Eden: The Garden of Gods

An impatient man dressed in battle attire paces tensely around the large door of the isolated cabin by the river stream, far from the mainlands of Eden. He wears golden armor, but it is smeared with blood. Not just any blood, but the blood of the foul, the blood of demons. It is not red. It is a color beyond description. Yet it complements the gold, radiating nothing but royalty. Truly, an exquisite design for such a grim purpose. The man breathes heavily, both from the weight of the armor and from the weight of the events unfolding.

The cabin is almost a small castle. Calling it a cabin hardly fits its appearance. However, the people of the heavens call it that. It is built with materials that, on the surface, look like ordinary resources from the realm of mankind. But in truth, they are heavenly structures with a definition far beyond any earthly material. The massive doors are ten times the height of a man, guarded by two towering titans who are themselves a third of the door's size. How is this a cabin? Why is the man here? What makes him so restless?

The man is not alone. Behind him stand six hundred more warriors. Every one of them watches him closely. It is obvious he is their leader. Nearly all are stained with the same ominous blood. They have assembled on the bridge before the cabin, standing at attention beneath the overcast afternoon sky. Not a single ray of light breaks through the clouds. Clouds in the realm of gods? Perhaps the mortal world mirrors the heavens, or perhaps it is the other way around.

The bridge stretches far beyond sight. From the man's position, the end of it cannot be seen, obscured by the six hundred heavenly warriors who stand before him. Their expressions mirror his, a silent helplessness perhaps born from their inability to ease his anxiety. Each warrior is accompanied by a war beast, an arion, standing calmly beside its master. It is a massive gathering upon the long bridge. Nearly a third of its length is filled with men and their beasts.

The bridge's edge catches the spray of the river's heavy current. The waters clash against one side of the bridge before flowing beneath it toward an unknown destination. It feels as though a storm is coming. Yet the weather does not concern them. They have walked through war, a war unlike anything before. This is nothing by comparison.

Suddenly, a woman's scream pierces the air from within the cabin. The sound passes effortlessly through the formidable brass doors, adorned with intricate designs, flanked by two Guardians wielding massive battle axes. They look like statues, yet life radiates from them. Still, the scream escapes easily. Any lesser being would have fled, but the man only grows more anxious. He does nothing but stare at the doors, his eyes reflecting helplessness.

"Athanasia…!" he calls out, his voice thick with worry. Sweat trickles down his forehead. Everything about him radiates divinity. He should be calm, composed, cold. Yet now, he looks no different from a mere mortal.

One of the men standing a little distance away approaches him and gently places a hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, sire. It will be all right. The tides of fate seem to be in your favor," the man consoles him.

"Erastos…" the man speaks his name. "How can I be calm? Is my beloved in pain? And I cannot help her?"

Erastos smiles. "It is all in the hands of fate. We can only be patient. A man cannot help in moments like this, I am afraid. Her Highness would not appreciate your presence in there. I am sure of that. You, Highness Zenobios, have faced matters far more dire than this. This is but a moment of celebration."

"Celebration? How can I celebrate her pain? Are you out of your mind?" Zenobios answers sharply, confusion clouding his voice.

"I apologize for my words, but you will hear wonderful news when it is over. Then it will be nothing but celebration. The blessings of my forefathers are with you and Her Highness." Erastos places his right hand on his chest plate and bows deeply, offering sincere respect while trying to give Zenobios some courage.

His full-body armor, crafted from rare gemstones said to grant heavenly protection, is believed to be a treasured heirloom passed down through generations in the Acacius bloodline. The armor radiates a faint purple light, a glow only seen when worn by a godly being. The metal clinks softly as he bows. He places his left hand on the hilt of his sword to keep it steady against the wind. Zenobios glances at the top of his bowed head.

Since when did my general become so wise? he wonders.

Erastos's long black hair dances in the wind. After a few moments, he straightens up, the same confident smile on his face.

***

"Argh!" a woman cries out, not from injury, but from participating in one of the universe's most sacred acts—the birth of life.

Not just any life, but a divine one. She is not giving birth to a mortal, but to an immortal. Why would the divine give birth in the same manner as mortals? Perhaps because the heavens served as a model for the human world. Perhaps it is a way to preserve the link between the sensible and the transcendent. The creation of the universe remains a mystery, and right now, it exhibits one of its greatest miracles.

