Reckoning Change

Apollo rifled through the extensive reports that Desponia had gathered on Apotheosis from the tribes in the unclaimed lands of the divine pantheons.

It wasn't anything new for a god to emerge from the dreams of others, but that didn't make it any less miraculous. This otherworldly process didn't originate with humans; the truth was far more profound. It had always existed since the earliest mortal beings of the universe felt a yearning for a power greater than themselves, something to attribute meaning to things beyond their control. That was where it all began, if his visions from divinations were to be believed, though Apollo strongly suspected that this "desire" came into being because of God.

This "desire" wasn't set in stone since the notion of what constituted a "God" could vary among different species. However, with the emergence of the children of Khaos, the concept of the "divine" took on a greater sense of stability and clarity, allowing the otherworldly process to become way more efficient.

However, none of this had much impact on the children of Khaos themselves. They were beyond mortal concerns, their divine lineage untouched by mortality and directly tied to the essence of Nothingness. It was meant to remain that way, but this cosmos was not going to be kind to them. The first hints of what lay ahead were already evident in the reports he held in his hands.

The existence of the dreamed gods was always known to the divine pantheons, yet they all chose to overlook them out of arrogance, revulsion, or sheer indifference. However, with the ascent of mortals, the number of gods born from the Dreaming was also on the rise. Signs of their increasing emergence could be seen in the unclaimed territories, and it wouldn't be long before even gods began to be born from mortals within the territories of the divine pantheons.

"These numbers are deeply concerning," Apollo stated, his gaze lifting to meet his attendant's. He spoke his thoughts aloud, expressing his worries. "If we do nothing, it could very well disrupt the delicate balance of the world."

Desponia, perceptive to the nuances in Apollo's tone, inquired, "What is your plan, my lord?"

Apollo pondered for a moment, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "The dreamed gods possess a divine essence," he mused. "They are not merely born from the dreams of humans, but they also embody the divine concept we have introduced. In a sense, they can be seen as a reflection of ourselves in the consciousness of humanity. Therefore, they are no less significant than us, regardless of what others may believe." With a deliberate gesture, he conjured images of the dreamed gods, projecting them as ethereal light. "They are an unresolved issue that must be brought to the attention of all pantheons before any further complications arise."

"But, my lord," Desponia voiced her opinion. "While it is true that all pantheons proudly claim their origins from nothingness, we sorely lack unity. Even if you were to address the seriousness of the issue, they would simply ignore you."

"Unity..." Apollo pondered, his gaze drifting towards the ethereal layers of dreams woven into the fabric of reality. "I believe there might be someone who can assist us in achieving that."

Desponia followed his gaze, and in an instant, realisation dawned in her pure white eyes. "He noticed me, didn't he?" she inquired, seeking confirmation, her tone devoid of much surprise.

"Desponia," Apollo shifted his gaze to his attendant, his voice carrying a hint of inevitability. "We've got an important guest on the way."

"I will make the necessary preparations for his arrival," Desponia replied, her voice tinged with caution and uncertainty. Her white eyes revealed her hesitation. "But, my lord, do you think he might take a slight to your research?"

"He certainly could." Apollo acknowledged her concerns, but he wasn't overly concerned himself. "However, this matter is too crucial. I'll address it properly with Dream during his audience."

Attracting the attention of Morpheus, the Dream of the Endless, was inevitable. After all, he embodied not only dreams but the entirety of reality. Now Apollo had to be cautious and strategic in how he utilised this attention. If he could successfully gain the support of Morpheus, he could convene a divine gathering of all pantheons and bring forth the issue of the imagined gods for deliberation. The presence of the Dream of the Endless would add weight and significance to the gathering.

But Apollo's intentions went beyond upholding the order of the world; he sought to enhance his own powers as well. By organising this divine gathering, he would establish a precedent for a divine council of pantheons—a structured and authoritative platform where all gods could efficiently discuss and address matters concerning the world. If he accomplished this grand endeavour of establishing a new world order, his powers would soar to unimaginable heights.

However, let's be honest—this path was filled with risks and perils. Apollo would inevitably draw even more unwanted attention to himself, perhaps more than when he opened his divine tower. Yet the pursuit of power always comes with risks. Besides, he wasn't alone in this endeavour. He needed to earn the support and recognition of many to turn his dream into reality. The first and most challenging person on that list was none other than his teacher, Themis. Apollo had a mix of fear and anticipation as he imagined her reaction when he presented his grand and audacious vision.

