“The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown” - H. P. Lovecraft

  Only a year and a half old and his parents' worry became apparent to Alexilios. He didn’t blame them if he was honest. Despite his youth he was progressing rapidly, far faster than anyone else his age. He could already speak in full sentences, could already comprehend most of what his parents told him despite his brain age being so young. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure how it was possible.

  After all, a child's brain should only be capable of so much. It hadn't finished growing yet. But he could still think just as well as he had near the end of his last life, only without the chemical imbalances and without the worries he had grown up with. No anxiety, at least not due to the state of his brain. He still had some, of course, but only what was natural. It astounded the boy, and it made living as a toddler all the more difficult.

  It was mid fall, the air was a touch brisk, and leaves were beginning to change colors. Last winter he discovered they tended not to get much snow. In fact, it only got cold enough to snow for a few days; the rest was like a cold fall. Lots of rain, but also some abnormally warm days.

  The sun had just gone down. They had finished supper an hour or so ago, and he had been laid down to go to sleep in his small crib in the other bedroom. Their house consisted of four main rooms and an outhouse outside and away from the garden and well. Two bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. While made of dense wood, the house did not do a great job of preventing sound from travelling through it.

  “I don’t know, Zeke, I mean... When have you ever seen a kid grow up as fast as him?” His mother’s voice caught his attention, muffled by walls and a door but not entirely obscured.

  There was silence for a full minute, if not longer, before a heavy sigh. “He’s our son, Elaine... I don’t disagree but what are you suggesting? We both know he isn’t normal, but... he's our son.”

  Lios frowned as he wriggled in his bed. He was tired; it was true. That was perhaps one of the biggest challenges of his body, the fatigue it felt just from him existing. He still had to sleep and eat like a toddler, meaning

  “I know he’s our son, but... You know the stories, right? Of others taking children and replacing them with their own?” Her voice cracked, betraying her nervousness. It shook in her concern.

  Another silence, the sound of quiet crying. “Okay. So let's take him to the temple tomorrow. See if the priest notices anything.” Lios’s father sounded resigned, like he knew they were doing the right thing, but it was something he didn’t even want to consider.

  The boy kept his eyes closed and started to hum a song from home as he rested. He tried to ignore the rest of his parents' chat; it wasn’t like he wanted to eavesdrop on them. A pang of guilt still swept through him. What if, when that god reincarnated me, it kicked out their true son?

  I guess I could try to act more like a kid, but... how? He continued to frown. I could just... I could tell them... I have enough words now. He immediately shook his head at that thought. He felt telling them could have consequences beyond his imagination. Would someone take him away? Would they abandon or kill him? He wasn’t sure, and until he was, he couldn’t tell anybody. Or until he was strong enough that it didn’t matter what others thought. Probably better to keep it a secret.

  The next morning he acted as though he had heard nothing. It would only make them feel all the more guilty and concerned if he revealed he knew of their suspicions. Instead, he just sat on his mother’s lap as she let him feed himself. They had, at one point, insisted on feeding him themselves, but after realizing he wanted to do it himself, they began to let him. Still, if something needed to be cut up, they would handle that.

  After eating his mother and father took him out into the town. They lived on the outskirts, beyond the wall of the city as it continued to expand, nearer the forest to the south. He liked it; it felt less busy, less congested. Arborton - he had found out the name a few weeks prior - was decently populated. The city was starting to sprawl, nearly requiring another wall, though he didn't know the actual population.

  Feigning ignorance as they approached a gorgeous, stone-built and ornate temple, the boy evoked a sound of excitement, mollifying his parents' stiffness. He had passed it many times on the way to the washing river, as he called it, where folks would go to clean their laundry. They had a well behind their home, but that water was not for washing clothes; it was for drinking, washing oneself and cooking. This was less due to fear of overdrawing the water in the well and more due to the social aspect of gathering on a riverbank with others, making chores go by quicker and building on the community around them.

