heavy on her tongue. “I foresaw the death of a god.” Gadolc remained motionless in the doorway, his obscured face a void that betrayed no glimmer of emotion.

“Gods do not die,” said Gadolc.

“I have seen it.”

“How puzzling,” said Gadolc, and – was it amusement Varyssa sensed in his voice? “We are faced with a contradiction: gods do not die, and your predictions are never wrong. Two truths, and yet one of them must be false. I wonder, which one could it be?”

“Oh, please, Gadolc! Don’t you even care who it might be?” 

“Tell me,” said Gadolc, though as he considered her statement, he thought he already knew the answer. Varyssa began to cry, and as her tears fell, the vibrancy of her realm dulled, the clouds shifting to somber grays and the rain growing heavier.

“I see. We are well prepared then. Our goal shifts from preventing the war to putting a stop to it as soon as possible, with the added variable of my own inescapable death. How undeniably interesting. Please, tell me how we ought to proceed. You know I value your input.”

But Varyssa was already shoving past him, her footsteps echoing angrily as she stormed out of the room. In that moment, she hated Gadolc. He would find it easy, in the end. He would escape this petulant realm, leave the tumultuous world behind, and leave the bickering gods behind. In the end, he would leave her. She turned partway down the winding staircase.

“I don’t know how I will do it, Gadolc. I don’t know how to do this alone.”