When the three messengers returned to their respective nations, they carried not the truth spoken by the First Star, but anger, humiliation, and wounded pride. They could not accept that their gods were not the first, nor that they depended on the belief of mortals.
And so, they twisted the story.
They told their kings, their priests, and their people that the First Star was a deceiver—that she sought to undermine their gods, to weaken the faith of the people so that she alone would be worshipped.
Their words spread like wildfire, igniting the flames of resentment and war.
The grand temple of Orthonis stood at the heart of the capital, its marble pillars reaching toward the heavens, its golden domes shining under the sun. Inside, the high priests and nobles gathered, waiting for the return of their messenger.
When the doors swung open, the messenger of Orthonis, still bruised from his struggle in the land of the goddess, entered with fury in his eyes.
The High Priest of Orthonis, draped in red and gold, stepped forward.
"You return to us, messenger of Orthonis. What has the goddess spoken?"
The messenger knelt, pressing his fist to his chest in a sign of devotion.
"Lies!" he spat. "The goddess mocks our faith! She dares to claim that our gods—Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—were not the first! She dares to say that they exist only because we believe in them!"
A collective gasp echoed through the temple.
The king of Orthonis, seated upon his throne, clenched his fists.
"Blasphemy!" he roared. "How dare she utter such falsehoods? Does she think she is greater than the gods of the heavens and the depths?"
The high priest nodded solemnly.
"She seeks to weaken us. If the people hear such words, doubt will take root, and faith will falter. And if faith falters… our gods will weaken."
The king rose, his eyes burning with fury.
"Then we must strike first. If she will not recognize the might of our gods, then we shall make her bow before them!"
A cheer erupted among the gathered priests and nobles. The armies of Orthonis began their preparations.
Far to the north, beneath the storm-filled sky, the warrior-priests of Asgard gathered in their great hall, where the walls were adorned with the deeds of their gods. Carvings of Odin's wisdom, Thor's strength, and Loki's cunning loomed over them like watchful eyes.
The messenger of Asgard stood before them, his body still aching from the journey.
"The goddess is a coward," he growled. "She sits upon her throne and speaks riddles, trying to make us believe that our gods were never the first! She says Odin was not the all-father, that our gods were born from the fears and beliefs of men!"
A furious murmur spread through the hall. Warriors slammed their fists against the tables, the sound like rolling thunder.
"A deception!" bellowed an old priest. "She seeks to make us doubt! But we are not weak like the south! We do not waver!"
"Then what shall we do?" asked a young warrior.
The chieftain of Asgard stood, his voice deep and unyielding.
"We do what we have always done. We prove our gods are stronger. We march to the south, and we challenge this false goddess. If she will not acknowledge Odin's wisdom, then let her feel Thor's wrath."
The warriors cheered, pounding their fists on their chests.
The gods of Asgard would not be insulted.
In the burning sands of the south, where the pyramids stood tall and the temples gleamed under the desert sun, the priests and scholars of Kemet awaited their messenger's return.
When she arrived, she did not kneel. She stood tall, her face veiled, her eyes cold.
The High Priest of Ra stepped forward.
"Speak, child of Kemet. What have you learned from the land of the goddess?"
She removed her veil, revealing the anger in her gaze.
"She is no goddess," she declared. "She is a deceiver, a weaver of lies! She says our gods—Ra, Osiris, Isis, and Anubis—were not the first! That they exist only because we believe in them!"
The priests gasped. The nobles whispered among themselves.
The Pharaoh, seated upon his golden throne, narrowed his eyes.
"Does she claim to be above the gods?" he asked.
The messenger nodded.
"She does not bow to them. She does not recognize their power. She watches from afar, untouched by faith, unmoved by devotion. She is dangerous."
The high priest turned to the Pharaoh.
"If what she says spreads, it could weaken the people's faith. And if faith falters, the gods themselves may turn away from us."
The Pharaoh clenched his jaw.
"Then we must silence her. She must not be allowed to poison the minds of the faithful."
A ripple of agreement passed through the court. The gods of Kemet would not be ignored.
From the west, the north, and the south, preparations began.
The kings and priests spoke to their people, twisting the truth, turning the First Star into a false goddess who sought to erase their faith.
Armies were gathered. Weapons were forged.
The faithful were called to defend their gods.
And so, the world trembled, not from divine wrath, but from the anger of men.
Unbeknownst to them all, the First Star watched from afar, her golden eyes filled not with fear, but with sorrow.
She had spoken the truth.
But truth, she knew, was often met with war.
As the sun dipped behind the horizon, the sky darkened—not with the coming of night, but with the shadow of a thousand arrows loosed upon the city of the First Star.
The people held their breath as the missiles fell, screaming like cursed spirits before they struck the golden rooftops and marble streets. Many found their mark, piercing into stone and flesh alike. Cries of pain and alarm echoed through the city.
Upon the temple's grand balcony, the First Star stood, her gaze unshaken as she watched the battlefield unfold before her. Behind her, her most trusted generals, commanders, and officials waited for her command.
One of her warlords, a grizzled veteran named Aelius, stepped forward.
"Goddess, they test our walls. If we do not answer their assault, they will only grow bolder!"
Another general, Lady Selene, nodded.
"Their numbers far surpass our own. We cannot afford to waste men in reckless counterattacks. We must hold our ground and bleed them at the gates."
The First Star closed her eyes for a brief moment, listening not only to her advisors but to the cries of her people, to the fear that settled in their hearts like a creeping plague.
She exhaled and then spoke—her voice a melody of certainty.
"Let them come." She turned to her assembled commanders. "Seal the gates. Strengthen the walls. And prepare the flames."
The order spread across the city like wildfire. Soldiers rushed to reinforce barricades, archers lined the parapets, and hidden braziers were lit with burning oil.
As the first battering rams approached, the soldiers of the First Star gritted their teeth and readied their spears.
The first war had begun.