"The Order of Valentine, a name whispered in hushed tones throughout the kingdom, was founded by the goddess of the rainbow, the messenger of the gods.

"Through her desperation, she forged a path to the mortals. A curved path that goes above the clouds with seven colours that glimmer white in the sun. Her soft but now bruised feet sparkled with dirt, trek along the path as she is absorbed in her thoughts.

"Just like fate, her tears fail her. Her eyes, burdened with despair and pain are teary but no tears make it out. She sobs quietly, beating her chest, wishing she could cry, wishing she could turn back time, wishing she could go back and elope as was the original plan. However, her father brought a gun to a knife fight, and her plans crashed like a cockroach beneath a boot." She leans forward, narrowing her slit eyes in pride and intrigue.

"Their relationship never stood a chance. Its pillars were strong on the inside but cracked outside from the overwhelming force of impact from everyday nuances. Constant hammering, bumping intos and of course, the question of mortality.

"She sits down at a fountain, in a foreign realm, mundane even and oblivious of the utterly stupored man right next to her, head buried in the fountain. Bubbling startles her and she jumps as a head pops out of the water. 'Don't mind me,' the dark-skinned man says, hoarse his voice is but sultry nonetheless.

"He coughs out the water that had found its way through his throat then positions himself slightly farther from her. His dark curly hair falls on his forehead and to the side of his right ear as water droplets drip down his beautifully structured face, neck, and already wet parka.

"The goddess watches him in wonder, for a moment nursing the distraction offered to her from a gold chalice. The man is drowsy and beautiful but ugly all the same from the state he's allowed himself to succumb to. He sits and forgets. His eyes close and he lays down on the edge of the fountain, attempting to catch slumber and the goddess is taken aback. 'This human can't even acknowledge I'm well—me!' Although dressed in cheap linen and an apron for a maid, she glows with radiance, the end of a rainbow sits by her feet, jewellery bedight her wrists, ankles, arms, and neck and a fine one of leaves and the rays of the sun sits on her head. She looks out of this world, so to speak. 

'You don't belong here,' the man finally acknowledges his voice this time, slurpy and tired.

'How would you know, you barely even spared a glance,' the goddess continues to welcome the distraction. Anything to help her forget. 'This kingdom you belong to is different.'

'It's not a kingdom, Miss, it's a ball sitting on one man's hand, filled with people to do his bidding. Some of us rebel.'

'Whatever do you mean?' Iris asks.

'It's a vicious process. Be born, grow up, go to school, study hard, excel, get a job, work till there's no meat left on your bones, marry, give birth, lather, rinse, repeat. When do we ever get to step out of that linear cycle, paradoxical as it may sound, and be different? I chose to drink,' he sniggers, 'The man destined to become the greatest in his family sleeps at a fountain almost every night.'

'You know not what you say. You can't dance with fate,' the goddess replies and the man laughs hysterically in response.

'I have fate weaved like a thread around my finger. I decide which way it folds.'

'Don't you think that's dangerous?'

'I don't know which world you come from, Miss, but here, you either write your story or die in regret,' the man replies candidly.

"The goddess sits and ponders, his words, somewhat of wisdom, dance in her mind in a musical tune, probing, invading, persuading. If she had written her fate, perhaps, all this could have been avoided. She would have coupled with Valentine, eloped and forgotten their differences. Their love was so much stronger than the forces bombarding it. They could have tried to change their fate. No one ever said it was impossible." She clears her throat, taking a deliberate dramatic pause before she continues.

"'I want to change my fate,' Iris says rather desperately after a long silence. 'I want to be with him,' she whimpers.

'What happened?' the man asks, seemingly even less interested than before. He even snores a little.

'He was arrested for conducting illegal marriages. He only did them once a year...' she breathes in heavily, '...the prison collapsed and he died. I didn't even get to visit.'

'Tough, isn't it?'

"The goddess quiets again, and then, like a bulb above her head, she turns to face the man. 'You can help me!'

"'No, can do Miss. I'm busy,' he replies, uninterested.

'But you were called out to be the greatest of your family. What if this is where destiny led you? To me. To give you this task that will pass down to every last of your kin?'

'Keep dreaming! Nothing can pull me out of this fountain. They have tried, all of them, believe me. The police, my father, my brothers, heck even the water dried out once or twice when I was here but the fountain filled up again, didn't it?'

