Before the God Arrived
Axiomel hated the quiet.
Quietness always came before something went wrong.
He lay on his back in the grass behind the cottage, arms folded beneath his head, staring up at the sky. The clouds drifted lazily overhead, slow and harmless. If he squinted, he could almost pretend this was just another ordinary day.
Almost.
The bruises along his ribs still ached. His ankle throbbed when he shifted it the wrong way. Yesterday's beating had been especially creative.
They're getting bored, he thought. That's dangerous.
He rolled onto his side and sat up with a grunt, brushing dirt from his tunic. His body hurt, but it always did. Pain had become his best friend, a familiar companion that never quite left.
Behind him, the cottage door creaked open.
"Axiomel," Eleni called. "If you're planning to disappear again, eat first."
"I'm not disappearing," he replied. "I'm just… relocating."
She snorted. "That's what you said last time. And the time before that."
He smiled faintly and stood, testing his weight. His ankle protested, but it held.
"I'll be back before dark," he said.
She studied him for a moment, eyes lingering on the fading bruises he hadn't bothered to hide.
He didn't like when his mother healed him from injuries when his body could mysteriously heal his own wounds albeit slowly but more efficently.
"Don't go near the cliffs," she said quietly.
He didn't answer.
She sighed. "At least take a knife."
He paused, then nodded. "Alright."
That was as close as they came to agreement these days.
Axiomel left the cottage without much thought.
Overthinking never helped him before.
The road beyond the fields was empty, just the way he liked it. Merchants avoided it unless necessary, and soldiers only passed through when rotating patrols. Dust clung to his sandals as he walked, the afternoon sun warm but not unbearable. It was quiet, open, and far enough from the city that Axiomel could breathe without feeling watched.
He walked slowly, letting the ache settle into something manageable.
That was when he felt it.
His gut screamed danger.
He stopped.
The air felt heavier ahead, as though the world itself was leaning inward. The birds had gone silent. Even the wind seemed hesitant, brushing past him and then retreating.
Axiomel frowned.
"Well this is new," he muttered.
He took another step.
Then another.
And that was when he saw the man.
He stood by the side of the road as if he had always been there tall, broad‑shouldered, wrapped in a dark travel cloak worn thin by time. A staff rested in his hand, gnarled and old, its wood polished smooth by use.
The man's beard was streaked with gray. His hair hung loose beneath the hood.
And one eye watched Axiomel closely.
The other was gone.
Axiomel stopped a few paces away.
They stared at each other.
"Well," the man said at last, voice rough but amused, "you're not what I expected."
Axiomel tilted his head. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."
The man chuckled softly.
"Sharp tongue," he said. "Good. I hate dull people."
Axiomel didn't move closer.
"Travelers don't usually stop here," he said. "And they don't usually stare like that."
"Ah," the man replied, tapping his staff lightly against the ground, "but I'm not usually anywhere."
That didn't make sense.
Axiomel smiled anyway.
"Where are you headed?"
The man shrugged. "Wherever the road feels like taking me."
"Bad way to travel," Axiomel said. "Roads around here tend to lead to cliffs."
The man's visible eye gleamed.
"Then I'll try not to fall."
Something about him made Axiomel's skin prickle with awareness. Like standing too close to a fire and not realizing how hot it was until you'd already burned.
Like in front of a predator.
"You're not from Sparta," Axiomel said.
"No," the man agreed easily.
"I guess not from anywhere nearby, either?"
The man smiled wider. "Now that's an interesting guess."
They stood in silence for a moment.
Then the man spoke again.
"You walk like someone who's been broken more times than he remembers," he said. "Yet you stand like it never mattered."
Axiomel's smile faded slightly.
"People break," he replied. "Some just don't stay that way."
The man nodded slowly, as if savoring the answer.
"I've met many like you," he said. "Very few survive."
Axiomel shrugged. "Guess I'm stubborn."
"That," the man said, "is obvious."
He took a step closer.
The world seemed to shift with him not physically, but directionally, as if everything subtly reoriented around his presence.
Axiomel noticed.
"What in the name of Sparta is that?," he murmured.
The man laughed, genuinely this time. "I get that a lot."
"Walk with me child" the man continued
"Traveling alone?" Axiomel asked.
The man tapped his staff against the dirt. "I prefer it that way."
"Smart," Axiomel said. "People slow you down."
"Or complicate things."
"Same difference."
They walked together for a short while, side by side, neither quite leading.
"You live near here," the man said.
"Unfortunately."
"And you seem to fight often."
"Not by choice."
The man hummed thoughtfully. "And yet, you don't fear it."
Axiomel glanced at him. "Is that a question?"
"No," the man said. "An observation."
They stopped where the road split one path winding back toward the city, the other stretching outward into open land.
The man paused.
"If a god stood in front of you," the man said, "what would you do?"
Axiomel blinked.
"That's specific."
"Humor me."
Axiomel didn't answer immediately.
He thought of the boys. The women. The way people expected him to bend, to accept, to break.
"I'd probably ask what he wants."
"And if he demanded obedience?"
Axiomel shrugged. "I'd tell him to be clearer."
The man's smile widened.
"And if he threatened you?"
"Then I'd know he's insecure."
The man laughed loudly.
"Oh, that's good," he said. "That's very good."
Axiomel eyed him. "You ask strange questions."
"I ask useful ones."
The man reached into his cloak and pulled something out.
It was… unimpressive.
A simple wooden necklace. Smooth, hand‑carved, tied with a thin cord. Nothing ornate. Nothing magical at least, nothing obvious.
He held it out.
"For you."
Axiomel stared at it. "Why?"
"Because I feel like it."
"That's not a reason."
"It's the only one that matters."
Axiomel hesitated, then took it.
It was warm.
"Wear it," the man said. "And if you ever find yourself in real trouble, crush it."
Axiomel raised an eyebrow. "What happens?"
"You won't die," the man said simply.
"That's vague."
"On purpose."
Axiomel turned the necklace over in his palm. "And what do you get out of this?"
The man shrugged. "Entertainment. Maybe regret. Time will tell."
Axiomel slipped the necklace over his head anyway.
"Thanks," he said. "I think."
The man smiled. "You're welcome."
Boom.
The sky trembled as a fading breeze, born from a distant shockwave, swept over them.
Axiomel felt it in his bones.
So many tingling sensations in just one day, he thought.
He looked up.
High above Sparta, the clouds split apart violently.
"…That's not the weather," he muttered.
The man followed his gaze, his single eye narrowing.
"No," he agreed. "It isn't."
A streak of gold tore through the sky.
Fast. Uncontrolled.
Falling.
Axiomel took a step back. "What the heck is that?"
"A god," the man said calmly.
The ground trembled faintly as a pillar of dust rose in the distance.
Axiomel stared. "They fall like that?"
"Not often," the man replied. "Which makes it interesting."
The man stepped back, already turning away.
"Wait," Axiomel said. "You never told me your name."
The man said nothing.
Instead, he reached up and pulled back his hood slightly, letting the light catch his face fully.
The missing eye wasn't empty.
It was ancient.
Deep.
Endless.
Axiomel swallowed.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The man rested both hands on his staff.
"Just a wanderer," he said.
"Some people call me Odin."
Then he smiled.
"Take care of yourself, boy."
And with that, he was gone.
The streak in the sky burned brighter as it fell toward the earth.
Axiomel stood there, fingers brushing the wooden necklace at his chest, watching a god crash toward Sparta.
"…Yeah," he muttered. "Today figures."