I am not a miserable soul because I am stupid. I am stupid because I lack creativity. I lack creativity because I have no need for originality. I have no need for originality because I am terribly content. I am terribly content because I have no reason to change my life. I have no reason to change my life because I am not a miserable soul.

  In such fashion, it becomes a closed circle. It could be because of my title that I lack this sets of skills. In the beginning, I learned quickly the amount of damage I could bring about. To try and claim that the pattern of the initial few decades was not a formative experience would be a lie so total I don’t even know how I would be able to get away with it. And yet now, I have little to say on it. I am Baalka, I am the Goddess of Disease. I will naturally bring about disaster wherever I go. And it is not a quick disaster either, like my sister’s Olephia’s. A slip up in her evaporates the local area and that is that. There is little to reconsider or delay the moment.

  A slip up within my power is the release of a disease. Some of them could be so minor they are not even noticed. I can remember people with runny noses, who have an illness yet think nothing of it, who ran around blissfully unaware that I had negatively impacted their life. And I can remember waking up in villages that allowed me residence, who bestowed my presence as a blessing. I would open my eyes in the morning after a nightmare, and I would be the only resident still living after my dreams leapt out into reality. Ultimately, there is little to say, do I feel sorry for their lives? There was a time when it certainly hit me. Now though? I suppose it is a minor residue of ancient regret.

  And thus, there is little I can say. Creativity is a dream, a dream implies the existence of a nightmare, thus, I had to stop dreaming. The comfort of sleep was just as dangerous to the world around me, thus, the sleeping stopped. It is not a bemoaning of the sorry state that fate has handed to me, Olephia has had to give up her speech because of the terrible hand she had drawn. It is merely a factual assessment of my life.

  It was not until Arascus held me in his hands like a babe that I closed my eyes for sleep once again. I poisoned him the first few times. And he kept on coming back. I still lack creativity and originality true. But I have no need for it at this point. I get a bed that is called my own, with a room, with the utter certainty that I will never be kicked out.

  I am terrible content with my life.

  - Excerpt from “Thoughts of the Sisterhood”, a joint projection written by the Daughter-Goddesses of Arascus, this section is credited to Goddess Baalka, of Disease.

  Fortia stepped out of the lobby to the skyscraper hotel she stayed at with Maisara by her side. Alice had been left behind in their rooms. She had access to food, to water, to books and the television. Everything that she needed that she needed to pass a few hours alone. One step into the city was all that it was needed feel the presence of predatory eyes upon her.

  Both Fortia and Maisara stopped moments after stepping out into the busy city. In this extravagant part, the fashion was entirely suits and ties, the boots all leather and black, even the skyscrapers had been adorned. Although those were clad in green foliage rather than black steel as part of the city’s attempt to stop the sweltering heats of Rilian summers. A high-speed train came to a stop in the railway station behind the park ahead of them, another one was setting off, but neither of the Goddesses bothered to inspect the city. They did not even care to meet the curious looks that were settling upon them from the passersby. Instead, both Goddesses turned to look left, Fortia leaning forward to look past Maisara. Fer was leaning on the wall drinking a sparkling orange juice from a glass bottle. Her eyes were closed but both ears on top of her head turned right, to point straight to Fortia. “Where are you going?” She asked.

  Maisara replied in the usual dry tone of hers. “To Arascus.”

  “Alright.” Fer said. “I’ll take you to him.”

  “We know the way to the town hall.”

  “He’s not in the town hall.” Fer finally opened her eyes as she smiled at them. Her fangs her were showing.

  “Where is he then?”

  “Come.” Fer said. “Follow.” She walked right past them straight into the building they had just stepped out of.

  “He’s here?” Fortia almost couldn’t believe it.

  “Well there’s only one place for Divines to stay in the city, isn’t there?” Fer asked.

  “Not at the town hall?”

  “The meetings are done.” Fer replied. “Iliyal is not happy whatsoever.” She chuckled to herself.

