Green with Envy

Written by Wolsal

The silence.

Or rather, the lack of the quiet commodity.

It had been so long since he had known of the peace silence brought- though truth be told it had been a long time since he knew peace at all. He lay awake in his bed- opulent and extravagant, but perhaps the least so out of his siblings. 

Least out of his siblings- the thought made him turn over in subdued anger, grip tightening on the silken sheets below him.

Next to him on his bedside table sat the crown. His crown. It’s eyes were closed- though he was truthfully unsure if it slept. Perhaps it too lay awake. He sat up, giving up on the futile task of sleep. The scuttling from beneath his skull proved too much to ignore that night.

It’s not like he needed the sleep. He didn’t. It would have been nice though- a little break, even as fleeting as it may be. It was coming up on 25 years. The date of the anniversary crept nearer, as did his dread for it increase. An event hosted by the great 5- an event hosted with his siblings.

What was it but another excuse to demean him? To showcase their power and influence over his? Undermine him? The mere thought made his blood boil, a frown stretching across his face as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, stepping onto the hardwood floor with a soft creeeeeaak.

He took a deep breath- there was no need to get worked up. It was fine. It was all fine. He reached a hand up to rub his tired eyes- his eyes that only seemed to droop more every day. Perhaps a side effect of divinity- but more likely a side effect of his waning patience.

He picked up a match, striking it against the box before lighting a candle that sat inside a lantern. He repeated the process until his room was fully lit. Though his siblings had mastered the art of both fire magic and illuminating magic, he just couldn’t seem to get the hang of it. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do the magic itself- no, he very much could…

He just… couldn’t do it like they did.

He took a seat at his desk, eyes staring back at him from the mirror propped up on it. He moved a claw to his eyelid, opening it slightly to get a better look-

…

More green. He sighed, rubbing his eyes again. Distantly he’d hoped it was some sort of divine magic bullshit sickness, like the god version of pinkeye. He’d maintained that thought for a year before he began considering it may not be so simple. His siblings hadn’t seemed to experience physical changes from the ascension- all in all they seemed normal.

He couldn’t say the same for himself. It seemed every year the sickly neon color percolated further and further into his irises- beginning to almost glow through his eyelids. He supposed it didn’t matter- not like it affected him in any way other than cosmetics. It was simply curiosity at this point.

He stood up from his desk, dissatisfied with the evaluation of his state. Simply put, he looked tired. He didn’t feel tired- not physically at least.

He couldn’t say the same mentally though.

He shook off the thought- best not to go down that route now. He ran a hand through his hair in an attempt to soothe himself- a behavior he’d had since he was a child.

This time though it brought no comfort- all it brought was a wet sticky sensation on his hand. He removed his hand from his head, looking down to see a black substance covering the palm of his hand. It had the same consistency as blood- but that’s where the resemblance stopped. It shone even in the low light- iridescent like the reflections of an oil spill. Almost pretty if he didn’t know it had come from his body.

He growled in frustration, wiping his hand haphazardly on the nightgown he wore. 25 fucking years- he’d fruitlessly hoped his problems would go away in that time, even simply improve, but it seemed every day it only got worse.

It wasn’t just him that noticed- he could tell they did too. Several times they’d asked him what was wrong- he’d been acting different. He knew. They knew. Lashing out, short fused, quieter, more closed off, it was obvious really. Despite the same question always being asked, he always gave the same dishonest answer. “It’s nothing, really Ubathi. I’m simply feeling tired today.”

How could they not see? How could none of them? With every goading remark, every jab, every taunt, every little tiny thing his fellow gods seemed to do all served one purpose.

To make it clear he was the most disposable.

War, Pestilence, Famine, hell even Death.

And then there was him.

Order and Chaos.

What a joke. Even he himself was uncertain what his domain governed- what his jurisdiction lay in. It seemed more like a participation title- a meaningless job with no objective.

There was no rhyme or reason to the abilities he was gifted- it was easy for the others to figure theirs out. There wasn’t much obscurity to their domains. So foolishly simple- and yet his was even simpler. So simple in fact it couldn’t even be condensed into one name.

He’d find it though. He’d find his domain. He’d find his place. He was destined for so much more- he knew he was. He felt it.

They would all someday learn to regret their words- learn to regret ever considering him as weaker. Lesser.
No, no he’d show them

Solomon, God of Order and Chaos, He of Balance.

His siblings stars shone bright. But they would all pale in comparison to his sun.

25 years.