The Golden Flower
When she finally believed you when you said, “You don’t believe in love anymore.”
Golden Adite, The Heart of Humanity, was the deity of love and want. The radiance of the heavens, they blessed the world with connection and inflamed the heart. Adite was among the most powerful of the gods of humanity, a powerful light that rivaled the sun.
But masked by The Heart’s brilliant light was a sinister sibling. When you met Adite, you could feel the creature lurking in the shadows. Just for a moment—a terrible, cold, and numb moment—you would know for sure that a monster was there. Then the feeling would fade, and you would forget as you basked in Adite's warm golden light.
It's a peculiar thing when a deity starts to doubt themself. It's not like how it happens to mortals, with all your crying, moping, and growth. Your destructive power is chained, limited by your imprisonment on the earth. You cannot destroy much on a cosmic scale, and your struggle is slowed by your complexity.
Gods are much simpler beings. We are concepts, manifestations of thought created by the belief of mortals. To doubt oneself doesn’t just affect our identities but our very state of existence. When this happens, we are more destructive. We are not chained like you. We are not strong like you.
Thus Etida, The Void of Apathy, was freed on the day doubt overcame Adite. When she finally believed the lies whispered in the dark: that romance was dead, that art was pointless, that friendship was shallow. When she finally believed you when you said, “You don’t believe in love anymore.”
Etida first manifested as a dark fog that tinted your skies. Over the years her power grew, and as her power grew, so did her gall. Momentum is crucial in the struggles of heaven, and Etida struck as soon as she saw Adite lose her footing. The Void of Apathy called for a storm—a storm of shadow and cold and darkness and everything empty in the world. Her storm consumed everything: the color, the stars, the joy. Etida would not be satisfied until nothing remained, in an attempt to fill the gap within her.
Adite, too weak to directly stop her now, called down to the human cities. They called for champions to battle Etida’s storm.
Four answered their call.
The first was an attractive Bachelor. He was a passionate soul who had captured many hearts and had many loves. His features were almost divinely perfect, and he was granted the power of Adite. He stepped forward, a conqueror of men and women alike, wielding a burning golden sword.
“Etida!” he called to the darkened skies. “I challenge you with the fires of my passion.”
The skies only laughed.
So the Bachelor swung his sword, cutting apart the clouds themselves. For a few beautiful moments, the skies cleared, only for darkness to return again. He attacked and attacked, but each swing only tired him and seemed to embolden the Void. Eventually, when his sword was shaved to nothing and he was withered and old, Etida destroyed him.
The second was a famous Bard whose voice rivaled angels and gods. She adored her craft and lived for her moments to sing, dance, and play. Her art was almost divinely perfect, and she was granted the power of Adite. She stepped forward, the voice of men and women alike, wielding a golden lute.
“Etida!” she called to the darkened skies. “I challenge you with the passion of my music!”
The skies only mocked her.
So the Bard sang, her soul waving through the air and chasing back the fog. As the light returned, the people would look upon the Bard and cheer. But as the darkness cleared, the Bard found a new one worming into her mind—a relentless doubt and a void to be loved. She continuously tweaked her song, and her soul disconnected from her music. Eventually, when her voice had lost its individual spark and her art became a science, Etida destroyed her.
The third was a beloved Queen—a ruler who had been popular her entire life. She was regal, but not haughty. She was mighty but not cruel. She was cunning but not cold. She was almost divinely inspiring, and she was granted the power of Adite. She stepped forward, lord of men and women alike, wearing a beautiful golden crown.
“Etida!” she called to the darkened skies. “I challenge you with the love of my people!”
The skies were silent.
So the Queen rallied her subjects and radiated a brilliant light that almost killed the skies. The power of a unified populace brought a glorious light to the Earth. Alas, unity was short-lived. It started on the periphery, the cynicism that nibbled away at the Queen’s glory. It grew stronger, and with each moment it turned another soul. Eventually, when the Queen’s light had melted away and her people abandoned her, she slumped with humanity, and Etida destroyed her.
The fourth was a young Father from an irrelevant village. He looked at the skies with sadness as he swaddled his crying child. His child's warmth created a stark contrast with the cold of the world around him, and in this moment he made a vow. He handed his child to his countrymen and stepped forward.
He was not divine but was granted the power of Adite. But she was weak now. He stepped forward, not with a fabulous sword, or a beautiful instrument, or a mighty crown, but with a small golden flower.
“Etida,” he whispered to the darkened skies. “I am here.”
The skies sneered at the challenger and his feeble flower.
“You think you can kill me? When all the others failed?”
“I do not.”
The Father knelt and planted his flower into the ground. The ground glowed gold for a moment with roots, then faded. Etida roared with bloodlust and, in a show of excess, brought the entire force of her storm down on the man.
Yet… she couldn’t kill him. She poisoned his mind with fears and doubts. She flogged his body with pains and aches. She drained his life with cold and sorrow. But the Father only had eyes for his flower, and from its light, he found warmth and strength.
Etida could have taken the rest of the world. She could have taken the cities, perhaps even the Father’s child, but in her rage and in her pride, she could not accept such defeat. She had decreed that nothing would remain—not even a pathetic mortal and his flower.
The world recovered as she was preoccupied. The Father grew old, but he was content. He did not beat the Void of Apathy, he bound it. Not with passion, not with adoration, not with community, but with love.
Many years later, when the Father’s breaths grew thin and head grew weak, he felt a warm and familiar touch embrace him. A young woman had walked through the shadow—an echo of the woman the Father had once married. The Father’s daughter, young and composed, planted her flower next to his.
The Father looked at the new flower, a beautiful question in his eyes. His daughter only smiled.
“I thought you should see him and rest.” The Daughter kissed him on his forehead. “It is my turn now.”
The Father left, his heart alive with pride at the woman his daughter had become.
Etida roared with delight as the Father left. If she could not break the Father, she would break the Daughter.
The Daughter sensed this and gave a cheeky smile to the skies. Then a Mother got to her knees and stared at her own flower, determined to protect its warmth.