Uror was practically giddy with anticipation as she waited for her guests to arrive. Placing bets on mere mortals was tricky, but she had insider secrets and a knack for knowing their possible fates. It was like betting on your favourite horse; there was no sure thing. Who would be first through the gate? The pearly white gate, that is? And who would either save or damn the Twinverse?

There were a finite set of possibilities for the future, each with a percentage of probability to become; percentages that only she knew. Sometimes, Uror went with the house favourite. Other times, she trusted her witchy gut.

Either way, she usually won. She loved winning.

Lording her victory over fellow Gods and Goddesses — especially that know-it-all Odin — while stacking up on favors, I-owe-you's, and new-coveted toys was pretty much as good as it could get since the Proclamation. Once the meddlesome decree had been voted in, the Gods had diplomatically "agreed" not to intervene in sporting events outside of the purview of their Godly duties. If not for the Trojan war in Greece on Earth that had almost led to a cataclysmic war between Gods, a war of Titans, she might still have had free reign to do as she pleased. But eventually, it would have lead to disagreements between Gods, which would have led to the end of ... well ... likely everything. Perhaps even to Ragnorok, and the end of even them. Without Gods in the games, it was much easier to foresee outcomes, but it was more annoying not to be able to help achieve victory for your chosen team.

Uror was prepared for everyone to arrive. Her treehouse in Yggdrasil, The Norse Tree of the Worlds, was decorated with a sparkly Earth / Htrae World-Globe disco ball that bounced beams off the dappled wood walls and floors of the interior as it spun. She had streamers, banners, and balloons strewn from rafters of ash-wood, all in a hue corresponding to a designated hero or villain: purple for Rowan, green for Laina, blue for Will, and red for the Empress, Winona Epicury. Uror had baskets of laser-cut masks, each an eerily accurate simile of the faces of the players, so that the Gods could don the face of their favourites as they cheered them on.

The focal point in her living room was a massive white screen, like a home theatre, against one wooden wall. In front of it was a large coffee table made from the roots of a rowan tree, covered in snacks like crispy candied Corbelcub, Grifferky (which was Griffon meat jerky), Dwarfbites and pegasus wings. She also had a punch bowl of fermented water from Urdarbrunnr, the well of fate, that was bound to get even the hardiest Gods inebriated. Her throne-like cushioned chair was dead centre, the best seat in the house, two couches and a few other arm chairs arranged on each side of it as if Uror was holding court.

Uror was in an exquisite outfit. She wore a white gauzy dress spun from the webs of an Astral spider. Not only did the delicate weave shine bright like starlight, but it would be a nod to her Godly guest, Anansi, while simultaneously evoking a sense of the webs she, herself, weaved. It was a direct ode to the power she held. The perfect choice. She had smeared some blush on her cheeks and some lipstick on her old smackers for the occasion as well. The only jewelry she wore was a ring that looked more like armor for her pointer finger: long, silver, and jointed with a constellation of crystals twisting along the length.

She was ready.

Except that the technology was acting up...

"Cupid, what's taking so long?" she called out, her protest like a creaky door badly in need of WD-40.

Cupid had received an invite (and strict instructions to come early) because, though he was only a demi-god and had an irritable, predictable and boring habit of always rooting for love and happy endings, he was indispensable as her troubleshooting-tech guy. She found him grating, but his dabbling on Earth with websites and dating apps meant he was an expert with human technology. He could code, program, set up, fix and finagle machines almost as well as he could shoot an arrow. So he was currently behind the screen, playing around with cords to ensure the live stream was coming through in HD. He was in awe of her and so she used him, whenever she felt she could put up with his insufferable character, that is.

"Everyone will be here soon," she said, voice cracking like an angry, whistling whip, "and I still don't see anything but static and —"

Popping into existence in live animation on big screen, Uror could now see the focus pan out from the flawless ivory skin of the centuries-old Empress of Epicure. Standing on the deck of a warship, a fleet of hundreds dotting the thrashing seas around her, she was leaning over a dais painted with a map, small figurines of wyverns, boats, and soldiers strewn across the surface. Her hair was held in a golden net, crown affixed to her head, not one wisp of hair blowing in the strong wind. Her Grand Physician stood beside her, tall, but shoulders hunched forward, shrewd and sharp featured. For a moment he looked into the screen as if he was starring back at Uror, his eyes boring into hers like he knew she was watching.

