I froze, my hand nearly crushing the door knob. His eyes twinkled with mirth, like he was a cat toying with his prey.

“Who-”

“Someone whose words you might find… interesting.” He drew out that last word, tasting each it, enjoying how each syllable made me squirm.

“What do you mean?”

“You should invite me in, little girl.” he said, his cruel smile never leaving his lips, “You’ll want my knowledge to be forbidden to all but you. Trust me.”

“And what if I don’t?” I steeled myself and met his eye.

“Even a has-been, two-bit ‘goddess’ whose faithful sheep can be counted on one hand,” he stifled a chuckle even as I grit my teeth, “even if this territory isn’t even yours, you’re still capable of denying me entry into this domus.” There was a malevolent twinkle in his eye as he continued speaking. “That is, if I don’t force the issue. And I won’t. A pathetic existence like yourself is nowhere near worth my time.”

“I have half a mind to destroy you, right here and now.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst idea you’ve had, little Miss Kinslayer.”

“ENOUGH!” The ground shook, my eyes shone with blinding light as I brought all my power to bear. “Insolent insect, Though you know my name, it seems you know not who you speak to. I shall-”

“Smite me with all of your divine fury?” He should’ve been cowed, afraid even. Instead he just stood there, his damn smile never fading. “Go ahead. And after you’re done, I’ll just have to explain to Vanafreya why her precious sister used up all her faith in one afternoon and left her all alone. Just like all the others.”

The fire in my eyes died out, the power I’d been gathering fizzled out. I couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Why are you here? Just to mock me?”

“You’re starving for faith.” he said. “I happen to know how to remedy that. Reminding you of your failures is simply me mixing business with pleasure. An unfortunate habit of mine, my apologies.” he said in a tone of voice that was anything but apologetic.

“But that’s impossible.”

“You trade in miracles, you of all people should know that nothing is ever truly impossible.”

“Tell me!” He looked at me as if I was stupid. He gestured towards the door.

“Fine, come in.”

“Do it properly, little girl.”

“Tsk. I, Luna Invicta, hereby invite you into my domus. May no harm befall you while you are my guest, so long as you do no harm yourself.”

“Was that so hard? I accept.” he said, striding in without care or courtesy.

“Do you know anything about the First God?” the man asked, sitting down on the most comfortable chair in Vanafreya’s living room.

“He’s dead. Long dead.” I said, I clenched my fists as I looked him straight in the eye. “You would do well to not speak ill of him, or else.” His eyes merely twinkled with renewed amusement.

I’m not talking about En. Hell, I’m not even talking about Kaos or any of his spawn. The First God predates all of them, for the First God predates the concept of divinity itself.”

What on earth?

“I see I finally caught your attention.” he said. “Make yourself comfortable, the tale of the First God is a long one.”

Whenever mankind has yearned for an explanation yet found none, whenever the teeming masses saw patterns where there were none, whenever these insignificant creatures desired control over an untamed world, that’s when gods were born. Terrible at times, but merciful in others. Master of whatever Domain they were assigned. But most of all, gods, goddesses, all the assorted divinities, were themselves fashioned in human image. The universe was vast, cold, impersonal. What better way to deny your own insignificance than to impose a human face on an inhuman universe? A human will that will acknowledge and love you, even bend the laws of reality itself for you, so long as it is worshiped and loved in return?

Of course, you are acutely aware of what you are, Luna Invicta. But I say this in order to remind you of what makes a god a god.

A god is worshipped. A god provides explanations. A god provides control.

And a god destroys those deemed unworthy.

Imagine, if you will, humanity at its infancy. Just a few hundred years since the dawn of sentience, when humanity was still confined to one continent. To one village. These humans were young, naive, and they had no concept of the divine.

Alas, none can remain idyllic forever, for these humans eventually yearned to explore beyond their boundaries, to set sail upon the great blue sea and settle upon new lands. Yearning soon evolved into will, and will into action, and within a decade, ships capable of withstanding the ravages of the ocean were built, and the first expedition into the great unknown was well underway.