  “Why?” The pair of Goddesses behind Fer finally turned and stepped back into the marble entrance hall. All white, with patterns of Imperial eagles in black slate on the ground. Flags hung off the wall too, the Rilian green, white, red and the Imperial red-white-black.

  “Internal military affairs.” Fer sounded downright ecstatic that she could deny them an answer. “Watch this.” She threw the empty glass bottle into the air, it made an arc over her head and then was bounced by her tail into a bin on the other side of the atrium. The staff who watched in horror all released a sigh of relief when landed perfectly in the centre of the bin. “I’m good, huh?”

  Fortia and Maisara just met each other’s gazes. What were they even supposed say? Was it even impressive? Not really. Any Divine worth their salt could do that. Any Divine who made it through the Great War was expected to do that. “You’re great.” Fortia eventually said. Fer made that hur-hur-hur of a laugh again as she stopped in front of the elevator and called it down.

  “Will it hold the three of us?” Fortia asked.

  “I don’t know.” Fer answered. “What? Are you scared of falling?”

  “Not really.” It was just hindrance she would rather avoid. This whole trip had been one humbling after another. To think it was the first time she had ever taken a train and to think it was the first time she would take an elevator. Elevators were simply not made for Divines. They were too big and too heavy and too varied in size and weight. If you went the extra step for them, you may as well go the whole journey and make it large enough to hold Arascus or Fer. And by that point, you were building something that could lift buses off the ground.

  Fer stepped to the side to make room for Fortia and Maisara. There was no creak, no strain, nothing that said they were approaching weight capacity. She pressed the button to the top floor. The doors closed. The box of sleek steel began to move.

  It was the first time Fortia had ever taken an elevator. It was one of the most oppressive atmospheres she had the misfortune of being in. With Fer’s casual hum and Maisara’s eyes constantly darting from one Goddess to the other, Fortia promised herself that it would be an eternity of stairs from now on. Lights flicked on above the door to indicate what floor they were on. Slowly, one by one. Ever so slowly. They got to Fortia’s floor. Then up higher. To the next. And the next. And the top.

  The door opened to reveal a long hallway with just three one doors, one on either side and then another straight ahead. The corridor looked the exact same as the one Fortia stayed on. The same dark grey carpets, the same clean panels of dark wood on the walls. The same dulled lights that brought about an atmosphere of luxurious and sterilized warmth. “No guards?” Fortia asked.

  “Are you stupid enough to steal from my father of all people?” Fer asked and sniffed the air. “Really Fortia? Really?” The point was taken, there was no need for comment. Fer pointed straight ahead. “Dad’s that door.” She said but didn’t lead them to it. Instead, she went to the one on the right. “Alright, see you later.”

  “Where are you going?” Maisara said.

  “My room.” Fer replied. She turned back with a devilish smile. “What? Do you expect me to sleep outside?” No. Once again, the point was taken. Of course Fer had a place to stay in. And of course they would not have access to it. She slipped into her room without further comment and then shut it on Fortia and Maisara.

  “I suppose we have to knock.” Maisara said quietly.

  “I suppose we do.” Fortia replied.

  “You do the talking.” Maisara said. “Whatever you choose, I’ll stick with you.” And then Maisara, who never lied and upheld her code of honour to a farcical, almost self-sabotaging degree, said a phrase that was so rare Fortia could count the number of times she heard it uttered from Maisara’s lips on one hand. “I promise.”

  “Alright.” Fortia said. It was good. Even if she felt like her own knees were about to shake, she would keep moving because Maisara believed in her. She would have to keep moving, because Maisara believed in her. Even if she wanted to stop, she wouldn’t. Not for herself, but for the Goddess by here side. The thirty feet of the corridor felt like crossing a mile. The knock on the door felt like trying to awaken a dragon. The rumble from inside may as well have been a dragon welcoming them.

  “Come in.”