  “Welcome, guardsman Ezekiel and seamstress Elaine, how wonderful it is to welcome you to our humble cathedral!” A man wearing simple and rough gray robes called out as the family of three crested the steps. “And this must be young Lios. My, how you have grown since last I saw you!”

  He was a bald middle-aged man, a few wrinkles on his face and smile lines beside his eyes. The thin stubble atop his head indicated that being bald was a choice, and to be fair, baldness worked for the man. When he smiled, his slightly crooked teeth shone brightly, pristine white despite Lios not having seen anything such as toothpaste just yet. Most people tended to have a pretty fine smile, though their teeth bore a touch of yellow as was natural. Seeing this clear and bright smile, even with those crooked teeth, was a bit unsettling.

  “Say hello Lios,” his mother encouraged him. “This is Priest Hammod. He runs the temple of the gods here.”

  Her tone was gentle, enlightening, yet a subtle strain colored her speech. For a moment, Lios wondered if he had imagined it, if he was projecting his mother’s concern from their conversation the night prior. He didn’t think so, though.

  “Hello sir.” He said simply, his eyes wandering about the temple.

  It was a gorgeous building wrought from gray stone. The walls were built with bricks even though Lios figured an earth mage could likely easily conjure walls that were just as sturdy. There were pillars holding up the roof, which had a pair of stained glass skylights. Along the walls, stained glass mosaics representing half a dozen gods let sunlight wash the room in a dazzling array of colors. Torches on all four sides of each pillar, just above Ezekiel's head, lit the large open room even more.

  There were a few doors, but for the most part the cathedral was a single large open hall. Beneath the stained glass windows were altars with a statue of the god represented in the colorful mosaics. A few pews and cushions were laid out before each of them.

  “Please call me Hammod, young man.” The middle-aged priest seemed a gentle enough soul to Lios, even with the mild discomfort that came from his smile.

  “Please call me Lios, Hammod,” the boy replied casually, his attention falling on the nearest statue.

  The first statue he laid eyes on was of a tall, handsome male god dressed in hunter’s attire. Seeing his interest, his father, who was carrying him, moved him closer. In the man’s hand was a bow crafted from what looked like bones. He had long flowing hair and a casual look in his eyes, a serene smile on his face. His arrow pointed to the ground, as if he were waiting for prey.

  “Ah, the great god Eru. The god of the hunt, of love, and of the hearth. Where you find his worshippers, you find a welcome and warm place to stay with delightful food and cold drink. Never would you go hungry in a house of Erulites.” Hammod offered gently. Lios soaked the words in.

  “Hammod... Where do gods come from?” Lios asked absently. He wasn’t expecting a proper answer but figured knowing a bit about the gods was rather important here, considering they actually interacted with mortals to an extent.

  “Well, Lios, few know how they actually achieved it, but the gods were all mortal once. The majority of them rose during the Age of Calamity, when the system first blessed Ravos.” The priest took on a preachy tone, ?explaining this bit of history with alacrity. “We don’t have much to remember those times, but it is said that during those millennia the gods grew as mortals until they found some secret to divinity, and ascended to the divine realm.

  “Of course, not all the gods rose to power during this time. Some, many of them came after the fact. Eru was one such god.”

  Lios took another look at the handsome face, at the quiver of finely carved arrows and the flower crown he had somehow failed to notice before. At the hunter’s side were both a hunting knife, and a dagger meant for combat. On his arms were a number of scars, though his hands were bare of any calluses. The boy wondered if that was a symptom of a sculptor being unwilling to blemish a statue of a god or that godhood removed all mortal blemishes.

  He figured the scars were a personal choice from Eru; if there was magic, surely there was a way to remove scarring. The statue was reminiscent of the Roman equivalent. It was made of a polished marble, though some metal was used to accent various parts of him. The artist used some gold-colored metal for the irises, and some dark metal formed the bone bow. The flowers were bare, as was most of the statue, but a few specks of color made important features pop out all the more.

  God of love and home, huh? Not what I expected. Lios thought as he looked to the next one down the massive hall. “What is that one over there?”

