The sun peeked around the mountains as Silas climbed the pristine temple steps. Today was the anniversary of the Day it All Changed, and that meant he had twice the amount of work as usual. He began to clean, polishing each statue that stood against the walls, sweeping the leaves from the floors, and scrubbing the dust from the windows. The temple would be crowded today, as people came to worship for the anniversary. He would probably have to stay all day, keeping the temple clean and making sure the visitors didn’t break anything.

He was almost done cleaning when he found them. He was about to go out into the gardens, where he would’ve been occupied for hours; a visitor may have found them first then. If one of the babies hadn’t let out the tiniest whimper, or if Silas hadn’t heard it, then things would have been very different.

But Silas did hear it. And Silas looked.

There, in the corner, by the smallest statue and the smallest shrine, sat a wicker basket, with two babies inside. Silas’s heart seemed to stop. His feet were heavy as he crept closer and looked at their faces. As the crying baby saw him, it fussed more. Silas gently reached into the basket and picked it up. It calmed a little, grasping onto his shirt with its tiny hands. The other baby merely stared at him, its big brown eyes seeming to drink him in with endless curiosity.

The sun crested above the window. Silas gazed out into the valley, at the village in the distance, then over to the temple garden.

He knew what he had to do.

The babies grew quickly; one into a young boy, who he named Milo, and the other into a young girl, who he named Adaline. Adaline was whip-smart from a young age, with blue eyes and blonde hair that she grew as long as possible. She protested loudly when Silas tried to braid it or brush the leaves and sticks out of it. Milo was shy, and very kind, but he also liked to hide, and when the three of them travelled into town he would often sneak away and be found sitting in haystacks or underneath the canoes by the river. Silas would tie a rope around his waist to keep him from running off (before he learned how to untie it).

Silas only worked at the temple for the first two years of the twins’ lives, After which he took a job at the quarry instead. He would leave the twins with a close friend in the village while he worked; an old woman whose children were already grown.

One night after collecting the twins from her and bringing them home, he was met with resistance at bedtime.

“I’m not tired yet!” Adaline proclaimed, trying to crawl out of her blankets as Silas tried to tuck her in. “I wanna go see the stars!”

“You have to go to sleep, Adaline, or you’ll be sleepy in the morning.”

“Can I have a story, first?”

Milo sat up from his bed, his attention grabbed. “Oh, please can we?”

“No,” Silas said firmly. “Sleep is more important.”

“But Mrs. Iddonea tells us stories all the time!” Adaline said. “Like the one about Palla!”

Silas stopped, a little bit surprised. He stayed quiet, thinking deeply.

Milo spoke quietly, sensing that Palla’s name gave Silas pause. “She’s the most beautiful goddess in the world, Silas. That’s what Mrs. Iddonea told us. And she’s the leader of all the Gods, too...a very good leader.”

Silas finally sat back, speaking carefully. “Do you want to hear how Palla became head of the Pantheon?”

Adaline was ecstatic that her plan worked. “Yes please!” She said, and Milo nodded enthusiastically.

Silas closed his eyes, and began:

“Once upon a time, there was a time when the world and the Gods didn’t exist.. There was only nothing, until that Nothingness birthed Nemain, the Demon King. He had six arms, with three eyes on each of them, and mouths on the tips of his fingers. With those six arms he created the sun and moon, and they became his followers. Their names were Aodh and Arian.

“The Demon King and his two followers soon grew bored of living in nothingness, so they created the earth and entertained themselves by hunting its animals. Their lives went on that way until they found the Gods.

“The Gods weren’t like the Demon King, or the Sun, or the Moon. They looked like us mortals, and each of them was born from something on the Earth, like the leaves of the trees or the blue of the sky. They weren’t created by the Demon King.

“The Demon King decided that the Gods couldn’t be trusted, so he rounded them all up and put them on a mountain. He created a wall, and kept the Gods there for years, without food or water.. The Gods were mere children then. They had barely just sprung from the earth, but the Demon King had no mercy for them.

“As the years passed, the Gods became angry. They needed a domain, for what was a God without a domain? They asked the Demon King for one, but they were denied. They even asked Aodh and Arian, but those two were deaf to their requests.

