No birth, no parents, no aging, no childhood, no training, no preparation, no education, yet foisted immediately with responsibility, power and command before they even learn to speak. That is what the initial years of a Divine look like. It is an experience universal. The lucky ones incarnate in nature and far from civilization, that at least gives them a few days of getting to know their own bodies before they inevitably come in contact with humanity. The unlucky ones are dropped in the middle of a market square or a royal court.

Divines are not arbiters of knowledge. We may naturally have talent in our fields but how much of it is inbuilt knowledge? We simply have our powers that are as natural to us as movement is to man. All men can jump, yet do they know high without ever having jumped? All men can run, yet do they know how far? All men can lift, yet how many know what their bodies are truly capable of. Major Divinity faces the exact quandary but on a different scale. A man may tear his muscle or break his bone, in extreme cases, he may paralyze himself or lose his life. A major Divine can do what?

Take Elassa for example. How can we possibly test the woman’s limits? If she pushed, could she ignite the atmosphere? Take Baalka, she has made plagues before. Would it not be simple for her to end all life? Could Allasaria not split the world in half? That is the difference, a man may take risks because his strength limits responsibility to himself. A Divine may not, the strength of Divines naturally makes one responsible for more than just the vessel possessing the power.

There is none to blame. To say humans should not try to exploit Divine strength is to say a starving wolf should leave fresh meat on the forest floor. Or that a bear may not be able to fish. It is to try and deny a mother her right to clothe her child. It is to tell a father he should leave the door to his home open to every and any stranger. Divine strength is too great to leave alone. If one tribe does not seize it first, then another will. And the tribe with Gods and Goddesses will always be superior to a one that does not.

Divines are creatures to be exploited, to be groomed into power and responsibility. They are to be made fearless and arrogant and strong and caring only insofar as they care for who they represent. They are to be brutal and decisive, to be correct by default, to be unquestionable and utterly confident. A Divine, by default, is incarnated an adult because they are not expected to have a childhood or to be anything more than a sword for the collective ideal they are a vessel of. A Divine is not expected to have a home or a family, a Divine is a tool to be used and disposed of, a Divine solves a problem, moves on and is forever a transient creature until their body fails in combat or time breaks their mind. That is how it always was and that is how it always is.

Yet just because no one has taken the first step yet does not mean the journey is impossible. A line in the sand can be drawn. Someone has to draw it. The duty is not ours to foist onto humanity for they have made us to guide them in the first place. No one has ever taught humanity how to raise their own. The duty is ours.

The duty is mine.

- Excerpt from the private writings of God Arascus, of Pride.

Maisara tested her legs once and twice. She raised her thighs and kicked into the air. Her legs were working. She looked at her axe and tested it. It was the same weight that she was always used to. Her power had truly flown out of Anarchia and into her. Or maybe it had simply left this world entirely and then regenerated in her. Maisara did not know nor did she care. Such questions demanded answers true, but they did not demand answers immediately.

The Goddess of Order looked up at Raptor Two and Raptor One in the air, the planes had turned and were heading east to a Doschian or Rilian airfield, whichever. It did not matter frankly. Elassa was still in the air although the rest of the mountain she had brought into the sky with her had been thrown away closer to the coast. The stones would no doubt become a local landmark. Another site that humanity would have to remind itself of Divinity’s power.

The Goddess of Magic looked down at Maisara for a few moments, then turned away. Her mages followed her. That was it. Good riddance to her. Maisara did not know what she had expected, was it what just transpired? Certainly not. Maisara stood on the field of earth. The grass had been buried under the rocks thrown from above that Anarchia had cut into tiny pieces with her sorcery. The bodies of Anarchia’s superheroes had been buried under who knew how many tons of dirt and rubble. Anarchia herself was still on the ground, still with that broken back which consisted of two terrible gashes splitting her open. And Maisara stood there. Another Divine she had managed to outlast, another major name that would go down in immediate history and that would eventually be forgotten. And Maisara was still here…

Maisara did not know how to feel about that. It certainly was not any negative emotion, but it certainly was nothing positive either. Maisara was simply… neutral.

Kassandora broke the neutrality, her authoritative voice came through the tiny speaker Maisara had in her ear. “You’ll be picked up soon Maisara. A helicopter is on the way.” And that was that.

“I hear you.” Maisara replied coldly.

Kassandora did not reply.

