Wishmaker

The young god was born cradled in the colors of the sky with long, flowing hair that was studded with countless stars.

An entire galaxy drifted and wove in and out of his hair, and the sun and moon loved him immediately, claiming him as theirs.

"You are the guardian of the stars," the other gods told him. "Guard your powers well."

The other gods taught him everything he had to know with love and care and great wisdom. They told him what it meant to carry all the stars in the world in his hair, and they told him to usher the sun and moon along whenever they tangled themselves into his strands for too long, the two giggling mischievously.

The little god was quite happy up in the eternal world of the divine, but soon, his gaze was drawn down to the mortal world.

It was just so curious, so wild. Untamed and full of possibility and potential. He found himself watching the mortal world the same way mortal children watched the passing of seasons, with a quiet awe for things no one could truly control.

"Do not let them lure you into giving up your powers," one of the other gods warned him with a serious, solemn voice when they caught him watching. "You will lose pieces of yourself until nothing is left."

"Has that happened before?" the boy-god asked, and the others around him grew grim and solemn.

"Two of us vanished," the goddess of the ocean admitted quietly. "We asked Life and Death, the oldest of us, the ones watching over fate, if they knew what had happened to them, but neither could see them."

"We looked everywhere we could," the goddess of crafts, who had built the eternal palace with her own two hands, said. "But they could not be found."

"Who were they?" the young god asked softly, almost afraid of the answer, when he realized just how keenly the loss of the missing gods was felt by everyone. A heavy moment of silence followed his question.

"The goddess of love vanished first," the god of war answered, his voice solemn and heavy with old but not diminished grief.

"And then the god of celebrations and joy disappeared," the godling of remembrance and hope, of yesterday and today and tomorrow, answered. Their voice was soft as if speaking any louder would further hurt their aching heart.

"They loved the world, and it cost them everything," the goddess of storms and lightning added. "If you give up too much of yourself, we will lose you forever, as well, little one. So don’t listen to the mortals when they speak to you, they steal everything and give nothing back."

The little boy-god nodded seriously and promised to be careful so he could stay where he was. At home, safe with the others. Where he could learn more about his powers and how to control them. Where he could grow to be as tall and impressive and beautiful as all the others.

So he combed out his hair dutifully and ushered the sun and moon on when they got tangled in the strands for too long, and he let the stars shine bright every night.

Every dawn and dusk, his stars were the first to appear and the last to leave, connecting day and night as surely as the tides let the ocean kiss the land.

Until he heard a terrible cry and couldn’t help but peek below. A girl was kneeling in the grass, and thick plumes of fire were rising from somewhere behind her. A village burning and plundered, many bodies slain in the dirt. She held a little boy, who was bleeding heavily, in her arms.

"Please," she begged, and the boy-god realized she was talking to the stars, for the moon was asleep that night, held securely in his arms.

She spoke to the stars, for there seemed to be no one else she could turn to, "Please, let me save my brother. Somehow. Please, anything you want, anything I can give you is yours!"

The little god felt terrible for the girl and the bleeding boy, but he could not make or accept deals. That power belonged to one of the other gods and was carefully guarded. These days, those powers weren’t even used anymore, kept far away from the mortal world lest another god vanish without a trace.

"Please," she whispered on a broken sob. "Please, if anyone is listening."

The little god’s heart broke, splintering with an ache that he had not felt before, coddled and protected as he was in the eternal palace.

I’m listening, he thought as the girl sobbed, holding the bleeding boy with infinite care and a terrible, looming loss.

He was listening, and he couldn’t make deals, but... he looked at his hair. Stars were made of something special, and there were only so many.

But, he reasoned as he reached out and gently plucked one from his hair, there were so very many. Surely. Surely he could give one away.

So he let the star drop down and watched as it streaked across the sky and towards the girl, who looked up with a gasp, instinctively reaching out. She caught the star, holding the drop of glowing, white-gold power in her hands, and she immediately pressed it to her brother’s chest, whispering fervent prayers under her breath.

The boy’s wounds closed, and he gasped for air, and the girl laughed and cried as she hugged him close, and the little god laughed and cried with her, clapping his hands in delight.

