Natasha the Halve

The Gods spoke first.

“Children,” Danuva greeted them. “We welcome you to our temple.”

My friends let out gasps of surprise, shock, adoration, and more.

Alyssa began shaking a little, and a few tears escaped her eyes. She had a huge smile on her face, and had her tail coiled behind her. As a woman of faith, her current emotions were something I might take decades, if not centuries, to understand. As a Cleric heavily focused on healing, being in front of the Goddess that gave sentience to the species of the world was an event that 'powerful' fell short to describe.

Yolin was looking at the floor with a calm expression. Her eyes were a little glossy, but no tears came out. As a carefree soul, meeting Gods was maybe not that big of a deal all things considered. As a Cleric, however, the moment was clearly something that brought strong emotions.

Lapia had her eyes closed, and a cheeky smile touched her lips. Despite not being a Cleric like Alyssa and Yolin, the Elf was perhaps the closest to the Gods in my opinion since she's a teacher just like them.

I recalled the words the monarchs of Lumin Kingdom told me during the Royal Banquet, about Gods justifying educators just like we Halves justify governance.

Pokora's eyes were wide to the absolute limit, and her mouth was slightly open. There was no telling what the woman was thinking when having physically present deities in front of her. Considering her mind was not tampered – unlike mine – her view might be a bit more objective... which could lead to even greater inner conflict when confronted with the fact that Gods, in actuality, existed.

Bonte, similarly to Lapia, had his eyes closed and a serene expression on his face. His ears were standing at attention and pointing at the Gods, and his tail was wrapped on his right leg. The man's usually childish behavior was nowhere to be seen.

Thelea was drenched in sweat, and her body was shivering slightly. Her eyes were locked on the floor and her mouth was twitching every few seconds. Maybe Shorvanna's words of tournaments being a sad attempt at greater conflict put her in a rough spot considering she took part in quite a few of those. The fact Goliaths sought glory in conflict, and she personally wanted to die in glorious combat maybe touched a nerve somewhere.

Bromisnar was outright crying with a smile on his face. He did his best to keep quiet, which resulted in hiccups and gasps. Tears poured out of his eyes nonstop, but the man made no effort to wipe them. As a highly emotional man, meeting the God he thought was the pinnacle of his art, and the grand goal he had set for himself to impress, was perhaps something that couldn't be explain with simple words.

Hanna was quiet, still, and was looking at the ground. It was the exact same display of respect she showed me when we first met... and several times since then.

Elena had a deeply complicated look on her face, probably facing some inner conflict on who she was, who she would become after regaining her memories, her relationships with those she worshiped, and what that meant in more interpersonal relationships she had no memories of. A worried frown occupied her features, and her eyes moved between the ground, Danuva, and me.

As a creator myself, anything and everything is content. As such, I took a sketchbook out of my storage and started drawing the scene before me.

Powerful emotions are crucial when dealing with art. The most controversial pieces are those that intend on changing how the consensus sees certain aspects of life, or perpetuate them with a shock to the soul with which we are reminded of the horrors we sometimes see and experience. Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, an oil-on-canvas masterpiece by Ilya Yefimovich Repin in 1885 Anno Domini, Earth Calendar, is one such example.

The raw and brutal depiction of the resolution of violence from a father to his son was a recurrent source of inspiration – whether literal or symbolic – for artists since the dawn of time. The reminder that mortals are eternally capable of physically harming others is what the individual will come to see when looking at Ilya Yefimovich Repin's masterpiece, even at a single glance. The cane lying on the floor next to them, the crumpled carpet on which they sat, the scattered objects around the room... it all screams of a violent altercation to the observer. Violence from a beast which then faced the greatest of remorse while hugging his dying son.

I personally had the privilege and absolute honor of looking at it in person. I saw the violence my mother inflicted on my family on it. That moment of savage hysteria which resulted in the loss of everything she held dear. Unlike the Ivan the Terrible Ilya Yefimovich Repin depicted, my mother did not see or experience such a regret until many years later when it was already too late.

The canvas spoke to me at the time, and I understood things about myself when looking at it. It was beyond terrifying, but equally enlightening.

Naturally, there is a political and religious context to be found around the piece... which brings me back to why I was drawing the scene before me despite not being such a master as Ilya Yefimovich Repin was. The depiction of infanticide was censored due to being insensitive, according to those who passed judgment in the Russian Empire. As a Halve, however, there is no being on this planet to censor me. I'm not delusional enough to believe it's my sacred duty to immortalize the moment, but it's a step I think is important in my self discovery when it comes to Gods, mortals, and Eternals. The fact Gods are not depicted in any way other than metaphors – perhaps except Shorvanna's statue in the dungeon she mentioned – is important when it comes to touching the hearts of the people.

Showing their shape and those who worship them, along with the emotions present in the moment is, in my humble opinion, bigger than life. Something I won't do without their explicit consent, naturally. There must be a reason as to why people don't describe them.

Still. I am an artist at heart. Perhaps too westernized for the Eastern European purist traditionalists... but an artist nonetheless.