But above all, everything depended on Morpheus. He just hoped that his inevitable meeting with the King of Dreams would go smoothly.

"Very well, my lord." Desponia nodded in response.

"Is that all?" Apollo leaned forward, his curiosity evident in his tone.

Desponia informed him about various matters concerning the growth of his religion. Although Apollo was already aware of most of these matters, he listened attentively, offering his opinions and making decisions. The increasing trials conducted by his priests and priestesses were discussed, but the cases pertaining to rape left him with a heavy heart.

In his religion, it was established that rape was a crime against the victim's male guardian rather than a violation against the victim herself. It was a nauseating way of approaching such wretched cases, but unfortunately, this precedent was the only bitter pill society could at least swallow and somewhat conform to in its current state of treating women as mere commodities. However, through this way, Apollo at least had the freedom to design the punishments, even though he detested the entire ordeal. But change had to start somewhere, no matter how unpleasant. When someone committed the abhorrent act of rape, there were two judgements for their fate: death or public castration. No euphemisms or sugarcoating, just plain and raw.

His religion sought to promote similar customs and traditions that could instigate meaningful transformation, aligning with current societal norms. However, their efforts were not universally successful, particularly in the case of slavery. This abhorrent and deeply ingrained practise remained untouched, impervious to any attempts at redress in such a manner.

After discussing matters of Law and Order, Desponia shifted her focus to the arts and music. She provided him with a concise overview of the exceptional talents who sought inspiration and guidance from the divine tower. His temples frequently supported these budding artists, offering them a much-needed platform to showcase their abilities to the world. In fact, Delphi has witnessed the organisation of popular competitions in recent years aimed at fostering creativity and inspiring individuals. The ultimate prize for the victors was the prestigious honour of being adorned with a golden laurel wreath—a sacred symbol of Apollo—personally bestowed by the esteemed high priestess.

"You are dismissed," Apollo finally ordered after she finished her briefing, reclining back on his seat as he watched Desponia leave the throne room. Afterward, he rose from his throne, holding the detailed report on the imagined gods in his hand, and teleported away to his study floor, an excited grin spreading across his face.

It was time for creation.

The study floor was his sanctuary within the towering structure. Every inch of it bore the mark of his own craftsmanship, reflecting the raw essence of his being. With every stroke and touch, he poured his heart into its creation. It became his haven, a refuge from the outside world, where he could delve deep into his thoughts, finding both introspection and inspiration. Here, he could unleash his imagination to conjure unimaginable wonders, indulging in his passions without restraint. It was a realm meant solely for him, a private realm that he had meticulously carved into existence. Through his unwavering dedication to creation, he achieved a divine connection with art, the final culmination of divinity.

The study floor exuded spaciousness, adorned with towering bookshelves boasting intricate carvings stretching towards the lofty ceiling. These shelves held a collection of tomes and books, vessels of knowledge and stories, some gathered through time, others penned by his own hand. Adjacent to them were workbenches, carefully arranged and equipped with an array of tools for creation. Delicate brushes, refined chisels, and sculpting tools rested in their designated spaces, ready to bring his artistic visions to life. Leaning against the walls were blank canvases, eagerly awaiting his skilled touch and yearning to be transformed into vibrant displays of colour and intricate detail.

Soft, pale light spilled through large arched windows, casting a gentle glow upon the polished marble floor. It illuminated the centre of the room, where a majestic oak desk stood, adorned with scattered scrolls, quills, and inkwells. The desk carried the marks of his endeavours, with notes scrawled in his elegant handwriting and sketches of celestial bodies, musical compositions, and intricate symbols of divinity.

Across the room, on its far side, stood a grand piano, an instrument of profound beauty. Sheet music, adorned with his intricate annotations and expressive dynamics, adorned the piano stand, showcasing his mastery of the musical arts. Around it were other instruments gifted to him by the Muses.