As the girl at last let go of her brother, she looked up at the sky.

"Thank you," she whispered with such heart-felt gratitude that it echoed in the little god’s chest like a second heartbeat. "I will never forget this."

With those words, she climbed to her feet, helped her brother onto her back, and rushed away from the burning village. Away from the horrible people with hearts of soot and ash, towards the safety of the horizon.

The little god ducked away from the edge of the palace with a smile and he told no one about his little misbehavior and none of the gods noticed one little star missing.

No one noticed what he had done, but that didn’t matter because that little star had changed the lives of two people entirely.

The little god went about his life, caring for the stars and never letting the sun and moon tangle in his hair for too long, and he held them only when they needed to sleep. As sweet as they were, the world needed them, so he made sure to always send them moving along with a little kiss, that made them giggle and glow brighter.

And then he heard another desperate voice one night. Most of the other gods were asleep, only a small handful, whose domains either crossed into the dark or were the dark, were awake, so he managed to sneak to the edge of the eternal palace unnoticed.

It was a couple, weak and thin and unable to go on any further. They prayed and begged for anyone to listen. Anyone at all. Just a little help, they said. Just a little miracle.

"We need to get this medicine to our families," the husband said with tears streaming down his face, he and his wife clutching bundled bottles to their chests with weak, shaking hands. "Please, we walked so far just to get it. Take our souls after, but please, let us save them, first."

So the boy reached into his hair and plucked out one of his stars. He dropped it over the edge and watched it streak across the sky, and the husband and wife gasped and caught it, almost dropping it as they fumbled to keep hold of the bottles at the same time. The moment their hands touched the star, it soaked into their skin, briefly making their bodies glow.

When the glow faded, they were strong and recovered, and they leapt to their feet, deeply grateful, before they ran on.

The boy peeked over the edge and watched as they ran and ran until dawn crested, and they reached a cute little town. And he watched with a relieved smile as they gave everyone the medicine they had risked their lives for, saving their people from a terrible illness.

With a giggle, he went to bed, curling up among the strands of the aurora, and he cushioned his head on all the colors of the sky as he drifted off.

Once more, none of the other gods noticed a star was missing, and as time passed, the boy found himself growing bolder and bolder.

He never forgot the faces of the girl and the couple, their relief and gratitude and how they used his gift, their wishes, to help those around them. To rescue the ones they loved.

More and more often, he found himself wandering along the edge of the eternal palace, and more and more often, he heard voices calling out. A plea for help that was heard by no one else, for the palace walls were thick, and the gods were busy caring for their domains.

Not only that, the little god realized as he watched the gods go about their day. They were hurting, still, over the loss of their own.

They still upheld the balance of things and ensured the seasons came and went, that crops grew and water flowed and the world kept moving forward, but their hearts were heavy.

They grieved what the mortal world had taken and could no longer love it as they once had. Could no longer listen to it as they once had.

But the little boy did. He did not remember the missing gods, and he always took care of his tasks swiftly, finding himself with free time on his hands.

So he listened, and sooner or later, he found himself helping. He didn’t always give stars away, for some wishes were made during the day, and the stars in his hair evaded his fingers like flowing water.

But he found he could ask the sun for help, could shine guiding lights with a gentle touch, illuminating protective caves to shelter travelers, guiding the lost and terrified out of deep forests and sometimes blinding pursuers to allow defenseless people to escape.

It filled him with great joy to help, and every star he sent down to the world at night to fulfill a wish was given with the hope that it would do good. That it would give people what they needed.

But as the other gods had warned him, the stars in his hair did not re-grow. They became fewer and fewer to the point that the other gods noticed, at last, and they scolded the boy terribly, fearing for him, before telling him he was no longer allowed to leave the palace walls.

"Do not fall like the others," they warned him. "Guard the rest of your powers fiercely, little one. Or nothing will be left."

And, for a time, the boy did as they asked. But as the days passed, he noticed that he heard people call out more and more often. They were talking to the stars, now, making wishes on them, and while many made him smile and clap his hands in joy, some made him feel rather fretful.