Dorothea, head nurse of the royal family, holds the woman's hand and gently wipes the sweat from her brow. She offers encouragement.

"Your Highness, you must push harder!" Dorothea's voice trembles, yet she tries her best to inspire her older sister. She gestures with a nod to one of the attending nurses, silently asking about the progress. The youngest of them replies, "I see the baby's head, Lady Dorothea."

Dorothea looks back at her sister. "Your Highness…"

There is no answer. The woman can only scream, overwhelmed by the agony. It feels as though she is being torn apart. The pain, felt by a divine being and not a mortal, is tenfold worse than any mortal birth. A deity enduring a divine pain meant only for the divine. It makes her want to cry out. It makes her want to flee. But she cannot. She knows she is bound to this moment.

Dorothea watches her sister for a moment, then calls out in a stern voice to draw her attention.

"Sister Athanasia!"

The mother-to-be, writhing in pain, finally meets her younger sibling's eyes.

"It is almost over. You just need to give it one more push!" Dorothea encourages her.

Athanasia nods and strains once more. She screams, her voice echoing against the walls, but she does not stop. One of the nurses exclaims, "It's almost out!"

***

An hour passes. The screams do not stop. The wind grows more furious, yet Zenobios remains standing before his six hundred warriors. His general, Erastos, stands nearby with his eyes closed. Is he praying, or simply trying to steady himself?

Then, at last, a final, piercing scream shatters the air.

"ARGH!"

And silence follows.

Zenobios cannot stand still any longer. He rushes to the doors and pounds on them in panic.

"Athanasia! My love! Are you all right?!"

He pounds on the door again and again until a soft clunk sounds from within, as if someone is unlocking it. The door opens slightly, and Dorothea peeks out. Her face is pale and expressionless.

Fear grips Zenobios. He seizes her by the shoulders.

"What happened?! Where is she?! Tell me!"

He shakes her gently, panicked. Dorothea glances at the ground. Then, another nurse steps out, cradling something wrapped in white cloth in her arms. A soft smile lights her face.

Zenobios looks from the nurse to the bundle, then back to Dorothea.

"Huh?" he breathes in confusion.

Dorothea lifts her eyes to meet his. Her blank expression melts into a radiant smile.

"Your Highness… you are now a father. It is a son."

Zenobios's expression shifts. Slowly, he releases Dorothea and steps toward the nurse. She carefully places the newborn into his hands.

In that moment, the wind calms. The clouds begin to part.

Zenobios gazes at the child, tears gathering in his eyes, blurring his vision.

"He looks… just like me," he whispers.

Never in his immortal life has he felt so proud. Never before have tears touched his divine eyes. The newborn cries loudly in his arms. The sound, harsh to any other, is the most beautiful thing he has ever heard. Zenobios leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to the baby's forehead. A single tear falls onto the child.

Athanasia, his wife, his beloved, peeks through the grand doors of the cabin. In that instant, their eyes meet.

Time does not flow in Eden as it does in the mortal realm. A year in Eden equals three thousand years on Earth. After fifteen years of marriage, this is the first time Athanasia has ever seen her husband as the most handsome being alive. His smile melts her heart, making every ounce of her pain worthwhile. With a playful gesture, she encourages him to share this joy with his comrades.

Zenobios, tears streaming, turns toward the six hundred men, all watching with eager eyes. Erastos stands among them, a wide smile on his face.

Zenobios steps up to his general and says, "The Acacius forefathers have blessed me with such a gift," his voice trembling with emotion, so raw it seems the heavens themselves lean closer to listen.

"Give my son a name, brother," he asks, entrusting Erastos with a lifetime honor.

Erastos takes the infant gently into his arms. The newborn, still slick with the blood and fluids of the womb, is only beginning his journey. So much yet to see. So much yet to learn. Erastos whispers softly.

"Vyrian…"

Zenobios feels a surge of emotion as the name falls upon his ears.

Erastos turns to the assembled warriors, raises the newborn high as the rays of the sun fall upon the white bundle and the infant's fair skin, and proclaims with all his might.

"VYRIAN ORESTES, SON OF ZENOBIOS, THE FIRST WILL!"

A legend is born. The next ruler of the heavens, perhaps.

The warriors erupt in joyous cheers. They unsheathe their weapons and raise them high, a salute to the new life welcomed into the world. The arions take flight, their masters riding upon them, trumpets sounding in celebration.

What a sight.