Twilight of the Gods
Chapter 4: An Impulsive Decision

“I’m not going,” she said, crossing her arms. “Not even if all seven Elysians gave me their crowns and all their magic. I won’t step foot in Otherworld.”

“Look, I don’t want to go back either,” Haydn said. “But there’s a reason why they invited us.”

“Yeah, to kill us,” she retorts, glaring daggers at him. The handsome, injured man who had shown up on her doorstep was already proving to be an annoying companion. To her right, Uriel didn’t seem to be too pleased with the man’s presence in their home either. In fact, he barely tolerated it, his jaw clenching ever so often with repressed rage.

“Think about it. No mortal or God has survived past the gates of Otherworld without the permission of an Elysian. They’ll be inviting us to their homes. We can destroy them from the inside,” he said, eyes shining.

She narrows her eyes, suspicious of his enthusiasm. The three of them were sitting on cushions, gathered around the fireplace. For all of Myrania’s warm days, it had nights that rivaled the cold of Ylivia.

Haydn was patched up now, wrapped in bandages that Uriel had skillfully placed over his wounds. All traces of the injured, fragile man who showed up on her doorstep were gone. A strange energy thrummed through his body. It was like seeing a corpse gain virility: intensely disturbing.

“You haven’t gone through the Trials or gained your Right of Existence. You show up at the gates of Otherworld and the Elysians will put you through hell.” She keeps her eyes on him, watching to see if her words would spur any reaction. He doesn’t deflate like she expects him to. If anything, he seemed more emboldened to take the invitation to Otherworld.

“I am a God,” he said. “I dare the Elysians to destroy me.” For a moment, his eyes turned pitch black. The air around him grows thick, crackling with electricity. She scoffs. If he wanted to attempt suicide, who was she to stop him?

“Then you can go by yourself,” she said. She pulls out the invitation and tosses it over to him. He caught the paper, his eyes eagerly skimming over the words. But something makes him frown.

“You need to come with me. The invitation is addressed to you, not me. We both need to be there.” He tosses the invitation back to her. She doesn’t bother to catch the paper, letting it fall to the ground. Daeva knew what the letter said.

“She doesn’t need to do anything,” Uriel interjected. “You aren’t dragging her into your mess.” He says this calmly, but she sees his jaw twitch again. The angel wasn’t normally this protective of her. He knew she could fend for herself and that if she saw fit, she could end Haydn’s life in a second. Or, could she? He was the only other God she had met. Maybe he could kill her.

“She should speak for herself. A lowly angel like you mustn’t speak for her.” Haydn turns towards her, his gaze softening. “Please, come to Otherworld with me. We are powerful enough to make the Elysians bow to us. Trust me.”

She frowns, a high pitched ringing hitting her ears. There it was again, that compulsion he had used on her before. Haydn’s figure becomes blurry as he slowly starts to morph into a more attractive version of himself. She looks away, remembering what happened the last time she looked at him directly.

“Trust you?” Uriel speaks up again, this time laughing a little. “You are the Original Traitor, Odi. You’re the reason the Elysians are in power.”

Original Traitor? She faces Uriel, hoping that he would give her an explanation, but he was still staring Haydn down, daring him to say something back to him.

“I am not Odi. I may have his powers, but I won’t make his mistakes. Consider me a reincarnation of him, new and improved.” He smiles, the air in front of him sparkling. The gears in Daeva’s head spin, trying to dissect his words.

He’s not a God in the same way you are, Anhel mused, his voice reappearing in her head. My brother doesn’t live inside him, not the same way we share this body. In fact, I don’t think he’s inside this gentleman at all.

She shivers, chilled by his words. What was he? That question had been echoing through her head ever since he showed up on her doorstep. A God with no Right of Existence and the powers of one of the primordial beings of chaos sounded like a recipe for disaster. Add in his eagerness to go to Otherworld and things felt off.

I have an idea. You’re not going to like this, but I think we need to go to Otherworld. Something is going on and whatever it is, I think it’s beyond us and the Elysians. She feels the worry in his voice clearly as if it were her own.

Daeva did not want to leave Myrania. She did not want to go to the home of her tormentors with this strange man and relive the trauma of her Trials. But she also knew that few things could scare a being as ancient and chaotic as Anhel. Whatever was brewing in the horizon was more important than her vendetta against the Elysians. She could spend another day replaceing ways to annihilate their worshippers, whether through a plague or a holy war. Maybe she could set things in motion before she left, in case she wouldn’t return.

She stands up from her cushion, interrupting the two men arguing before her. “I’ve thought it over. We are going to Otherworld. Haydn, I will accompany you to the Elysian celebration as long as I can bring Uriel.” Haydn grins triumphantly. Uriel looks at her as if she had gone mad, opening his mouth in protest. She holds up a hand. “I’m not finished speaking. Haydn, you will not refer to Uriel as a lowly servant or treat him as such. He is my friend.”

Haydn smirks, his eyes darkening with insincerity. “As you wish.”

She glares at him. “I mean it. Treat him poorly and you can take the long trek to Otherworld by yourself. Otherwise, the Elysians will be sending a carriage for us tomorrow tonight. We will need to replace suitable clothes for the celebration.”

