The Sage of the Deep Forest: The Messenger of Olympus
Hermes, the swift-footed messenger of Olympus, grumbled inwardly as he pressed through the pitch-black forest.
What kind of godforsaken place is this to live in?
The woods were so densely packed with trees that their thick canopy blotted out every ray of sunlight. At its heart, he had heard, dwelled a sage who could read the future—a being whose true nature was utterly unknown. Human? God? Something else entirely? Nothing was certain about this enigmatic figure.
But one tantalizing rumor swirled around them: they could glimpse the future.
They say even that wise Odin, after hearing the sage's prophecy, fell into despair. Could that really be true?
Odin, the god hailed as the wisest among all, who claimed to grasp every secret under the heavens with the eyes of his two ravens. A being of such lofty stature, despairing over the words of some shady forest-dweller? It seemed absurd.
Hermes himself had met Odin on official business once, and that single, fathomless eye had pierced straight through him, brimming with boundless wisdom.
Sure, I can match him in tricks and cunning. But the rumor itself is the problem.
Gods must be objects of human reverence. Gods must lead humanity. Gods must reign supreme over mortals. Humanity exists for the gods.
For such exalted beings to despair? Hermes shook his head. No doubt, some gossip-mongering gods had blown it out of proportion.
With no great expectations, Hermes made his way to the small stone hut said to house the sage, on the orders of Olympus's king, Zeus. To sift truth from rumor.
"Welcome, messenger of Olympus."
In the center of the shabby stone hut—cobbled together from rough stones, devoid of any hint of life—it sat. An utterly alien presence, utterly lifeless.
Draped in thick cloth that hid its form.
"I've been expecting you."
"You're... the Sage of the Deep Forest?"
"Yes. An overly grand title, but that's what they call me."
The sage dipped its head slightly in greeting.
"What are you, exactly?"
Hermes eyed the figure with deep suspicion, doubting and doubting again. This was no living creature. No spark of vitality emanated from it. Yet it possessed a self—a thinking, speaking, moving will. A paradoxical existence. Something that didn't belong to this world.
Even he, Hermes, who had roamed the world as Olympus's herald, had never encountered anything like it. The closest comparison might be Talos, the guardian deity at the gates of the underworld. But Talos was mute, a mere animated puppet carrying out orders. It didn't move with the volition of a living being.
"I am myself. Nothing more can explain it. I simply became this way after knowing the unknowable, hearing the inaudible, seeing the invisible."
Hermes frowned faintly at the sage's vague ramblings. No, its identity wasn't the point right now.
"Fine. Whatever you are, it doesn't matter to me. What's important is whether the rumors are true."
"I know. I know why you've come. What answer you seek. And what I must say."
"Then speak. Is the rumor true?"
The impatient Hermes was met with a slight nod from the sage.
"Yes. The age of the gods will come to an end."
"Why? The old sky gods merely mediated squabbles between pantheons. If anything, things are more stable now, with each faction holding its domain."
The sage shook its head.
"It may look stable on the surface. But that's not what matters."
"Then what does?"
"The King of the Gods. The throne recognized by this world itself. That seat is what matters."
The King of the Gods. Baal, who had merely sat upon the divine throne, arbitrating among the others. A figure whose absence hadn't disrupted the world at all.
How could that be so crucial?
"The King of the Gods was proof of the gods' right to exist—the bulwark shielding them."
"Shielding them? The gods? From what?"
"From life."
The sage spoke softly.
"Gods cannot exist without faith. Without believers, they vanish. But the gods grew arrogant, intoxicated with their own power, placing all beneath them."
The sage paused to catch its breath, then continued.
"And so life pondered: these pathetic gods, who depend on life to survive—why do they not respect it?"
"Life...? You mean the Life Goddess?"
The sage nodded.
"Unlike other gods, Life existed in and of itself. Nay, as the creator of all life in this world, she is akin to the world's very origin."
"The Life Goddess...?"
Hermes's mind flashed to the image of the goddess holed up in her temple, heedless of all others, listening only to prayers from living beings. A god who shunned all contact save prayer. An inorganic deity.
Rumors said she'd suddenly secluded herself in the temple some three hundred years ago. Once the object of the world's mightiest faith.
"Isn't the Life Goddess just a fading deity now?"
"Impossible. As long as life persists in this world—or even if it perishes, even if the world ends—she watches over it all."
Hermes rejected the sage's words. No way. A god who merely answered prayers without ruling could not be so mighty.
"Do you not know? The current Life Goddess... is merely an avatar of the ancient one."
"An... avatar...?"
"It seems you didn't know. A pity."
The sage shook its head slightly, with what seemed genuine regret.
"Th-then... the end of the gods' era means..."
"Yes. Life has compiled a list of all gods: those to spare, those to slay, and those to cast from their thrones. Ah... it's probably finished by now."
The sage spoke with eerie calm and composure. Hermes, by contrast, began to sweat profusely from his brow.
"L-lies! You're making this up!"
"Believe what you will. Truth or falsehood, as you like. But one thing is certain..."
The sage's voice dropped to a murmur.
"The six primordial gods—children of Life—have already begun distancing themselves from the others."
Hermes fell silent at those words. He had his suspicions from what the sage said.
The gods of light and wind, once close to Olympus, had not approached in some time. The wind god especially, who used to race with him for fun—a close friend—had vanished these past few months.
News of the other ancient gods had ceased reaching the Pantheon.
The sage spoke truth.
"I-if that's really true... how can we thwart the Life Goddess's will?"
"You cannot."
"What?"
"It's too late. Unless Baal returns. Unless the King of the Gods she promised returns."
"Th-then... if all the gods unite their power to defeat the Life Goddess..."
"Do you truly believe that?"
Hermes had no reply to the sage's question.
He'd only heard the tales, but long ago, all humanity had worshipped the Life Goddess—the Mother of Life—as their supreme deity. The god above gods. The true King.
If she wasn't truly in decline, but merely biding her time with an avatar...?
And now, when the moment came, she moved to execute the gods...?
Could the gods stop her? This being who had nurtured the ancient gods—themselves on another plane—as her own children?
Cold sweat trickled down Hermes's back.
Impossible.
What the Life Goddess held was all life in this world. Even as the number of gods swelled endlessly, with duplicates of similar powers emerging, no other god of life had arisen.
She alone commanded it all.
If she willed it, stripping faith from gods who relied on other worshippers would be as easy as flipping her palm.
To fight her was suicide for any god.