On the walls, captivating paintings hung with an otherworldly aura. They depicted a range of scenes, capturing love in its purest form—a worn and laboured mother watching her slumbering children with contentment and sorrow—while also embracing the beauty found within chaos, such as a star entering the magnificence of a supernova or a planet rupturing in an asteroid impact. Each painting held the power to transport the observer into its own world, enticing them with its rich narratives and tales waiting to be unveiled with a single touch.

But art was not merely capable of creation; it also possessed the power of destruction. Apollo fully embraced the duality of this concept. There was a certain darkness that lurked beneath the surface of his bright artistic prowess, hidden away in a chamber protected by chilling wards. Within that chamber resided a few of his forbidden artworks, crafted with the deliberate intention of causing chaos and devastation.

However, even those paled in comparison to the Opus he composed after attaining his divinities of order and coming face-to-face with the world's ignorance and primitive state, realising his own profound powerlessness to effect any reckoning change for a long time to come. He channelled all his frustration and disappointment into this composition, losing himself in the creative process and producing something truly bone-chilling. It ironically became one of his ultimate trump cards, though Apollo foolishly hoped that the day to employ it would never arrive.

At this moment, in a dazzling explosion of light, Apollo descended into the study. Without wasting a moment, he headed straight for the oak desk, pushing aside anything that didn't serve his purpose for the upcoming creation into the nearby empty sleeves.

The desk was cluttered with parchments, sketches, compositions, and scrolls, most of which were filled with his contemplations on the cycle of life, death, and rebirth. These studies would serve as his groundwork for the eventual creation of the Phoenix, yet he knew deep down that simply relying on them would never yield the finest result he desired. The pursuit of the impossible beckoned him, despite the daunting uncertainty that lay ahead. That uncertainty took the form of a certain gothic woman, a necessary obstacle he would inevitably face in his quest to transform impossibility into reality.

Yet, the creation of the Phoenix would have to wait for another day. Seated before the desk, he placed the report and picked up the sole remaining parchment. It contained his most recent undertaking, a project delving into the synthesis of divinity and morality, essentially a path towards godhood for mortals.

The ascent of certain mortals into godhood in the near future was an inevitability, given the existence of concepts like faith and the realm of dreaming. Similar to the gods envisioned by people, mortals would have the ability to tap into the dreams and beliefs of their followers, thereby igniting divinity within themselves. However, this also meant that their existence would be forever entwined with that of their followers. Nevertheless, godhood was godhood, regardless of the circumstances. Therefore, Apollo aimed to bring order to this chaotic system and gain rudimentary control over it in the process.

And he was ready to commence with the report submitted by Desponia. The information contained in the report perfectly aligned with his inferences and observations, providing him with the confidence he needed to embark on the creation.

Apollo drew in a deep breath, meticulously reviewing everything one last time before assuming his divine form. He summoned a silver quill and retrieved a sacred parchment he had carefully prepared for this moment. Clearing the desk of all other items, he positioned the parchment and gently lowered the tip of his silver quill onto its flawless yet rigid surface.

Order was his ink, flowing smoothly from the quill as Apollo began to organise the chaotic concept of Apotheosis. With his precise penmanship, he granted it definitive structure and brought forth a sense of order. The words he penned glowed with a formidable power, casting streams of light that danced off the parchment, weaving through the very essence of reality and penetrating its deepest corners, imposing his will upon it with unwavering authority.

Unseen yet magnificent, the laws of reality began to change, accommodating the order of Apotheosis that Apollo had unleashed. This epochal moment resonated with divine observers, captivating the gaze of rulers and guardians of Order. Yet none dared impede the majestic unfolding of this transformative creation; instead, they stood as witnesses, their acknowledgments varied but unified in their recognition of Apollo's sacred fulfilment of his duty of Order.

Even his mentor, Themis, the Titaness of Justice, momentarily averted her focus from her own inscrutable preparations, her eyes fixed upon the Celestial Sanctum. A knowing smile graced her lips as she whispered to herself, "Bold as always. But I cannot fault him; he is my student, after all."

With that, she turned her gaze back to the captivating tableau before her, an intricate array adorned with esoteric symbols and celestial signs representing the very fabric of the cosmos—the primordial essence of Justice itself. Encircling the array, ethereal parchments floated, bearing ever-shifting letters, yet one title shone with unwavering clarity, its words etched into eternity:

"Transcending Divinity: The Path to Primordial."