“But then, there was the Day it All Changed. The day that the earth sprang up mortals, instead of Gods.

“The Demon King was fascinated by mortals. They were smarter and stronger than all the other animals on the earth, and they were much more fun to hunt.

“The Gods could not abide this. The mortals looked like them. They were intelligent like them. They had to do something about it.

“And so, a few young Gods banded together in the night. They helped each other climb the wall and sneak over to where the Demon King slept. Their intent was to kill him, but the moon, which was only a sliver that night, saw them sneaking out, and warned the Demon King. He was ready for them.

“The young Gods were killed by the Demon King, one by one. ”

“This is scary,” Milo whispered into his blanket.

“I’m not scared!” Adaline said, but she had retreated further into her blanket too.

Silas smiled. “Don’t worry. The Gods didn’t stay dead. The Demon King took their bodies and placed them within the walls, for all of the other Gods to see. hat was his fatal mistake. The Gods’ grief for their fallen brothers and sisters brought them all back, powerful enough to tear down the Demon King’s walls and free every last God and Goddess. Together they imprisoned the Demon King, and the Sun and the Moon as well. The Demon King is locked tightly away in the earth, and the Sun and Moon can never escape from their rotations.”

“Wow!” Adaline said. “The Gods really did that?”

“Yes!” Silas said, smiling. “They really did that.”

“What happened next?” Milo said, yawning.

“The young Gods formed a Pantheon of benevolent rulers, and every God chose something to be God over, in order to become protectors of the mortals. And that’s the end of the story for now.”

“What!” Adaline said. “That’s not a good ending! You didn’t even mention Palla!”

“I’ll tell you the rest of it later,” Silas said, then kissed both children on the forehead. “Goodnight, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Milo snuck away from Mrs. Iddonea one day, and into the forest to explore. He told himself he wouldn’t go far.

He found a little babbling brook, the prettiest little brook he’d ever seen. He had begun to play in the water, splashing around and getting his clothes wet, when he saw a wild boar emerge from the underbrush on the other side.

“Hello little boar,” Milo said shyly, even though the boar wasn’t little at all.

“Hello little Cedros,” said the Boar.

Milo stood up, looking up and down at this creature, now strange and unknown. “My name is Milo, not Cedros,” He said. “How can you talk?”

“I am not a boar at all. I am the God of Agriculture,” The boar said with a toss of his tusks.

“Oh!” Milo said. “I’ve never met a God before. Silas tells me stories about them, though.

The boar looked pensive. “Stories, huh? Do you believe them?”

“With all my heart.”

“Hm.” The boar flicked his tail. “Do you like strawberries, little Milo?”

Milo nodded vigorously.

“I’ll bring you some from my farm sometime. Does Esyn like them too?”

Milo giggled again. “Now you’re just being silly and making up words.”

“Hm,” The boar said again, then turned toward the underbrush. “Until we meet again, little Milo.”

“Until we meet again, little God.”

Milo rushed back to Mrs. Iddonea and Adaline, who had been looking for him. They didn’t believe that he’d seen a God.

The first Day it All Changed that Adaline and Milo remembered seemed to come slowly, creeping up in the form of small decorations, gifts of flowers, colorful clothing, and smiles on strangers’ faces. It was wonderous to see all of it for what seemed like the first time.

When the Day it All Changed finally arrived, the twins were loaded into a carriage with Mrs. Iddonea, Silas, and their neighbors and neighbors’ children, and they set off for the next town over.

Milo and Adaline were excitedly pointing to the flowers on the side of the road. Silas was busy talking to Mrs. Iddonea. One of the neighbor’s children, about twelve, spoke up.

“You see that mountain right there?” He pointed to a small mountain, turned bluish by the distance. “Our town used to have a temple up there, but it closed its gates. I remember going there for Day it All Changed until I was seven.”

“Cool!” Adaline said. “Why did it close?”

The boy shrugged, then taking a mischievous tone of voice said, “They said they couldn’t take care of it anymore, but I’ve heard grown-ups saying that mortals were never meant to go there in the first place.”

Milo turned his head. “Why not?”

The boy grinned. “Because it’s haunted!”

Milo shrunk back at the thought. Adaline immediately rebuked the boy with a “That’s not true! There are no such things as ghosts.”