The conversation had ended. Just as quickly as the tide had turned against Anarchia in that battle, one moment the Goddess of Anarchy had been ready to gloat about sapping Maisara’s strength, the next, she had been blown apart.

To think life could be so funny it resembled a conversation.

Flying in from the ocean, over the western horizon edge, a small black dot appeared. It grew larger and larger to reveal two rotors on each end of a long, tubular body. An ugly, bulbous cockpit, an even uglier set of small wings on either side that stuck out like a pair of stunted arms. Maisara stood and watched. She didn’t know what she was expecting. Maybe for Arascus himself to pick her up? That would be far-fetched though, even during the Great War, the only time Divine came to pick up Divine was when something sacred and precious needed to be transported.

The helicopter descended onto the ground slowly. It’s rear door opened. And Maisara stood in her silver amour, utterly covered in blood. She let her axe disappear as she stepped onto the back of the helicopter. There was no one here. It was a simple cargo hold and nothing else. Empty of crates and boxes and crew to meet her.

It was almost endearing in some way. Maisara sent out transport as unglamorous as this how many times? What did she care about the feelings of her subordinates. Paladins were done with a mission, and then they returned back to base. Some vehicle would bring them or they would be given time to find their way back.

It was simply that now Maisara was on the receiving end of such great hospitality. Well… She sighed as the helicopter door closed and the machine slowly lifted off the ground. Those great rotors started to turn rapidly. Maisara rocked back and forth as she felt the helicopter take off. She thought of sitting. And she stood. The most comfort given was leaning on the wall. A small, seemingly innocuous question entered her mind: would a Goddess of Order really do that?

No.

So Maisara pushed off the wall and stood in the centre of the helicopter’s cargo holds. The lights running around the edge illuminated the grey steel. Maisara didn’t even so much as stare outside at the window. Instead her vision was focused entirely on the sheet of metal in front of her. It was steel. Tread plate pattern. Some of the treads had been rubbed off. There was a series of scratches in long lines. The pilot broke the monotony. “Goddess Kassandora warns me we’ll be flying over frontlines, Goddess Maisara.” His voice came over the speaker. “If need be, I’ll open the rear door if we’re under threat. This bird is unarmed.”

“I hear you.” Maisara answered loudly.

“Thank you Goddess.” The pilot replied. And Maisara was left standing there.

Maisara stared at the steel in front of her.

Time passed.

Maisara kept on staring at the steel.

More time passed.

The ride back was… how would Maisara describe it? It was both immediate and silent. There was no fanfare. Elassa did not even come to wave to the helicopter on the way back. Kassandora was even worse, she did not even ring to make sure that Maisara had been picked up. No doubt she knew already, no doubt she considered it a waste of time. The thoughts of Anarchia had passed quickly, that Goddess had been nothing personal for Maisara. All that had really happened was that the God of Pride wanted someone dead, Maisara could provide that service for him, and in exchange he would resurrect her. It began and ended at that.

So Maisara’s thoughts travelled. She considered what would happen if Anarchia had not died, if she had really died and all manner of scenarios for a few minutes and then her mind settled on the usual answer: If things were not the same, things would be different. It was a simple chain of logic Maisara had thought up of how long ago? She forgot even. And as stupid as it sounded, it was true. If things were different, they would not be the same. How could she consider far-fetched scenarios of what-if’s and if-what’s if she was not there to experience them?

So Maisara wondered if she had just come across two of the worst Goddesses in all of Arascus’ Empire, or if this was how things were organised around here. Was the structure really so… cold? Did Kassandora and Elassa really have nothing to say? There was no good job? There was no thank you? There was not even a simple you pulled your own weight? Maisara sat in that cold cargo hold of the helicopter, with no one around, and she simply stewed in her own thoughts.

Was it true to say it annoyed her? The Goddess of Order answered the question immediately, if she had to ask whether something was annoying in the first place, it wasn’t annoying. It was, or it should be, a gut feeling. Was it angering? No. Not at all. That she knew for certain. It was just… Maisara struggled to find the word. It surprising and not in a pleasant way. She stared at her own hands and made shapes with her fingers. Her armour was utterly covered in blood. That would have to be washed later. She supposed she could ask Arascus for access to whatever bath he used to clean herself off. The God would provide it for her. She knew he would, and he’d be happy for it, thinking he scored some great victory in his endless campaign to ingratiate himself in her good graces.

