The lion of Olympus. Hermes, swift of foot, trudged through the dim, shadowy forest, muttering complaints under his breath.
‘Who lives in a place like this?’
An impenetrable forest where trees grew so densely they blocked out all sunlight. At its heart, he’d heard tales of a sage who could read the future. Whether human, god, or some other mysterious something—its true identity was completely unknown. But one intriguing rumor did circulate: this being could see the future.
‘There’s also that rumor about Odin consulting the sage’s prophecy and falling into despair after learning what lay ahead. Is there any truth to it?’
Odin, the god said to possess all wisdom beneath the heavens, was renowned as the wisest among gods. Through his two ravens’ eyes, he watched over everything, understanding all things. Surely such an exalted figure wouldn’t be swayed by some enigmatic entity. Hermes himself had met Odin once on official business; the lone golden iris of Odin’s eye held infinite wisdom, piercing through everything.
‘Well, even if I’m no slouch myself, these rumors are problematic just by existing.’
A god should be an object of admiration for humans. A god should guide humanity. A god should reign above mortals. Humans exist solely to serve the gods.
So how could a superior god have fallen into despair? Hermes shook his head dismissively. It was undoubtedly an exaggerated tale spun by gossip-loving deities. With little expectation, Hermes headed toward the small stone cottage deep within the woods where the sage supposedly resided, following Zeus’ command to verify the truth behind the rumors.
—
“Welcome, herald of Olympus.”
The shabby stone house looked hastily constructed from rough-hewn rocks, devoid of any signs of life or comfort. In its center stood… it. An alien presence radiating no life aura whatsoever. Cloaked in thick fabric, hiding its form entirely, this contradictory existence seemed unnatural, almost otherworldly.
“You were awaited.”
“Are you… the sage of the deep forest?”
“Yes. Though the title is undeserved, it is how people know me.”
The deep-forest sage bowed slightly.
“What exactly are you?”
Hermes eyed the figure skeptically. This wasn’t a creature—it lacked any trace of vitality. Yet it possessed self-awareness, thought independently, spoke, and moved with purpose. Such a paradoxical being was unlike anything Hermes had encountered during his travels across the world. If pressed for comparison, perhaps it vaguely resembled Talos, the guardian deity at the entrance to the Underworld—but Talos didn’t speak. He was merely a mechanical construct obeying orders, not a sentient being like this.
“I am simply… me. Nothing else can define me adequately. I’ve merely seen what shouldn’t be seen, heard what shouldn’t be heard, and witnessed what shouldn’t be witnessed, transforming me into this.”
As Hermes frowned at the vague explanation, he reminded himself that uncovering the sage’s identity wasn’t his priority.
“So, whatever you are, it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is whether those rumors hold any truth.”
“I understand your purpose here. The question you seek answered, the words I must convey—all known to me already.”
“Then speak! Is the rumor true?”
In response to Hermes’ urgent tone, the sage nodded slowly before replying.
“Yes. The Age of the Gods will come to an end.”
“How so? The Sky God merely mediated disputes among us deities in the past. Nowadays, each faction maintains stability while occupying their respective territories. Things seem far more stable now than ever.”
The sage shook its head.
“It may appear stable on the surface, but appearances deceive. The key lies elsewhere.”
“And what might that be?”
“The throne itself—the acknowledged King of the Gods in this world holds immense significance.”
The King of the Gods—a mere figurehead presiding over negotiations between gods, seemingly irrelevant to maintaining the current order. How important could such a role truly be?
“The King of the Gods serves as proof of divine permission for our very existence, a protective barrier shielding us.”
“Protecting us? From what?”
“From life itself.”
The sage spoke softly.
“A god cannot exist without faith. Without believers, we cease to exist. Yet we grew arrogant, intoxicated with power, placing ourselves above all else.”
Pausing briefly, the sage continued.
“Therefore, life questioned why beings dependent on life showed it no respect.”
“Life… do you mean the Goddess of Life?”
The sage nodded.
“Unlike most gods, she exists independently. She is even credited with birthing life itself, making her akin to the origin of this world.”
“The Goddess of Life…”
In Hermes’ mind, an image surfaced of the goddess secluded in her temple, endlessly listening to prayers from countless beings. A detached, unapproachable deity who never interacted with others, only receiving supplications.
Rumors claimed she began locking herself away three centuries ago, refusing visitors altogether. Once the most powerful faith in the world, now reduced to obscurity.
“The Goddess of Life… isn’t she merely another fading deity these days?”
“That cannot be. As long as life persists in this world—or even when it ends and the world crumbles—she will continue watching over it.”
Hermes dismissed the claim outright. Impossible that such a passive goddess, content merely to listen to human prayers, could wield such immense power.
“Could it be… the current Goddess of Life is merely an avatar of the original deity?”
“Ah, so you weren’t aware. Quite regrettable.”
The sage shook its head sympathetically.
“So then… if the Age of the Gods truly ends…?”
“Yes. She has already compiled a list of all gods, deciding which ones to preserve, eliminate, or exile from their positions. By now, the process is likely complete.”
With unnerving calmness, the sage delivered the news, causing beads of cold sweat to break out on Hermes’ forehead.
“Lies! This must be fabrication!”
“Believe as you wish. Whether truth or falsehood, one fact remains certain…”
The sage lowered its voice.
“The six Ancient Gods, children of life herself, have begun distancing themselves from other deities.”
At this revelation, Hermes fell silent. The implication hit home. The Light God and Wind God, once close allies of Olympus, hadn’t been seen around recently. Especially the Wind God, formerly a close friend who enjoyed racing Hermes, hadn’t shown up in months. Reports of various ancient gods ceased reaching the Divine Hall altogether. The truth of the sage’s words became undeniable.
“If this is real… how can we thwart the will of the Goddess of Life?”
“It cannot be done.”
“What?”
“It’s too late. Unless Baal returns, her will stands unshaken. Unless the promised King of the Gods reappears, nothing can stop her.”
“In that case… if all gods unite against her, can we defeat her?”
Do you truly believe that?”
Struck speechless, Hermes recalled ancient whispers. Long ago, all humans worshipped the Goddess of Life as the Mother of All Life, considering her the ultimate deity, the true King of the Gods. Now labeled as faded in influence, what if that perception was false? What if she merely bided her time, orchestrating the downfall of lesser gods?
Can gods oppose someone wielding dominion over all life in this world? Someone capable of nurturing ancient gods as if they were her own children?
Cold sweat trickled down Hermes’ back. It was impossible. The Goddess of Life commanded authority over every living thing. Even now, despite the proliferation of gods sharing similar powers, no other life deity emerged to rival her. Only she held absolute control over all life. Should she desire, snuffing out followers of other gods would be as effortless as flipping a hand. Fighting her would amount to divine suicide.
