As Fria, Goddess of death, ice, and fate, waived her hand in front of the ice sculpture in her bed-chamber, the mirrored surface clouded like frost on a window, then bled into a collage of reds, blues, purples, and blacks, before finally coalescing on the image of the burning city of Dalmarask. The God of Lightning, Laevin, and his grandson, the God of Fire and Madness, Defurge, waged war over the city. Even though Laevin’s bolts were focused on stopping Defurge, plenty of the citizens fell prey to errant discharges of electricity. Defurge’s attacks were directed toward the city; as he beat his wings forward, waves of fire crashed against the city walls, before he thrust his hands in the air and started to bring the very stars down upon the hapless capital.

This battle did not surprise Fria. With her ability to see the river of fate and the chance of any event occurring depending on any other event, she knew that eventually, this would happen. Defurge would destroy one of the other gods’ or goddesses’ capital cities and cause so much devastation that it would force Laevin’s hand. True, this was occurring several hundred years sooner than she had calculated, but that was always a possibility. A possibility that she had accounted for in her other plans.

After shielding himself from another of Defurge’s attacks, Laevin finally closed enough distance to grab the smaller god by the collar and begin pummeling him with closed fists that sparked and cracked the air with each strike. Laevin would not kill Defurge, as Arbiter of the Gods, Laevin had forbade such an action, but once subdued, Laevin would seal Defurge under the very city he destroyed, thinking that he would remain imprisoned for the rest of time. Of course, Fria knew that was foolish, in every branch of the river, Defurge eventually escaped. Normally that would have resulted in a small period of destruction, but after this battle, Laevin would see the folly in the gods and goddesses trying to shape humanity through direct intervention.

Fria wanted this, to finally leave mortals to their own devices and let them grow, live, and most importantly die for their own reasons. There was no other way to convince the dissenting members of the pantheon of the poetry in allowing mortals to choose their own paths. Although death was beautiful, a tear still rolled down Fria’s frostbitten skin before freezing and then sublimating into vapor.

Death was grand, the most unique part of life, because without death, life meant nothing. All of the other members of the pantheon focused on life and the varying aspects of it, but in the end, everything mortal learned of Fria’s embrace. Only at death did their life mean anything. It gave finality and a conclusion to growth. Things that did not die, that just continued to grow, upset the delicate balance that life and death were required to entertain. Few of the pantheon could see that, and no one else besides herself really understood it. Even Chivas, her husband, tasked with cataloging, judging, and sending souls into their next life, didn’t understand death. He understood that an end could lead to a new beginning, but he didn’t feel the soul leaving the body, the confusion that everything was finally over, and the peace that came with knowing it was the end.

Still, death on this scale was not something that Fria enjoyed. There was no beauty in dying to a falling building or conflagration. These deaths, the meaningless haphazard products of destruction weren’t worthy of mortals, and as long as the gods and goddesses continued to mettle in human affairs, deaths like these would be enumerable. Fria had seen in the river of fate, that if the pantheon were to leave the mortal realm, then these collateral deaths would decrease in frequency, and that was gorgeous. So, she put this plan into motion. A plan that sadly culminated in meaningless loss of life but would be only one of the handfuls of destructions that her plan would cause. Still, fewer poor deaths would result from her actions, than if she were to do nothing.

As Laevin finally subdued Defurge, punching him until the younger god lost consciousness, Fria snapped her hand closed, causing the image on the sculpture to dissipate. With another wave of her hand, the mirrored surface frosted over again then swirled with blacks and blues before finally focusing on the image of Chivas’ workshop. Chivas, god of souls and subterfuge, clad in a black suit with lacquered hair that made it look like the black foot of a crow was perched atop his head, sat at his work desk furiously writing in a ledger with a quill pen. Behind Chivas stood a multitude of cages with Ywaigwai—emissaries of the gods—caged within. Chivas had the largest collection of Ywaigwai, a chimera that growled in protest, a steel-scaled hydra that sat placidly, coiled in a ball, and many more, but there was one, his strongest creation, that circled its cage, frustrated.

Raithe paced, flying left and right, up and down. His long whiskers trailed down his serpentine body. He was truly something else, a creation that Chivas had never been able to replicate. Raithe’s short almost vestigial arms and legs were tucked against his side. He was half-dragon and able to pass between the mortal realm and the realm of the souls at will. He eyed Fria mistrustingly. He was so dangerous; Chivas had never once used Raithe as anything other than a pretty bauble to be contained and admired.

“Husband,” Fria addressed Chivas.

“I’m a little busy Fria. There are thousands of souls dying up there. I have so many to sort, even I am having trouble keeping up.” Chivas’ hand blurred as he wrote furiously, categorizing the souls, judging them, and choosing how they would be resurrected in their new life.

“Defurge and Laevin are fighting in the city of Dalmarask,” Fria replied.

With his other hand, the one that wasn’t writing with, Chivas removed a pocket watch, flipped it open, and then glanced at it. “This is way ahead of schedule, Fria.”

“I know it is sooner than we expected, but our plans remain unchanged,” Fria said.

“You told me we still had hundreds of years before Defurge and Laevin’s final confrontation,” Chivas said, absent-mindedly.

“I told you the probability of it happening in hundreds of years. There is no certainty in the river of fate. Every little obstacle causes the river to bend and change course.”

“You don’t need to tell me how fate works.”

“Yet you still seem unable to grasp the concept of probability.”

Chivas sighed and put down his quill, the deaths in Dalmarask must have been slowing, maybe all the people were dead already. He did not shut his ledger, only put his quill back into a pot of midnight-black ink. “And what does the river of fate say now? Are our plans still in motion, or have we doomed the mortal world? Will our champions have time to release the god then destroy him?”

“A little ahead of schedule, but nothing we can’t recover from. I have already laid the groundwork and will make the final adjustments before Laevin decides we all must leave the mortal realm. And what about your part in this?”

Chivas sighed again, looked back at Raithe’s cage, and buried his head in his hands. “Tell me there’s another way.”

“I can’t, all the paths require the same action on your part. Raithe must be freed so that he can create your champion.”

“I should have never created him. He will wreak havoc on the world, maybe even more than Defurge. The number of mortals Raithe kills and tortures will be astronomical.”

“But when he is done, when all the pieces are in place, the mortals will be free of our intervention. They will finally have the will to lead their own lives, make their plans, prosper into something greater than they would be if the pantheon remained and guided their hands.”

“Please Fria, don’t make me do this. Look again at the river, find another way.” Fria’s voice grew fierce and sharp. “You will do this!” Chivas’ shoulders slumped as he took his hands away and he looked instantly ragged and aged. “Release Raithe and tell him how to imbue sorcerers with the ability to cast all magics in exchange for their souls, so the Ywaigwai will be able to live absent the presence of the gods. Then release the other Ywaigwai and tell them the same. Give Raithe as much of a head start as you can muster. His magi need to be the strongest. I will sacrifice my eye and the ability to see fate to create the soul we will require for my champion. Once all the pieces are in place, we will bring them together.”