THEMYSCIRA
Silence wrapped the grove like a shroud. The only sounds were the whisper of crickets and the low sigh of the lake in the distance. Atrius sat watchful by the slumbering figure of the woman, his crimson eyes burning faintly. The fireless dark pressed in from all sides, yet his senses were keen. He thought himself alone.
Until—
"Astonishing creature, isn't she?"
The voice came sudden, soft yet cutting, feminine in tone. It lanced through the stillness like a blade of silver.
Atrius stiffened, startled despite himself. Once more, someone had come near without his knowing. That alone unsettled him more than the words. His head turned, slow and sharp, but the night was empty.
"Fret not, child. I bear no ill will." with the voice came an earthy scent, like rain on fine dirt.
Fwoom.
Flame erupted from the earth in a sudden pillar. Firelight surged against the dark, spilling long shadows across the trees. The blaze bent and curled until it became a steady pyre, burning brightly as though it had always belonged there. Beside it, a figure took form.
She sat, her body towering and calm. Skin as dark as the soil itself caught the fire's glow, gleaming like rich earth after rain. Her hair spilled wild, threaded with vines, green moss, and brittle twigs. Her eyes, deep and wide, shimmered a warm, earthy brown, reflecting the flames she gazed upon.
Atrius did not move an inch. His great frame loomed like an idol carved in shadow. An island of women—yes. The presence of a woman, that much was expected. But this? This one's sudden arrival, her impossible silence, unsettled him.
"How?" he muttered, his voice a low growl that reverberated against his chestplate. "How did you come so close without me knowing?"
The woman tilted her head as though the question amused her.
"Who are you?" Atrius demanded, his tone edged with caution, his deep voice echoing across the firelit grove.
"My name…" she paused, her eyes never leaving the flame. "It matters not what my name is. I am but a concept."
A frown darkened Atrius's features. "You have no name?"
Her lips curved faintly, the hint of a smile. "I do. They gave me one." She gestured slowly, her long fingers sweeping toward the earth, the trees, the air itself.
"They?" Atrius echoed, brow tightening.
"Yes," she said simply. "The planet."
His eyes narrowed. Her mannerisms were strange.
"You are one of the gods, then?" he asked at last.
Her head turned sharply, her eyes catching his in the firelight. "Why would you think that?" she countered, curious, almost playful. The fire cast her face into shifting shades of warmth and shadow.
Atrius ignored the question. "What do you want?"
"You seem uninterested." She lifted her gaze, studying the immovable shadow of him. "I would have thought the query of gods might stir you more."
"I have no dealings with gods." His voice was iron, plain and unbending.
Something softened in her face. "You detest them. Makes me wonder why… Why would a god detest another? What kind of wounds did your kind leave upon you?"
She rose to her full height, towering nearly eight feet, yet still slender in form. She wore no crafted garment—only the green of leaves, the drape of vines, and plants veiling her modesty. Each step she took rustled like the movement of undergrowth.
"What do you mean by that? Stay where you are," Atrius commanded, his tone hard as steel.
"Fret not." Her voice was calm, almost soothing. "I only wish to watch her. You won't keep a mother from her child, will you?"
Atrius's eyes flicked toward the sleeping woman. "She is yours?"
The towering figure smiled faintly. "All that exists beneath the sky is mine. I am the mother of all. The giver of life. They call me Gaia."
The word struck him like a hammer blow. His eyes widened, his mind knitting together her riddles. Gaia. The name by which this island's people called their very world. A concept. The mother of all. She was not simply of the planet—she was the planet.
Slowly she crouched beside him, her hand reaching toward the woman's hair. Her touch was tender, caressing the sleeping figure's head with an affection that stirred the stillness.
"She is not human?" Atrius asked, his voice low.
"Indeed not. She is of the seas—far from home. A child of one of her kind, and of mine."
"A demi-god," Atrius muttered, half to himself.
"Yes." Gaia's nod was slight, her gaze still upon the woman.
"They are attracted to you". Gaia said gently
Atrius's eyes lingered on the pair before him. When Gaia rose again, she looked directly into his shadowed face.
"You reject what you are. Why?" she asked softly.
She stepped closer, unafraid. Her voice, calm and weightless, carried no threat. "I have observed you since you set foot upon this isle. Your origins are veiled, your essence strange… yet there is something in you I cannot help but feel compassion for."
She began to float, lifting gracefully from the ground, her eyes never leaving his. The firelight shimmered across her form.
"Like you are my own," she whispered, her voice tender as a mother's sigh. Her hands reached toward his face.
Pa!
Atrius's gauntleted hand struck hers away with a sharp crack. His voice was iron. "I am not what you think I am."
The firelight flickered in his eyes as he glared at her. "Take her. Leave."
"No." Gaia's reply was serene, untouched by his harshness. "It is not my place to take her. She will leave if she chooses."
Atrius looked again upon the sleeping woman. He had already decided to depart before she woke.
Gaia's gaze lingered on him. "Your presence here upsets the balance. The Fates themselves are blind, and destiny falters. Do you know why this is so?"
"No." His reply was flat, clipped.
He turned away, stooping to lift a loose gauntlet from the grass. Clack—click. The sound of ancient mechanisms locking into place broke the night. He flexed his hand once, then reached for his helm.
Gaia's expression held no anger, only calm watchfulness. "I know of your affliction," she said, her voice like the wind through trees. "I can help you."
Atrius paused, helm in hand. His crimson eyes met her steady brown ones.
"I need not your help," he growled. Distrust coiled through his every word. Gods—whether cloaked in light or darkness—were the same. They played games. For them, mortals were pieces on a board, nothing more.
He turned, heavy steps sinking into the grass. Thump. Thump. Thump. Each step was a promise of departure.
Behind him, Gaia's voice rose again, soft and ethereal.
"Don't you want to find your way home?"
Thump.
His stride halted.
The night hung still, caught between her question and his silence.