Part 1

  The streets of Vutenia bustled with lively cheer as the entourage of the Jolly Saint made their way toward Geddi city’s famous National Academy. Better known simply as the Academy.

  The Academy stood as a marvel of architecture, its towering walls seemed to reach toward the heavens. It was said to be the heart of learning in Vutenia. The scholars of Vutenia were considered some of the brightest minds in the known world and the Academy was the largest academic centre in all of Vutenia. Every form of knowledge was housed in its great libraries. From simple shamans to soldiers, they all received crucial training and learning in this facility.

  Today, those hallowed halls awaited the words of San Nikolas, who had been invited to share the philosophies and beliefs of his people. The grand lecture was scheduled for later in the afternoon, but first, there was time for a small respite—lunch.

  The first priority after passing through the grand 8-metre gates was making their way to the facility's most celebrated restaurant renowned for its culinary delights. The air inside was warm and inviting, filled with the aroma of spiced stews and freshly baked bread. The group settled into a large table near a window, the patrons' chatter created a lively backdrop.

  The menu was a treasure trove of local delicacies. After some deliberation, they ordered Sima, a delicious dough-like meal made from ground maize flour, and a large assortment of fish and beef stew pots accompanied with all sorts of vegetables for their choosing.

  As the food began to arrive, the conversation turned to the purpose of their visit.

  “The Academy is unlike anything we have back home,” remarked Rupert, one of Nikolas's subordinates. His gaze drifted to the grand 8-metre-tall gates still visible in the far distance through their window. “The scale of its size is astounding. Truly a massive centre of learning.”

  San Nikolas smiled warmly. “A gathering of intellect and inquiry is a gift. I hope our words today spark new thoughts among them, and perhaps a better understanding of what we hold dear.”

  “And if they don’t?” Ranga asked, raising an eyebrow as he took a bite out of his Sima. “Do you think they’ll just up and join your faithful?”

  "Ranga. Be more polite." Prince Zuma tried to curb his brother’s blatant portrayal of doubts. It was a rude gesture even if the question may have been merely earnest curiosity. Vutenia already had a rich spiritual culture and a strong relationship with their gods.

  Ranga and Zuma were testament to that since being of royal blood meant they were bound to Vurai, Chief God of the stormy skies.

  It seemed pointless to try and convince them to embrace new ones. There were already too many as far as Ranga was concerned.

  Nikolas chuckled softly. “It is not my role to decide what people think. I simply speak the truth as I understand it and leave the rest in the hands of the Most High. Conviction comes not from persuasion but from revelation.”

  “How many have you converted so far?” Aisha asked curiously, her tone light but her eyes betraying a deeper interest.

  Nikolas’ expression grew thoughtful. “I’ve never truly counted. The number seemed unimportant to me.”

  Oraki, seated at the edge of the table, remained silent, his focus fixed on his knees. Scratches marred the skin, cleaned and treated but still tender and slow to heal. His fidgeting drew the attention of another one of Nikolas’ aides.

  “Allow me to help,” the aide offered, reaching into a pouch for a small jar of ointment.

  Oraki hesitated but nodded, and the aide applied the salve with practised care. Placing a hand lightly over the wounds, they murmured a prayer. A soft, golden light emanated from their hand, and within moments, the pain subsided. The scratches faded into painless scabs, the healing process accelerated far beyond its natural course.

  Great Mekari along with the other veterans among his squad of soldiers exchanged impressed glances.

  “Your healing is remarkable,” one of them said.

  “Even in a foreign land, your potency is undiminished.” Mekari added.

  “Healing is one of the greatest gifts of our God,” Nikolas replied, his tone reverent. “It is said He can heal not only the body but the soul itself.”

  Aisha leaned forward, her interest piqued. “Even the most damaged of souls? Is such a thing possible?”

  She inquired with a measured gaze that perfectly hid her roused eagerness.

  Nikolas’ gaze turned thoughtful. “If they truly wish for it, then He shall deliver them from their torment. But it is no easy feat. The path to healing often requires facing the deepest truths of oneself.”

  “Why do you ask?” he inquired gently, his eyes searching hers. “Do you know of a soul in need of such deliverance?”