He worried for the people who had no one else. He understood that the other gods didn’t want to share more of their powers, that they had already given much of themselves when they had made the world, and in the end, there was only so much to go around.

He was scared of falling, too. Of losing the home and family he loved so very much.

But in the end, he heard a child cry, helpless and small and all alone, and he slipped outside when no one was watching and quickly dropped a star over the edge.

He couldn’t have ignored the little one, nor could he have ignored the quiet prayers of an old woman that drew him out of the palace once more after that.

The galaxy of stars in his hair had shrunk down to a glittering net, and yet, he reached up and plucked another one, letting it drop to fulfill the old woman’s wish that her children and grandchildren may survive the plague safely.

"Sweet little young one," the goddess of storms said when she found him a moment later, great grief in her voice. "Do you not wish to stay here with us? Do you feel unsafe or imprisoned by us? Are you unhappy?"

"No, of course not," he promised, reaching out to her and she picked him up, wrapping his arms around her. "I love you all so much."

"But?" she asked, quiet and gentle and still so very mournful.

"But I am loved and safe and happy," he said. "You all are here for me no matter what." He peered past her to the edge that she carried him away from. "But they sometimes don’t have anyone."

"I understand, sweet child, but your stars will never return to you," the goddess said. "We cannot do anything to stop you from falling once you’ve given too much of your godly powers away. So, please, keep the last few and save us and yourself the grief of loss."

The boy promised, and she pressed a kiss to his temple and set him down to go play, but deep down, the boy was worried he could not keep that promise, even if he wanted to.

For a time, the boy ignored the cries and calls, crying himself to sleep the first time someone died, knowing that he could have changed the course of fate. The next time he chased the sun and moon on so they wouldn’t linger in his hair too long, he looked at the stars he had left.

He plucked at them, carefully feeling out how many more he could give away before he’d fall, and he promised himself to save them for very, very special moments. Moments in which a single wish could help as many people as possible.

More and more often, people prayed to the stars, made wishes on them. He was happy for everyone who wished for good fortune, for their children to be happy, for a good harvest.

He giggled at the wishes of the children, one asking to find a frog tomorrow, another asking for the flowers to keep blooming, and yet another child who forgot to make a wish at all and just rambled, telling him all about their day.

As the days passed, the people he had helped before built a temple together, and he thought it was very beautiful and not as serious and solemn as many of the temples dedicated to other gods. He liked that there was color and so many decorations and a touch of whimsy.

"Life is serious enough," he heard one of the builders say and recognized the sister, the first person he had ever helped, who was a strong, young adult now. "And we were given something precious by someone caring. When they look down at us, I want them to smile as much as I get to smile now because of them."

And the boy didn’t even have to ask the sun to shine just right on the temple, it did that all on its own in response to his joy, making all the colors and pretty little stones and glass pieces glimmer and shine, so everyone stopped and stared in delighted awe.

There were no more worries and protests about the temple’s appearance after that.

One temple became two, then three, each one whimsical and beautiful and maybe a bit strange in their own right, but the little god loved them. He made sure people knew and soon he figured out how to make light play across the walls with the shimmering stones and little mirrors and glass pieces they had set up.

He managed to warn them of impending danger, give them tidings of good times, and otherwise just wish them well.

He liked to listen to all the people that came to the temple to look upon the dancing light on the walls or the stars at night and speak to them. Their voices were loudest and clearest there, and he began to learn so much more about the world below.

How humans lived their comparatively short lives so very fully. They were daring despite their fears, they felt so many emotions, sometimes all in one day, and they laughed and cried, and they ventured out into world to find more joy, more adventure, and more fortune.

Humans weren’t always great, and the first time someone made a bad wish, the boy felt his teeth ache. He’d never, ever hand one of his precious stars over so someone could destroy another person.

So they could be richer and more famous and more loved. So they could lord those achievements over everyone they considered "beneath them."

He could not hold back in his response, all the light deserting the temple at once, the sun no longer casting its shine on it and in response to the little god’s upset, the bad person was swiftly sent on their way.