  He pointed, tacking on a childish tone as he leaned forward in his father’s arms. The one he was looking at was a tall, well-built man holding what looked to be a scythe in one hand and a basket in the other. His eyes were glittering with a green metal, and a calm, friendly smile adorned the god’s face. A wide-brimmed and floppy hat sat on his head, shading his eyes from the sun. His father moved him closer.

  “This is the great god of the harvest, Protole. On top of being a god of agriculture and inspiring Jorials farms, he is also a god of hunting much like Eru. The two employ different strategies, with Protole preferring to use his scythe over a bow. He also blesses the crops of those who pay him worship. A great number of farmers treat him as their patron and come here to deliver offerings around this time of year, praying for a healthy harvest.

  “One of the many tenets of those who worship Protole is one of sustainability. They work toward being able to sustain not only themselves but others as well, as best they can. Though, most worshippers of his tend not to enjoy the thrill of the hunt as he ?does.”

  The priest lit up at Lios’s questions. At the opportunity to educate someone on something he had devoted much of his life to learning. “Protole is known well for being a fair and just god, and one who often helps the mortals who pay him tribute. His sickle is both a symbol of growth and protection; he is rather known for defending farmland from roaming creatures or even bandits, although how he does so is often a mystery.”

  Lios took another look at the farming god, wondering again at the lack of calluses on the statue's hands. Maybe all blemishes vanish when you get to a certain level of power? The boy thought to himself.

  He wasn’t paying attention as the priest stopped talking, being pulled aside by his mother. The two had a quick, hushed conversation, after which the priest frowned for a moment before picking up his signature kind old man smile. He hastened to reassure Elaine, while simultaneously drawing some prayer beads and a holy symbol Lios had yet to see from the sleeve of his long gray robe.

  “Are you ready to move to the next one, Lios?” Zeke asked quietly. The boy caught the slight tension in his voice, but he already knew what that was about.

  He feigned a smile and nodded, trying not to let any worry seep into his heart. I’m not a demon. I’m not a creature. I’m a human child, even if my soul has some other knowledge that it should not. He repeated those lines as his heart picked up the pace. He turned to look at the priest beside his mother, noticing the beads and the symbol. It was a coin with what looked to be a tree engraved on it. It reminded Lios of some of the imagery of a world tree from norse mythology.

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  Zeke and his father made their way to the next plinth, the next statue. This one was the largest of the bunch. The man was a Goliath, rippling muscles adorned his body. One hand was raised high, a hammer gleaming in his grasp. There was no anvil before him, but Lios could picture one there. The artist who created the statue was able to etch embers and flames in the man's beard and hair. Unlike the others, this one had calluses on his hands. Unlike the others, this one was not smiling; he was instead frowning in concentration, his focus unwavering. If not for the fact that the man was made of stone, it seemed the man was truly there hammering his creations. This was the only one so far that Lios felt any kinship with, and why not? He wished to be a smith himself, and one had to respect the hard work the god seemed to represent.

  This man was shirtless, broad and powerful. His visage etched itself into Lios’s mind. Lios himself thought to become a smith, and seeing this massive man wielding a hammer, even if it were a simple slab of stone turned complex by an artist's hands, he could imagine the sheer effort it would take to get to the same point as this god. He did not show the god any reverence, more so an acknowledgment and a willingness to take up the god’s challenge.

  Someday, someday I’ll look like that swinging my hammer down on an anvil. Perhaps I’ll even have a statue wrought for me? The boy dreamed big, ignoring a minor discomfort that continued to grow. Somewhere behind him and his father, the priest and his mother walked.

  Well, until the priest trotted up, his sandals slapping against the cold floor. “Ah yes, Ertai. God of the forge, master of fire. He was one who rose to godhood during the Age of Calamity. It is said that the gods all commission him when they require something to be made. Primarily weapons and armor, but Protole was once gifted a holy hoe if the rumors are to be believed. Ertai was also a renowned warrior during his time on Ravos. He was said to have single-handedly fought the Great Dragon Kakara far to the north, beyond even Marthis, and freed the dwarves from his grasp.”