Maisara realised she had started thinking of how to manipulate Arascus, and she realised that the man would provide both rest and recuperation, but he was far too stubborn and proud to let himself get carried away like that. And even if Maisara tried, she simply did not have the charms other Goddesses had. Order was not Peace and it was not Light, nor even Kavaa’s Health or Iniri’s Nature. No one clamoured for Order. No one said they loved when things were orderly. Too much of Maisara and life would turn to grey monotony.

Order was only called in when Mankind needed respite from anarchy and chaos. It was not the natural state of men. Mankind was a great boulder that spent its entire existence sliding towards the cliff. Order existed to push that boulder back, the moment it let go, mankind would begin its terrible slide again. And the cycle would repeat. Just as had happened when she went to clear Anarchia’s infestation from Epa the first time, just as when she had been sent to the frontlines in Kirinyaa, just as when she commanded the Lubskan front in the Epan War. Maisara would be sent to restore Order and then Maisara would go. And she would leave. Order, after all, was only glamorous when it was lacking.

So Maisara stood. She wondered where to go now. Maybe return to the White Pantheon? Maisara did not smile nor even sniff in humour. The most movement that happened was that the helicopter suddenly jolted to one side under heavy turbulence and a few strands of Maisara’s own silver hair suddenly forced their way into her vision. She pushed it back.

How exactly could the White Pantheon be returned to? She had sworn vows to stay. They had exits of course, but all of the exits she had set were difficult to achieve. Death had always been the easiest. She had died. She had come back. Those vows were fulfilled, not broken. In all her years, she had still not snapped a single promise. It simply would not do for the Goddess who had to represent all Order to go back on her word.

But…

But she didn’t want to go back. She didn’t want to deal with Allasaria again. The White Pantheon, as painful as it was to say, simply was not for her. She wondered if Fortia would have stayed. Maybe? They had obviously lost the Epan War. And then Maisara felt it again.

Disappointment so bitter she wanted to spit.

She had not even asked about the situation her various Paladin Orders or about Fortia. Less, it was not that she didn’t ask. She had not even thought about asking. She had been resurrected, the Goddess of Anarchy had been slain and now what? Could she show her face to Fortia? Of Peace may have been as cold and as brutal as stone, but at least Of Peace was stone that made a statue. She would be feeling bad. Maisara knew Fortia was missing her. There was no doubt about that. They were close. It was in the same way that Kassandora, as stable as she was, would miss Fer or Anassa or any of her sisters. What was Fortia even doing right now?

And once again, there was disappointment that it took so long to ask this question. Maisara knew why. It was obvious why. She simply didn’t want to say it. But she had to say it. It was how it was. If things were different, they would not be the same. But things were not different, so things were as they were: Maisara had very simply not even wanted to know how the Goddess she was closest to for the past millennia had taken her death.

If things were different, they would not be the same.

Maisara stared at the steel tread pattern of the helicopter’s cargo door. Some of the treads were rubbed off. A series of ugly scratches ran in lines along it. The bright lights overhead gave all the contours and corners of the treads a cape of shadow.

Time passed.

Maisara stared at the steel.

More time passed.

Maisara kept staring at the steel.

Eventually, Maisara’s arduous sailing through her stagnant sea of thoughts came to a close. The helicopter began to lower to the ground. The auditory onslaught from its turbines slowed to a crawling hum and then cut out entirely. The door began to lower. It revealed a grey field of tarmac. A fence of corrugated steel. No crowd. No claps. Nothing.

Nothing save for one man.

A God Maisara knew very well. In his full Imperial uniform, with dark hair. Towering over her and twice as wide. Maisara made a dour face. She got exactly what she wanted and it felt like nothing. Just disappointment that she had been correct once again. There was no excitement and there was no ovation. It would have felt hollow too anyway, Maisara had done the least work. Even that plane did more damage to Anarchia than she did. She had been bait. Bait had served its purpose. Bait returned to base. Job well done. End of.

Arascus reached out his hand for Maisara. It took the Goddess of Order a few moments to process what she was looking at. Eventually, she realised the man wanted to shake hands with her. She took it. Arascus’ hand was almost twice as big as hers. His grip was strong. He directed the shake. Maisara looked away, she didn’t want to look him in the eyes. And then he spoke.

“Good job Maisara, I truly mean it.”

Five words. Six words. Seven? Maisara could not even count them.

One sentence shattered the whole world.