How Divine is Thou?

Forgotten

You've probably never heard of me. Which is for the best, or so I'm told. I don't even know why I bother anymore. My name stopped appearing in books hundreds of years ago. Always 'that one son of Ischia' but never my name. They know all my misdeeds; the war, the burning of the Letcher Forest (not my fault), or the burning of the Crystal Palace (which was definitely my fault).

But they never talk about the good I did. Modern medicine wouldn't even exist without my influence. Neither would raspberry bushes. They would have taken forever to figure out heat without me. But they still pray to their silly fantasies.

Let me tell you about gods. They aren't nice. Kindness, for the sake of kindness, is as nonexistent as their insecurities. They are full of themselves, and if you want the hard truth, they aren't watching over you. They hardly even know mortals exist. That is, until they need something that will most likely end with you in the Realm of the Dead.

I've spent a lot of time studying mortals. I live amongst them, pretending, no, faking normality. When someone gets suspicious, I leave. In desperate times, I retreat to The Boiling Desert and catch up on the Godly side of things with my cousin, and, in my humble opinion, the only tolerable God, other than my mother on the best day of the millennia.

It was on one of these occasions that I met Nyx. He was a mortal, as most are. I was looking to occupy myself on a nicer day in the desert, which was still scolding hot. You would think being a son of a fire Goddess would make me enjoy the heat, which I normally do, but this desert, in particular, was miserable.

I spent most of the day at Sareen's tent. I had known her since she was just a few months old, and she was the only person who knew of my lack of mortality. Now, she was an old woman with great-grandchildren on the way, still making pottery for the locals.

After wiping her hands throughly on a very dirty towel, she inspected the clay she had been working on. Once she deemed it presentable, she stopped the spinning wheel. "What has you're mind troubled today, Signor Fiamma? Family? Perhaps a girl?"

I used to blush like a schoolboy at Signora Sareen's questions. Nowadays, I simply rolled my eyes and answered, "Nothing too important. It's just that Piccola Pantera has been awfully sluggish lately. I'm a bit worried about her."

"She's a tough old cookie," Sareen assured me. Then, her eyes flicked just past my right shoulder, and her eyes sparkled with joy. Following her gaze, I spotted two people, a man and a woman, talking to each other. They wore the same uniform. The man wore a thin vest that only covered his torso without extending to his arms. The woman's uniform was only different in that it wasn't cut in as deep of a V. Otherwise, they could've been identical.

"Officers," I said. "Haven't seen those in forever. Perhaps the crime rate will finally start going down."

"Well, with Warden Hank sacked, the new guy is doing a pretty good job." Sareen's oldest granddaughter, Tholnia, walked up, kissing her grandmother's cheeks.

"Warden Hank was finally booted out?" I asked. I already knew he was.

With a twinkle in her eye that too much matched her grandmother's, Tholnia replied, "Yeah, they got an anonymous tip the other day and looked into it. Turns out he was playing into the human trafficking ring. As well as a dabble in drugs." When she finished, she glared up at the tall temple that overlooked the town. I knew if she could without getting smote, she would have flipped the gods off. "New guy is pretty young. 'Bout your age."

She snickered slightly. I had a suspicion for years that Sareen had told her family about my little difference. I didn't mind them knowing. "How's Achillea?"

"She is so cute!" Tholnia responded excitedly. "You should come to dinner tonight. Meet the little one."

Now, I was a busy man, but I was not about to pass up a chance to be around the best mortals in the world. "Sure, same time as always?"