Chapter Text
When the poets and soldiers and leaders talk about the server, they will argue about which came first: the god or the world. In truth, it was neither.
The god’s very first memory was standing in an open field. Above him was blue - vast and endless and void-like. Underneath him was green and brown, stable and steady. Dots of red speckled before him, nestled in the green. The god knew that he was the first ever to grace the world. He stretched his arms to the sky above him - his sky, and dug his toes into the grass - his grass. The world was his and his world was endless.
The god wanted to travel, so he did. He left his space under the sky and earth, picked a direction, and moved towards it. As he did, he took great delight in watching the world form and stretch before him, to no strain on his part. The god would pick a spot on the horizon, a point in the grey, hulking shape before him, and would revel in all the new things the world presented him.
He discovered snow, mountains, and oceans, and though he had never known about them before, they were his the moment he was aware of them. It was as if his subconscious had developed the world before him, constantly one step in front of him. All he had to do was reach back and know what it was.
Soon enough, the god understood that no matter how long he ventured, he would never return to where he started. The world had no limit, and no matter what he did to try and exhaust it, it would not yield. It was like this he discovered the Nether, the Void, the Stronghold. The only way to return was to retrace his steps and head backward. But by the time he realized this, he had been traveling for far too long and did not know which way to head to return to the field of his first memory.
Over time, he grew bored of the world before him. He was certain that he had seen all the biomes, and touched all the animals, and smelt all the flowers. He longed for something new.
Because the god did not wish to be bored anymore, he resolved to find some company. He traveled until his memory blurred, and until he could not remember if the flowers in the field of his first memory were roses or poppies. Still, he could not find another like him.
The poets and soldiers and leaders will argue about what happened next. I will tell it to you how I know it, which I hope is the truth.
The god grew so frustrated that he attempted to defeat his own mind. He dumped water in the deserts and poured lava on the taiga. He ripped open the animals and set fire to the flowers and resolved to destroy the whole world if he could not get what he wanted.
Until one day, when the god finally turned and took in all the damage he had done to his world. His sky cast his world in a hazy film of grey, and ashes stained his land into a colorless, miserable slate.
The god frowned, not used to seeing his world like this. He took a hesitant step forward, listening, waiting. Expecting the hear birdsong, or the wind between trees. The silence that echoed back at him was deafening.
Then, he heard it: a low crooning noise carried to his ears by the wind. By some chance of fate, the god chose to head towards it. With dust tumbling around his ankles and soot smeared on his hands, he approached a fallen spruce tree. It crumbled away from his hand when he touched it, the bark brittle and burned. He stood, ready to turn away when he heard the call again.
It was a wolf, a mere pup. The god studied it from where it lay trapped under the heavy trunk of the tree, taking in the roundness of its face and the little milking fangs that peeked out. The god took in the way its fur was blacked with cinders and the strained whines that escaped it. The wolf blinked up at him, and nestled behind layers of pain and exhaustion and fear, the god knew the wolf blamed him for this.
The god lowered himself, knees pressed uncomfortably into the rocky earth and heels tucked underneath him. It was a position he was wholly unfamiliar with, and he called it kneeling , for it reminded him of a creature curled deep within its own shell.
The god sat with the wolf until it breathed out its last breath, and then he used his own tremendous strength to heave the spruce off of the pup. He gathered the pup into his arms, hands forming a net so that he would not drop it. Again, he had never carried something in this position, which he named cradling , as it reminded him of the way lotus flowers bend around and protect their seeds.
With the body of the wolf pup, the god set to transform it. He kept its round face and little fangs, but he gave it arms and legs like himself. He kept the keen eyes but smoothed skin over its bones. He wrapped the little body in cloth, cut from the clouds and wind. He gave it hair from the wheat fields, long and forever glinting golden.
The god knew that this would be his company, but he did not want it to be another god. Instead, he decided that it could be a goddess, similar but not completely like himself.
And like this, the first goddess was born to the violence of the god.
When he was done, the god took the goddess he had created and traveled far, until he knew that even if he turned back, he would never have to stumble upon the land he destroyed. There, he set the goddess down on the earth, the grass swaying and greeting it. From afar, he watched as his world accepted it, as foxes and rabbits bound up and laid offerings of bone by the goddess’s feet. He watched as birds tucked their best and brightest feathers into its hair, as flowers sprouted from its hands. It was like this that he waited until the goddess could open its eyes and keep him company.
