Olephia smiled to herself as she stood in a land that had been long ago abandoned. In the north of Norje, officially she should not be here but Helenna was in the capital city now, making sure that this country became part of Arascus’ Empire. Of Chaos’ smile grew even wider as she remembered that time when the man she now called Father had sauntered into this land. He had done it so boldly that the chance had been given and that chance had changed her life. Sometimes, she wondered how it would have ended if he came with a sword instead of with a book and pen.
Olephia took a deep breath of the sulphurous air here. It had been more than a thousand years since she had stepped out of these land she herself had cursed with her voice and even now, nothing grew. At this point, as she stared and looked around at the black formations of rock, she doubted anything would grow here. Certain spots were of dirty obsidian glass. She had made them so long ago that Olephia struggled to even remember the date. The rock was so harsh and the dirt so calcified by heat that even if the radiation left behind by her face had faded away, nothing could grow.
Towards the west was the ocean with the setting sun. It was a beautiful sight. Just the sun, the dark ocean and nothing more than that. Freezing ocean water. Out past the waves, there was not a ship in sight, no animals swam in the ocean, no humans had ventured here to settle, nothing grew, not even insects had decided to test their luck. What reproduced quickly enough to withstand the radiation, the cold would kill.
It was a terrible land, yet this was the land were Arascus had come and gifted her a pencil. He had taught her how to write here. She had started to draw. When he had asked her to leave this cursed place, she was already able to paint with her eyes closed. This place was cursed, but it was were some of her fondest memories had formed. Olephia knew of other Divines that tried to run from the places that had brought them pain and suffering. Not her though. She liked returning here every now and then. It was quiet. There was no life about. No one to watch or hear. No one to hurt if she made a sound.
Olephia set up her wooden stand and started mixing her paints. She would etch this sunset into eternity. She would paint this barren land. Then she would paint the moon when that finally came out. She would paint it all. And she brought out the most important thing. Something she had wanted to do since Arascus had shown it to her after she had almost destroyed Igos. Olephia brought out a radio. She turned it on. A song started to play. A song she had enjoyed so many times.
And she started to quietly sing along to the music. Her voice rumbled across the air, not directed but still potent. Her throat reverberated across energies untapped. Her words cracked atoms.
The horizon set aflame with nuclear hellfire.
Helenna did not turn around. She would not insult her by searching giving the politicians in the Storting behind her a look. Instead, she stared out at the whole crowd. The threat had been secured, police were dragging the man who had tried to shoot her out of the building. Helenna did not say a word of thanks nor did she give a single hint of condemnation at what the Norje government had allowed to happen.
Goddess she may have been, but ultimately, the Goddess she was happened to be of Love. Her entire life had been spent wrapping men and women around her finger. The universe had tried to slow her down by making her hair bare her emotions out in full view, so she learned to control herself. And now… That control kicked in immediately as the gears in her mind started to twist and turn. She started to play out possibilities and different scenarios. And she stared out at that crowd.
Osheim was a beautiful tapestry of a city. Each building in the old town was in a different bright colour, whether sky blue or rose red or bright yellow or grassy green, they all had steep triangular roofs that would ensure the heavy snows of winter here would slide onto the street instead of building up on the top of the building until eventual collapse. Circular windows, great parapets and tall doors with steps leading up to them from the street. And then in the distance were the modern skyscrapers. Nowhere near as tall as the giants that existed in Rancais or Doschia or even Lubska, but they were just as impressive. Maybe even more so, even one was a different irregular shape, as if the sole purpose of the architects had been to build buildings were not rectangular. They had sharp angles or shallow curves. And incredibly, Osheim was not a mad concoction of some crazed alchemist. By all means, it should have been but it was not. Instead the city was a tapestry.
And today, that tapestry had been stretched as far as it could possibly go.
Helenna stared out at the terrified crowd in front of her. People who had just been listening to her speech, who before that had been singing their own anthem. Who waved their own red-blue flags and the far smaller group of those who waved the red-white-black of the Empire. Who had dressed themselves up to impress a Goddess. It was a crowd that managed to be both polite and stern. And now, that crowd was teetering on the edge of panic. The city had gone silent. Even cars in the distance had come to a stop. How could they not.
An Imperial Goddess had just been shot.
An Imperial Goddess that they had hosted for a meeting had just been shot.
Helenna knew they saw it because it was too obvious not to see. Everyone had to see it. They had invited a guest for negotiations, in some attempt to strike up a deal with the Empire. And that guest, who should be protected by all means, was hurt. It was an insult to national pride. And yet if it was simply a set of diplomats, things could be smoothed over. A delegation could be hosted in return, the country would apologize profusely, a day of mourning would be declared, tears would be shed. And the world would keep on turning.
