A Real Goddess Would Let Nobody Die

For thousands of years, Zenik's ancestors had carefully assembled an impeccable lineage, and at last, their efforts had been rewarded. His second son had just been born with red hair and orange eyes! Even the most ignorant of mundanes would be able to perceive these markers of his vast divine power, and show the proper respect. With such a fine heir, Zenik's family would now be indisputably paramount among all the lineages of red gods.

He twitched his hand, and a mundane scurried over, staring at the ground, and prostrated itself.

"Make it known that my son's name shall be Zyriko, and that he is the first red god in history whose divine power is so magnificent that it has marked his body."

The mundane scurried off at once, to do its god's bidding.

Zenik nodded in approval. He could have issued the command using his divine power, but that was too great an honor for so low a creature, and would have deprived it of an opportunity to show proper respect. This one, at least, knew its place.

The belief in these 'Three True Goddesses' among the rabble was becoming truly obnoxious. As if there were any more need for evidence of how witless mundanes could be, so many were convinced that some red goddess could hear their thoughts from across the stars! And respond! Such obvious fraud by whatever red lineage had been amusing itself with this for centuries, and the idiots never questioned it!

----

Zyriko was in agony, but he had a lot of practice at not letting it show.

When he was a young child, he had tried to explain to his parents that he cried all the time because he felt everything the mundanes felt. When the mundanes were punished, he was punished too. His parents had not understood, had refused to understand, and had been disappointed in how softhearted and undignified their heir was.

Zyriko had learned quickly that showing any sympathy at all did nothing but earn scoldings for failing to 'accept his birthright.'

He could not afford scoldings, because they might be accompanied by suspicion and closer supervision. He could not afford suspicion and closer supervision, because those might reveal where his loyalties lay.

So, Zyriko played the perfect heir, and steeled himself. It was not the first time he had been tortured by proxy. He could endure it. He needed to.

Zyriko could not fix this broken world, but he could endure until he found an opportunity to contact someone Who could.

He knew Who whispered to the mundane, Who answered their prayers. It poured off their minds. He himself could feel Her divine power better than anyone, real divine power. He knew how very, very real She was.

Zyriko frantically suppressed a sudden surge of glee and awe. The Red Goddess' attention had just fallen upon his family's palace! It was a relief, but he had to banish that feeling from his mind, too, before his parents noticed. A relief, because the mundane being punished would receive the comfort that a false god like Zyriko was unable to provide her. Zyriko would be comforted, by proxy.

His idiotic parents, in denial as always, ordered an immediate search of the grounds, as if someone had been committed to a worldwide hoax of this magnitude for centuries. This was as much theater for themselves as for the mundanes. Accepting that the Red Goddess was real meant accepting that they were closer to being mundane than to being real gods, and they could never do that.

They could not, but Zyriko already had.

He could feel worship--true worship--and smug satisfaction pouring out of many of the mundanes on the grounds. He hoped that none would be caught.

Zyriko smothered his own feelings, so that his parents wouldn't notice. Perfect heir, nothing more.

One day, Zyriko would find his chance to contact the True Goddess without revealing himself. If She could answer mundanes from across the stars, imagine the conversation She could have if even a false red god like him prayed to Her.

----

For the eleventh time in his life, Zyriko's parents left the palace on an excursion long enough to be usable, without requiring him to accompany them.

Zyriko retreated to his rooms immediately, and tracked their progress. Once he was certain that they were far enough away, he began to pray. The Red Goddess had never responded during his first ten attempts, but it was well-known that She could not always respond. He simply remained on his knees, in a pose that had earned summary executions for mundanes, and waited.

Hours later, he felt Her touch, and offered a connection. After a few moments, his soul buzzed.

"Ahhaak, aht, hahk." He collapsed forward, supporting himself with one hand on the floor, the other held to his chest.

Infinity.

He had never felt so completely exposed, a pebble granted an audience before a star, submitting to examination of its atoms. How could anyone doubt this, lying even to themselves? This True Goddess could erase him with a passing thought, but for now it seemed that She did not mind if he continued to exist. He hoped that his wholehearted worship would please Her, but he would not blame Her if She held false gods in contempt, even unwilling ones.

Then, all at once, Zyriko suddenly felt Her Love, at an intensity no mundane could ever experience.

His limbs gave out, and he fell to the ground, cheek to the floor. He couldn't move. He was limp. He was safe. Understood. Forgiven. Loved. She would never hurt him.

The world he had been born on was broken. It had nothing like this. Still immobilized, Zyriko wept silently.

In his mind, he saw an...offer? He could not understand exactly what it was. Knowledge? He didn't care.

<If I can be remade into something useful to You, make me into it,> he pleaded, and hoped that was enough.

What She had offered began to flow into him, and he understood. It was language, the Language of the Goddesses. His mouth may be clumsy with the words, and he was not sure if he would dare to profane them anyway, but this conversation did not use mouths or ears.

Eventually, he heard Her voice, and understood it.

<Can you understand Me, Zyriko?>

His scalp tingled.

<This one understands.>

She giggled, and he started weeping again.