The boy sat back and shrugged. “There’s no way to know unless you go there yourself.”

Bedtimes were easier from then on when Silas told stories, so he continued with the next myth fairly soon after he’d left off with the last one.

“The Young Gods chose their domains and created a Pantheon where each member was equal,” He said as Adaline and Milo snuggled into their beds. “The members of the Pantheon were Feidlimid, God of Charisma and Beauty, Esid, God of Wine, Renja, Goddess of Diplomacy, and Palla, Goddess of Kindness.”

“That’s her!” Adaline said, shaking Milo’s shoulder. “It’s the one Mrs. Iddonea told us about!”

“Feidlimid, when surveying his new domain, found an injured baby fox. He nurtured that fox back to health and imbued it with power. It became Feidlimid’s son Cymis, the God of Healing, whom Feidlimid raised. Cymis was the first God to never know The Demon King, and he was a beacon of light and hope for the Gods’ future. But...for every beacon of light there is also shadow, and that came in the form of Set, the God of Blood. Set was alike and unlike to Cymis; he wasn’t born normally either, but he wasn’t created by any God. He formed from the Demon King’s blood, spilt by Feidlimid himself. Nobody could best Set in combat, not from the day he crawled out of that blood pool. The Gods feared him greatly, but only in secret. They all knew, in the backs of their minds, that Cymis would one day be a hero of the Gods--and that Set would one day be their downfall.

“In order to gain as much of Set’s favor as possible, Feidlimid granted him a spot in the Pantheon. Set was not a benevolent ruler, but when he was in the Pantheon, he was guided and watched by the other Gods. Feidlimid feared what Set may do if left to his own devices, so Set remained.

“In the meantime, Feidlimid took a wife: Palla. They had twin children: the God of Curiosity and the Goddess of Courage.”

“A boy and a girl,” Adaline said sleepily. “Just like us.”

Silas smiled. “I think that’s the end of the story for now.”

“It’s okay, keep going. I’m not sleepy at all,” Adaline mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

Silas kissed her forehead. “Goodnight, Adaline.”

“Silas?” Milo whispered. “What about the God of Agriculture? Do you have any stories about him?”

“No, sorry Milo. Goodnight, sleep tight.” He kissed Milo’s forehead and extinguished the candle.

In the darkness, Silas frowned. He’d never heard of the God of Agriculture.

Silas put off continuing the next part of the story. He never would’ve gotten away with it if he hadn’t had so much work in those coming days.

“Are you going to finish the story tonight Silas?” Milo had asked. The sun was getting low.

Silas shook his head as he studied the growing clouds on the horizon. “Sorry buddy. Not tonight.”

Bedtime was a rush that night. The twins were tucked in hastily, the candles put out quickly, the bedsheets not quite tucked all the way. Adaline wasn’t completely asleep when Silas left for the mountains, and she vividly remembered him donning his overcoat and heading out into the stormy night as soon as he thought they were asleep. She’d crawled to the window and watched his lantern disappear down the path. She would wonder where he’d gone for years, but she’d never ask.

Silas trudged along the path, against the wind. The hike up the mountain to the Temple was harder than when he’d done it last. It was a different set of muscles than the ones he used in the Quarry.

At the top of the path stood a woman, clad in a dress that was simple but still indicative of high status. Her hair messily flowed down her shoulders; it looked like it may have been tied up earlier in the night.

“You’re late,” She said.

“My apologies. I’m getting older,” Silas said, but he elicited no sympathy. “Who is it?”

“Dila.”

“Oh, the poor thing.”

“Yes, it’s her first death too.”

“How was the funeral?”

“Fine. Probably only took a couple years off the reincarnation process, though.” She scratched her head. “I miss funerals with wine. How long do you think Esid will be?”

“A couple more decades, at least. Unless you miss wine with the strength of an imprisoned God.”

She sighed. “I wish I did.”

The woman handed Silas a small urn and a small statue. Silas held one in each hand.

Thunder rumbled in the distance and rain started to accompany the harsh winds.

“I’ve got to go,” The woman said. “Don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“I’ll see you next time.”

“Unless I’m feeling lazy. Then I’ll just send someone else.” The woman stepped down a few stairs, then transformed into a scarlet bird. “By the way, this place really needs repairs.” She brought her wings down and took off into the sky.

