Welcome to Gaia! ::

“Nintu!”

Light shifted along the carpet of grass, then over great fields of moss as the thin legs ran along and pounded small feet towards the base of the World Tree. It was best nearest the tree, where light barely filtered down in greens and gold through the canopy of leaves and limbs. The roots twisted like the braids of Mother’s hair, and were just as numerous.

She was there, cradled against the trunk and seated on an outgrowth of roots that looked like a throne. Her legs were dappled in the light, pale peach against the silvery brown bark. She was resting, some gathering of material on her lap beneath her hands. Universe called again, still running with the unsteady balance of abandon, “Nintu!” Mother looked over, her eyes were gentle, if startled, and shining more green when she recognized the voice.

“Nintu, the light, the light speaks…it is in me…”

“Oh course it is. It is shining over everything it can, and what is not in me is in you.”

“But it speaks .” The little eyes became saucers with the emphasis of the word.

“Why should it not?” Gaia gathered her First onto her lap, paying no mind to the project there. “Tell me what it says.”

“It wants a shape, it says it wants to be, not just Be. Can I give it a shape? “

“Maybe. How would you give something shape that was in you?”

“I ……don’t know….how did You give shape? You made me. You make everything.”

“Not everything…” She blushed, “And not always alone. Your father and I together make many things. ”

“How do you make things together? Do I need father to make things together with me?”

“Not necessarily in the same manner, no.” She laughed. Universe pouted, uncertain of why. “Why not with light itself?”

Universe’s eyes widened again, “I will gather all the light in me, then, and try.” Gaia chuckled, “Of course, my love, of course.”

* * * * * * *
“I know not what to make of it, Mother.”

“Is it so awful?”

“I-, “Universe paused, looking into the mirror of the vanity that it sat at. Bright, heavy-lashed eyes gazed back, lined slightly at the edges with sleeplessness. “I don’t know. He comes often to mountaintops or asteroids and calls for my company. I don’t know what to make of it.”

“Is it wrong that someone should seek to be your friend?” Gaia came up behind her child’s shoulders, reaching over briefly to retrieve her ivory brush. She set to taming the cobalt, gold and indigo mane. Touch had a way of calming her firstborn, of forcing it’s attention and focus to the present. Humanizing, as much as it could be humanized. It was a secret she would, perhaps, have to share with the Dragon who had only just moments before sought her counsel in those same chambers. The same Dragon who was hiding, lest he be discovered, in her servants room with his ear pressed against the door. As long as she could keep her child distracted, which seemed simple enough from the state of it, it would not notice or think to locate the Dragon’s exact location. “Shaiming is one of the Kings, wise and great, he would make a good friend. “

“But the things he says, and how he says them. I do not think it is just my friendship he searches for. “
“What do you mean?”

Universe paused again, looking at Mother’s eyes in the reflection of the mirror. “There are so many compliments, earnest ones. But he feels like he is being truthful, or at least he believes what he is saying. I feel like hiding when he speaks such things. My cheeks burn bright and I lose what replies I have…they just vanish from my tongue. “
“Is he insulting you then? Why don’t you smite him then, or why do you not seek your Father’s counsel for his punishment?”

“No! No, no…Mother, I…” Universe’s cheeks lit with vibrant red starlight. “He says nothing wicked. Nothing to be punished for, unless it is to make me feel strange and awkward. To make my chest hurt.”
“I see, “She put down the brush, loudly enough as though it may be a signal to the Dragon behind the door to listen. “Your chest hurts? Always?”

“No…only when I think of him.”
* * *

Lucius lifted his head from his folded arms on the sill of the arch. The recessed window seat was not very comfortable after enough hours, but he didn’t feel like moving. “Gaia.”

What had been he hopes in coming to him without revealing her nature? Had the weight fallen heavier having discovered their connection on his own? He didn’t really consider it as much a discovery a sudden epiphany. Why had he been reborn before her? Why was he fully restored, while she languished, half-mortal, in some foreign form and mind. Her frustration had been real enough. How it must be strange for that girl, that impudent street girl, to feel anything, let alone protective guidance or disappointment, in him. How she had flown from his room...not literally, but the urge had been plain enough. He knew too closely the urge himself, to not see it. His heart urged him two ways. Something deep screamed at his brain to stand, to find her and kneel before her. Take her hands and kiss them, begging pardon.