'No,' Iris insists, 'I was brought here for a reason and with that only, I, the goddess of the rainbow and the messenger of the gods hereby task you, uh...your name?'

'Do you think I will give you my name for you to give me work to do, Miss?'

'I'm Iris.'

'Oh, well Miss, I don't care!' he answers, defiantly. 

'Okay, me too!' she answers resolutely, then continues nonetheless. 'I, the goddess of the rainbow and the messenger of the gods, task you, Sir, I'm going to give you a name, say Stamatios...

'Stama-what? What kind of name is that?'

'...to help me rewrite my fate. I, therefore, found um, what should I call it...um, aw yes, The Order of Valentine. Whatever you do from now on, to the next of your offspring, would be a step closer to uniting me with my lover. You will have my path at your disposal when and however necessary. Any meaningless saunters to my realm are strictly forbidden. Albeit, every fourteenth day of the second month, you are allowed back freely for any reason to the nether realm. I crown you," she takes off her crown of the sun and places it askew on the sleeping man's head, "Sir Stamatios, whisperer of the gods, orchestrator of fate and head of the Order. Your rules are yours to follow, mine are just precautions. Until we meet again. Until I get to see Valentine again. Rewrite your fate, he said, rewrite we shall. Antíos.'

"And just like that, the rainbow in the night vanishes and so does the goddess. But the story was never confirmed to be true. It's a legend told so many times, known for lesser distortions than any other legend. The goddess never got to meet her lover, Valentine, as far as we know, and we don't know who the chosen of fate were, the whisperers of the gods and the orchestrators of fate. We remain hoping something was done or perhaps is to be done."

I find myself leaning against the worn wooden counter in the dimly lit bookstore, enduring yet another session of the same fabricated legend Sabina, the narrator, seems to relish. A captivating figure with a crown of curly white hair that seems to possess a life of its own. Her light-skinned complexion glows under the soft glow of the store's lamps, accentuated by a flowing white dress that clings to her slender frame. A thick, brown almost gold belt cinches her waist, adding an air of elegance to her appearance. Not a single wrinkle mars her flawless face, as if time had gracefully bypassed her. I can't help but be drawn to her beauty, even as her enchanting words test my patience. I roll my eyes in exasperation, my scepticism mounting with every fantastical detail she spins.

The suspenseful tale she wove had captured the attention of the eight, nine, and ten-year-olds and most of their relatives around me. It is as if she revels in the attention, savouring every opportunity to immerse herself and others in a world of her creation.

My ten-year-old brother, Joshua, bounds towards me with uncontainable excitement. "Kendi!" he calls out, his voice filled with youthful exuberance. I turn my gaze to him, spreading a smile in almost an excitement of his to see me as I am him. Joshua shares my chocolate complexion, his short black curly hair framing his face with an unruly charm and his eyes sparkle with the same curiosity that had once danced on my own.

Relieved to leave behind the lingering whispers of Sabina's voice, Joshua and I venture out of the bookstore. As we traverse the familiar streets of London on our way home, my phone buzzes in my pocket, its ringtone cutting through the evening air.

Immediately I answer the call, the urgent question bursts from my mother's lips, "Are you home, Kendi?" Her voice is seemingly out of breath, sweeping past the customary rapport-ushering 'hello', leaving it neglected and forgotten in the rush of her concern.

I let out a deep sigh. "Not yet, Mum," I reply, my voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "Sabina had us held captive with her never-ending legend of The Order, again."

"I actually enjoy it," Joshua chimes beside me.

"Forgive her. She's been around for so long that she begs her stories are true. Anyway, get home now and prepare dinner. I've got a late-night shift today. And make sure your dad attends the AA meeting?" she asks to confirm I'll do it rather than remind me to. "It's his achievement day today.

"Aye, mother. I'll make sure the cold metal warms his chest. Love you."

"Love you, Mamaa," Joshua shouts to the phone.

"Love you. Got to go."

The line goes dead almost as fast as it came. I glance at my reflection in the window of a passing shop, my skin radiating a warmth that mirrors the strength I like to believe is in me, while my long, smooth black dreadlocks cascade down my back, a testament to my resilience. I carry the weight of the family, the glue of stability and support during our journey towards healing.