Yet to let harm befall to an Imperial Goddess? And not just any of them but the Goddess of Love herself?
Helenna took a deep breath as she felt the pieces of metal lodged inside her body pull on strands of muscle. Her ears roared with the sound of pain flashing down her body, but even then, it was all silent. Her shoulder felt limp although Helenna could tell her body was starting to close the wound. The bleeding in her chest had stopped as the wound sewed itself shut, metal still lodged within. Normal enough, how many times in the Great War had she had arrowheads cut out of her body? Or small rocks of shrapnel? Helenna took a deep breath and felt the bullet press on her lung.
And although it hurt, Helenna’s mind excitedly swam through the ocean of ideas that came with such a failed assassination attempt. Whereas before, the ball had been in the court of Norje on whether they would accept submitting to the Empire, now the ball was firmly in the Imperial court. Helenna had all the cards required. From a demand of submission to a full-on invasion, the fact a Goddess had been shot could even be used to instigate a coup here.
Yet now that Helenna had been given this shot, the best thing to do was not to waste it. She gently nudged the lead man in her entourage on the shoulder. The man in black suit stepped to the side, and Helenna stepped down. Down the stairs of the Stortingbygningen the Goddess of Love walked. Away from those huge wooden doors fit for a Divine. Without a word said, her small entourage of a dozen men followed. They were merely here to accompany and carry papers and quickly take notes during the meetings which would be held. Helenna was glad she had brought them though, these nameless bureaucrats in suits following behind her made the exact sort of image Helenna wanted to inspire. A Goddess covered in blood, not retreating but returning. The Imperial administration behind her. That was exactly the message that the people of Norje should catch.
And Helenna continued, the heels of her boots tapping loudly with each step. Her delegation followed. The silence held. The crowd parted slowly before the Goddess of Love as she walked straight back and refusing to gaze down at any at them. She kept her eyes fixed straight ahead so that not a single man would see so much as a glimpse of pain or sadness or judgement or whatever else they thought that single man thought they deserved to see.
The crowd parted and Helenna walked. The doors to the Storting did not swing open. No one came out to meet her. No one said a word. The crowd was too terrified to even beg for forgiveness. Women dressed in their best clothes clutched their children and wept silently. Men looked up demanding anger or rage or hatred from Helenna, or looked away, too ashamed even to look at her. The Goddess of Love simply walked, her black coat now darkened and torn in spots where she had been shot and bled. Through holes in the fabric, her skin was slowly regrowing as muscles twisted and turned in their attempt to close their wound. Helenna walked through high streets, making sure to take the most direct route to her destination: the airport.
There would be nothing more fatal to this land than simply leaving.
Helenna continued her silent walk towards the airport. Norje today would suffer. Suffer not in fire and flame but suffer in terrible silence. The great argument against independence would be won by the fact that if Helenna gave no judgement, men would be judges of themselves. And no one was harsher on oneself than one alone. Helenna had to say nothing, fear would tailor its own argument and it would say things that Helenna would not even be able to imagine.
It was over for Norje.
The Empire had tried diplomacy.
An Imperial Goddess had been shot.
The logic was obvious. The shooting of an Imperial Goddess would call for retaliation. Arascus would not let it slide. Helenna would not let it slide. The Empire could not let it slide. If an Imperial soldier was killed, then the unsaid contract was that all guns would turn to the target. And if the Empire would do that much for a common man, how much would it do for a Goddess?
Helenna slowly returned to her plane. She wondered how long it would take for Norje’s own delegation to beg for audience. She wondered if it would even matter. She had not made it across the finish line, she owned the finish line at this point. It didn’t matter whether they accepted or not. A word here and a hint there and the most sacred contract between government and its people would be shattered: the promise for the former to keep the latter safe.
So now it was a matter of time. Either a deal of forgiveness paid for by submission would be struck by the men in the Storting right now, or the exact same deal would be struck by the men who would rip the former apart in some attempt to seek redemption from judgement they themselves would cast over each other.
A thought suddenly appearing in Helenna’s mind almost knocked her over. She actually tripped on the pavement and had to catch a lamp-post to stop herself from falling. It wasn’t even a thought, it was the realisation that all this time, she had lacked one.
Not once had she had a repeat of a White Pantheon worry. Back then, she had to constantly be on guard for Fortia or Maisara or Allasaria or Elassa ruining her plans. Now? Even though she had just been shot, she trusted that Arascus would know she had not been seriously hurt and that he would not over-react. Whether it was trust in his self-control or his intelligence or long-term strategy, or maybe it was just trust in his sheer capacity for detached analysis and trust that he would try to exploit the situation, Helenna honestly did not know.
She had found a trust there was no reason to try and question.