Uror giggled with glee. Worthy adversaries for the heroes, these human witches that defied the laws of their universe.

A lowly soldier stood behind the Htraeans, one lonely wyvern circling the sails of the Empress's ship as if restless for his rider to return.

"Where, exactly, did you say you saw this rebel ship?" the empress demanded, her voice an unyielding command as her red nail scratched across the chalky paint of the map beneath.

The soldier moved towards the map, pointing. "There, Your Opulence."

"Well done, soldier. You will be rewarded for escaping. However, I will personally ensure the rest of your old team are forgotten for failing to return from patrol. Their names will be erased forever from the annals of Epicurean history and their families shall be penalized for their incompetence." She looked around, searching for her personal man. "Jebidiah! Get the list of the flying guard's brigade, faction 14. Trace down the families and take away half of their food vouchers. Ink a 'D' for disgrace to the end of each of their entitlement tattoos. The children of these failures must be tougher, better, hungrier! They must become adults, eager to make up for their parent's mistakes and earn a higher status."

Uror admired the woman's cruelty for a cause. The Wyrd knew all too well that sentiment got in the way of greatness and purpose. If only her daughter, Skuld, were watching the example being made. But this was not the show she wanted to be tuned in to. Not now, in such a pivotal moment in the story.

"Change the channel, Stupid," Uror yelled, beginning to lose her patience.

Cupid didn't appreciate the nickname she'd given him. His head popped out from behind the screen, pouting. He had long curly blonde hair and chubby cheeks with a button nose. He fashioned himself like a chiselled Roman statue with a cherubic boy face as a nod to the humans who had worshiped him so thoroughly. Most-often he wore an outdated toga with his bow and quiver casually carried over a shoulder like a jacket worn by a male model. She disliked the people-pleasing form he chose. It was ungodly. But what could you expect from a demi-God, always appealing to their basest instincts.

"I'm working on it!" He bellowed in response to her demand. "I have to sync the latitudinal and longitudinal numbers up with your satellite and then focus your magically enhanced cam. It's not easy stuff that you're asking me to do."

Just then, a knock permeated the air in the hollow of her tree branch.

"Work it out!" she snapped, as she turned her back on him to greet whichever guest was at the door.

"Oh," Uror said. "It's just you." Her sister, Veroandi, peered at her from the hallway with her big owlish eyes, looking very much like a regular old human librarian verging on senior citizenship. She came in and made herself comfortable, curling into the tufted settee beside Uror's throne.

Uror was ... fond of her younger sister, though they had a healthy rivalry and more than a few differing life philosophies. Of the three Wyrds, Uror was still the most powerful, but her sister was no slouch either. She was the Wyrd of the present. Currently, Uror held the past and the future in her hands, if only because her only daughter refused to take her spot as Wyrd, at their sides.

"How was your trip to Htrae?" Uror asked, making small talk.

"Oh, you know. Same as usual. Blessed some babes and damned some others," Vero answered. "All split destinies ... so this really could be the end for them. Glad the soundtrack to the party isn't screeching babies, though, I'll tell you. If I never hear a—"

"HELLO PARTY PEOPLE!" came a loud booming voice to the accompaniment of the sound of the door whooshing open and crashing against the wall. "I have arrived!"

Odin stood in the doorway, hands on hips, outlined with glowing light so bright it was hard to look directly at his muscular, bulky form, comprised solely of atoms from the sun.

"Odin! No one will be able to see the screen if you don't dim your abominable glow," Uror berated him.

She wasn't being a good host, she knew, but Odin had always been the most obnoxious and conceited God in the Norse Pantheon. His superiority complex always got under her skin.

"I will, I will," Odin conceded. "But you can't blame a God for wanting to make an entrance, am I right?" He winked at them by flashing his brilliance off and on again, flexing his bulging biceps above his head.