  Aisha’s expression closed off almost imperceptibly. “I was just curious,” she replied, leaning back in her chair.

  The others accepted her response without question. Unfettered curiosity was akin to breathing when it came to her. However, Nikolas remained unconvinced. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of desperation that seemed at odds with her casual words. The Spirit of the Most High stirred within him, hinting at a deeper story. He resolved to learn more in time, once trust and understanding had grown.

  For now, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and the group enjoyed their meal, their laughter and camaraderie mingling with the hum of the restaurant. Beyond the window, the Academy stood waiting, a reminder of the tasks that lay ahead. The afternoon would bring new challenges and opportunities, but for now, they savored the moment, gathering strength for what was to come.

  Part 2

  In the windy deserts beyond the northern border of Vutenia. A hidden tent stands as the temporary abode for a certain divine vessel.

  In the dark shade of this tent, he crouches in front of a bronze statue of the divinity he pledges alleigance to. Their people would call them Herms.

  He chants the words of prayer:

  “Great Hermas. He who walks endless roads. He who reveals endless paths. Your vessel awaits guidance to the summit. To Olympiakos.”

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  In an instant, his mind shifted from the comforting shadow of the dark room to the brilliant light of golden clouds surrounding a dazzling sun.

  Beneath them stood a towering palace of silver and gold.

  Looking around he saw towering spires of gold-laced marble and brilliant emerald fields at their base. In the background were mountainous peaks bathed in clouds.

  There was no doubt about where he stood.

  “Welcome to Olympiakos, my faithful servant. Welcome to the Divine Mount.”

  These words abruptly echoed through his mind mere moments before the platform he was standing on suddenly raised itself to the top of the gleaming palace.

  What lay atop this palace was a Sun-bathed gathering place of the great pantheon of Olympiakos.

  Divine spirits that were once worshiped across the entirety of the Northern Continent.

  They now stood above him in all their splendour.

  Great Hermas. Messenger of the Gods who boasts immeasurable speed and guile greeted his servant once again.

  “Welcome. My little Stefan. You now stand before the Pantheon to give report of your mission. My fellow divinities await news of your exploits.”

  “ Enough pleasantries Hermas. You’ve delayed us long enough.”

  The thunderous voice belonged to Lord Deus. Chief God of the divine pantheon.

  “Stefan. What did the dealings with the Vutenian High King yield.”

  Stefan took careful measure of each word before he spoke.

  “ He refuses to aid us in our cause but promises to not interfere any further in our efforts to capture San Nikolas.”

  “And the troops tasked to protect him.?”

  “He refuses to have them withdraw but will not provide any support to them should we attack them.”

  “So you’ve yielded nothing!? Do you even know who they have on his guard duty!?”

  Stefan paused a bit before continuing meekly.

  “ Great Mekari, your grace.”

  “What!? Vutenia’s strongest!? Does he think we’re fools!?”

  Arayes, the god of war, could not help but lament such revelations.

  Mighty Deus reigned in his passionate son’s ire.

  “Now is not the time for lamentations. It was almost a given that we would be met with some resistance. This is also an opportunity to weaken a potential nuisance should our domain expand into the Southern Continent’s lands. ”

  “Of course, all of that relies on us dealing with our current threats first.”

  Hermas added onto Deus’ observation.

  “We’ve already sent some of our fiercest beasts and creatures to aid you in your endeavor to capture San Nikolas. It is imperative you weaken any attempts of spreading the Most High’s influence.”

  “Don’t call that invader by such a blasphemous name, Hermas!!!”

  For a brief instant, sparks of golden lightning emanated from the Chief God sitting on his throne.

  “Apologies. Lord Deus…”

  Stefan was lost for words. He had known of Lord Deus’ famous wrath but he had never seen him so distressed.

  Lord Deus continued from where Hermas left off.

  “Remember this, Stefan. You already failed to subdue him in the desert lands of Soma and now you lack the resources to attempt so again. This next mission will be your last chance. San Nikolas and those like him worship a being that threatens the sovereignty of our Pantheon. Primordial Chaos is already shifting its response to favor that being’s authority above our own.”