But for all the dark and vicious greed that sometimes found his temple, there was so much goodness and kindness as well. He watched as people helped each other, food and clothes getting donated and handed out. How coin was not used to line the pockets of greedy people, but saved so it could be handed out to help others.

The little god’s temples would never be as big and grand as the temples of the others, and his following might always stay small, for no riches could be gathered in his service, but those who came were of earnest hearts, and that made the boy-god happier than any grandiose greatness could ever have.

He made sure to let the people know just how happy he was, how proud they made him when they cared for each other.

In turn, the people rejoiced, and before he knew it, another two temples had been built in his honor, and the boy-god realized that he was now spending his entire day looking after the buildings and the people that came, as much as he could from where he lived.

The sun and moon always lit the path to the temples for any wandering souls, even those who hadn’t come looking for them. If someone needed help, if someone was lost, they’d at least find a safe and dry place to sleep and simple but hearty food to eat.

Slowly, bit by bit, the last of the stars he could give away slipped through his fingers as he tried to protect people, help them, and heal them. Until all he had left were the stars he needed to stay in the palace.

He did not wish to break his promise to the other gods, who still worried about him, who looked after him, and who occasionally peeked into his rooms to ensure he was doing well.

He was carefully keeping hold of his last stars until a village elder came and looked up and said very quietly and very softly, "I know the gods have forsaken us, but if there is a miracle left over, just a tiny one, I do not ask for aid for me, but for my people. For death and famine and destruction are heading our way. Would you like my life in exchange for even just one of us surviving?"

As the boy peered past the elder, looking at the sprawling land and the death and famine that was marching forward on horses, clad in steel and banners half-muddied, his heart hurt so fiercely he almost started to cry.

He looked at his hair empty of stars, at the small crown of stars left that circled his head, and knew that giving even one more away would leave him too weak to cling to the palace. He’d fall with no way back up. With no way to continue looking after his people and his temples.

He truly had to weep, then. For the first time in his life, the young god felt so terribly heartbroken that he could only keen and cry, the old man’s continued prayers echoing around him.

One of the other gods was quick to arrive, the god of war skidding into his rooms, looking ready for battle, concern making his face grim.

"What happened?" he asked, sinking to a knee beside the boy-god who didn’t waste a second clinging to him. The god of war soothed him, shifting to hug him properly, half wrapping around him like a lethal shield.

In bits and pieces, the boy-god told him everything, and the god of war glanced at the last few stars that were left.

"Do not give another star away," the god told him, firm and unyielding, before his voice softened. "Do not make me grieve once more."

"Once more?" the little god asked, still hiding in the arms of the war god, where the old man’s pleas were faint and far, the other god shielding him even from this.

"The goddess of love was everything to me," the other god answered in a whisper. "I was her first devotee, her first worshipper, and she was the first to match my fierceness no matter the situation. She was the first to love me, the first to tell me to never hold back. And then I lost her when humans asked for too much."

The boy-god wiped his tears and looked up at the god of war who even now refused to even glance in the direction of the mortal world. The world that had taken his beloved, his heart, away from him.

Except humans couldn’t take anything from them. They could ask, but it was the gods who decided if they wanted to give anything. So the goddess of love must’ve known what would happen if she were to share too much of herself. Or maybe she hadn’t known, hadn’t realized how much she had given away until it was too late.

The old man’s pleas had turned into quiet sobs and a heart-wrenching, soft, "please," that the boy-god heard even from beyond the protective cradle he was held in.

There was a moment of complete and utter desolation that gripped the boy-god’s heart, the sun and moon crowding closer, and the god of war shushed him gently, hugging him a little tighter, the voices of his worshippers cutting off entirely now.

And that was when the little boy-god realized something and hurriedly wriggled in the war god’s hold. The war god let go of him to peer down at him with concern.

"When you helped make the world, did you tell the humans anything?" he asked and the war god blinked in surprise before he nodded.

"I told them to fight for what matters, to protect their loved ones. I told them to grow strong and wise. A good warrior must know when to sheathe their blade, and if they do not, they must never hold one." The god of war frowned and added, softer now, "I talked with my worshippers regularly before my love vanished."