The other half was resentful. He had been so long without memory, any recollection at all, that she dared to feel righteous that he should fall in love at all with Harmodius. How could any not? He was not born of their union in this life. Everything was different now. Did the past even matter? It did...more before when he hadn’t known it then now.

No, I haven’t decided how I feel regarding that yet.

Angry thoughts that led to nowhere but more anger and bitterness.

But the love was still there, stranger now for memory, but alive. He could think of it as incest now. Unsurprising behavior among gods as that was, vestiges of what was passed on to him of his host made it carnal, revolting and tantalizing all at the same time. Foxes were not known to split hairs over familial lineage in cases of rarity. They had been the only two, for so long. After that time there had been Gianfar, tempting but not much present, and Byrne, impossible to communicate with on a deep level. What choice had there been but the hero-worship of the quiet, stunning Eldest that had brought them all forth from nothing?

Perhaps justification mattered little anymore. He’d been over it a thousand times in his own head, let alone the explanations to others. Gaia would not care to hear more of it anyway. She had come, gotten her answers, been horrified and left. He would receive no more care from her then from Harmodius himself. At least she could not easily attempt to sew anything else of his. He wondered bleakly if it would be his eyes or mouth, or if it would involve sewing at all. Perhaps just the removal of certain appendages.

But where did it all leave him? She would not look forward to seeing him again. And if they met? Maybe she’d at least get a little joy, from somewhere in the recesses of her memory of yonder ages, that he was listening some and was out and about again to be meeting anyone on the street.

Crispin, that boy that harboured the Dragon King, had been gone for days. Weeks, even. Water had not been home in some time, which the deity thought better of in his current state. He had not moved from his alcove, hidden away in darkness and thought. As far as he felt, he could stay there until the final end of time and remain dissatisfied.

Was it better or worse to have wishes granted? He wasn’t certain anymore, having strived since the first nights if his bonding with his host to remember a past that may or may not matter. But it felt like it was significant, and always had. He had felt lonely, and was now alone. There had been pain then, now there was pain always.

But now, he could remember. Not everything was clear, but celluloid flashes of old film strained though his mind and played against the back of his eyes. His mind was some old, penny-operated, haunted theater come to life in the corners of a sick circus thanks to deliberate payments.


”I am still afraid.” Lucius concluded, looking down at coils sewn through his hands. Hands larger and more masculine then ever they had been in those memories. He was bound, now more then ever, and more definitively. “I am now he, not it. I have wants, have madness, have regret. I am bound, Shaiming....I agreed to it then, but never could I have predicted this outcome. I don’t think anyone did. “

But the Crown? At once Lucius’ heart ached with the thoughts of Creation. But Destruction, he was still raw or close to it as any yet remained. Hardly did that god ever answer to the name Harmodius, but instead existed in the minds of all that existed as a malignant cancer. Were they all making him so? Did not so many seek euthanasia as a release? Or Forest fires, leaving in the wake of heat and death a new promise and wealth of nutrients for new growth? Destruction was not evil, or should not be, any more then he himself should be wholly locked into a male form, bipedal or otherwise. Was Destruction becoming more bound to the whims and belief of mortals and immortal alike as he spent himself on them?

The potential answers were just as disturbing as the memories racking his mind. The knots that tied in his logic and stomach made him wish briefly for Gaia’s arm and counsel, but that feeling itself made it worse. It only opened another whole library of memories and feelings, and the words that blossomed on his lips. Help me Mother; help me to help my Father.

But how much did she herself remember? Would she care anymore? She had not been re-titled Empress any more then he Prince, nor had that waif that left his chamber seemed steeled in wisdom or purpose enough to face a council on such matters. Could he really ask her for help and opinion? Could he ask Tien Lung?

Can I ask anyone? Who would help me ? Already at least two seek for balancing at least, but will they make it in time if nothing is done to support the Crown himself? To pillar what is so quickly changing and falling apart into itself? Destruction must be coming apart....all that Exists only worsens in condition, and he should have slowed the decay or stopped by now. Something is wrong.

What can I do?