"Looking handsome as always," said a musical and flirtatious voice from behind Odin. Aphrodite was the newcomer, and as she swept neatly underneath Odin's armpit, it was easy to see, to Uror's despair, that she was completely naked. Her luscious curves were on full display, her shiny blonde locks piled upon her head, bright garish red lipstick her only adornment.

"Couldn't you have dressed for the occasion, Aphrodite? Why do you insist on showing off all your assets?" Uror's eyes flitted to her perfectly toned derriere. She was exasperated with her friend's tacky party manners. Friend's don't come to friend's parties dressed like hussies.

"Don't be such a prude, Uror," Aphrodite laughed, a husky sexy rasp. "Not all of us want to take the form of an ugly old tree hag. And since when is nudity shameful? So very human of you." Uror bristled at the insult, her finger sparking perilously. Questioning her godliness was not a slight Uror took lightly. But just as she was about to disinvite Aphrodite — thoroughly, with a zap — Uror was handed a bottle of a very potent and rare love potion called 'Toxic Love'. This particular housewarming gift was something that would have been expensive in Godly trades for her to acquire, so she let Aphrodite's bad manners wash off her back as she let the Goddess in.

Uror didn't have time to dwell for long, as now her guests were arriving in quick succession, manifesting in her hall out of thin air. Father Time was perfectly on time, down not only to the very minute, but to the very second. His form was of an old man in a lungi, teeth decaying in his mouth and eyes sunken. It was, of course, a display of what time was capable of and a clear nod to his powers.

Anansi was also scuttling down the hallway, a giant eight-legged Arachnid with a smiling human head. The West-African trickster God took a form that Uror found to be both original and fear-inducing for lesser beings; he did not pander for worship and this, Uror greatly admired about him.

Next came Bast. Her bipedal Egyptian cat body slinked through the congregation at the door, avoiding the crowd, and perching atop a couch coyly. She was an aloof and introverted God, without the normal holier-than-though attitude that was central to most higher beings.

Uror was glad to see her best friend Kali coming up the hallway as well, one of her four hands, hand in hand with her husband Shiva, another carrying a severed head. Kali was ebony black, while Shiva's skin was an indigo blue. Both were wrapped in bright fabrics with ornate golden jewellery and crowns upon their brows as was the custom of their Hindu roots. Uror didn't understand how someone could agree to love another God for eternity, but they seemed to make it work. Uror hadn't even managed to make a relationship last longer than a human century, but she admired both Shiva and Kali for having a love that sustained a relationship throughout their immortality. Of all the Gods, Kali's penchant for destruction and change (with the exception of her persistent love for her partner) suited Uror's own chaotic nature. With a "hello darling" and a kiss on the cheek, Kali handed the severed head over as if it were a bouquet of flowers. Uror wasn't sure what to do with the bleeding severed man's head that she had been gifted, but she put it on a display platter so as not to offend her friend.

After Uror greeted party-goers, attendees helped themselves to drinks and snacks. The Wyrd decided to pass around the basket with the masks so her guests could choose who they were rooting for, along with betting slips they could fill in and place in jars that were set up on the coffee table for each hero or villain. Gitche Manitou arrived a few minutes late, ducking through the door so his antlers would fit. He was very beautiful, with a handsome human face, long gray hair and a headdress and cape adorned with feathers, his body entirely made of midnight sky and starlight.

"Come join us, Gitche Manitou," Uror announced from her position standing beside her throne. "Welcome and thank you for joining! We are all here to watch the humans as the Wyrd prophecy unfolds. Will the Empress kill them all or will one of them kill the Empress? Let's bet! This, of course, is only the beginning of the journey, but one of them," she pointed her finger to the screen that showed only empty grass, "errr..." she hesitated, "Cupid?"

"Just one sec! It'll be on in just a ..."

"One of four: Rowan, Laina, Will Aary or the Empress, will fulfill a destiny. But which? And what are you willing to wager? Almost everyone is here ... except for Loki, who I expect won't show."

"Yup, my brother is probably up to no good. Did you invite the Big 'G'?" Odin inquired.