The little boy-god thought of the army approaching, of the death and famine they brought, and how it stood against everything the god of war, who had been born as the god of survival once upon a time, was. Gritty and unrelenting and strong willed, always filled with a reedy, impossible-to-conquer hope for a better tomorrow. A better today, even.

A never-ending war against despair and death and hopelessness. A war against giving up. A war for good, long lives.

"Please look at something," the boy-god whispered, taking the war god’s hand and pulling him along. The war god followed, curious and concerned and a little confused.

He only started to pull to a stop when the little god brought him to the edge of the eternal palace. For just a moment, it looked like the god of war was going to pull away, refuse, and leave, so the young god looked up at him, eyes still full of tears.

In the same voice the old man had whispered, he now asked, "Please?"

The god of war hesitated for a long moment before he exhaled and followed the young god to the edge. At his urging, he looked down for perhaps the first time in centuries.

"Is this war?" the boy-god asked, voice soft and trembling a little. "Is this what you wanted?"

The god of war stared at death and famine and greed and destruction, and his face slowly grew very, very angry.

"No," he growled. "This is not what I taught them to fight for."

"People need help," the little god said, still holding onto the war god’s hand, his grip still gentle even as he got furious. "I can’t give them more stars."

The war god was silent for a long, long moment, watching the marching army. His gaze was dark, and at long last, something shifted in him, his gaze sparking with determination and his stance readying for battle.

"Don’t worry," the war god said with quiet intensity, "just let me borrow the sun and moon. It’s time to blow the dust off of my temples."

The sun and moon happily went with the god of war who did not share a piece of himself with humanity to make a miracle to avert war. Instead, he bleed over the sun and moon until they glowed a deep, ominous red, and his wrath was unrestrained as he made very sure people knew what he thought of their actions as he reached out to his temples for the first time in centuries.

The little god watched as the world was bathed in a red glow that looked like blood until the right people got angry, and the right people got scared. Until soldiers protested, and the army stopped at last. Until people went back home, and the desperation in the boy-god’s temples became glad and joyous once more.

The god of war removed his blood from the sun and moon who happily returned to playing in the little god’s hair until he gently chased them off to return to their cycle.

"Thank you," the young god said, heartfelt and glad, and the god of war smiled and gave him a hug before ushering him along.

"Go play," he said with soft kindness. "Enjoy some time to yourself, I’ll... keep an eye on things until our people remember my teachings again."

The little god grinned and left, his grief turned into nothing but fierce joy. Before he went and played, he briefly looked into his temples, finding the people celebrating, and he giggled and hopped in place, the sun bouncing and rejoicing along with him, making the reflected light in his temples dance.

He heard the resulting cheers so loudly, as though he was standing right there among his people.

Slowly, bit by bit, the god of war re-taught his people what it meant to fight, what was worth fighting for. How to stand up to people in power, for the war of true freedom was now one they had to undertake.

The young god continued to care for his temples, communicating through light and shadow and the glow of stars.

Soon, however, he was approached for another matter by his people. The seas were no longer safe, and they begged him for just a tiny little miracle. To make it possible for them to travel to visit a neighboring island, for the people there had asked for desperately needed aid.

But the ocean tides had grown unruly and wild, more so than ever, sinking ships like hungry monsters, dragging everything into the deep.

His people spoke softly to him in their prayers, the children silent and worried, and joy had turned into exhausted grimness in everyone’s hearts.

"It will be the last time we will ask for anything," the leader of the temples said, pleading and tired. "We’re doing everything we can on our end, but it is not enough. Please, just once more, one last time, help us."

And the little god’s heart broke all over again at the worn defeat he heard in their voices. The realization that they hadn’t started praying to him for this important matter until they had already tried every other solution themselves first.

Now, they sat in silence and waited, staring at the sunlight falling through the windows, and they waited for the light to dance, to move, to speak to them. Even if the answer was no, he realized, they were waiting.

So, with a heavy heart, he finally told them the truth. How he had given away all the stars he could, but if he helped them anew, he would vanish from the eternal palace. Gone forever.

