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The divinities warred silently over the sky. Vesper Noir, wise patron of night, drew dark curtains over the Earth’s pale opal; while the swift archer Shinri created a great ocean of blue above the lands, where fish with sun-kissed spots and scales as white as cream swam. Neither wanted to share, but held a tentative peace. Eventually, they shaped gods and deities to fill their celestial courts.
The morning god created bright-eyed Bettel, divinity of dawn and celebration; Flayon, god of the noon, who moulded from the earth all flying and walking things; and twilight-haired Hakka, deity of the dying light, and the protector of mortals. Then there came the goddess of victory, Alice Syrios, and Axel Syrios, her brother, the god of war, born from Shinri’s gilded arrows.
The night god was father to many countless children – they were the stars; beautiful, distant, and burning forever. Magni, Deneb, the god of love, who even the gods feared. His sister, Regina, Cassiopeia, was the goddess of beauty. When poets spoke of brightness, they spoke of her. She was like the sweetest dove of the sky, fair like starlight and as silver as spring water upon clear stones. She was a distant dream, weighing upon the minds of men and divine alike. The daughter of the night, sister of the most powerful force in existence, and queen of devastation – because only beauty could both inspire songs and bring kingdoms to their knees.
Poets told the story like this: Helpless Regina, small-ankled and sweet, taken by the sun warriors, Alice and Axel, from under her father’s lake, where she bathed. But it is only because that is what she let them know. He knows the truth – beneath his mother’s rose softness were cunning thorns. She had been bare and lush under the waters when the god and goddess stumbled upon her; weaving flowers into her hair, dancing in the lake, skin damp and wet, and that was enough to make them bow. Regina stood tall before those two powerless warriors, smelling of rose oil and her father’s waves. They wanted her, but her voice was still like water.
“It is marriage, or nothing.”
Vesper was enraged at Alice and Axel for taking his daughter from him, and Shinri had been convinced that the goddess tricked his warrior gods. And Regina laughed – because all powerful Shinri had no choice but to open his gilded palace to her, and neither her father nor the god of the morning had any chance of continuing the war, now that both sides had been joined by marriage. She laid in her courtyard draped in the gold her wife had gifted her, cradling her husband’s child to her breast.
Altare. Adolere. Burn.
His infancy happened in hours, his toddlerhood mere moments after that, and then he was a boy. Aguila, Alice had called him fondly, for the clarity and sharpness of his verdant eyes. He had Regina’s seafoam hair, her delicate collarbones, her sweet doe feet, and her honeyed tone. But there were pieces of Axel there, too, but only if you looked. That startling radiance. The glow of his divine nature.
Axel cradled his face carefully in his hands. He was a warrior, scared of gentle things, because he worried he might break it. He closed his eyes, then spoke:
“Altare, you will be the god of the sun.” Axel whispered, “And your husband will be the moon.”
Regina blinked. “What is a sun? What is a moon?”
“The sun is the star of the morning. The moon is the light of the night.”
Altare watched Axel’s brow furrow, and felt the heaviness of his palms on his shoulders. “It can’t be. Vesper and Shinri would never allow it. Altare will be…”
“No!” Regina shouted, and she pulled Altare to her neck. She’s heard these prophecies before, and she knows how these end. Altare could see it her face that she was burying him already. Grieving for a son who was still alive. He patted her rosy cheeks with his boyish hands. Regina grit her teeth. “I won’t let Altare be killed.”
Despite Regina’s attempts, Altare was as free as a spring breeze, and often escaped from his mother’s embrace to roam the mortal realm. He was as graceful and lovely as his mother as he floated across the koi in the sky – clouds, humans call them – taking care not to disrupt their happy swimming. With time, Shinri had grown to enjoy watching the boy flutter and sing to himself like a songbird, but turned his gaze away from Altare’s young privacies. Oftentimes, Altare liked to walk amongst the mortals and take on what seemed like impossible quests. He was Regina’s son, but he was a child of Alice and Axel too. Clear-eyed and precise, Altare would throw his weapons from afar, and never miss. Altare, the distant death. Altare, the monster of the sky. Altare, killer of beasts. Regina and Magni had bemoaned that his epithets “didn’t fit his pretty face”, but they made him warm with glee. He feels like the heroes written in books. The ones with muses and epics and songs.
Earth felt different from Shinri’s lakes and forests in the sky. His celestial domain was all clear blue water and plush grass. Earth was a land of jagged rocks, cliffs, and stone. Far from the marble and porcelain milkiness of the gods. Altare travelled to green valleys and rugged rivers. From their banks, he watched fish writhe beneath the waters, how both prey and predators drank from the streams. He crossed rolling hills, and though he was no nature deity or creature of the earth, he crossed thickets and woodlots; picking berries and moving past thick root and old trunks with ease. There were groves of olives, nuts, and fresh fruit. There were green, growing things. There were orchards full of apples and codlins. Altare ran through fields of flowers and weaved them into crowns and bracelets to give back home. Because Altare knows that Bettel still keeps the first laurel wreath he made for him, and that Hakka has wrapped his bracelets close to the beads he wears around his wrists, and that Flayon still shines his flower crowns with oil; no matter what they say, Altare knows that they like his little creations. Altare raced through cedar, oak, pine and dirt. He watched Shinri dip into the horizon, and Vesper and his children fill the sky. Altare slays beasts. Altare slices bread and stuffs his mouth with fresh cheese. He does this, he does that, and why shouldn’t he not? He wants to try everything.