When the goddess arrived, it brought many things with it, things that the god did not know if he ever would have thought of. He did not know if it pleased him or not.
The goddess brought sound, different than the ones the god’s world could create. The god knew of roiling thunderclouds and whistling winds, but the goddess created sound from its own voice. Whereas the god was content to think to himself, to answer his own questions within his mind, the goddess insisted on asking its questions aloud.
“Who are you?” it asked him, one day while he was watching it wade in the water.
He startled, not expecting such an out-of-pocket question. “I am the god.” he answered, voice crackling like hoarse lighting. He was not used to talking at all - his own language foreign on his tongue.
“Then what am I?” It asked, and turned to him, its bright eyes gleaming.
“You are the goddess.” The god answered, not expecting to see its eyes darken and its fangs barred in disapproval. The god was not used to his answers being insufficient.
“I want to be more than that.” the goddess said, kicking up water. The god watched as it waded further into the waves, letting them come crashing around its knees. He watched as it allowed the water to soak into the cloth it wore, confused on why it didn’t just will the water to avoid it.
The goddess turned curious eyes onto the god. “What do you call me? If you needed me to come, what would you call me?”
The god frowned, pondering. He was rarely far away enough to need to call on the goddess. “I suppose I would call you goddess.” He said slowly.
The goddess shook its head, salt water gleaming white on its wheat-field hair. “That will not do.” it declared, “for there could be another goddess. No, I will have to give you something to call me.” And then it sat down in the water, to think of a name for itself under the refractured sunlight.
The goddess sat cross-legged underneath the water until the midday sun was low enough to dip itself into the ocean. As the sky bled gold, the goddess popped up, flinging up sand and shells with delight.
“god!” it called, “I have figured out my name!”
The god, who had nearly forgotten about the goddess’s mission for a name even though it had been only a few hours prior, turned in amusement.
“Tell me then.” He said.
And with great, unsuppressed delight, the goddess exclaimed to the world, “My name is Drista!”
The god smiled, as one would with a small pup. “And what does that mean, Drista?”
The goddess laughed, spinning itself around in the water. Drista grinned at god, skin gleaming with warmth, “Nothing! I created it; Drista means nothing but my being.”
And then Drista stared at god, cocking its head with the same keen eyes the god had seen all those memories ago. “Now, what should I call you?”
The god shook his head. “I will keep god as my name, for there will never be another.”
Drista nodded, though its eyes spoke of sympathetic pain. “You will want a name someday. I can wait.”
And so it continued like this, with Drista making revelations that amused and exasperated god to no ends.
“god!” Drista shouted from atop a mountain one night. It stared up at the stars, little pinpricks of light far out of reach from its little body. Still, it knew that if it really wanted to take one, to rip a star from the fabric of the sky, it could, and so it was content.
“Drista?” the goddess turned, beaming when it heard the rumbling voice of god from behind it.
The god frowned, raking an inquisitive eye over the clothes Drista wore. “What is this?” He asked, reaching forward to touch the gauzy fabric around the goddess’s waist.
“A skirt.” the goddess replied, already predicting the god’s next question. “And this is a vest, and I call this a necklace. Really, god.” it laughed, “there are so many things to be created.”
The god sighed, “why have you called me, Drista?”
“I have decided that I will be a she.” Drista declared. The god felt the world shift to align with Drista’s will.
“You are too many things.” The god groaned, “What does that mean?”
Again, Drista gave the same clueless delighted grin. “Nothing! I have separated us, god, you see, you are a male and I am a female! And we are both capable of the exact same things, but we are not the same! Isn’t that fun?”
The god did not think it was fun. The god thought that it was rather troublesome that Drista wanted there to be so many divides and categories.
“That is not to say I do not like being an it.” Drista said, sensing the god’s confusion. “But I think that she sounds nicer, don’t you think? Now, when you are irritated at me, you can say Drista, that silly goddess, where did she go?, doesn’t that sound right?”
The god did not care much for Drista’s discoveries. In actuality, they felt too sudden for him- how it would not exist one moment, and the next, it would have to be, solely because of Drista’s will. He had created her because he sought company, but she was moving too quickly, acting too rashly.
He resolved to try again.