  Hammod was still holding the beads and the emblem, Lios noticed. The boy felt his nerves welling up, unsure of what the priest could discover about him. In a reckless attempt to distract the priest, Lios said, “You’ve mentioned the Age of Calamity twice. What is it?”

  The question, or perhaps the way it was phrased, gave the priest pause. For a moment his eyes narrowed, though Lios had turned back to look at Ertai once again, considering the god.

  “You’re quite well-spoken for your age, Lios, it’s very impressive. The Age of Calamity was a time well before ours. It was a time when both people and monsters grew relentlessly. Where powers were cultivated and beings wreaked havoc over our world. Beings like the gods, beings that could stand up even to them. It was many millennia ago, and yet scars from those times still exist today. Treasure hunters still hunt for relics of those times; adventurers still seem to find locations marred by the battles of those great beasts.”

  The boy felt a slight warmth washing over him, a feeling that confused him. Nothing had changed in the building - nothing that would cause the temperature to rise even subtly, he felt. He ?would have written it off as nothing had he not already been on edge, his awareness expanding due to his nerves. He ignored the feeling, hoping it was a simple coincidence. Instead of focusing on the feeling, he attempted to use context to define and translate the words he didn’t understand.

  He looked back at the statue of Ertai, that feeling of kinship still present. He felt the teachings of Ertai would surround him at some point. Then he turned to look back toward the entrance of the temple, to the other side of the hall where three more statues sat against a wall, underneath the beautiful mosaics of glass.

  His father didn’t need to ask to figure out Lios wanted to go there. He still held his son, despite knowing he could let Lios walk if he wanted to. Together and with the priest walking beside them, they made their way to the other statues.? Lios saw these three were all female. Why did they separate them? The question sprang into his mind unbidden. They stopped in front of the one nearest the front door.

  She was ?beautiful in an almost otherworldly way. Everything about the woman depicted before him screamed perfection, at least physically. She was the first god to be sitting. She was sitting on the root of a curling bonsai tree that shaded her from above. Her eyes were lit with emeralds, one of the few pops of color on the statue. A staff seemed to lean against the tree as well, a twisted thing made of branches and vines intertwined.

  Her lips bore a gentle smile. Butterflies were carved into her hair. From her long pointed ears there dangle earrings. They were nothing fancy, just some simple thin chains with another set of emeralds at their ends, matching her eyes. At her feet were flowers, one of which even had a sweet honey bee on a petal and another had an expertly sculpted hummingbird searching for nectar. Looking at her, Lios only saw a sweet woman in her twenties enjoying a day in nature, a girl with not a single blemish and who radiated a sense of kindness and welcome.

  “This is Ferune, the matron of Ravos.” Hammod had stowed the medallion with the tree on it as they made their way to this statue. He seemed lighter than before, more eager to share what he knew of the goddess. “Ferune is a most gentle goddess who appeared during the Age of Cataclysm as well. She is a goddess of nature itself, of the trees and flowers and the birds and beasts. The mother of continued life on Ravos. Of course, as with the other gods, she did not create nature, but she has definitely aided in its growth. Even here in Arborton we feel her influence. The Deeploom Forest that we surround ourselves with was her home. Deep, deep in the wood there still lies her home, though I have never made the pilgrimage myself.

  “It’s said to be beautiful, from what I have heard from our Elven brethren. Her home sits in a grove with a magnificent cliff feeding a lake, surrounded on all sides by trees she cultivated herself. Towering redwoods that contain their own ecosystems, the breadth of a dozen men standing with arms extended.

  “Despite her gentle nature - pardon the pun - she is known to be quite wrathful. Every few hundred years, there are claims she punishes folk who seem bent on destroying nature. Why, I remember only a few years ago a pompous lord of Arwin - they're the country to the south, mind you - was felling a large swath of trees to take hold of the Deepbloom. Ferune did not care for this, so it is said she considered this to be an act of war. Tornadoes and thunderstorms were ?the start of her retribution, a warning. When the man refused to back down, she commanded the creatures of her protected forest to harry them in all of their endeavors.

