It is hard to portray the divine beings, and more troublesome still to depict their Citadel. However, I will attempt.
Here, in the Citadel, one sees its reality: A divine being is a thought represented, an appearance of one of the six areas of the forces that underlie the universe. What's more the Citadel! It is the most noteworthy of the Nine Realms, a spot made by each of the six divine beings together as impartial ground. Here, their tremendous power can unite without stress of undesirable obliteration, without interference by the brief interests of humans.
The sight of one god inspires awe and terror. The sight of all six, together for the first time in mortal memory, in the seat of their splendor, is overwhelming. Yet here they are.
(I will use the present tense. No matter when you read this, or what has happened since, I cannot bring myself to write Thaeriel was. Gods are; it is their nature.)
In any case, let us hear what they have to say.
"My Brothers, our rebellious sibling has returned finally!" blasts Thaeriel, the God of Light. He sparkles from the inside, blasting down on Eucos with the glad hotness of summer.
Elyrian, God of Magic, remains alongside Thaeriel. He is hooded with night and robed in haze. His eyes are twin stars, far off and cold and splendid. On the off chance that he is taking a gander at the others, it is just to look through them, at things no one but he can see. He is the unruly sibling, missing for quite a long time in the Great Chaos past the known domains, and he appears to be content to allow Thaeriel to represent him.
Out of the way sits Aeona, God of Nature. The artists tell us, honestly, that blossoms sprout in her strides, and her grin carries life and chuckling to the world. Yet, today she is agonizing. Risky. In Arkmonia far beneath, the Amazons observe that their ponies won't notice them, and extraordinary wolves wail in the forest.
"Welcome back, dear sibling," says Malissus, God of Death. Her voice is the murmur of wind over an inert desert, her skin the shade of since a long time ago neglected bones. "I shiver to figure what might occur assuming that I deserted my domain for even a solitary year. How lucky that your own space turned on without you for hundreds."
Agonizing Auros sits with Malissus, War and Death nonchalantly interweaved. Maybe they are sweethearts, right now. (Also in case that idea trouble you, realize that for all their discussion of siblings and sisters, the gods are no more kinfolk to each other than the tides are to the mountains.)
"Indeed, welcome back!" shouts Auros, and thunder reverberations through the pinnacles of Kharkon. "Is that why you've called us here? To report something we would all be able to see as doubtlessly as a daytime star?"
The 6th god talks finally, her words trickling with honey and malignance.
"Indeed," says Ludia, the God of Deception, as a voice like steel and silk murmurs No. "I'd say you owe we all a clarification."
The gods start to talk without a moment's delay, a whirlwind of clashing energies. Youngsters' quarrels the world over abruptly turn monstrous. In Tartessos, a man kills his sibling, for reasons he won't recollect later.
Thaeriel's eyes flare, and the brilliant universe subsides, supplanted by an immense and shining field. The sun whips on it, like they were far beneath, on Eucos.
Auros stands, and swords across Eucos relax in their sheaths, excited for war.
"What is it?" asks Aeona.
god of nature
"This is the Grand Arena," says Thaeriel. His words ring out like a sledge on iron, permanently fixing the name to the thing.
"Then, at that point, we're to battle," says Auros, in a voice that appears to be conflicted between craving and desire.
"No!" says Aeona. "The last time—"
"No," says Thaeriel. "Never again."
Malissus blows Thaeriel a kiss. The sun diminishes, only briefly, and humans across Eucos feel an abrupt chill.
"Fah," says Auros. "What, then, at that point? Will we throw spears and hold footraces?"
"This spot will have a competition," says Thaeriel. "Every one of us will pick a human boss to encapsulate our standards and take on a part of our power."
"There is point of reference," adds Elyrian. "In the far off past."
"Indeed!" says Auros. "Indeed. Another Demigods' War!"
"There will be no conflict," says Thaeriel. "Each top dog will get a preliminary—picked by one god beside their benefactor, dependent upon endorsement by the other four. The individuals who bomb their preliminary bomb the test."
"What of the individuals who succeed?" asks Ludia. Fizzle. "Do you intend to name a victor?"
"Quickest. Most grounded. Generally rich. The appropriate response will be self-evident."
"We will cast a ballot, if essential," says Elyrian.
"Also imagine a scenario in which we will not partake?" asks Malissus.
"It is your entitlement to relinquish," says Thaeriel.
"Also why… this Arena?" asks Auros.
"The Grand Arena exists at the same time here and on Eucos, so we and our human bosses may all join in."
"An indirect access to the Citadel?" says Malissus. "You had no right."
"That is unnatural," says Aeona. "It's off-base."
"It's anything but an entryway," says Elyrian. "More like… a mirror. To the humans it is important for Eucos; to us it is essential for the Citadel. That we will appear to stand together is a deception."
Thaeriel's eyes flare once more, and the Arena retreats, supplanted by the Citadel.
Your inquiries can pause," he says. "Pick your champions, or relinquish."
Aeona talks, however it is the thunder of a ravenous bear, the yell of wind whipping the treetops, all annoyance and no sense. "What's alarming you?" asks Malissus. Aeona inhales profoundly. The tempest dies down, however the air actually snaps with repressed outrage.
"Elyrian," she says. "We've forever been close," says Aeona. "At the point when he centers around genuine articles—the sorcery of a dryad's woods or an alarm's melody—our spaces cross-over in agreement. Like yours do—or even yours and mine, Malissus."
