1. The Prophecy of Guds

It sounds dramatic, but this time our story really starts in a world filled with … nothing. Darkness everywhere. A night that never ends, an emptiness filled to the brim with loneliness.

Or, rather, we start with everything and nothing at the same time.

In that emptiness shone a star. A ball of energy, godly power, all forces in the universe merged into a tiny dot—however you want to call it. I don’t know, for I wasn’t around then. And Ismaraldah—the time traveler—always refused to take me back there. Perhaps it was simply impossible.

But one star became two. Two pure life forces that found each other. Not out of love or agreement—no no, that didn’t exist yet. Simply because everything in this universe shared one property: the desire to find other life and thus ensure that life existed for a little longer.

A flash, a bang, and from the emptiness grew a palace. The Heavenly Palace. Whatever you imagine right now, dear reader, if it’s beautiful and heart-warming, or horrible and heart-wrenching, you’re correct either way.

They made a place that held everything from this universe. The good and the bad. A mini universe in which the Chiefgods lived and oversaw all else.

Although, at Mother’s insistence, it seemed to hold more good than bad. For each abyss there would be a thousand pretty flowers. Her gardens, which she called Eden, contained shimmering rivers and a network of meandering bridges to cross them. It was a paradise of eternal sunshine and growth.

Until the palace was done. Mother and Father thought it ready to receive life. And thus, dear reader, we arrive at the first moment in time that I know about.

“Have you already decorated our child’s area?” Mother asked.

She was an angel wrapped in colorful gowns. A creature that seemed a human female from afar, but a clearly distinct magical creature from nearby.

If you ever see her—however unlikely the event—you’d see something entirely different than I do. You would probably walk away thinking humans were shaped in the Chiefgod’s image. Or that the gods bear a striking resemblance to that annoying teacher or your favorite pet.

“I guess I could find some beautiful decorations of yours to … reassemble,” Father said calmly. He sat comfortably on his throne with eyes half open. Mother assumed he was observing some faraway place in the universe.

“Yes.” Mother laughed. “I’m sure he’ll appreciate some statues missing limbs. Trees sliced in half. Bridges with holes.”

“Well, gives him something to play with, doesn’t it? And you already know it’s a he?”

Father’s appearance was similar to Mother’s, though it exuded a male energy. It was one of the forces on which Mother would not compromise in this universe: two genders. Just like she didn’t want to deviate from round planets, stars that gave light, or black as the default color when light is absent. She could be quite stubborn—sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

“How long until birth?” he asked.

“As long as I want.”

Father shook his head. “Sometimes you speak in riddles, Gaia. If I want our son to appear now, would he—”

“We have matters to discuss first. Important matters.”

“Important enough to delay the birth of our first son? Of course, we have all the time in the universe, but—”

“Important enough that the fate of that universe depends on it.” Mother’s appearance temporarily flashed a bright red. “And no, we do not have infinite time!”

Father’s eyes opened wide, his mouth shut tight. Mother crept closer and smiled sweetly. She placed her hand on his cheek, her seven arms completely covered by her wide clothing.

“There is a prophecy,” she said.

“A prophecy? By whom? A stone? A grain of sand? A star?”

“In a way. It comes from ancient powers.”

“Ancient powers. Sure. My dear, you really must tell me all the places you’ve been before I met you.”

“Now please be quiet and listen, Oeros.”

His face turned sour, but he listened.

Gaia was the one who put him on a throne and told him he was the Chiefgod, but she sometimes treated him like her child. He … he could destroy her with one wave of his arm! He could create and destroy entire planets with one breath!

He—he was very curious about this prophecy, like a child eager to learn an adult’s secrets.

“The fastest shall be the slowest,” Gaia started. “Haste shall quicken the death of all.”

“Confusing already,” Oeros mumbled.

“The lightest shall be the heaviest. Explosions come at attraction’s call.” Mother paused as if expecting another interruption. “The brightest shall be the dumbest. Who thinks and never acts shall surely fall.”

“Long prophecy,” Oeros whispered.

“And the first shall be the last. A monster to make the universe wither and crawl.”

“Specific prophecy,” Oeros said. He stood up and paced up and down the throne room. “And yet it has no clear meaning. We’ll wait and see, Gaia, how everything—”

“Wait and see!? Did you not hear?” Gaia pushed her face into his. “The FIRST shall be the LAST MONSTER.”

“You … you think … "

She turned away. “The meaning eludes me too. I can’t delay the coming of our son forever. I don’t want to—I’m not the God of Cowards.”

“Well, me neither!”

“I know, dear, but …”

Father’s thoughts drifted in all directions. The prophecy seemed to speak of multiple children. Quite a lot, in fact. Or was that merely his interpretation? All those properties—heavy, fast, smart—could match a single child.

A monster. A demigod meant to defeat them and take over their power. Father quite liked his power.

His hands, human at first glance until you noticed the eight fingers, grabbed his wife’s hands.

“We let it happen,” Father said. “But at the first sign of a monster … a hint of animosity or a destructive soul …”

Gaia’s hands moved to her belly. There was no way to tell she was pregnant, for gods do not deliver children the same way as humans do. For centuries she had been attracting energy and particles, wherever she walked, to grow a second soul deep inside her.

Once she decided it was ready, the soul would split and immediately turn into her first child. At least, that was how she designed this universe, if she hadn’t made a mistake.

“And what if it’s true? What if it’s a monster indeed?” Gaia turned red again. “Our children are immortal like us!”

“Is that true? We have no idea!”

“You have no idea, but—”

“Here’s an idea: we lock him in a cell for eternity.”

Gaia sighed. He was right. They only knew the extent of their powers, the truth behind demigods and the universe, if they tried. Do it and see what happens. Though that was obviously easier when applied to something simple, like telling somebody you like them or trying new food for the first time. Once “try something” meant swinging godly hammers at a galactic anvil, the consequences were far greater.

The Heavenly Palace had no concept of time. No night and day. The world had only just started and centuries would pass at the blink of an eye. It didn’t matter, for there was no life to feel the passing of time.

In fact, the universe was still expanding at a rapid pace, like a balloon inflated by the breath of a thousand giants. Everywhere was hot, everywhere was filled with stardust.

And so it was that Gaia visited her Eden—alone and worried—and left Oeros behind to impatiently groan.

After repeatedly asking if everything was well, Gaia appeared before his throne. She held a small bundle, wrapped in so much cloth that Oeros could not even see his first son. But he heard soft mumbling and cooing, usually followed by wiggling and shuffling in Gaia’s trembling grip.

Oeros smiled and proudly proclaimed: “The whole universe shall love him and honor him for his good soul. And he shall be named … Ardex.”

Gaia looked up with tearful eyes and a bleak expression.

“I tried everything … and, I know I’m impatient, but I waited as long as I could … and … but … "

Oeros was at her side in an instant. “What? What is it?”

“Ardex is ice cold and responds to nothing.”