  Fortia steeled her mind and opened the door. Maisara followed her in. How Arascus lived in the modern day, they had no clue of. Both of them had seen the Imperial Palaces on Imperial news, but those were pieces for show. Great buildings to inspire awe and glory, not…

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  It was just a hotel room. There was nothing special about it. Larger of course than Fortia’s room, with its own kitchen area and living quarters, with a bedroom through a doorway instead of having the bed dominate the main area. And with a far grander balcony, but it was just a hotel room. There was nothing of Arascus’ even sprawled out, save for a bottle of whiskey had been half drunk and a glass next to it. The God of Pride was stood that separated the kitchen area from the recreational space, looking almost out of place with that suit.

  Or rather, it was the man inside, that Fortia had seen fly through the air and rule over an Empire, the God that claimed Goddesses as daughters that was out of place. The suit was fine, it almost fit the atmosphere of an expensive hotel room. “Greetings.” Arascus said slowly as he looked Fortia and Maisara up and down. She was suddenly conscious of the fact that the only clothes they had brought were the shirts and hiking shorts and nothing else. “I see you have come.”

  “We have.” Fortia said slowly.

  “Sit.” Arascus indicated the two tall chairs on the other side of the island. His eyes passed over the bottle and reached down to come out with two more glasses. “Whatever decision you have made, we will drink on it.” He placed them next to his. “But I am sure you have things to discuss before.”

  “We…” Fortia trailed off and then felt Maisara’s eyes upon her. No. This could not do. She was just not here to represent her own betrayal of everything that she had stood for, she was here to represent Maisara’s betrayal too. And that had to be done with dignity. “We have discussed with Iliyal.” Fortia said and then moved to sit down. The silence was utterly crushing. The way the chair barked when she pulled herself closer to the table was an assault on her ears. “It is a generous offer.”

  Arascus just smiled and sniffed at them. “So it is.” He said idly. “Would you prefer hard limits? A thousand men each, maybe I should force ancient Orders to disband?” Fortia had come here ready to argue and question. She had not come prepared to be laughed at. Maisara remained silent as Arascus immediately dominated the conversation. He reached over, unscrewed the whiskey bottle and poured three generous glasses, sliding one to each of them.

  “We would not prefer hard limits.” Fortia said carefully. “What of an assurance of autonomy?” Now that she was here to negotiate, then negotiating should be done. If Arascus offered a mile, she would take two.

  “What autonomy?” Arascus said. “I will not care where you choose to settle, if you choose to settle. Micromanagement to that extent is not in my demesne but if a matter is Imperial then a matter is Imperial.”

  “And what is an Imperial matter?”

  “The war for one.” Arascus replied casually. “Public relations. If you choose to make grand statements, then they are ran by us first for example.”

  Fortia found the crack she could shove her blade in and push. “So it is just truly your dominion?”

  Arascus’ gaze turned flat as he stared at her. Fortia sat there, feeling herself be weighed on a scale. “Have I ever pretended it is not?”

  “Then what separates you from Allasaria?”

  Arascus, for a moment, looked taken aback. And then Fortia realised it wasn’t because she managed to catch him in any game of words but because he was suddenly re-evaluating her. “Do you really want me to answer that?” He asked.

  The question alone proved what separated him from Allasaria. Fortia kept on the attack. “I do.”

  “Because I am not pretending to run some council scheme here.” Arascus said. “I do not share the authority because I carry the responsibility.” Beautiful. Succinct. Eloquent. Direct. To the point. No word wasted. Fortia could see the line she was going down shatter.

  “But if you fail?” It was a desperate gamble.

  Arascus did not take it. “Then I die or try again. And I keep trying until I succeed.” He leaned back on his seat, his eyes still on her. “And failure paints all equally, what if the Empire fails? What if a government fails? The White Pantheon? It is not unique to me Fortia.”

