The wind grew fiercer, tugging at Etal's robes and pushing him deeper into the true world. His stomach churned as the nauseating sensation of crossing dimensions took hold. Eyes squeezed shut, he fought against the vertigo.
When the chariot finally came to a halt, Etal opened his eyes, blinking at the grandeur before him. They had arrived at the royal courts.
Gleaming gold stretched across the ground, and above it floated two long tables with matching chairs—one on each side of the arena. At the center, the thrones of the seven gods who ruled over the worlds of Meshtara shimmered, suspended in midair. The thrones were made of silver, glowing like emeralds in the harsh light, each throne floating just a bit higher than the tables. The supreme god's throne towered above all the others, a mere outline visible beneath a blinding radiance. Legends whispered that when the supreme god arrived, his throne would shine so brightly that it could blind even the most powerful gods.
Etal stepped out of the chariot, nearly sending the goddess Sih tumbling forward.
"Honey," Sih's voice drifted lazily, like a half-dream. "I want to rest on your shoulders. They're so big and strong. Now that I'm off them, I feel like I might burst into tears."
Etal, not in the mood for drama, handed her a cloth. "This is important," he muttered. "When you're done, wash it for me."
"How rude!" she grumbled, but he was already turning toward the royal court. Gods and goddesses were streaming in, and Etal made a beeline for an empty chair on the left side of the arena.
He couldn't help but wonder why the tables and chairs were floating in midair when most gods couldn't even fly. It seemed like some joke, but one he could never escape. With a sigh, he took his seat, trying to ignore the soft murmurs of the gods around him.
Jakir had yet to arrive, and Etal found himself amused at the thought of Jakir openly defying the god supreme. It had been centuries since anyone had dared such a thing. The last to do so, Mavkira, was wiped out in an instant. But Jakir wasn't Mavkira—he wasn't nearly as strong, and Etal wondered if Jakir had even considered what was about to unfold.
As if on cue, the seven gods who ruled Meshtara made their entrance.
Etal sighed. Though the royals did not acknowledge their presence, the pomp surrounding their arrival was impossible to ignore.
Sanera, ever loathsome in Etal's eyes, made his arrival dramatic. His souls—dark, misty, wailing apparitions—filled the arena with cries of torment.
Sakit, the goddess of wood and vines, appeared next. She was relatively harmless, carrying her staff entwined with vines.
Laea, the god of death, followed, holding his hands aloft as if awaiting applause, though none came. His arrogance was unbearable.
Rumo, the god of fire, enveloped himself in flames, as usual, burning his clothes in the process. Why he insisted on this dramatic display, no one knew. His nudity, however, did draw stares—albeit not the kind he likely wanted.
Tio, the god of fear and pain, winked at various goddesses, his flirtations met with disdain. No sane goddess would court the god of pain—except, perhaps, Sih. That one was not entirely right in the head.
Buva, the god of time, exuded an aura of silent power. Withdrawn and solitary, he was the most feared of them all. Etal often felt an inexplicable pity for him.
Finally, there was Duni, the goddess of life and water. Etal's heart skipped a beat as he watched her graceful movements. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and he had crafted a poem for her in his mind. If only he could muster the courage to speak to her.
Etal envied them all, particularly for their ability to fly. It was a trait the gods deemed essential to rule Meshtara—a notion Etal found absurd. Even his Kika could fly.
The seven gods seated themselves on their thrones. The chattering continued until it was interrupted by a deafening roar and the crackling of lightning from the north.
All fell silent. Thousands of beasts, enveloped in a thunderstorm, advanced toward the arena. Lightning struck relentlessly, the sound almost unbearable.
It could only mean one thing: the god supreme was coming.
"Sa, Sa, Sa-liviako!" the gods chanted as the beasts formed a ring of darkness around the supreme throne. Five enormous dragons emerged from the horde, roaring as flames erupted from their mouths, heating the arena like a furnace.
The gods continued chanting, "Sa, Sa, Sa-liviako!" as purple lightning rained down across the arena. The bolts struck everywhere except the seated royals, the sound piercing enough to draw blood from the ears of lesser beings.
Then, silence.
The god supreme was seated on his throne, a serene smile on his face. His Kika, a mighty red-winged lion, sat beside him. His throne shone with such brilliance that it was almost blinding.
Etal couldn't find the words to describe him. Saliviako, the god of thunder and lightning, the lord of beasts and dragons, and the wielder of the red oak—a lightning of unstoppable destruction—was truly magnificent.
Saliviako's red hair shimmered like fire, his rainbow-colored eyes dreamy, and his diamond-like skin glistened in the light. The goddesses wept silently in his presence, though only one had ever won his affection: Queen Sassifino, the daughter of Mavkira, whom Saliviako had slain.
Saliviako broke the silence with a smirk. "Siki, your hair is an absolute mess. You should ask Lit where she gets hers done."
Siki fumbled with her tangled hair, stammering excuses about Uta's mischievous minions.
"Uta," Saliviako called, his voice booming. "Did you send your nugs to torment Siki?"
"Yes, your majesty," Uta mumbled.
"Then you must marry her," Saliviako declared, grinning.
Uta's protests were ignored as Saliviako announced the wedding. The court erupted in laughter and cheers, though Siki looked mortified and Uta resembled a man condemned.
But the gods weren't paying attention to Siki anymore. Etal couldn't help but notice that the tension in the air had thickened. There was something else happening.
Saliviako leaned forward, a mischievous smile curling on his lips. "Jakir, my dear friend," he called out in a voice laced with mock sweetness.
Etal's heart skipped. It was happening.
Jakir appeared, striding into the court with the weight of defiance in every step. His eyes were burning with anger, his presence impossible to ignore. "Your majesty," Jakir said, bowing with a mixture of bitterness and contempt. "I have been summoned to judgment."
Saliviako chuckled, unfazed. "Jakir, always the one to frown. Smile a little, friend. Frowning is much too stressful for a god of your stature."
Jakir didn't smile. He stood tall, fists clenched at his sides. "I didn't come here for your games, Saliviako."
"Ah," Saliviako said, his tone turning dangerously light. "But you did, Jakir. You've always played your games, haven't you? And now, you've come here to answer for them."
Jakir's eyes narrowed, and the gods leaned forward in anticipation. "Let's get to it, then," Jakir said coldly. "The battle with Bas was just the beginning. I came for more than a fight. I came for something that will bring your reign to an end."
A collective gasp filled the court, and the air crackled with tension.
Saliviako, unfazed, looked almost... bored. "You really think you can defeat me?" he mused, tapping a finger on his throne. "I'm not worried, Jakir. You never were a threat."
Jakir's anger boiled over. His hand snapped out, summoning his hammer, and his Kika—a terrifying, beastly creature—roared into existence beside him.
"You don't get it, Saliviako," Jakir growled, his eyes burning. "I won't be your pawn anymore."
The god supreme didn't even flinch. "And you won't be anything else, either," he said with a lazy smile.
And then, in an instant, the air turned red. Lightning struck from the heavens, and Jakir and his Kika were obliterated in the blink of an eye, reduced to ash and dust.
A silence fell over the court, broken only by the casual hum of Saliviako's voice. "Haty," he called out lazily, "I think I need a peach garden by my palace. Make it happen."
Etal stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the destruction that had just unfolded. The other gods, shaken, quickly resumed their chatter, as though nothing had happened.
Saliviako, as though nothing was amiss, turned to the rest of the gods. "Now, let's get to the feast. Uta and Siki's wedding awaits."
Etal, still reeling from Jakir's death, couldn't help but think that something big was brewing—and he would be at the heart of it.