If only it were that simple.

As the first boats began to leave the shore, a great calamity from the heavens struck them down. A decade of hopes and dreams, wiped out in an instant by heavenly fire.

Imagine what it must have felt like, to have spent all that time on one goal only to have it mercilessly destroyed, to see your neighbours be torn to pieces by an inscrutable force, to have the frailty you were so blissfully unaware of be shown in such stark relief. For everything to have been for nothing, all because of a cosmic mistake.

The survivors could not comprehend it, refused to understand that their struggle was meaningless. They demanded an explanation. They yearned for something that would justify this absurd injustice. They hoped for a reason for their despair.

In a crater filled with blasted wood and flesh so savaged it bore no resemblance to its former humanity, they found their answer. Resting at the centre of the carnage was a rapidly cooling meteorite.

It was quite amusing, comical even, that such an insignificant thing would inspire such awe among those who saw it. Meteorites were so mundane that even the humans of this age, unparalleled masters of valuing the worthless, find them so utterly banal that they no longer name the vast majority of these celestial debris. But the first humans only saw an object that fell from the heavens. An object that, seemingly on a whim, killed with a power so overwhelming as to be incomprehensible.

The first humans did not have any gods. They did not know how to worship. They were so young as to not know what reverence felt like. But as the meteorite was burned into their memories, they learned quickly.

The meteorite became a subject of awe. And from that awe came comfort. It must have acted with reason, the would be explorers must have angered it in some way, it would be absurd otherwise. And if the great destroyer had reason, then it could be reasoned with, appeased so that it may never destroy again, and perhaps persuaded to grant a boon.

So it was that the meteorite was revered. So it was that it was eventually worshiped. And so it was that an an unthinking, unfeeling rock was forever burned into humanity’s collective consciousness as the Ideal of Divinity. So it was that godhood was defined thus forevermore.

Thus was the First God born.

The first humans eventually did set sail, the meteorite only delayed their voyage by another hundred years, but when they did they took their god with them, carving out pieces of that rock, treasuring it, feeling that their god was protecting them as they ventured into parts unknown. And so, the First God was fragmented, scattered across the globe, and with the passage of time, eventually forgotten, and the scattered children of mankind invented newer, more powerful gods to take its place.

But the First God still lives, if only indirectly. For all the myriad gods and goddesses, even the so-called Almighty El, are mere variations on the maxims that the First God taught to the first humans. A god is worshipped. A god is powerful. A god smites the unworthy and rewards the faithful.

A god brings order and meaning to an otherwise absurd and unfeeling universe.

The man in black had finished talking, but his words seemed to continue to echo within me. He had to be lying. There was just no way that this was true. But the way his fox-like grin never faltered told me otherwise.

“Th-this is all well and good.” I said, composing myself to the best of my ability, “But I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“We’re quite slow, aren’t we?” he said, coolly gazing at me as he idly twirled his cane. “The First God never actually became a living deity, the feelings that it inspired, and thus the faith that poured into it, were too primal, too pure, to ever coalesce into an identity. But that also means that it is still worshiped.”

He stood to his full height and gazed down on me, his expression one of utter glee.

“The First God is a god in the most basic sense of the word and its shadow indelibly stains humanity’s collective memory. As such, whenever a prayer is uttered, whenever something is revered, whenever any human puts faith in someone or something, that human is, in fact, praying to the First God.”

The entirety of the world seemed to fall away. The only things that existed were me and him. He started drumming his fingers on his cane, each soft thump a thunder clap in this frozen moment.

“Remember when I said that the First God was scattered throughout the world? Those fragments eventually succumbed to the ravages of time. Space rock is still space rock, no matter how divine. All of it’s gone now.”

“Well, all but one.”

He chuckled as a strangled gasp escaped my lips. My mouth kept moving, but I had no words. I couldn’t think. My mind just stopped.

“The totality of human faith; past, present, and future, up for grabs. That relevant enough for you?”