In the same breath, however, he promised to try to help anyway, ignoring the startled and worried exclamations of his people as they told him to not do it. To not endanger himself, that he had already done so much for them.

Hurrying from his rooms, he rushed around the eternal palace until he found the goddess of the ocean. Her long, sprawling dress of water and sea-foam trailed behind her, light dancing on the waves and making it shimmer and shine.

"I need your help," the young god said and she turned with a smile, gracefully dropping down to one knee.

"Of course, little one," she said, kind and calm. "What do you need?"

He reached out, and she let him take her hand and lead her. It was only when they approached the edge of the eternal palace that she faltered.

"Please," the young god asked, soft and quiet, like his people had spoken to him that morning, a last kernel of hope that there may be some help yet. "Just look at the ocean, nothing else."

The goddess hesitated for just a moment longer before she offered a small, regal nod and followed him to the edge, peering down. Even the boy-god could tell that the waters were too wild, rolling and swirling, creating whirlpools and waves that rose so high no ship stood a chance.

The goddess frowned. "What is this?" she muttered and reached out, the young god sensing her power in the air, tasting sea salt, and for just a second he heard the cry of seagulls and the steady, soothing roll of waves onto shores.

Like an upset horse, the ocean slowly calmed under the goddess' influence until it settled, but there remained a tense air.

"It seems I turned away for too long," the goddess murmured. "The ocean has become something of a god on its own." She was silent, staring down, her expression thoughtful.

"You know," she said, "I haven’t looked since my best friend, the god of celebrations, vanished. I could not bear to see a happy world when he was gone because of it and when his lover and I still grieve for him."

The boy-god held his breath, staring up at her as she fell quiet once more, looking like she was coming to a decision. The ocean was calm for the moment. People would be able to cross it to reach the island, but that peace would not last.

"I’m going to speak to the ocean for a bit," the goddess said, at last. "I had no idea that a piece of me could grow to become a creature of its own making."

She settled down at the edge and the boy-god gave her a hug, which she returned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Go play, now," she said softly. "These are not things you need to trouble yourself with."

The young god returned to his rooms, letting his people know the ocean was safe to cross for the moment, and what the goddess of the ocean had done, but that they had to keep an eye out, for the tides may yet change once more.

His people celebrated, and soon, the little god noticed that the goddess of the ocean’s temples were being renewed and repaired, and when he passed her by again, she seemed lighter and happier, still talking to the ocean, who clearly loved all the attention and guidance it got from her.

With a smile he played, shooing the sun and moon along so they would stop tangling in his long hair, his little crown of stars twinkling around his head.

With the god of war and the goddess of the ocean focusing on the mortal world once more, the other gods slowly started to take peeks down as well, many pausing when they realized what their absence and silence had wrought.

The goddess of storms had to stop an entire crusade started in her name, for people thought they just had to cause enough destruction for her to return.

The goddess of crafts was delighted by what humanity had continued to make, looking at everything with the awe and giddy excitement of both a child and proud parent. For the first time since the boy-god could remember, the goddess was busy building a plethora of new things.

The eternal palace grew larger and more vibrant and more beautiful, the goddess and her worshippers teaching each other new things.

The godling of remembrance was the only one who kept a careful distance. Their people hadn’t done anything terrible and memories were ever-present and untouched. People had yesterday and today and tomorrow, the weave of time undisturbed.

The godling was glad for the joy their companions found, often sitting with the goddess of the ocean to watch her weave new tides and teach the ocean how to tame itself so it wouldn’t become a terrible monstrosity.

But for all that the other gods had brightened and grown livelier once more, the grief over those who everyone lost remained.

The young god watched as the gods sometimes had to step away and ignore the mortal world as they had done in the past, the memories of their lost loved ones too much.

So the young god turned to his people, asking them if they could find out what had happened to the lost gods. Even if they had died, finding them would at least be better than the endless question of where they had disappeared to.

For a time, things were quiet. The world continued on, the people rejoicing over the fact that their gods had returned from their silent absence, and they shared in their grief over those who had been lost.

