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His palm moved up to shield Naia’s eyes. “Darling, do not watch this part.”
Naia’s pulse flickered, her vision going dark. “Why?”
Her father’s response was silent as a reverberating crunch followed by an ear-curdling shriek split from Koen.
Naia’s hands came up to her ears, her heart hammering in her chest.
She should’ve listened to her father’s advice, but she could not help herself. Through the space between his index and middle finger, she gaped in horror as Mother relentlessly struck the god.
Koen fell to his knees. Scarlet blotches stained his beige tunic. Tatters decorated his arms like the stripes of a zebra. Blood soaked across the lucid crystal floor, like bursting pomegranate arils. Those watching in the front row stepped back to keep from sullying their shoes.
A disturbing crack resounded, and Naia pulled her father’s fingers down to her nose.
The sharp scent of copper filled the room.
Koen’s head landed on the stairs of the dais.
A tingling sensation swept up Naia’s arms and into her cheeks, the blood drained from her face. The room spun. She buried her forefingers into her father’s arm ever tighter, her chest heaving at the sight of Koen’s face pointed towards the ceiling, his eyes wide open and expression morphed into one of extreme pain.
Naia’s teeth chattered. Tears burned her eyes. She wiped them away as quickly as they rolled down her cheeks, knowing her mother would find the act of crying during her triumph shameful.
“It is okay, darling.” Her father lightly rubbed the small of her back. Droplets of her tears spilled down his knuckles. “Koen is not dead. We cannot die so easily.”
“The blood, Father…” Naia croaked. “It is everywhere.”
The suffering Koen endured did not sit well with Naia. Even if death did not await him, the feeling of his head unattached from his body must’ve been excruciating.
Naia considered getting up and helping Koen somehow but was unconfident in her ability to walk without fainting from the sight of his blood. There were also consequences to consider. If Naia were to lend Koen a hand, it would appear as an act of disrespect for Mother’s victory.
As if her father could sense her internal battle, he slowly lifted from his throne and placed Naia on her feet.
“I will assist Koen. Go congratulate your mother.” He gave Naia’s shoulder a small reassuring squeeze before brushing past her.
His tall, solid figure moved languidly down the stairs. The motion sent the end of his deep green cloak rippling behind him, and in his wake, the deep-red puddles on the moonstone miraculously evaporated.
He picked up Koen’s head, cradling it with one hand on his chin and the other at the back of his skull, and materialized across the room beside his body.
An invisible weight lifted from Naia, grateful for her father, as he seemed to be the only god in the vicinity to do such a considerable act.
All the others scrutinized Koen with judgment cast upon their brows. The room filled with low chatter as they spoke amongst themselves. Naia did not wish to hear what ill words they were saying towards the middle god for his loss.
Naia sought her mother through the mingling deities.
Now is my chance.
She threw her arms out wide, fully intending to hug her mother’s waist. “Mother, your victory makes me pro?—”
She caught Naia by the wrist, her grip like an iron shackle.
Naia whimpered.
Her mother’s attention flashed down to her. “Do you wish to make me as proud as I have made you today?”
Naia’s throat tightened as Mother’s eyes bored into hers, awaiting a response. “Y-yes.”
“A title makes a powerful goddess.” Mother said. “For all mortals to worship, for all deities to fear. Until you find yours, you shall not have my pride.”
Naia’s mouth went dry, her lips parted with no words.