Under Vesper’s sky, he returns home. Axel and Alice could have made their palace out of anything. Precious stones from the land. Something beneath the sea. Something new and unheard of. Instead they chose dark obsidian, an impossible darkness for humans to see through; but Regina shined so brightly against the lightless rock, and they loved to see her very much. Altare needed no time to adjust to the change in light. He saw everything in full. How his mothers and father filled the palace with so much brilliance that one would hardly believe the walls were made of obsidian. On nights like these, he likes sitting on the floor and laying his head on Axel’s lap. Alice was training in the arena, and Regina had left with a kiss to Altare’s cheek to watch her. Axel runs his fingers through Altare’s silky hair and stares into the hearth of their home. Altare stares at the rich streaks of red in his golden hair and his unnaturally bright eyes.
“What happens when mortals see you?”
“They die.” Axel answered.
Altare’s eyes fluttered in confusion. “That doesn’t happen when they see me.”
“You’re more like your mother. If a mortal saw you, they would be very lucky.” Axel sighed. Affection clear on his handsome face.
“So we’re different?”
“Yes.”
“Can I be as powerful as you one day?”
“...Maybe.”
“How do I know?”
Axel turned to a pile of logs in front of the fireplace. At a glance, the wood was engulfed in golden bright flames and disappeared into smoke.
“When you can do that, then you’re as powerful as me.”
Altare stared at a stack of wood all night. They did not burn.
Effort and work were novel to gods, but only for a moment, because any longer than that was painful. Delicacies, finery, worldly pleasures; these were all things that gods could have if they wished. Gods do not tire or hunger. They know nothing of human afflictions, and could sleep and feast not because it was required of them, but because they wanted to. No matter how hard he grips his weapons, and no matter what rips through his divine skin, the scarring and roughness quickly smoothened out. Unlike the mortals he watched. Mortals will toil and suffer. They will hurt if it is too hot, and if it is too cold. Fire could kill them. Rain could kill them. Their voices were faint, and Altare had to soften his already gentle voice into a lulling hush to speak to locals and adventurers. But even when they are bleeding and hurt and raw, humans will live on, and they are capable of many things. They create cities, houses, weapons, food, and new crafts. For days he watched a family pull at rope and hammer nails into wood. Then they made cots and weaved blankets. Sculpted pots for little flowers. Humans keep failing and creating, and failing and creating, and Altare wonders how and why.
He’s been watching this human attempt to herd his animals into his pens for an hour, and he still doesn’t understand their perseverance.
A hen manages to fly away. Do chickens even do that?
Altare’s starting to feel bad.
He lets himself fall to the ground and pulls down his hood. The human jerks back in surprise. Altare takes note of him for a moment. He’s unmistakably mortal, his pale skin clammy and dampened by sweat. Tall, broad shoulders, and built like he was made for battle; like an unpolished axe, or a sword. His mouth hasn’t closed yet, and Altare tilts his head.
The human’s face, still coloured with disbelief, lit with recognition. The man bowed his head and his strong shoulders shook.
Later, Altare learns that he trembeled not out of fear, but out of awe.
“Hello.” Altare greeted. “What’s your name?”
“Nocturnal. Which god do I address?”
“Altare. Son of Regina.”
He gestured for Noct to rise, and pointed towards the animals.
“Are these yours?”
“They are, Lord Altare.”
“Altare is fine.”
He walked forwards. The animals did not jump, for they knew before Altare did that they were his birthright. He whistled – a pretty, sweet, fluttery sound – and they followed his steps. Under his touch, the cows complied easily, and he led them into the barn and locked the gate. Altare lifted the chickens into their pens, and the pigs to the sty. They had such sweet faces, Altare thought. Big round eyes and long ears. Such a shame Nocturnal didn’t have a dog or a puppy. Altare enjoys their big smiles.
When all was done, Altare turned to take his leave. But he it was his turn to be surprised as Noct held Altare’s hands to his chest, and at the closeness of his dark starry eyes and nose.
The audacity of this human.
But he is quite brave.
“Let me host you as thanks for your help.” Noct pleaded. And what a strange thing to plead for. “Just a small token of my thanks.”
Altare stared at his fair fingers, engulfed in Noct’s firm hold.
His palm feels as hot as stones under the sun.
“Very well.”
Noct took his coat and prepared his seat. He roasted lamb and they ate broth together. His calloused hands chopped firewood and poured wine, and Altare found himself laughing at his jokes and easy conversation. Outside, Shinri’s watchful eyes left the sky, and Vesper peered into the window.
“Thank you for today, Altare.”