"Of course. Didn't want to insult him, but you know how he is. He still likes to consider himself the one and only. He refuses to come so he can continue on in self-important denial. But we've got all the party we need right here!" She looked around at the full house of Gods and stalled for time, as the screen had gone gray.

She topped up everyone's drinks.

"I raise a toast to those who will be our victors. And I place the first bet, before we have even begun to watch." She scribbled her wager on a piece of paper. "I bet property share of my divine eyeball," she said, popping it out of its socket and holding it up to the room on display.

A collective gasp went through the gathered Gods. Some ooooo's and ahhhhh's. Never before had Uror wagered something so personal, something that was the key to her powers.

She dropped the binding bet into a jar. A red jar. The one symbolizing the Empress.

"But then ..." Odin continued, "you're betting against your daughter? You're saying she won't save them this time?"

Uror glared at him. "Yes, exactly. My daughter won't save them this time. She will let them all perish at the hands of the Empress. Both worlds will finally fall. She will stop shielding them and stop pretending to be a Valkyrie and a slave to humanity." Uror popped her eyeball back into the socket to glare at the group, as if to say, dare to prove me wrong. "Then," she paused for dramatic effect, "Skuld will take her rightful place by my side as Wyrd of the future."

Odin let out a loud, obnoxious laugh.

He was glowing only softly now, and his form was visible: a Viking king with only one eye.

"I'll take that bet. Your daughter is the only one I've ever known to be more stubborn than you. And I know her well. After all, when you cast her out and cursed her, she came to me, didn't she?"

The room sat tense, watching the conflict unfold between two very powerful players.

Odin continued: "She still thinks one of my sons is her father. But her wings aren't Valkyrie wings and she isn't a product of my gene pool. Still, she's a good Valkyrie. And though she may not have my blood, may not be my granddaughter by birth, she is still my goddaughter. I know her heart. She will protect them until Ragnorak takes us all." He smiled smugly, confidently. "So I bet my spear, Gungnir, that Skuld will step in. The owner of Gungnir will never miss a target in battle ever again, even if they are a God!"

There was a collective excited breath as the stakes increased.

"Wow, wait!" Aphrodite spoke up. "Let me get this straight ... Uror, Sky's father isn't one of Odin's sons? I mean, we all just sort of assumed." Everyone around the room was nodding along with her, looking at Uror curiously. "If she's not the progeny of Thor or Váli or Baldr, then who was her daddy?"

Uror was not about to give her most valuable secret away to the biggest gossip in the heavens, and a roomful of curious Gods to boot.

"None of your business, Aphrodite." She shot her a 'drop it' look.

"Hey," Kali piped up, directing her gaze at Odin. "I don't believe Sky is an option. As far as I can tell, you can't vote for her. It would be like saying, I vote for all of the heroes!"

Odin smiled. "Fair. But a vote for Sky is a vote for Will. We all know how this plays out. We've seen it happen time and time again. It's the status quo. Sky finds her soulmate and he helps her save the worlds and she continues to be cursed. And we all know Will's the one, right? Will is the reincarnation of Aman Solam. Ergo, a vote for Sky is a vote for Will fulfilling the prophecy. Like he usually fulfills the prophecy."

"But," Kali said, wide eyes decorated with kohl and jewels, "this prophecy is different."

"Maybe, but at the very least, at this point, none of us can deny Will is Aman Solam's reincarnation." Odin bent over, placing his white slip in the blue jar.

All the Gods nodded in agreement. On this particular point there seemed to be consensus.

"Anyone have a different opinion?" Uror asked, projecting her voice out to the room like an auctioneer.

Father Time raised his hand. "I'll be placing my bet on Laina Aary."

Everyone gave Father Time a strange look. "Chronos, isn't she the one without any powers?" asked Shiva.

"Yes, so far. But it's early in the game and I like an underdog, don't you?" His eyes glinted mischievously. "Oh right," he said, pulling out a small hourglass filled with sand from his lungi. "This will allow you to borrow my powers for a time, and it bypasses the Proclamation." He smiled his crooked, toothy grin. "You will be permitted to stop time for twenty minutes somewhere in the Twinverse for all but one you choose."