  That was the mistake. He talked too much. “Then we leave. The White Pantheon failed, we left.” Fortia made the jab.

  Arascus just smiled at her. “Indeed, but when I succeed, there will be nothing that is not Imperial.”

  “That is if.” Fortia said. “If you succeed. Not when.”

  “Then it will be long time for that when, because even with the Surface War, things are not looking terrible for us.”

  Fortia took a deep breath. Directly asking for if they had a way to deal with Ashen Skies would set them on the back foot, more likely than not, they probably did. There was constant talk of it in the news. If they hadn’t done anything by now, then Arascus wouldn’t reveal anything new anyway. “What of worship then?” Fortia asked.

  “Are you a hero of the Empire?” Arascus asked. “The worship will come when its deserved.” He shrugged. “You have more competition here though.” That, Fortia did not have to be reminded of.

  “What if you make a decision we disagree with then?”

  “Then I expect you to ride it out.” Arascus replied. These quickfire questions were not working. Either he had prepared for their meeting or he thought too quickly on his feet, but Fortia could already sense the way the conversation was going.

  “And how are we expected to do that?”

  Once again, Arascus reassessed her. He chuckled to himself, then looked at Maisara. True to her word, she had not said anything. “Don’t look at me.” Maisara said. “Fortia makes the decision today.”

  He made no comment whatsoever, just turning back to Fortia. “Because I am not Allasaria Fortia, and because we have worked together in ages past, and not just once. Because you know me and I know you, likewise to you Maisara, and because if there is anything that I do not think I deserved to be accused of, it is making the obviously wrong decision.”

  “What of the Great War?”

  “What of it?”

  “Was that not the wrong decision?”

  “There was no other way it could go.” Arascus said. “When I found Malam and Kassandora, everyone knew what things were heading to. They were the last of the truly formidable Divines to take a side. I lost the Great War true, but a war is a war. Is the strength of an idea measured by how well it crushes opposition?”

  No. No it wasn’t, else Kassandora would have long become sole Empress of the entire planet because that was all she could do. Or maybe Olephia, or maybe even Allasaria. “And what if you go mad?”

  “Then I go mad.” Arascus said. “And someone will dispose of me. Olephia would do it, if none other. I would ask her to.” The worst part was that Fortia honestly believed Arascus would prefer to die to save his noble image rather than let himself ruin it.

  “I do not believe you.” At this point, she didn’t even attempt to hide the lie. It was a simple test.

  “Then do not.” Arascus said. “Plenty of others do.”

  “Others are not me.” Fortia said and Arascus turned his gaze back to Maisara. Fortia wished she didn’t.

  “Maisara is here as your support Fortia.” He spoke as if he was explaining the simplest concept know to man. “Thus, you are brave and you do not quiver, not for yourself but for Maisara.”

  “Do not play this game with us Arascus.” Maisara barked and Arascus raised a hand.

  “No, it was not an insult, much less a game. It is a beautiful thing, you already see the strength brought on by responsibility. I have eight daughters, I survived a thousand years locked away in some box after suffering the failure of everything that I had ever worked towards precisely because of that beautiful responsibility. I had hope that only one was left alive, because one was enough. Alone, I can fail all I want. I could not fail even one.” He turned back to Fortia. “It is my fortune that they were all alive, but they were what powered me through. You ask me for how will I know I will not go mad, I am certain you two believe the same of yourselves, because the other stands by your side.”

  And to that, Fortia had no answer to. Absolutely nothing to say. She saw a thousand years of Olympiadan hegemony over the world become little more than a speck of dust when compared to the mountain that Arascus had just raised upon her. Allasaria would never talk like that. No one of them would ever talk like that. She had come in expecting to argue about politics and she was getting a lesson in family.

  And in that field, what God or Goddess had more experience than the Divine sitting across from her? He spoke with all the patience of a father looking at two long lost daughters, even to them. That was the worst part. Fortia took a deep breath as she tried to process what she just heard. The man did not make attempt to inundate with verbal flourishes that mocked erudition, he spoke so easily and casually that it was impossible to claim she could not understand what he meant.