  “It took a number of months but, well, soon the lord was no more. In fact, over time his entire lineage perished.” Lios’s mother coughed from behind them, narrowing her eyes at the mention of godly retribution. It was a wonder she had allowed the story to continue for so long. “Anyway, let the story of Kragor the elf be a warning to you. Nature is not singularly gentle; it is wrathful and dangerous in its own right.”

  Lios nodded along and giggled a small amount at his mother’s reaction. He was truly amused by it; he could tell his father was as well by the soft shaking of the man’s shoulders. “Is Ferune the one you worship as well, Mister?”

  “Oh? How did you know?” The old man’s consternation at his story being cut somewhat short faded at the interest shown by the boy. His eyes glimmered a bit, excited to be recognized even if it was just by a child younger than two. An odd child, to be sure, the priest thought. A child who, should they live until ten, would either be a flame extinguished, a blazing pyre, or a legend written into history. This was the priest's first impression after hearing the boy speak so eloquently for his age.

  “The coin you had before had a big tree on it. None of the other gods had trees, so it felt like a safe guess.” Lios had turned from the man, looking curiously at the next statue in the line. He had half considered limiting his speech even as he was learning his words, but he had decided against it. Especially if today was successful and they discarded all suspicions that he was a demon.

  “Very astute young man! Very clever indeed.” Hammod exclaimed?. It seemed he forgot about the parents’ request.

  “Want to go to the next one, Kiddo?” Ezekiel asked? in a half whisper, to which Lios nodded, eager to move on.

  As interesting as these gods are, I’d prefer to learn about them while I’m not worried about being caught... he wasn’t even sure if they would do anything to him should they find out his truth, but he just started this life and didn’t want it to end just yet so he would be cautious that in case.

  “Right, right! Next up is Syvinne,” the priest started as they began walking in her direction. “She is perhaps the least straightforward of the bunch. She came about after the Calamities. Apparently she had been raised during them.”

  They stopped in front of the statue. This one was the first that wasn’t ?human or elvish. She seemed to be a sort of satyr, as seen in Greek myth. Cleft hooves and furry legs ?covered by a billowing skirt, with doe ears adorning the top of her head. She wore a crown made from various small antlers, and the artist did a good job of highlighting her kind blue eyes. She looked sweet, but also fearless. It was hard to describe which factors brought Lios to that conclusion; there were too many of them.

  Her casual demeanor and warm smile held a powerful confidence. The sword on her hip and staff in her hand proved she was a combatant, not the sort to stay on the sidelines. Beside her eyes, despite looking no older than thirty, laugh lines were carved in, giving the impression she spent much of her time enjoying life.

  On her shoulders sat a pair of birds as well, a white owl and a black raven. They both looked in opposite directions, as though avoiding each other's gaze.

  “Syvinne was among the first generation of true beast folk. During the Calamities, strange energy flooded the world, and some folk began to... transform. Beasts began to walk on two legs as they gained intelligence and levels. Her parents were an example of such. She grew up in the north, it is said. There is more history about her rise than any other god, for she was the first beast folk to rise to godhood.

  “Despite the mistreatment of the beast folk, she grew up to be a symbol of kindness and joy. During those times, humans, elves and dwarves all enslaved the beast folk. Still, to this day despite abolishing such practices on Prios, beast folk experience a great amount of discrimination.”

  “Excuse me, Hammod, what was that word... Prios?” Lios interrupted, hearing the unfamiliar word for the first time.

  “Oh, Prios is the name of the landmass we live on. Across the Myrid Sea there’s another continent called Terraan. Otherwise, Prios and Terraan are the only continents we know of.” The priest was a good educator. He didn't seem to mind the boy's interruption in the slightest.

  “Thank you.” The boy responded?, analyzing the goddess’s statue further. “Why are the male gods separated from the female gods?”