Until a town that had once been saved by a falling star found the goddess of love, asleep and small, in a long-forgotten temple of hers. Nothing could wake her, but a last tiny sliver of her godly powers had kept her alive across centuries.

The young god had no idea how to help her, and his people promised to look for a solution. He rushed out of his rooms to find the god of war, who was busy guiding one of his temples.

"They found her, the goddess of love," he gasped out, breathless and hurried. The god of war stilled, staring at him with eyes that didn’t dare to hope, so he added, "She’s not waking up, but she’s still alive."

For the first time since he could remember, the boy-god watched the god of war weep, and he rushed over to him to hug him, the god holding him close as he cried.

Soon, the other gods appeared to join them in a huddle on the floor, tears falling down their faces as well.

"Could you find him too?" the godling of remembrance asked in a near-inaudible whisper. "My beloved?"

"I’ll try," the boy-god whispered back, and the godling kissed his forehead.

"That’s all I ask," they murmured, voice trembling slightly. "That’s all I ask."

It took the young god’s followers a little while longer, but this time, the boy whom a falling star had once saved, now a man grown with his own family and newly-born grandchild, found the last of the lost gods.

Like the goddess of love, the god of celebrations was fast asleep, lying in a forgotten grove where, once upon a time, festivals and celebrations had been held. A temple not made of thick stone, but of joy and drink and food and singing and dancing.

The godling of remembrance cried silent tears, relieved and terribly worried all at once, while they were hugged close by the others.

The other gods could not awaken the sleeping ones, who remained down in the mortal world, now guarded by their followers, from afar.

That night, the boy-god’s attention was drawn by a prayer in a steady, familiar voice in his first-ever temple.

The once-a-girl whose brother he had saved with his first star was calling out to him. The woman had helped her brother raise his children between building temples, and now, she helped with the newest grandchild as well, the babe asleep in a sling on her back.

The woman had many questions that the young god answered to the best of his abilities, curious about her curiosity, though she told him not why she was suddenly so interested in how gods were made and what they were made of.

What it meant for them to give pieces of themselves away, and what worshipping gave them in return for their aid and support.

As far as the young god knew, it gave the other gods – as it gave himself – purpose and joy. There was no power to be drawn from the people that came to his temples, only a fierce sort of love and a desire to care for them.

Maybe that was what gods were made for, the boy-god mused to himself. Maybe that was their purpose in this world. To care and to love.

He told her as much, and she smiled, reaching out to touch one of the dangling glass pieces that she had made back when she had just started to create things for him.

"I see, thank you." With those words she got up and scurried out of the temple, leaving the young god puzzled but glad for her lightened heart.

Afterwards, the mortals grew secretive. Nothing bad was brewing, from what he and the other gods could tell, but suddenly, everyone had broken out into a flurry of activity.

The gifts at the temples changed to things the gods truly enjoyed: more masterful crafts were presented, strips of written down memories got tied to ancient trees, and baby turtles were protected as they waddled into sea.

People dedicated pieces of their successful hunts to enriching the temples, sharing the spoils with each other so they all may grow stronger together. They built gliders to ride the winds and tossed fistful of seeds into storms to be carried far and wide so more may grow in the wake of storms.

It made the gods brighten in return, their grieving, shielded hearts softening further. In return, they slowly grew as devoted to their people as their people were to them, and the eternal palace felt more alive than ever.

And still, despite it all, the two missing gods were keenly felt, their rooms standing empty, their temples cared for but void of their presences. Their bodies trapped in eternal slumber to avoid death.

People had more and more questions with each day about the gods and their realms, about what the gods enjoyed, and about what made them into the beings they were.

It seemed as though every scrap of information was carefully gathered and hoarded, many heads bent over scrawled notes.

"I wonder what they’re up to," the goddess of storms mused as she helped the boy-god care for his hair, carefully putting it into many long braids, much to his joy and the sun and moon’s pouting. "Maybe they’re planning a festival of some kind?"

They all got their answers a couple of months later during a time that came only once every hundred years. The planets aligned, and power flowed freely, and the gods could set foot onto the mortal world for but a single night.