Altare inclined his head towards his host. “It was nothing.”
Noct stared at him. Altare raised his gaze in question.
“Does something trouble you?”
Noct took it as an invitation to speak. He opened his mouth, shamelessly.
“My mother said that the Goddess Regina was the most beautiful of all.” He told him, “But looking at you is the single greatest blessing I have ever been given.”
Altare’s mouth dropped open.
Nocturnal continued on, “You’re even lovelier when you blush.”
The audacity!
Altare hurried to pull down his hood, and dashed up into the heavens.
Unwilling to be dismayed, Noct looked up at his retreating figure, and screamed. “Please feel free to visit! Any time you want!”
Like hell!
Altare visits.
For the animals. Noct doesn’t have the hand for it. The poor things get startled when he does it, and Altare is nothing but a hero. He milks the cows and teaches Noct how to churn butter and how to make cream. He shears the sheep and takes some of their fluff for himself. He gathers the eggs into baskets lined with cloth, and teaches Noct how to tell which ones are fertile and which ones are not. In exchange, Noct teaches him how to use a strange human weapon. It’s heavy and made with metal, and loaded with even more metal into a chamber. Nocturnal weilds it like nothing else, hardly jolting against the recoil of its devastating blasts. The first few times Altare tries it, he’s sent flying. It’s nothing like his bows or spears.
Noct slots his fingers against his. A palm on Altare’s waist, lowering to his spine. A strong leg between his thighs, spreading them apart. He repositions Altare’s grip on the gun, brushing heat against Altare’s wrist.
“Hold it like this.”
His thumb is on the small of his back.
“Don’t tense. Relax for me.”
The world sways slightly. Noct’s arms circles his waist. Noct’s solid chest against his back.
“Easy, beautiful.”
He’s clung to Axel’s arms and soaked in Shinri’s light, but he’s never felt this warm before.
Altare pulls the trigger.
It hits its mark.
Sometimes they just talk.
Altare tells him about heaven. Bettel’s laughter and his banquets. The heads of countless monsters and demons hanging like trophies in Hakka’s domain. Flayon’s streaks of madness, which Shinri always regarded with a sigh, and dealt with a firm grip around the neck. Like a cat. Alice and Axel tripping over themselves when Regina smiles at them. Magni’s lovers turning into flowers.
Most of the time, Noct just made cheeky comments and laughed. But tonight he has a request.
“What about you?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me about yourself. Any stories…lovers?”
Altare sighed. “Nope. No stories and definitely not…not anyone like that.”
Nocturnal made a surprised noise. “Really? None?”
“Mother and father say that I can’t get married.”
“Ahh…” Noct mused, “Well, I guess I’m lucky that you aren’t married. If I was your husband, I’d never let you go!”
There it was again. Never afraid to say as he pleases.
A sudden boldness overtook him then. Or maybe he always had it inside of him.
“Do you think about it? Being my husband?”
Altare stood, just as his mother did. Unfaltering. Divine. Devastating.
Nocturnal met his gaze. “I do.”
There were no need for rings. The gods had never recognized such human traditions. Instead, they laid entwined in each other’s arms, and the shapes that Noct had pressed into Altare’s skin was enough.
Shinri and Vesper had known immediately, of course.
Nocturnal had never meant for any deception, but he was not a mortal. Altare had been shocked to learn that. Yet as they stood before the gods, he could not find himself to care about something like that.
“He’s my husband.” Altare affirmed. Noct’s fingers tightened over his.
Vesper’s deep eyes saddened. “You will be the god of the sun. For the balance of the world, you can never meet. Do you still wish this?”
“More than anything.”
Vesper turned to Noct, but the god of the moon was faster than him. “No. Altare is mine. Nothing will change this.”
Axel lowered his eyes. “I knew it. Vesper and Shinri would never
allow their union.”
Regina paled. “No. Don’t tell me –”
Alice held her hand. “We won’t let them.”
“You don’t need to worry. Vesper and Shinri won’t kill them. I’m the god of love, marriage is my domain to rule, not theirs. They won’t overstep.”
Magni patted his sister’s hair, then stood from his seat.
“Shinri, isn’t it possible for them to meet at least once?”
The celestial court hushed as Shinri paused in thought. Altare held his breath, focusing on Noct’s thumb drawing circles against his pulse.
Shinri wished it didn’t have to be this way.
But he’ll grant them one mercy.
“One day won’t tip the balance.” Shinri whispered. “I’ll allow it. One day for every year.”
The day had finally come.
Altare watched as Noct approached. But as his husband drew closer and closer, he met him half way in a sprint. He kissed and embraced him, weaving their limbs together until he couldn’t tell his own legs from Nocturnal’s. Their shadow blanketed the land beneath them in darkness, and Noct lifted himself over Altare, so that not even the gods could see them.
Under Altare’s warm gaze, Nocturnal burns.
Altare giggles as he traces his blush.
“What should we do today?”
They could race, they could spar, they could do this, and they could do that. Altare knows the answer.
“Let’s do everything. Why should we not?”