  “Ah, a simple reason really. It's for symmetry.” The old priest let out a hearty laugh. “It’s ?because it looks nice this way.”

  “Makes sense, as good a reason as any other.” Lios nodded sagely.

  They moved on to the last one on the wall. A pristine woman clad in all white - well, the others were clad in the same, but on her it was more natural. More likely to represent fact, Lios figured, considering the gold trim on her dress. Her eyes glimmered like sunlight. She wore a gentle but fierce smile. Leaning against a marble scepter?, Lios could almost believe this one was a snapshot of her day to day, casually chatting while remaining ready for anything. He didn’t miss how, even while leaning on it, her hand was posed and ready to raise the scepter in her defence as needed.

  “The goddess of light, Luma. She is adored by all. The vast majority of Jorial worship her. She is the patron of the healing faction, the Order of Luminescence, headed by the saintess of Luma herself. Luma rose to godhood second of all the gods, as the wife of Elandrus, the king of gods. She is primarily known for her healing magic, but she was also a very capable fighter. Why, as the story goes, she eliminated a rival army and defended their burgeoning nation all by herself. Alas, I feel that tale will have to wait until you are older, young man.”

  “I look forward to hearing more about her.” Lios said honestly. The stories of the gods were quite interesting to him, and so was the fact that they all seemed to have risen from mortality. To be fair, that was the part that most caught his attention. They weren’t supreme celestial beings that sprang out of nowhere; they made themselves into what they became. If they could do it, why couldn’t he?

  They had been there a little over an hour. Lios could tell that his parents were less wary now than when they had arrived, but as far as he knew, the priest hadn’t said much to them aside from when he and Elaine stepped away for a moment. Lios felt relieved too, though part of him wondered if this was the calm before the storm.

  They meandered over to the last statue, stood at the end of the hall and grander than the rest. A tall, broad-shouldered man leaned forward on a jagged greatsword. A crown glittering gold and with innumerable jewels rested on his head, and a cloak made from the pelt of a bear warmed his shoulders. Like the others, he was made of marble or another smooth stone, and gems were in place of his eyes. Rubies, it looked like. The king of the gods wore armor made of chains and plate metal. He looked like a beast of a man, ferocious and calm at the same time.

  “Elandrus, the king of the gods. He was both the first to ascend and remains the most powerful. A warrior king who values strength and dedication. Loyalty and sovereignty as well. People know him to be fair and just, but he is also merciless when necessary. He particularly seems to recognize mortals who seek power for themselves while using it to aid others. During his time on Ravos, from the muddied records we have gathered, he was something of a hero before founding the lost kingdom Ilysia to the west, where now lies the Dread Wastes.”

  Lios listened raptly, taking in the priest’s words. He had no intention of praying to any god, nor relying on them for their blessings or teachings, but he knew this information could well be worthwhile to him in the future. He found the number of gods to be quite lacking, but didn’t care enough to ask just yet.

  A moment after Hammod stopped preaching about Elandrus, he and Elaine stepped aside to talk again. She gave Lios a soft smile, a twinge of worry still in her green eyes. Lios strained his hearing to pick up what they were saying.

  “So, what did you find, Hammod?” Elaine asked in a hushed voice, barely audible to Lios.

  “Your boy seems fine, Elaine. He’s simply a genius, it seems. That, and his soul is abnormal, but not in a way to concern yourself with.” Hammod’s voice barely carried to the boy, but he still caught it. He let a soft smile play on his lips, which his father noticed?.

  “What are you smirking about, kiddo?”

  “Nothing papa. Can we get some honeyed fruit on the way home?” At a festival, he’d had some honeyed melon, and it was divine. It was a bright red melon that tasted like honeydew in a way, only with a deliciously spicy aftertaste. Lios had enjoyed the occasional spicy food in his last life, but with new taste buds he found he adored spice now.

  They left soon after, the priest taking a bit more time to talk to his parents. They didn’t seem to be friends, but they were friendly. To Lios’s surprise, the priest was married and had two kids of his own, both older than Lios by a few years.