"Be that as it may, says Malissus. However, he can never leave it at that!" says Aeona. "Elyrian and his rationalists banter whether movement exists, when everything they need do is watch the surge of a cascade or the bouncing of a grovel. It's angering."
"Wizardry and Light, sparkling together," says Aeona, the spaces of the gods taking on peculiar harmonies. "I stress over the plagues they might enlighten, and the shadows they will project."
"You think both of them are arranging something," says Malissus. "That is my dread," says Aeona. "We should stop them!" cries Auros. He hammers his clench hand on stone, and the stone breaks. Beneath, a quake shakes the desert sands of Thanakris. "Indeed," says Malissus. "Do you think this challenge is important for their arrangement?" "That, or it is intended to occupy us from their actual arrangement," says Aeona. "Perhaps the challenge is a trick and the Arena is the key."
"Enough re-thinking!" says Auros. "We will pound their preliminaries. Assuming they have plans past that, we will squash those as well." "Then, at that point, we're settled on this?" asks Malissus. "Every one of the three of us?" “Agreed,” says Aeona, linking the three together with word and will.
In another corner of the Citadel, a long way from the incredible windows on the universe, Thaeriel and Elyrian confer. It is night, when the sun stows away and the stars sparkle. Thaeriel's light is diminished, his voice less resonating.
"The others don't appear to be excited with regards to this challenge," says Elyrian. "We don't need their energy," says Thaeriel. "Just their consistence." "Also imagine a scenario in which they decline."
"They won't," says Thaeriel. "They can't permit our champions to stand while they name no heroes by any stretch of the imagination."
"That checks out," says Elyrian. "However, they are not generally reasonable. Auros specifically—"
"Auros is the most unsurprising of all," says Thaeriel. "He talks about mayhem, yet respects similar longings at each chance. He will battle, as certainly as Ludia lies. Presently then, at that point. The Arena."
"It is prepared," says Elyrian. "I don't consider any them have the comprehension to conclude its real essence."
"One does," says Thaeriel. "Ludia," says Elyrian.
"Ludia," says Thaeriel. The name is harsh, utter horror to his tendency.
He bursts with the full light of the sun, projecting sharp shadows.
"She is here," he says. "Show yourself, Ludia."
Chuckling floats through the room, similar to the ringing of inconspicuous tolls, as Ludia ventures out from the shadow of a marble section.
The trace of a grin is noticeable behind her veil, however just to Elyrian. She conceals her face from Thaeriel, on the grounds that even she isn't sure if she can mislead him.
"Plotting without me, siblings?" she says. "You trespass in my space."
"Leave," says Thaeriel.
"'Every one of the six gods travel openly all through the Citadel,'" says Ludia. "That has forever been the law."
"Try not to cite the law at me," spits Thaeriel. "You disregard it when it doesn't lean toward you."
"Valid," says Ludia. "Be that as it may, you don't."
"What do you need, Ludia?" asks Elyrian.
"Both of you are concealing something," says Ludia, "however you're not excellent at it, though it pains me to say so. Indeed, even our believing little grovel Aeona can see it."
"What of Aeona?" asks Elyrian.
"She's incensed with you," says Ludia. "Auros and Malissus have invited her, and the three are joined in resistance. In addition to other things."
"That isn't a reply," says Thaeriel. "Express your business."
"I need to help you," says Ludia.
Thaeriel's eyes flare with daylight, Elyrian's with starlight, as they look for any indication of misdirection from the God of Deception.
"Assist us with what?" asks Elyrian. "Why?"
"With whatever it is you're sincerely attempting to do," says Ludia. "Since it is my temperament, I assume."
"That is obviously false," says Thaeriel, and his words are just about as certain as a piece of stone. "You have ulterior thought processes."
"Obviously I do!" says Ludia. "That is my tendency too. However, I would like to help you."
"Genuinely?" asks Elyrian.
"That much is reality," says Thaeriel.
"Let me in on your little intrigue," says Ludia. "I can conceal it better than you can, and the others won't ever presume I'm helping you."
"Swear that you will help out our arrangements," says Thaeriel. "Swear that you will tell nobody, and that you won't neutralize us."
"She can make no guarantee that we can trust," says Elyrian.
"Swear it, Ludia," says Thaeriel. "I will know whether you are lying."
"No, my dear," says Ludia. "You'll know whether I'm coming clean."
"That which isn't truth is lie," says Thaeriel.
Ludia giggles.
"You helpless thing. You truly trust that, don't you?"
"Gods don't believe ," says Thaeriel. "I know. Now swear, or leave my essence."
"Great," says Ludia, lifting one hand in a joke of a serious promise. "Uncover your arrangement to me, and I swear not to uncover its reality nor its specifics to anybody, god or in any case, nor to work experiencing some miscommunication to your arrangements as uncovered to me."
"It is done," says Thaeriel. With his words something sinks into place, a connection produced in a chain that will tie them both.
"Now then, at this point," says Ludia. What's truly going on with this?"
"I took in an incredible arrangement, out in the dimness," says Elyrian. "Concerning the idea of this universe. What's more, more direct, about the destiny of the manifestations that went before it."
Ludia's essence appears to develop, to occupy the little room, as she breathes in the exciting fragrance of a genuine grandiose mystery.
"Gone before… " she relaxes. "Then, at that point, our recollections of the creation, of how this became, they are… bogus?"
"They are precise," says Elyrian, "however deficient. There are reverberations, out there in the obscurity. Designs. These examples propose that there were… different demonstrations of creation, before our own. Different god, whom we don't recollect."
TO BE CONTINUED.