The Sage of the Deep Forest (2)
“Is there... no other way?”
“Another way...”
The sage paused, choosing his words carefully before speaking.
“If you restore the King of the Gods she desires to his rightful throne, it might quell her wrath.”
“The King of the Gods? But Baal is already...”
“Yes. Baal has been shattered into fragments, and his soul has flowed into the underworld. But that doesn't mean the existence of Baal has vanished completely.”
The sage tapped the table rhythmically as he spoke, and a faint glowing image materialized on its surface—a long serpent devouring its own tail. A symbol of the eternal cycle of life and death, bound in a ring.
“Every soul dies, is reborn, lives again, and dies once more, repeating the cycle endlessly. Even the souls of gods obey this law.”
“So that means... Baal's soul as well?”
“Yes. The soul of the King of the Gods, Baal, will be reborn as a human in three years' time—bereft of all memories of his divinity, reduced to an ordinary mortal. If you guide that soul, train that human properly, lead him down the righteous path, forge him into a hero, and elevate him to godhood as the King of the Gods...”
“Then his soul would return to where it belongs, and her anger might be appeased?”
The sage nodded faintly.
“However, it's merely a possibility. Among the countless futures I see, only a scant few allow for it. Bear that in mind.”
“A possibility...”
“Yes. A future that might come to pass. And one more thing—there is a task you must undertake to delay her wrath.”
Hermes leaned in, ears perked.
“A task? What is it?”
“It takes time for a human to be born, grow, achieve great deeds, and become a hero. But the Goddess of Life might judge all gods at any moment. You must postpone her judgment. Otherwise, the era of gods will end before Baal's reincarnated soul can rise as a hero.”
“Postpone the judgment? How?”
The sage tapped the table again, summoning a new image: a large circle divided into four segments.
“When Baal vanished, the gods seized what he left behind... the Baal Fragments.”
He pointed to each segment in turn.
“The wisdom of the heavens. The power and authority of the heavens. The emotions of the heavens. The body of the heavens. Fragments of the sky god Baal.”
“Those are...”
“You already know that the chief gods of various pantheons—once mere aspects of Baal—claimed them. They were originally subservient to Baal but gained egos, rebelled, and used his fragments to become independent entities.”
“Hold on—chief gods as aspects of Baal? That's news to me.”
“Ah, my apologies. But... you'll learn it soon enough anyway. Consider this a little preview.”
“What do you mean...”
Ignoring Hermes's protest, the sage pressed on.
“In any case, you know these fragments form crucial parts of each chief god. If you return even some of them to the Goddess of Life, it could buy time by sating her anger.”
Hermes hesitated. If the sage spoke true, the power and authority of the heavens belonged to his father, Zeus, king of Olympus. Surrendering it would mean carving out a vital piece of Zeus himself. What would become of a Zeus stripped of such an essential element... Hermes could picture it all too vividly.
“Is there, perhaps, no other way?”
“None. This is the only path.”
Hermes sighed at the sage's firm declaration.
“I see...”
Much of it sounded far-fetched, but one truth stood clear: the gods faced a choice. Sacrifice their chiefs to buy time and secure a future—or march together into oblivion. The former was obvious, yet far from simple. The chiefs might pale against ancient gods, but they dwarfed all other deities. Four such beings... sacrificing them wouldn't be easy.
“One moment. You said returning even some fragments would buy time?”
“Yes, though...”
“How much time for just one fragment?”
The sage pondered briefly.
“It depends on the fragment, but I'd estimate around ten years.”
“Ten years... Then it doesn't matter whose fragment it is?”
“Likely not. To her, only the Baal Fragments matter—who holds them is irrelevant.”
Hermes nodded slightly.
“In that case... have Aesir, Ennead, or Lokapala forces visited you? I heard Odin came...”
“Yes, Odin, chief of the Aesir, came himself. I can't reveal what we discussed. Tot arrived as envoy from the Ennead as well.”
“Tot... that ibis-headed freak?”
Hermes clicked his tongue. Whenever Olympus and Ennead clashed, Tot showed up to meddle—sharp-minded, insufferable ibis-head. Hermes had never liked the god.
“Anywhere else? Any other gods visit?”
“Several came, but only to glimpse their own futures. They care little for the gods' fate as a whole. I've shared this only with Odin and Tot.”
Hermes nodded. In that case... well, Odin and Tot knowing was trouble enough. At least it hadn't reached Lokapala.
“Thanks for the insight. You've given me a thread to pull.”
“I can guess your intent, but heed this advice.”
“Advice?”
The sage nodded faintly.
“Ensure no innocent lives are sacrificed. Do not provoke the Goddess of Life's ire. Remember that above all.”
“Innocent lives... Right. Thanks for the reminder—I nearly overlooked it. I'll take my leave.”
“Safe travels.”
Hermes slipped out of the humble stone hut and hurried toward the Pantheon. He had to prepare—every moment counted. Preparations for the gods' war.
Phew. Seeds planted.
Once Hermes departed, I severed the remote link to the sage puppet.
A rock-carved, remotely controlled golem—that was the sage's true nature.
“Did we really need all this hassle?”
“Yeah. Annoying, but necessary.”
Yggdrasil had helped craft the Deep Forest barrier for the sage. Sagarmata assisted with the golem and hut. The others pitched in too, but these two handled most of it now.
“Mom could wipe out every god in an instant if she wanted.”
“True, but...”
I stroked Sagarmata's head, pillowed on my thigh, as I replied.
“That would spark unified rebellion. They'd fight to the last, no matter the cost.”
Even holding their worshippers hostage, maybe. A roundabout method, sure, but it spared other lives. Total despair bred desperation—like cornered rats biting back. Better to herd them down a narrow, treacherous path than a dead end; it curbed revolt.
“So you're telling them to slaughter each other now?”
“Roughly, yeah.”
Four holders of Baal Fragments: Zeus, Odin, Amun, Indra.
Indra... I'd met him en route, blessing Asterios. Lokapala's chief would likely accept the gods' twilight without resistance—skip him.
Odin had come as a ragged old man, grasped every word as a trap to doom the gods, realized no future remained for them, and left in despair—knowing others would fall for it while he alone saw truth. Rumors said he was holed up in Aesir lands, scheming... whatever. Skip for now.
Amun and Zeus... they'd probably clash in a war of mutual destruction.
The human bearing Baal's soul, born in three years. Forging a true hero would take... thirty years at least. Twenty wouldn't suffice for training alone, let alone earning fame.
They'd offer three fragments to me. Olympus and Ennead, neighbors and rivals, always at each other's throats. Give them reason to fight, and they'd pounce.
“Does turning a human into a god really take this much effort? Mom could just share her divinity, like with Sirius.”
“Only someone like me can pull that off. Ordinary gods wouldn't dream of it.”
Faith was everything to gods. Like HP, MP, XP, and currency all in one for a game. Essential for existence, spent on miracles and power, gathered to grow stronger. Traded between gods like coin.
“In a pinch, they might split their faith—but with alternatives dangling, no chance.”
No alternatives? Maybe. But with this lifeline, they'd never choose it.
Now, watch and wait. Until the gods devour each other in their solitary gu—their venomous worm fight reaches completion.