“Perhaps the lowly angel can fetch some for us,” he sneered. His full lips curve in disdain. What a shame that someone so horrible should possess the gift of beauty. I can fix that, she thought. In a heartbeat, she has her hands to his throat and her nails burrowing into his skin.

“He is not a lowly angel. You seemed to have some hearing problems,” she hissed, careful not to look directly into his eyes. “Maybe you don’t need your ears.” She aims the barrel of her pistol at his left ear, finger twitching on the trigger.

“I was joking,” he said, trying to relax under her touch.

“Really? Because it wasn’t very funny.” She tightens her hold around his throat, enough to make him wheeze.

“Daeva, it’s alright. You can let go of him.” She could feel Uriel behind her placing a hand on her shoulder. Still, she doesn’t move.

“It’s not worth it,” he pressed. “I’ll be fine. You don’t need to defend me.” She relaxes slightly. He was right. She shouldn’t waste her temper on Haydn.

“Listen to the angel,” he sputters, managing to force a few words out. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

Her gaze wandered to his dark eyes, which pleaded with her for relief. She releases him from her hold, quickly turning around so that he wouldn’t see the blood trickle from her eyes.

“You should rest, both of you. We have a long day ahead of ourselves.” She hears Haydn’s feet shuffle as he leaves the room. Uriel stays behind, staring at her. She uses the sleeve of her shirt to wipe the blood off her face, all while staring back at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” He drew closer to her, grabbing a cloth to wipe the rest of the blood off her face.

“I wasn’t going to let him speak to you like that,” she said. He was her only friend besides the voice in her head. In that sense, he made her feel sane. Normal, even.

“I know. But he hurts you.” He tilts her chin up, examining her red eyes for any signs of blood. His face was full of concern, care even.

She steps away from his touch. “I will be fine.”

His honey-colored eyes lingered on her. “Are you comfortable with going to Otherworld? Don’t tell me you’re going because he told you to.”

Daeva wasn’t sure if the “he” Uriel mentioned was referring to Anhel or Haydn. But it didn’t matter. She had made up her mind to go because there was a greater mystery afoot. Between the personal invitation from the Elysians, the Hound that Ezra sent after her, and Haydn’s appearance on her doorstep, she had a feeling that someone was plotting something. Whatever game this mysterious stranger was playing, they clearly had a role for her. And there was very little choice for her if they were going to these lengths to draw her in.

But she doesn’t confide these thoughts to Uriel. “I’m going because I need to,” she said, not bothering to elaborate. She hadn’t forgotten what Anhel had said to her about the angels. As kind as Uriel was, she would be a fool to completely trust him, even as they were getting closer.

Some part of her thought she was imagining it, the growing intimacy she had with him. She found that she was second guessing herself when his fingers stayed on her neck for a second too long as he braided her hair like he did every night.

Daeva gazed at her reflection in the mirror, vainly attempting to distract herself from the feeling of his fingers. She focuses on the pale patches of skin on her face, pretending that the patterns of her vitiligo were little islands on a vast sea.

She was not an ugly woman. With a little glamour, she could fit right in with the Myranian King’s courtesans. She smooths out her complexion, erasing any hints of her vitiligo. Her harsh, red eyes mellow out to a glittering hazel and she makes her lips plump and inviting like a rose. She makes her lashes grow and her curls loosen. Uriel pays no mind to this, his hands still deftly braiding her hair. It’s only when he tucks in the final strand of her last braid does he make eye contact with her in the mirror. And there’s something about the way he looks at her that makes her stomach flutter.

He leans closer to the looking glass, still looking at her. “Take it off.”

She blinks, unsure if she had heard correctly. “Excuse me?”

“Take off your glamour,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”

She relaxes. He had not meant those three words in that way. Still, it bothered her that she had even thought he could mean it any other way. “I’m practicing my magic for tomorrow,” she said. “Can’t look anything less than perfect for the Elysians.”

“You were never less than perfect.” They were still staring at each other in the mirror.

“I know,” she replied. It didn’t make his words any less beautiful. “You should go to sleep.” She gets up, turning away from the mirror.

“I should,” he said, still standing in the room. She looks at him, puzzled. He sighs, walking to the doorway. “Please, be careful around Haydn. I know you said that you’re going to Otherworld because you want to, but it’s a place of trauma for the both of us.”

It suddenly occurred to her the sort of sacrifice Uriel would be making coming with her to meet the Elysians. For a moment, she felt foolish. She had been so focused on what Anhel had told her that she had forgotten how painful this was going to be for Uriel. He was going into the homeland of the very people who destroyed his kind. And yet, she hadn’t heard a word of outright disagreement from him.

“Do you want to come with me?” She asks this with the hope he felt no obligation to join her.

“I have to come with you. I’m not letting you go back there with a stranger, not after what they put you through.” He said this firmly, making it clear that the matter was not up for debate.

“It will hurt you more than it will hurt me.” She doesn’t know why she says this. It won’t change his mind, but part of her hopes that he might have a change of heart.