  “Should He gain more followers. We would be in a blatant disadvantage in terms of divine authority. This means you divine vessels will be unable to maintain higher control over the rest of the lands that still worship us.”

  “It is imperative that you capture San Nikolas. Just as your comrades have been sent after other messengers of that being. This is a war. A spiritual war that will shape the framework of your future.”

  Hearing the dire stakes, Stefan could not help but ask.

  “Pardon my inquiry, but why not kill him instead of simply capturing him.”

  Athena, goddess of wisdom was the one to reply.

  “Killing him will merely inspire martyrdom. We must kill his legacy and show the populace the true weakness of those who follow this being that dares say he is the One True God.”

  “So capture him and bring him to Olympiakos. We shall have Fair Aphrodites bring out his true nature.”

  Arayes was the one to reveal this final gambit.

  Stefan knew well the true horror of one caught in Aphrodites’ embrace. Those who gazed upon her beauty whether living or dead were hers to entrance in obsessive madness or undying devotion.

  None could truly escape her charm. Even the gods themselves had to be careful not to be seduced.

  Stefan had been avoiding meeting her gaze as much as possible. No more than a glance had been exchanged, yet he could still feel the intensity of Aphrodite's fierce stare bearing down on him.

  She knew how much he was avoiding looking at her. She found it delightful.

  Such was the being who would bring out the carnal natures of San Nikolas and disillusion the populace.

  Stefan could not help but wonder if they had become too desperate.

  “In addition to those beasts. We’ve sent some mystic tools to help make it easier to finish this task as quickly and secretively as possible. I trust you’ll use them well.”

  “Yes. Mighty Deus.”

  “Very well. This summit is over. You may leave.”

  Stefan was relieved at Mighty Deus giving those words.

  “Alright Stefan. Let’s go.”

  “Good luck on your endeavors, Stefan. I hope to hear good news.”

  He could feel his heart skip a beat.

  Not even an instant had passed and already she was standing by his side.

  Her voice was so soothing and so permeating that he lost his wits for a moment and nearly looked at her.

  “Y-Yes.” He mustered those words as he struggled to hide his terror.

  “Don’t scare my vessel, Aphrodites. Let’s get your mind back home Stefan.”

  Hermas placed his hand on Stefan saving him from the clutches of Love’s cold touch.

  In an instant, the view in front of him shifted back to the dark embrace of his shelter outside Vutenia’s Northern Border.

  He went to sit down and gather his mind on what had transpired.

  “Just how long will this struggle go on. We’ve been at a stalemate for decades now and it just keeps getting harder…”

  He felt like his purpose as a vessel of Hermas had been reduced to being little more than a petty soldier. Years of fighting and still more to come. He could not help but feel exhaustion.

  “Don’t let the pressure bother you too much. The gods won’t admit it but they’re scared.”

  “Lord Hermas?”

  Stefan could feel his presence and soothing voice.

  “You know it as well as I do, Stefan. All of this is just part of the cycle. The cycle of fate that the Pantheon of Olympiakos is bound to.”

  “ The succession of divinity…”

  “Exactly. Just as the Great Primordials, the first of the divine, lost to their scions known as the Titans, and the Titans lost to us Divine Spirits, we too now face a being that would overtake us. That is the Pantheon’s fear.”

  “What about you, Lord Hermas? Do you think history will repeat itself…?”

  Hermas let out a light laugh at the question before answering.

  “After all, it would be rather poetic for a Primordial like The Most High to reclaim lands that once belonged to his kind. Fate loves that sort of thing.”

  “...”

  “Regardless, we must do our best to protect our supremacy. Even if we resort to nefarious deeds. Ruthlessness is our only recourse. I hope you understand that.”

  “I do.”

  Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if his success would mean as much as they thought it would. He was but a single drop in a stream. Whether he won or not felt irrelevant in the long run.

  However, he cast aside such thoughts for his duty still remained. He hoped it would be enough.

  “I assume I’ll meet the envoy tomorrow.”

  “Indeed. They’re a very eager bunch. I’ll give you instruction on how to use the tools for your infiltration once they arrive. Rest up for now. You have a busy few days ahead of you.”

  “Indeed, I do…”