Beside me, Joshua skips along, his infectious enthusiasm serving as a reminder of the joys amidst the chaos. With determination in my eyes and a sigh of both weariness and resolve, I skip with him, leading the way as we near our destination, embracing my role as the dependable older sister.

"What do you want for dinner, Josh?" I ask as I push open the gates to our compound.

"A burger. Oh, perhaps some steak or maybe just cereal," he replies emphatically.

"How about I just surprise you?"

"Sounds good." He nods then runs upstairs to his room.

I take off my coat that preserved me from the winter cold of January, throw the keys in a bowl and call out to my father. Having no response, I make my way towards his home office. Nothing seems unusual at first, but I don't fail to notice the bright light that peers out of the open door.

"Huh!" I hear the sound of a woman and I move closer. I lean against the wooden embedded wall and carefully peer inside.

My eyes widen at the sight of part of a rainbow sitting casually at the centre of the room. A creature with the unmistakable figure of a woman in bare feet leans against it like it is a solid wall. I must have heard Sabina's stories way too much for my brain to project her legends as vividly as this.

I shake my head in the hope of dispersing the image, but my eyes widen even further as the image becomes clearer.

The creature is in a black and gold sleeveless dress that looks expensive from her waist up and from her waist down, it is jagged and tattered like the aftermath of a canine's attack, the shredded fabric dangling like rebellious tendrils and revealing glimpses of the creature's skin beneath.

She stands before my father, who is seated and rushing through a paper in ink, her eyes burning in anger. "Sir Stamatios," she exclaims, her voice dripping with frustration.

'Sir Stamatios?' I question silently as I lean in even more, to watch this drama unfold before me.

"I entrusted you with a task twenty-one years ago, yet all I see is dust intertwining with the gossamer strands that drape the forgotten corners of this room. You have allowed the delicate fibre of fate to be covered in dust. Have you no shame in the wispy reminder of your inaction, huh?"

She leans against his desk and my father gets up.

"I am late for a meeting. Can we talk later?" He walks past his desk and begins heading towards the door.

"I'll find you wherever you are, Stamatios, whatever time I wish and I, as you taught me, can now bend your fate as easily as it is to speak."

My father sighs and turns to her, exasperated. "I never wanted your task," he stresses, "in the first place, remember? I don't even know the fuck I'm supposed to do, Iris."

Iris? The goddess of the rainbow? What sick joke is this?

"You learned my name. You should now learn how to be a leader. The Order needs you."

"No, you need The Order. The man died for gods' sake. What more can I do?"

Iris takes the picture frame that sits on my dad's desk. It is a picture of us when we visited America for the first time, posing cheekily in front of the largest yarn.

"The Order grew," she scoffs. "The Order grew and you didn't think to tell me."

"I'm not involving my family in this game you brewed, Iris."

"Well, that doesn't stop me from involving them, does it? I crowned you a whisperer, an orchestrator and you have done nothing! It passes down to your family as anointed. She wishes to expand, he wishes to expand, so be it."

My father sighs and looks at the goddess with murderous intent. She mimics the stare, breathing heavily as anger spreads across her face.

"I needed to get clean..."

"I don't care. Twenty bloody years I have waited to be reunited with Valentine. What more can I ask for, Stamatios?"

"My name is Navy, Iris."

She looks down as if she's about to cry, staring at the picture of our family.

"We've been through a lot. I put my wife through hell when she was pregnant with Kendi and I had to make up for it. I couldn't lose them. So, I'm sorry if I didn't have the time to help an immortal with her love life while I age and time wisps past me until I grow grey and frail. I don't have a second chance like you or time to wait..."

"Valentine is mortal," she sobs and places down the picture. "My father...no one really, approved of our union because of that, mainly."

"And you still want him back?" My father sounds vindictive.

She stretches out her hand and my father takes it in his. "Take a good look at the crown I gave you. You should start there."

She radiates with an otherworldly luminosity as she gracefully ascends her iridescent rainbow. The ethereal arch appears unyielding, bearing her weight effortlessly as if she were as light as a cloud. In awe, I behold the sheer majesty of the scene where a mortal and a divine realm intersect, just like Sabina narrated.

