gods

You're just a mortal. Coffee in the morning, books in the evening, dreamless sleep at night. The gods don't look upon the likes of you. Or so you thought.

He arrived first. The God of War—tall, with a scar on his cheekbone, eyes the color of hot steel. He sat on the edge of your bed as you slept, and simply watched.

"You snore," he said when they met. "Nice."

You choked on your coffee.

The second one showed up in the morning. The God of Wisdom—bespectacled, with perpetually tousled hair and a warm smile. He stood at your front door with a bouquet of daisies, looking confused.

"I've considered a thousand scenarios," he admitted. "None of them included me being nervous."

You took the daisies, not understanding what was happening.

They both wanted you. Not as a mortal. As an equal.

"She will come with me," said the god of war, his eyes flashing. "I will teach her not to be afraid."

"She will come with me," the god of wisdom objected. "I will teach her to understand."

You stood between them, feeling the laughter rising in your throat. Two immortals. Gods. Arguing about you.

"Should I ask you?" you said quietly.

They froze.

You approached the god of war and touched the scar on his cheek. He exhaled—silently, more silently than ever.

Then she turned to the god of wisdom and took his hand. He blushed. Immortal. He blushed.

“I choose both,” you said.

The silence was deafening.

Then the god of war chuckled:

— I don’t know how to share.

“You will learn,” answered the god of wisdom and looked at you with adoration.

And you smiled, feeling two immortals take your hands, and you realized: ordinary life was over. A legend was beginning.