"Well then," said Kali, "I'll place my bet with Rowan. It seems only fair someone places a wager on her. I like a strong woman who knows who she is: a Queen and a warrior! She is my chosen hero. And if I loose, I give one blessing to the human of your choosing, to overcome the natural order of things and turn death itself on its head. Only once, mind you, can you bring a human back after Uror has deemed them dead." Kali stuck her tongue out at her friend Uror playfully. "That is, if any of you beat me. Which you won't."

"What's the happiest possible ending?" Cupid called from behind the screen. "Is there an option were the good guys win, nobody dies and everyone finds love? Cause I'll vote for that one!"

"The happiest ending for you would be to get the screen working so I don't have to end you," Uror growled.

"I'm almost ..." he continued. "I swear it should be —."

"Anansi?" Uror called. He wasn't near the common area and she hadn't seen him in a while. If she was honest, she'd lost track of him altogether.

He scuttled out from behind the screen where the power bar lay, grinning like a fool.

"Cupid, check that everything is plugged in. Anansi's been messing with the chords."

"I would like to placccce my wagerrrr," purred Bast, "affffter I have at leasssst been able to watcccchhhh the first proper epissssode." It came out in a series of hisses.

"Of course," agreed Uror. "But first, a reminder of the prophecy. Take from it what you will."

Uror stood, arms stretched out to her sides and witch talons spread. As the trancelike state began, her hair stood straight out from her head and her eyes rolled back so just the whites were visible. She began to float, two inches off the floor. A squeaky rickety noise began in the back of her throat, an eerie cry that summoned echoing words, as if dragged from deep depths, from a croaking toad at the bottom of a bottomless, unfathomable well.

"Two paths diverge, a future forked.

Two worlds, one fate, both fall or rise.

The magic seeps through, leak uncorked,

The Empress, mad, her magic warped.

Tainted, her source, immortalized.

An Aary heir must take the lead,

Three keys, two sets, an angel winged,

An artist on a fiery steed,

In need, the allies must take heed:

A Night Walker, barely kinged.

For evil Queen, the tolling bell:

Not thrice, now twice, the mourning shroud.

One Aary, the Empress will fell,

Before she's dragged right back to hell:

One set of watching eyes, avowed.

If heroes fail, twinned worlds shall end.

In death, in fire, darkness will reign.

Her Opulency's last ascent,

As Gods watch, unmoved, rules unbent,

Humanity concludes in vain."

A hush fell upon the party as the gathered Gods and Goddesses considered the meaning of the twinned prophecy, not only to the double-helix world, but to themselves: what would they do, who would they become, in a world without their chosen believers?

"It's time," said Father Time, after their moment of silence. The stakes had never been so high.

"Got it!" Cupid called out, ignorant to the gravity of the moment, from somewhere behind the screen. The live stream shifted from a close-up of nothing to a place where land meets sea. Upon a spit where warriors stood, a paladin with flaxen hair and a calculating gaze waited at the forefront: Rowan. A motley crew of others approached, a young woman with long golden locks taking the lead, two tall and muscular young men, one fair and one dark haired, behind her, a docked ship with a yellow sail at their backs: Laina, Will and Joel.

And there was Uror's daughter, like a guardian spirit at their flank, watching, too. Her long dark hair blowing in the wind, her gray wings, so like her father's. Staring at her daughter, all Uror could feel was disappointment. She saw more of the lover who had betrayed her, chose humans over her, than she did of herself. And he, too, had born the consequences for that choice.

The Gods watched.

"Hello," Laina said. "I'm your sister, Laina."

"And I'm Will," the twin boy continued.

"Hello. I'm Rowan," said the eldest Aary, as Laina reached out a hand towards her to clasp, a look of hope emanating from the crystalline blue depths of her sister's eyes.

***

So many secrets introduced and so many secrets answered! I'd love to know what you think. Please consider commenting and voting if you enjoyed the chapter.  THANK YOU! ~ Emmy