Silas took the urn and placed it on one of the shelves in the back of the temple, next to the smallest shrines. As he passed the biggest statues at the front on his way out, he checked each of their urns too, but none of them showed any signs of disturbance.

He was lucky, he thought, that the Gods chose to send Etune when they needed some ashes delivered. Anyone else would be appalled by the state the temple was in, and Silas had no intention of fixing it.

When the twins were thirteen, Silas broke his arm in the Quarry. It was an injury that doomed him; he would never be able to lift heavy Quarry stones again. He was out of a job.

Silas had known that this might happen. He had known, but he still wasn’t prepared. The only person he could think of that could take care of the twins was Mrs. Iddonea, who was getting on in years, and didn’t have much of an income either.

Millo and Adaline had disappeared from the house. Milo’s disappearance was expected, but not Adaline’s. That was unusual, and Silas was worried about her.

He was right to be worried. Adaline was climbing up the mountain to the temple.

No one had visited that Temple after Silas had stopped being the groundskeeper. The gates to the grounds were shut tight, and only Silas had the key. The path was rugged and ruined, and washed out in some places, but Adaline handled it with her usual nimbleness. She reached the Temple in good time and slipped underneath the gate.

She climbed the crumbling steps, taking care not to trip. She’d visited the Temple in the next town over for Day it All Changed celebrations, but this one was very different from that. It was a bit run-down, and very dirty, but that was to be expected of a temple that hadn’t been kept in a while. The grounds were large, but so overgrown that even Adaline couldn’t venture through. Most surprisingly, there was not a statue of Palla. Most temples had one near their entrance, even if Palla wasn’t the main God they were dedicated to. But in this one, she was nowhere to be seen.

No matter, Adaline decided. She hadn’t come to pray to Palla.

Adaline walked along the left side of the temple, one hand on the lip of the shelf that held statues of the Gods and Goddesses. The ones in the Pantheon were near the entrance, so Adaline lingered there.

Finally, she found what she was looking for: The shrine for Cymis, the God of Healing. Adaline studied the statue above it, which depicted a tall, lithe man, with curly hair and the tail of a fox. He wore an elegant embroidered robe, and held some healing plants in his right hand.

Adaline knelt down and began her prayer.

“Oh Cymis, God of Healing, please heal Silas’s arm so he can work again. We will not have any food if his arm doesn’t heal, and winter is coming. If he can’t work he might have to give me and my brother away. Mrs. Iddeonea will have trouble feeding us too. So we really need his arm to be healed. Can you please do that, oh Cymis, God of Healing?”

It was the first time Adaline had prayed aloud. She felt a little bit silly as her prayer echoed off the uncaring marble ceiling. She felt no answer in her bosom, nor heard any in her mind.

Adaline felt herself weighed down by a sadness she’d never felt before. She bowed her head, resting it on the stone shelf, and cried.

The stone became warm. The tarnished plaque glowed, becoming shiny again. A cloud of ashes rose from within the stone shelf, taking a vague shape in front of the statue.. Adaline looked up, wiping tears from her eyes. The ashes glowed blindingly bright, and then in their place stood a red fox.

“Your grief is powerful, child,” The fox said. “I thank you for giving it to me.”

Adaline sniffed. “Are you Cymis?” She asked.

“I am Cymis, little Esyn. But I cannot answer your prayer.”

“Why not?”

The fox twitched his tail. “Your father is a sinner. He has committed a grave crime against the Gods, and for it he has been forsaken.”

“But...he’s a good man!”

“Good men can do terrible things. I grieve to be the one to tell you this.”

“What about me and my brother? We committed no crime. Surely we shouldn’t be punished.”

“I cannot help you, little Esyn.”

“You cannot punish a child for their father’s sins! We are not even his true flesh and blood!”

“You are wrong.”

“How can the Gods care so little?”

The fox narrowed its eyes. “I have grown tired of this conversation. I have many people waiting for me in the God’s Domain. I bid you farewell.” And with that, he was gone, in the blink of an eye.

Adaline left the Temple and vowed to never go back, not even for Day it All Changed celebrations. She wouldn’t end up keeping that vow.