  And yet even though every word was known and common, Fortia still sat there struggling to comprehend it. Arascus drove the sword deeper in. “If I went mad, I would end myself.” He said with utter confidence. “Because I would not be able to bear setting the guilt of ending me upon a daughter.” The blade twisted.

  There was nothing to argue about. Utterly nothing. A thousand years ago, Fortia had a similar conversation. She could not believe it back then. Now though? What was there to disbelieve? Arascus and his Goddesses had escaped and they immediately went back to conquering the world as if nothing had happened. She saw how they interacted with each other. Maisara being here was the proof of it. They were so united that when Arascus called the shot to resurrect an ancient foe, they simply did it. “I have nothing to say or argue about Arascus.” Fortia said slowly, she finally dropped her gaze and looked into her own reflection in the brown whiskey. Surely her eyes were not twinkling with tears right now? Surely. “I simply do not see why we get this offer.”

  Arascus, for once, did not answer immediately. He just sat there and thought for a moment. He offered her the sword to split herself with. “Why do you not?”

  There was no need for thinking. Maisara froze when Fortia began to speak. They both knew why. “Because I am irredeemable. Because I am a Goddess of keeping the Peace and not Peace itself. Because Peace is not reality, it simply is a lack of war. Because Kassandora came along and made me irrelevant?” She had to ask, even though she knew the answer already. “Because we sit here, relics of ages of past, and not even try to pretend that we are relics of ages past.” She finished and fell silent. The reflection in her whiskey, the entire world, was blurry right now. She had to blink it away.

  “Not to me.” Maisara’s hands wrapped around her own glass.

  “Why?”

  “I do not ponder such things.” Arascus replied. “Why do we exist? What does it matter? Why is the sunset beautiful? I do not care. I will not answer that question Fortia, there is no explanation.”

  “There must be.”

  “Should we talk of when we signed the Concordats then? Or of how you managed to survive the Age of Heroism, Worldbreaking and the Great War? What of your Orders? Iliyal has no doubt told you we need melee troops. Melee troops can be trained, if you refuse to join then we shall grow the beastmen and drag the automata from the Underground. That is a material problem with a material solution.” Arascus shifted, he most shook his head, Fortia didn’t see, she just saw his hands move. “But no, you are not being judged on material worth. Why you are important, I do not know. We are from the same age Fortia. When humanity was on the verge of extinction, they judged that someone had to save them, they prayed and you came along. Those same souls created me, who am I to question them?”

  “I hate you.” Fortia whispered to the whiskey. “You did this before.”

  “Did I?”

  “A better embodiment of Peace than I.”

  Arascus just sat there for a while. “And?” Arascus asked. “Does it matter? I cannot step out of my shadow for you Fortia.”

  “And if I can’t?”

  “Why are you alive in the first place Fortia?” Arascus asked once again. Fortia felt her fingers tighten around the glass. “You talk of my shadow, you mentioned Kassandora, I am sure you live in Allasaria’s too.” He stopped for a moment. “I am the embodiment of mankind’s pride. There is no competition between us because it is beneath me. I am not in your head, whatever hole you live in is yours and it is your duty to climb out of it yourself. The same souls that made me made you, I refuse to even entertain the notion that you can’t do it.” He stopped for a moment. “You two Maisara.” It was only then that Fortia realised Maisara’s own hands were trembling.

  As had been done before, so would be done now. Fortia took a deep breath. She knew this feeling. She had been living with it for a millennium. She could not walk out of the shadow that Allasaria had cast. And Arascus made one so great that his swallowed even the Goddess of Light.

  The whiskey glass cracked as Fortia made her decision. “Of Empire is alive.” She to the table. “I… We tried to search for her to buy our way in.” She sniffled. “I’m sorry.”