In the realm of creation and shadow, balance was everything.
Above the mortal world of Demos stretched the radiant kingdom of Prism, home to the gods and goddesses who wove the threads of fate and light.
Far below, in the blazing depths of Brim, the demons ruled beneath rivers of fire and shadow.
And between these two worlds walked David Denver-Smith, son of the divine — a god among mortals.
David's power was unlike any other. He possessed God-Speak — a voice that could make reality bend to his words. Whatever he spoke came into existence, whether he intended it or not. A whisper could raise storms; a single word could alter destiny.
Yet, despite his divine heritage, David did not dwell in Prism.
He chose instead to remain on Demos, the fragile land suspended between heaven and hell, where mortals struggled and dreamed under the watch of unseen deities.
In Prism, the divine court ruled with radiance and pride.
Their domains shimmered across the sky like constellations of power:
Socus, God of Souls, who guided the spirits between life and afterlife.
Rhexenor, God of Resurrection, whose hands could pull the fallen from the veil of death.
Kletios, God of War, forever crowned in flame and steel.
Cleonicus, God of Clear Skies, who swept away storms with a breath.
Harmocydes, God of Hatred, whose heart burned with unending fury.
Valta, Goddess of Light and Queen of Angels, whose wings shone like dawn itself.
Elpis, Goddess of the Sun, radiant and eternal.
Arete, Goddess of Luck, smiling upon both fools and heroes.
Parina, Goddess of Pride, veiled in beauty and arrogance.
Fatalie, Goddess of Light Fate, who spun destinies bathed in golden threads.
Aigle, Goddess of Law and Judgment, keeper of divine order.
And yet, where there was light, there was always shadow — for Prism had its darker mirror:
Monoecus, God of the Moon, guardian of secrets and silence.
Balius, God of Misfortune, whose laughter followed tragedy.
Thazerin, God of Dark Angels, commander of the fallen host.
Gelo, God of Forgiveness, gentle even among darkness.
Akantha, God of Judgment and Balance, the unflinching arbiter.
Fayark, God of Dark Fate, who rewrote destiny in black ink.
Eutropius, God of Dark Law, whose decrees none could escape.
Sappho, Goddess of Death, serene and unyielding.
Zosime, Goddess of Jealousy, whose touch corroded love.
Charmion, Goddess of Tranquility, calm even amid chaos.
Ligeia, Goddess of Storms, whose tears became thunder.
Demetria, Goddess of Love, fierce and eternal.
And above them all reigned the Mother Goddess, the first light and last shadow — the source from which every god and goddess was born.
It was within this vast tapestry of light and dark that David, son of Denver, moved between worlds.
He was the bridge — god-born but earthbound, carrying the weight of divine speech and mortal compassion.
And his presence on Demos would one day entwine his fate with that of another — Tourtaki, King of Brim — forever altering the balance between heaven, earth, and hell.
Part 2- Prophecy of the God-born
Whispers rippled through the heavens.
The gods and goddesses of Prism had begun to notice the young man walking among mortals — a being who carried power like their own. His words shaped reality. His will bent the threads of fate. And yet… he was not one of them.
The Mother Goddess, the first light and creator of all divinity, was long gone. None remembered when she vanished, only that her absence left a hollow silence in the heavens. Many of the younger gods had even forgotten her name, their worship replaced by pride and self-preservation.
Without her guidance, the Council of Prism was called into session for the first time in centuries.
Every god and goddess gathered in the Hall of Echoes — a great chamber suspended in starlight, its walls alive with the memories of every word ever spoken by divinity.
There, the two keepers of fate took their place before the council — Fatalie, the radiant Goddess of Light Fate and her brother Fayark, the God of Dark Fate, whose eyes were forever hidden beneath soft white bandages.
Fatalie's hair shimmered like threads of silver light, her eyes the calm blue of morning skies.
Fayark stood beside her, silent and still, his black hair cascading like ink, his bandages faintly glowing with pale blue light beneath them — the last echo of sight taken so he could see destiny without distraction.
Together, they opened the ancient tomes of prophecy, searching through time itself for answers. Pages turned by invisible hands. Whispers of forgotten futures drifted through the chamber.
At last, Fatalie's voice rang out, clear and steady:
> "There is one truth — one prophecy written by the Mother Goddess herself."
And Fayark, though blind, spoke the words in unison with her, as though reading from a memory older than light:
> 'When the world trembles and light forgets its source, a child born between breath and word shall rise.
He will bear the tongue of creation and the heart of choice.
Through him, all realms shall either be saved… or undone.'
The council fell silent.
Some, like Valta, Queen of Angels, and Elpis, Goddess of the Sun, believed the mortal David Denver-Smith to be a herald of balance — perhaps even a chance to restore the missing Mother Goddess herself.
But Parina, Goddess of Pride, scoffed at the idea of a mortal rivaling divine perfection.
And Harmocydes, God of Hatred, struck the crystal floor with his blade, voice shaking the heavens.
> "A mortal with god-speech? That is not salvation — that is heresy!"
The council erupted in chaos.
Yet two figures stood apart, unmoved by the storm — Akantha, the God of Judgment and Balance, and Sappho, the Goddess of Death. From the edge of Prism's great balcony, they watched in silence as divine voices clashed.
Sappho's dark veil drifted like smoke. "You knew this would come," she whispered.
Akantha's silver gaze fixed on the horizon, where Demos shimmered between light and shadow.
> "The scales always shift," he said quietly. "It is only a matter of when."
They said no more.
For deep within their divine hearts, they already understood what the others did not:
David was not a mistake. He was inevitability — destiny beginning to awaken.