“I’ll be even more hurt if I let you go on your own. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you and I couldn’t be there,” he said gently. As expected, there was no getting to him.

He leaves the room, letting her sit with his words. She crawls into bed, wrapping herself in the warmth of her covers. But, despite all the comfort, sleep wouldn’t come to her. She lies there for what seems like an eternity until the heat becomes uncomfortable and she gives up on any prospects of a visit from Somnus.

She tiptoes over to her window sill, fitting her body into the stone alcove. Daeva draws back the velvet curtains, letting the cool night air hit her cheek. It amused her that Uriel could be so protective of her. As a God, she was unbreakable. It had taken her a while to get used to it, to believe that her body would fix itself after every injury.

One day, on a night similar to this, she had thrown herself out the window for fun. She broke both her legs and her spine in that fall and had to lie there in pain as her body stitched itself up. It was safe to say that she was cured of her boredom then and convinced of the unbreakable nature of her body.

She knew better than to do something so foolish to soothe her present restlessness. If Uriel caught wind of her thoughts, he would never let her hear the end of it. He treated her as a delicate mortal woman already. She didn’t need him coddling her like a baby.

She tries to be content with staring out the window. For a moment, she pretends to be a maiden, locked in a tower by a monster. But the fantasy never lasts long. Being helpless didn’t suit her.

Yet it was that very feeling that gnawed at her as she gazed out the window. It felt stupid, going to the home of the Elysians when under ordinary circumstances they would’ve had to drag her to Otherworld with her fighting all the way there.

She didn’t have to go. It didn’t matter if Anhel willed it or that the Elysians were asking her nicely. She still had free will even with a deity of chaos hijacking her body.

A thin orange line appears on the horizon, catching her attention. She had stayed up so long that the twin suns were already rising. The biting cold of the night was already giving away to the scorching heat of the day, evidenced by the balmy air that greeted her skin. Not a hint of exhaustion weighed down her limbs, although she couldn’t say it was because she was too restless or because she was a God.

Being immortal, contrary to what the old tales of Anhel and Odi would imply, was not as exciting as it seemed. The First Lover and the Original Traitor lived in a more simple world than she did. As far as she was concerned, their only duties as chaos deities were to stir up as much mischief as possible.

Of course, that was a gross oversimplification of the complicated history the two shared. If there was anything that the old historians of Myrania and Ylivia could agree on, it was that the world as they knew it was made from love. The steady earth was created by the loyal Anhel, who in his eternal love for Odi, wanted to make a home. It was uncharacteristic for a chaos deity, but he was granted the nickname of the First Lover for his devotion.

Anhel was quite proud of the title when he had told her this story, but Daeva didn’t quite understand why. If the old tales were correct, loving Odi seemed more like an eternal punishment than any of the bliss Anhel said it was. The Original Traitor didn’t have his name for naught. Odi left a trail of passionate affairs in his wake. The fickle deity would make love to the sky if he could.

Myranian historians argue that it was the constant heartbreak Odi caused Anhel that carved the volcanoes and rivers of the country. Ylivian historians countered that Odi never cheated on Anhel, that every so-called affair he had was simply with Anhel in a different form. But they maintained that he was a traitor for other reasons.

Which historians were right, not even Anhel could say. But he maintained that despite his resentment for Odi, they were soulmates. There was a reason why there were two suns peeking out of the horizon and not one. And regardless of which side of the border a person was born on, everyone had a unique mark on their bodies that linked them to their true loves.

Everyone except her.

She liked to think that she had one in her past life, that maybe there used to be a beautiful one over her chest. Alas, there was no such special mark on her body, only a hideous scar right beneath her collarbone.

It shouldn’t have mattered to her anyway. If she had a soulmate, he was long dead. Sometimes she tried to picture him, dreaming up someone with sturdy arms and kind eyes. But she had a feeling that her past self was not lucky enough to have someone like that matched with her. With the way she died, she probably grew up the way the Solitari did, with her soulmate already dead. They were the lonely, either becoming prostitutes or nuns depending on the hand life dealt them.

Maybe it was a good thing she had no memory of her past self. Not like it stopped her from imagining what that life could have been. Her mind wanders back to her soulmate. She tries to picture him. It had been a while since she allowed herself to do so.

With Anhel constantly in her mind, the simple mental act of imagining him felt shameful. She shouldn’t have felt that way. The old deity no doubt saw worse things in his lifetime. A woman imagining her ideal lover should hardly disturb him.

But, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t conjure an image of him. All she had was a feeling, specifically the sensation of a certain someone’s hands braiding her hair. The very same someone she knew she would hurt by dragging them all to Otherworld.

The gnawing helplessness returns to her head. She stares at the two suns slowly showing their beaming faces on the horizon. An impulsive thought occurred to her then. It was a crazy idea and she only had a few seconds to make that decision.

Don’t do it, Anhel said. I completely advise against it.

Which meant that she absolutely had to do it.

His protests grow louder, but she ignores it, grabbing a heavy overcoat and hopping out the window. This time, she angles her body to minimize the impact. If she wanted her plan to work, she couldn’t afford to break a bone.