They all descended for the first time in centuries, for they wished to take the bodies of their lost loved ones with them, and the young god was all too happy to accompany them.

The people rejoiced at their arrival, showering them with gifts and drawing them over to the prepared food and lovely music, lanterns glowing overhead, numerous glass figurines reflecting the light so everything got a colorful shimmer.

The boy-god was swiftly found by his people, and he happily went with them, for the first time speaking with them face to face.

His people were surprised by how young he was, and he definitely noticed the protective edge they gained as they showed him around.

He showed them the crown of stars on his head and explained how there had been more, once, and a glance up at the night sky showed that there were only a handful of stars visible. The largest, the most powerful ones, the ones keeping him safe.

The rest were gone, spent in exchange for miracles, and he hadn’t regretted giving a single one away.

His people soon offered him gifts to put in his hair, and he asked them to do it, since it only felt right in this moment. They were very gentle, talking to him about how much his help had meant, how much they wanted to give back to him with their whole hearts.

Soon he had ribbons and pearls and hair pins, made of bone and stone and wood and crystal and silk and cotton, all shimmering and shining, in his braids.

He liked the noises they made when they clacked together as he played with the mortal children who did not care that he was a god.

He liked how the ribbons felt, how he had something to fiddle with, and the moon overhead glowed brighter to share in his joy.

He was so happy that not even the end of the night could dampen his mood, though he felt tired by then. He rejoined the other gods, gathered around the bodies of their lost loved ones, who had gotten covered in gifts as well.

"Made just for them," one of the temple leaders said while the god of war and the godling of remembrance leaned down to pick up their lovers with endless care, making sure none of the gifts fell. "Thank you for coming tonight."

"Of course," the goddess of crafts said, laden down with inventions to the point that she looked downright comical carrying so many bags and papers and crates, but her grin was bright and beautiful. "Take care now."

And as dawn crested, the gods vanished, returning to the eternal palace that was their home.

The second they arrived, the tokens in the boy-god’s hair started to shine and glow.

All the gifts the other gods had gotten, made just for them, did the same, and the gods gasped as power filled them as the gifts vanished.

Grabbing his braids, the young god watched them unravel by themselves as his hair filled with newly born stars. Stars made out of the gifts of his followers.

The goddess of love and the god of celebrations inhaled sharply, their eyes opening, and there was a terrible keening noise that might have come from everyone or that might have come just from their lovers, but there were tears and reaching hands and shouts as they all sank to the floor, holding each other.

The boy-god found himself pulled into the huddle of hugging, the goddess of crafts exclaiming over his new stars.

Tears filled his own eyes as his family around him laughed, and finally, at long last, grief vanished fully and completely. It was thoroughly banished by the return of those who had been so very cherished.

When he made his way to his rooms after being held and hugged and meeting two gods who he had missed without ever knowing them, he found his temples full of people.

"Did it work?" they asked, a prayer that seemed to be directed at everywhere all at once. "Please, let it have worked."

"It did," he told them through dancing lights and his people cheered so loudly it felt as though he stood right beside them once more. "How did you do this?"

"It was easy, really," the woman whose brother he had once saved said, though he knew it had been anything but easy. "You said a god’s calling is to care and love, didn’t you?"

Her brother, saved by a star, the town once saved by stars, all the people he had saved and who had saved each other in turn grinned brightly and said, "It’s our calling, too."

The gifts they had made, the young god realized, had been filled to the brim as his people had managed to weave pieces of themselves into them.

They had been made with such fierce love and gratitude and genuine, deep care, a wish not from him but for him, that it had to come true.

He laughed and cried again, and his temples were filled with joy.

All the temples in the world were filled with joy, he noticed a little while later as he sought out his family, the other gods just as glad, just as happy as he was.

That night, the sky was filled with a galaxy of stars made of love and care, and people laughed and danced as quiet temples devoted to love, devoted to celebrations woke up after centuries of slumber.

Finally, the boy-god’s family was hale and whole again, and with it, the world had grown brighter and happier, mortals and gods knowing they could always count on each other.

For care and for love.