And just like that, she vanishes in a matter of seconds, leaving a sense of wonder tinged with longing. My father, weariness etched on his face, heaves a deep sigh of exhaustion as he glances at his watch, only to be met with a curse of frustration upon realising his tardiness. Just then, the doorbell chimes. Startled, I instinctively retreat, concealing myself from my father's gaze as he turns at the sound of it. Swiftly and quietly, I make my escape, ensuring he remains unaware of my presence as he walks out to answer the beckoning door.

I find myself closing the door to my brother's room. My eyes are looking but aren't seeing. My hands are touching but aren't feeling. The only organ working is my brain in a deluge of swirling thoughts. Legends, crowns, Iris, order, my father, whisperer, orchestrator. I collapse to my knees in utter bewilderment and frustration. None of it makes any sense.

"Kendi?" my brother calls, making me aware of his presence in his room.

I look up to see him standing by the window, worry clouding his eyes at the sight of me. I smile then, an assurance that I'm okay, just overwhelmed by the sudden appearance of a true and breathing goddess in our house. Her radiant glow still blinds my vision, my breathing is like that of a dog, energetic and hyper at the same time. There was an aroma too. A subtle wave of cedar and petrichor, enchantingly dancing in the air in a nostalgic seduction. Perhaps if I wasn't too perplexed, I would have thought to reach out for her hair.

"I need to tell you something," I say, almost out of breath.

"That Cain is here? I already know!" he mocks.

My eyebrows scrunch as I slowly gather the new information. "No, not that C...wait, Cain is here?"

I get to my feet, for a moment forgetting the abnormal encounter minutes ago, and head for the window. And there it is, the screaming red convertible parked just outside the gate.

"Cain!" I growl, storming out of the room and marching towards the front door.

I find my father receiving a basket from him as he laughs at something unfunny Cain just uttered. Some people weren't born with certain qualities but always force some into them just to have it all.

"I should probably get a restraining order for you, Red," I spit, crossing my arms as I stare deeply into his eyes, I could burn his soul.

"Be nice, Kendi," my father says before he leaves me to say goodbye.

"That wouldn't be necessary, seeing I didn't even come here for you." As much as I dread it, his voice is usually husky yet again with a melodic precision, akin to words elegantly aligned on a page of beautiful handwriting. His fair skin catches the dim light of the setting sun in a gleaming orange glow, highlighting his pleasant features: a chiselled jawline, perfectly symmetrical and striking, a well-groomed beard that naturally accentuates his face, and almond eyes that gleam with hidden depths. His black hair is tousled into a stylish quiff above his forehead while the rest is carefully combed at the back. All of this, and yet, I despise seeing his face.

"Yet you're here."

He huffs. "Begrudgingly accepted the request by my dear mother having missed your father's presence at the meeting."

"Tell her thank you!" my father shouts from inside.

"Will do, Dr. McKenzie," Cain shouts back, returning to me, "I wonder which hole you crawled out from. Your dad is remarkable."

"I wish I could say the same for you, but that would be too polite. Earth doesn't deserve your pretty face."

He smirks, a smug look hogging his face. "I'll take that as a compliment."

I scoff with a mocking smile. "Not in my head."

His fleeting smile fades into a frown and before I let him say anything else, I slam the door shut. Bastard Cain.

I join my father in the kitchen, my mind once again, in a maelstrom of thoughts. My father, probably sensing my inner turmoil, stops spreading jam on his bread and looks at me with a gentle expression. I take a seat on the island stool across from him, my signature small, polite smile gracing my lips.

"Are you okay, Kendi? What happened out there?" he asks, refocusing his attention on his sandwich.

"It's nothing. It's um, something else," I say carefully as I look at him intently. He doesn't seem frazzled or has the slightest sixth sense to realise if I noticed anything peculiar that happened a few moments ago.

He takes a big bite off his sandwich and then looks at me again. "What's wrong, love? Mmh, this is brilliant," he adds, referring to his sandwich.

"Dad, where do you keep all the stuff you don't use anymore? Remember that bow and arrow you used to have when you lived in Leicester? I would like to show Josh a few tricks," I begin subtly.

I figure the first thing I need to find is the crown. From there, I could work my way through this strange debacle which my father, apparently, was blessed to accomplish.

"Oh, like the ones I taught you when you were little? Should be in a box above the locker in my office. I can get it for you," he says as he puts down his sandwich.

I stand up quickly. "No! I'll get it on my own. You figure out dinner," I say as I begin to leave, still staring at his perplexed face, I smile coyly. "You can maybe make three more of those sandwiches?"