The morning after Adaline visited the temple, there was a sack of potatoes outside of the cottage door. There was no name on it.

“It’s from the God of Agriculture,” Milo claimed. “I visited him yesterday.”

Silas looked through the sack, taking out and inspecting the contents with his one good hand. “Well, we should visit him again to tell him thank you.”

“He said that we’re welcome to come get food from him any time! We should go tomorrow,” Milo said cheerfully.

Adaline and Silas both abhorred this idea, but only in secret. The three of them visited the God a few days later.

Milo led them both along a winding forest path that seemed like it was going nowhere. Sometimes he would lead them off the path entirely, until they came upon a different one (or it may have been the same one--they couldn’t tell).

Adaline quickened her step to walk next to Milo, then whispered in his ear: “It’s okay if you stole the potatoes, Milo. I won’t tell anyone.”

Milo glared at her. “I didn’t steal them,” He said, and then they all broke through the trees, stepping into the biggest potato field they’d ever seen.

Adaline shielded her eyes from the sun and looked out across the field, which stretched to the horizon. There were actually multiple fields, with wheat, carrots, and strawberries, and even an orchard in the distance. In the middle of it all was a small cottage. It had smoke coming out of its chimney.

Milo led the way between the rows of crops. Silas was enamored by the field; it would take great dedication to maintain a crop like this, even for a God.

As they neared the cottage a man came out to greet them. The man met Silas’s eyes. Silas felt his heart rate rise; every nerve in his body seemed to course with electricity, making his muscles tense and his mind race. The man, however, didn’t hesitate for a moment.

“Milo! Hello! And you brought Adaline and Silas too. Welcome!” He said, waving enthusiastically. “Come on in!”

Adaline and Milo stepped forward. Silas stayed planted to the spot.

As Adaline passed through the doorway she couldn’t help but notice the tools lined up on one side of the cottage. They were all unassuming farm tools--hoes and scythes and hatchets--but the way their edges caught the light showed that they had been sharpened to a fine point.

The God of Agriculture took a kettle off the stove and poured tea into four mugs. Milo took a seat at the table, but Adaline didn’t.

“We can’t be staying long,” She said.

“Of course, of course, but Tea doesn’t take very long. You can leave as soon as you’re finished.”

Adaline sat down, took a hold of the teacup, and drank the entire thing in one gulp.

The God of Agriculture chuckled. “You’re just like Milo described,” He said. He glanced out the window, bringing the teacup close to his lips. “Is your father coming in?”

Adaline and Milo looked out the window to see Silas still standing in the field. “I’ll go get him,” Adaline said quickly, and left the cottage.

No matter what Adaline said to him, Silas wouldn’t come inside. Milo and the God of Agriculture chatted merrily over tea, but every once in a while, Milo would catch the God glancing out into the fields at where Silas was standing.

That night they took home three large sacks of food, as much as they could carry.

Silas gazed out the window at the clouds gathering on the mountain in the distance. “It’s going to be stormy tonight, I think,” He said. Then he smiled. “It’s the perfect night for a story, don’t you think?”

The children excitedly gathered around him, and he began.

“The Gods had never been happier. They had peace and prosperity and everything they had ever wanted.

“Except for Feidlimid. Feidlimid, puffed up by the pride in his heart, needed one more thing more than anything else. He needed to be King.

“Slowly, over the course of years, he gathered up some followers. He seduced many of the younger, weaker Gods over to his side. He even recruited his son and daughter, and trained them to be some of the best duellers in the land. He did not tell his wife about his plan, knowing she would not approve.

“Then came the day when he was finally ready.

“Feidlimid proclaimed a contest. If no one could prove they could best him or his followers in a duel, then they would march into the Pantheon building and take the throne.

“Many, many Gods tried. Renja was disarmed by one of Feidlimid’s followers. Esid was disarmed by Feidlimid’s son. Cymis came close, besting Feidlimid’s son and daughter, but was disarmed by Feidlimid himself.

“Then, Palla approached. Feidlimid had underestimated how she would react to his plan. Palla was livid; she was scorned, and acting out of pure Wrath. She was able to disarm the weakest Gods easily. Feidlimid’s son and daughter refused to fight their own mother. She only had Feidlimid himself to fight.

