000 - Prologue

The high god of craft, fire, and disaster that went by the name Sortots'ke was, just like other high gods that he could call comrade in a sense, weary of war. He might be an immortal being with enormous power even within his peers, but as mortals faced mortal dangers, immortals, especially ones as old as him, faced immortal dangers. As one of the stronger high gods, his power was not granted to him out of the void, but through war and heaven-shaking changes. He was not the most powerful high god-no, they were all dead-but he was one of the most powerful surviving high gods. Sometimes he would look up the empty space and smiled bitterly, recalling how those high gods he used to look with worship in his eyes died for triggering a trap in an olden god's abandoned abode. It was only the first wave, but they died just like that. He often wondered if in the face of the now close to extinction olden gods, the high gods, and the minor gods were just like mortals and animals in front of a deity.

Unlike how mortals, especially smart ones, view the gods as beings with unfathomable power, the gods who were still existing constantly fought against the remains of the more powerful gods and dealing with the fear of the unleashing of an olden calamity, or heavens forbid, an ancient calamity. He had seen an olden calamity once in the form of a beast and although the olden destruction beast had lost half of its power, it was still powerful enough to take down the now destroyed High Gods Council, which was consisted of the strongest high gods, with it. Sortots'ke was at the back row of the battle then, but he saw enough to scare him for the rest of his immortal life.

The sight of the bodiless abomination roaring to the endless broken fragments of a fairly big world, expanding its misty red form until some high gods were swallowed up in it, screams and roars of agony tore from their hoarse throats, until it subsided as the mist got thicker and turned a deeper shade of menacing red. As soon as the screams died down, the high gods inside the red mist came out, their eyes wild and frantic, seeing but not seeing. The crazed high gods began attacking the high gods closest to them and as the red mist swirled, a sucking force could be felt, getting stronger by the second. In a blink of an eye, thousands of titan-like creatures were created, each with their own specialty and weakness, gigantic meteors came barraging down the army of high gods, and the formless body of the beast swayed, creating a hundred seals and runes that glowed darkly. If it were not for the High Gods Council using a forbidden olden incantation which forced the beast to use all of his remaining power, distorting the space around them, Sortots'ke and a few other lowly high gods would be obliterated along with the clash. Out of six hundred and fifty high gods, only ten escaped alive. It was a massacre, one against hundreds. As expected of an olden beast.

He could still remember the strong and suffocating energy the beast released. After further research, they found out that the beast was a strong olden beast whose strength had been halved from losing its body. A survivor from The Cleansing done by the olden gods in the Olden Era. There was little record about what happened in such an era and what The Cleansing was meant for and the last solid clue, the High Gods Council, was gone.

It made him wondered if there were more olden gods than suspected. With their power, it would be of no surprise if they created a place of their own, where they could spend the rest of their immortal lives without war. If there was such a place, could he join them, even though he was a measly high god? Could he enjoy a life without war and constant fear and piercing sadness? He then wondered if he could become strong enough to be on par with those olden gods, to be on equal ground with those gods that existed from the start of all.

Unconsciously, his mind wandered to the treasure he gained while hiding after he fled from the olden beast and the army, something that he was not proud of, yet he could not bear to tell anyone about it. He was not the bravest high gods, nor was he a god who valued justice.

Sortots'ke pursed his lips, thinking about his successor, minor god of craft, Donmighar, and his two disciples, minor god of animals, Ahliia, and minor god of fire, Ennafar. As a god born in times of constant war and danger, Sortots'ke yearned for a family and when he found the little god Donmighar, he took it as a sign and adopted him; nurturing him to the adult god he was right now.

Thinking about his three children, Sortots'ke heaved a sigh at their glaring incompetence at being a leader and a being deserved to be called 'god'. Donmighar had above average talent at crafting, which unfortunately was lacking in number even though back in his days, such talent would be like pebbles on the road. Personality-wise, he had a good heart, but he was too influenced by his emotions, especially fear, greed, lust, and stupid arrogance.

Ahliia had an average talent and she relied too heavily on other male gods who got seduced by her body. The only redeeming quality about her was that she restrained Donmighar from getting too controlled by his emotions and helped Ennafar from being estranged by other minor gods. She thinks quick and possessed a glib tongue.

Ennafar, on the other hand, was smitten with Donmighar. As a minor god of fire, her temper sometimes surpassed other fire gods, but she would do almost anything to catch the attention of the minor god of craft. She was quick-tempered, simple-minded, and his niece. The way Ennafar would go to great lengths just to get approval from the man she loved reminded him so much of his deceased sister that it hurt. He did not know how exactly should he approach her, so he kept their distance, neither far nor near.

He had reasons for taking care of them for all these centuries, most of them for his own selfish comfort, but he came to care for them anyways. He had long admitted to himself that he genuinely cared for those brats.

That was why when the betrayal came, it was so sudden and pierced straight to his heart.

The day high god Sortots'ke fell from his grace was just like any other summer, with bright rays shining down and the weather was warm. It was one of those days that one could think that it was going to be a good day, that the day would be stress-free and enjoyable. The weather was nice and there was no god starting any fight or trespassing to his domain or any indication that it was going to be a bad day.

The sky was a nice shade of blue and the wind comforting as Sortots'ke stood on the cast green plain that was his backyard when Ahliia came over bringing a bag of leaves filled with vitality and glowing softly in colors. The light scent of wood, mint, and moss traveled to his nose. It was a scent he knew well.

"Acalypta tea leaves?" he questioned with an eyebrow raised. "Never would have thought that you would be able to wrestle some out of that stingy old gardener's hands."

"You flatter me, teacher," Ahliia laughed lightly. "I just pester the honorable plant god all year long before his honorable one agreed to give this to me, though not by much."

"Really?" Sortots'ke looked at her with amusement. "What can make you be so diligent all year long?"

"You don't remember, don't you teach?" Ahliia sighed. "I suppose it is not important to you, but it is to me."

Sortots'ke just stared at her, waiting for her to tell him her purpose of getting the tea leaves. Others may dismiss this act as a mere interest of the young ones, but Sortots'ke being the suspiciously smart man he was, knew that there was more to this than it seemed. Much more.

"Fine!" Ahliia groaned and huffed. "Today is the anniversary of our first meeting!"

Sortots'ke blinked and furrowed his brows at this revelation.

"And that is enough to motivate you to get that tea leaves from that old stubborn gardener's hand?" he asked, pondering the deeper meaning and not for a second believed that it was just that simple. Spending one's youth on war and retired as a councilman tended to turn an innocent teenager into a very suspicious and cautious man, and that was what happened to him. He waved his naivety goodbye in the war.

"Yes!" Ahliia shouted in frustration. "Is it so hard to believe?"

".…Yes. Yes, it is," Sortots'ke answered in a deadpan.

"You are impossible, you know that?" Ahliia sighed in defeat. "Anyway, I'm already here with the tea leaves. Aren't you going to invite me to sit?"

If it was other people, Sortots'ke would just refuse, but thinking of Ahliia's contribution to better Ennafar's and Donmighar's lives, he decided that having a tea with his disciple would bring him no harm.

"Up to you," he said. A wide smile split Ahliia's face.

On that day, the high god of craft, fire, and disaster named Sortots'ke fell from grace.