I grin slyly as I try to subtly rush out of the room. There is a slight excitement beaming that I try to hide but I'm not sure if I am doing a good job. But I make it to the office without drawing any suspicion from my father and begin my search. I need the crown; I need it now.

I'm rummaging through the box when the scent of rain hugs my olfactory cells. Peering out of the window expecting to see water pouring from the sky, I'm greeted by the typical British grey skies. Without hesitation, I embrace the aroma and continue searching. This desperation is travelling through my veins like adrenaline.

"It's not here," a voice both strange and oddly familiar interjects with a fruity sweetness, yet commanding authority.

I freeze a statue in her presence, then turn slowly to see the goddess herself, casually leaning on her rainbow and playing with her fingers. Her countenance appears soft, lovable and even engageable, but her body language emanates an air of intimidation. A small smile rests on her lips as she observes me keenly. It's as if she's asking me to tell her who I am when she already knows.

"How could you possibly know what I'm looking for?" I ask, my voice shaky.

"I saw you earlier." She points at the picture frame she had in her hand minutes ago. "Through the reflection. I encourage curiosity."

"Is any of this real?"

"I'm here, aren't I?" She takes a step forward, her movement, graceful and deliberate. "Breathing, talking, walking, touching. I feel too. The heated wooden floor on my bare feet, and my anger."

As she approaches, I involuntarily take a step back, my back pressed against the desk behind me. Attempting to create more distance between us, I clumsily clear items from the desk, sending them clattering to the floor.

"Oh no, please. I'm angry at your father, not you. You can help me, please."

She sounds desperate, angry but desperate. I'm drawn to her somehow and if it wasn't for the fear, I probably would have reached out to feel her hair. She looks nothing close to real, perhaps a very realistic hologram of an AI controlled by some kid in a basement, torturing my nerves to a breakdown.

I regain my composure as I warm up to her gradually. I guess we are both desperate.

"I don't know how."

"Your need to find my crown proves otherwise. What if I let you have a choice? I'll show you my world then you decide whether to help me or not."

I swallow. "It can't be that easy. You had to follow up my father's icy trail."

"Your father was in a bender when I approached him and I was melting with both hope and desperation when he made me realise I can rewrite my song. But I put on his back leverage: his kin. You and your brother can finish what he never started," she implores.

I stay quiet as I watch this magnificent creature. A tangle of emotions surges within me, a blend of mild fear, intrigue and fascination. And so, with a tentative nod, I agree to her plea. She responds with a genuine smile, true to her eyes and then turns to make her leave.

"I'll come by later," she adds.

She climbs up her rainbow and when she reaches midway, she pauses and glances at me. "The crown is in his closet inside a shoe box. And oh, don't wear anything too modest. We don't take that kindly."

As soon as she disappears into thin air as swiftly and as silently as she came, I rush upstairs without a second thought. My heart races with anticipation as I bury my body in my father's clothes, frantically searching for a shoe box.

I finally find it, funnily tucked underneath a bow and quiver full of arrows like a precious secret. When I open the box, the crown glistens with a mesmerising allure, almost calling out to me. It is just as Sabina had described; a crown of golden leaves and the sun. Its golden leaves and sun-like centre shimmer with a unique charm and behind them are spikes that align at the back, reaching for the sky in awe and admiration, the same feelings stirring in my eyes.

Unable to resist, I place the crown on my head and stand before the mirror. Its glow intensifies as it catches the natural light outside. It sits on my head comfortably and light, a perfect fit. Suddenly, I feel giddy inside, a new kind of excitement, like the crown is giving me a sense of wonder and purpose, imbuing me with newfound strength and resolve. This object of ancient power is subtly nudging a bestow of the divine mission upon me, a destiny I'm meant to fulfil.

As I continue to bask in the crown's enchantment, one of the leaves catches a ray of light and ignites into a burning ember. Panic courses through me, and I instinctively rip the crown from my head, dropping it to the floor. The leaf continues burning in solitary, almost as if it has a life of its own.

I kneel to examine the weird occurrence, picking the crown and watching the leaf burn. It turns to ashes that fall onto the palm of my hand. The ashes form an intricate arch like the shape of a rainbow, which move to spell out a single word.

"Medea."