“The mortals felt this fight, in their domain. They felt it as thunder and lighting, as floods and fires, as earthquakes and tornadoes. The mortals believed that it was the clashing of their swords that brought down destruction, but it was not. It was Palla’s rage and Feidlimid’s jealousy that caused the earth to tremble.

“Finally, after days of destruction and strife, the fight came to an end, with Palla as the victor.

“As Feidlimid lay on the ground, bloodied and within an inch of his life, Palla wept. As Feidlimid was bound by Esid and Renja, she fled the God’s Domain.

“The Gods brought him into the Pantheon Temple to be tried. In the temple, they found each and every throne destroyed except for one, which had been brought to the center of the room. Set lounged in it, his hands behind his head and his feet off of the floor.

“‘You changed the rules for becoming King.’ He said, waving his hand lazily. From every drop of blood spilt in the duels outside rose a heinous demon, commanded by Set. He grinned, and said: ‘You’ll pay for it with your blood.’

“The Gods were already weakened. There was nothing they could do. Esid and Renja were killed almost instantly. Cymis struggled valiantly, but ultimately only took down a few demons before his throat was slit. Feidlimid’s other son and daughter--”

Silas stopped for a second to fight down the emotion in his voice.

“Feidlimid’s son and daughter fled. They almost made it to the border of the Gods’ domain, but they were both killed.”

Silas paused for a moment.

“It was Etune, the Goddess of Truth, who escaped first. She reached Palla and told her of the desperate nature of the situation. Palla considered her options, then decided that there was only one thing to do. She waited as long as she could. She waited until she could see Set’s demons at the edges of the domain. Then she sealed it off.

“Everyone who was not slain by the demons perished from lack of air. It was less than a day before nothing, not even the plants, was alive in there.

“Once Palla was sure that Set and his demons could not have survived, she unsealed the Domain, and her and the remaining Gods set about cremating the bodies. However, Etune soon came to her with an unsettling discovery.

“Etune had found Feidlimid alive, just outside the Domain. He had been spared by Set, and both of them had escaped. Set had gone into hiding, and had left the nearly-dead Feidlimid somewhere where the other Gods would find him.

“As punishment for his hubris, his jealousy, his wrath and his ambition, Palla exiled Feidlimid, turning him mortal. The only way he could ever become a God again is if he brought her Set’s head.

“And so, as the only remaining member of the Old Pantheon, Palla took her place as leader of the Gods, and set about rebuilding the Gods’ Domain.

“...And that’s the end of the story. For real, this time. There’s no more.”

Milo sighed contentedly. “That was a good story.”

“It was a very sad story,” Adaline said. “I don’t think I liked it.”

“That’s okay. I agree with both of you.” Silas bent down and kissed each of them on the head. “Good night. I love you.”

“I love you too, Silas,” Adaline said.

“I love you too,” Milo said.

Silas smiled wearily, and gently blew out the candle.

That morning, Silas was gone. He would never return.

The children searched for him extensively. The first place Milo checked was the God of Agriculture’s cottage. The first place Adaline checked was the temple on the mountain.

Milo entered the God of Agriculture’s cottage, but it was empty. There was no smoke in the chimney. Milo combed each field, hoping to find the God with Silas, or hoping to find him at all so he could at least enlist his help. He came upon the God in the orchard, where he sat on a stump, sharpening his scythe with a rock.

“What brings you here?” Asked the God.

“Silas is missing,” Said Milo. “Do you know where he is?”

The God of Agriculture shook his head, and went back to sharpening.

“Can you help me and Adaline find him?”

The God of Agriculture sighed a deep, dark sigh. “Yes. I will,” He said. “But I do not think he wants to be found.”

Adaline pounded up the steps to the Temple. She searched the inside first, then the grounds, then the inside again.

She stood in the center of the Temple, gazing at the roof. “Cymis?” She called, her voice barely a whisper. There was no answer. “Renja? Esid? Palla?” There was only an echo. “Feidlimid?” Her voice was barely audible now. Just saying that name in the temple felt like a sin.

She struggled to remember the name of the last Goddess in Silas’s story, the Goddess of Truth. She had forgotten it, and so she left, while a little red bird watched her curiously.