<There is no need for 'this one.' Please, do not grovel. It is not what We want.>

He inhaled a shuddering breath, his first movement since collapsing. His world was so broken.

<Since you can hear Me more clearly than any could before, I wish to tell you those things which are most important, so that you may tell others. I am aware that My time with you is limited. Do not worry: this connection has already provided Me with much useful information. Thank you. You need not tell Me anything more. Instead, please listen closely.>

Zyriko sighed in relief, and focussed.

<First, this is the most important part of Our Creed: 'Help those who need help, without expectation of reward. Bring to Justice those who lack compassion, cause harm, destroy livelihoods, spread corruption, or exploit the vulnerable. They are anathema to Us.'>

She paused to make sure that Zyriko would remember, as if he could forget a single word of this revelation.

<Second, there are four of Us, although two share a body. The eldest is Izena, the Black Goddess of Justice, Retribution, and Night. The second is Menelyn, the White Goddess of Salvation, Hope, and Day. Those two are fused; Izena lives in Menelyn's body. The third is Me, Izenakee, the Red Goddess of Empathy, Love, and Dawn for the innocent, and Paranoia, Dread, and Dusk for the wicked. The fourth and youngest is Kennalaria, the Violet Goddess of Luck, Omens, and Twilight. Kennalaria was born recently--She is not yet even a millennium old--and so Her divine power is still maturing. She will grow over the many centuries to come, and it is She Who will eventually bridge the divide from Our Sacred Garden to your world. This is the Prophesy of Twilight. It is up to those of your world whether they will know Justice or Retribution, whether Salvation will judge them worthy of Her Compassion or not, whether I will grant Love or Dread, and whether Luck's Omens will be good or bad.>

She paused again. Zyriko supposed that to a True Goddess, the phrase 'not yet even a millennium old' was normal. Perhaps there were no violet false gods because that color's True Goddess was a newborn, by Their standards? This was interesting, but this was not the time for idle curiosity.

<Yes, Kennalaria's power is unique to Her, currently.>

...He couldn't resist. He needed to know. <Did You create the Universe?>

<No. We were born in it just like you, and transcended it. This is related to My last message, a special one for you alone. I will tell you what it means to be a god. 'A god performs miracles that no other could have performed in order to help any who need help, undoes tragedies, and opposes forces which would cause them, using powers unique to him, may be liable to fail in some ways but never in compassion, and serves The Creed relentlessly, seeking any opportunity to be helpful, all with no expectation of reward.'>

Zyriko would need a lot of time to think.

<We love everyone who abides by Our Creed. Everyone. Your parents are anathema. You are not. Do what you can for now, prudently, secure in the knowledge that We will finish your work, in due time. The ascension of My younger Sister is inevitable, a matter of time, and so is Our Intervention. I will break the link now, for your safety. Perhaps in the future, when We have a more secure opportunity to link, I can give you a tour of Our Garden. Do not lose hope if I do not respond. Many matters pull My attention regularly, of which the situation on your world is only one. I will be available when I can be.>

Zyriko knew that there was no need to reply to Her offer. She would know what it had meant to him.

With the link severed, he was able to rise from the ground, collect himself, and consider how to proceed. Most of the mundane could not read. He now understood why he had been born, why he was a...red mage. How else could he broadcast Their Message? This was the sacred purpose of his existence.

----

"A teenager, a red mage strong enough for mana coloring, probably stronger than any red mage that has lived on Our world except Me, and the strongest in the history of his," Izenakee said. "I have a much better idea of the situation. The mages form a kind of aristocracy that styles themselves as deities, ruling by right of their 'divine power,' and demanding total subservience. They are in denial about Us, because it threatens both their world order, and also their own view of themselves. If there are real Goddesses out there, then are they not wholly illegitimate? Would they not need to submit to Us, according to their own philosophy? They cannot accept Our existence without also accepting that they are fraudulent petty despots, so they see what they need to see, tell themselves what they need to tell themselves, and deep down, hope that it's impossible for Us to do more even if We are real. After all, I've been affecting their world for more than a millennium, and have done nothing more than whisper to their slaves so far."

"How do they maintain control?" Izena asked. "If it's anything like here, they should lack the numbers to govern the much larger non-mage population, unless they trend stronger than Our mages?"

Izenakee shook Her head. "Stronger mages like Zyriko are maybe a little more common than here, in the most prestigious families, due to careful very long term breeding, but on the whole the situation is comparable. They maintain control in precisely the same way that Ezenta was enslaved, but on a worldwide scale. The mages have total control over the supply of enchanted weapons and the magic to charge enchantments of all kinds. They grant special privileges to a subset of non-mages, and some of those act as goons wielding enchanted weapons."

"What about mages born to non-mages?" Menelyn asked.

Izenakee searched the memories that She had acquired, and grimaced.

"Some become part of the special privilege group. The ones unlucky enough to be considered attractive become sex slaves, or if they're powerful enough. Maybe it could be loosely translated to 'concubine.'"

After a period of silence, Izena said, "So, when We get there, should I use lightning bolts or fire?"

"The bolts look more like divine judgment. Use those," Kennalaria answered instantly.

No one disagreed.