Chapter Text
Art by Tessa Harris
The story of Lun and Mer has never been told, for no mortal may know it. I tell it now to no one, for no person's benefit. I tell it only that the air might hear and grieve for what was.
In the beginning days, when mortal feet were light upon the Earth, four deities were appointed dominion over land, sky, and sea. Created by the Sovereign before existence had form, they wandered freely and did as they pleased. Two matched pairs, bonded by unknowable power, struggling for dominance amidst the dawning era of humankind.
First, there was Sol, all passionate, fiery flame, too beautiful to be gazed upon, both feared and revered. Capricious, glorious, wild, He blazed over the land like a comet, trailed always by His Lun, who repaired what She could, tracing gentle light over His path of destruction.
And in all things there must be balance, light for darkness, water for flame, so Mer was created. All things flowing, all things healing belonged to Her. She spread Herself far and wide, to protect, to nourish, to give life. To aid Her and support Her, a companion was given, named Ter. His was the earth, the rocks and mountains and forests, His to sculpt, His to demolish.
In the beginning days, when the world had only just begun to breathe and pulse with life, the deities roamed free, and mortals thrived or perished at their whim. Sol and His Lun came from above, drifting or striking or settling onto the humans with punishment and abundance in turn. Where Sol went with angry steps, fires sprang up, volcanoes erupted, and plants withered. Where Lun consoled and cajoled, His might was mellowed, warming
the cold hands of children and coaxing flowers to open their petals.
Mer and Ter came from below, from the ground, from the very core of the world, to work in harmony. Together, they pushed and pulled the land into ever more beautiful configurations, creating dazzling sights for the admiration of their worshipers. Every human eye that ever beheld a mountain range with awe contributed to Ter's strength. Each pair of feet that danced in Her waves gave Mer the life force She needed. This was how the deities thrived: by the love and veneration of the ones they ruled over.
This was how things were meant to be in the first world created by the Sovereign. This was how things remained for many eons. This was truth for time in perpetuity before Mer and Lun put an end to what had been, and that is where our story begins.
I cannot say what they looked like, those deities that once were free, for their reality is not ours. I cannot tell the way in which they spoke or how they moved, for it is beyond mortal comprehension. The people who lived under their rule knew this: Sol and Mer were ever at odds, clashing together to battle over the damage done by Sol, for Mer loved and protected Her mortal charges. When they were in need, they prayed to Her, and She always came to their aid. Created as a perfect contrast to each other, the two gods’ struggles were fierce and evenly matched.
It came to pass that, on a day when Sol had raged for many hours, terrorizing a small village that had dared to anger Him, Mer responded to the sound of cries and screams. She swept up from below the earth, flooding the charred ground with Her waters and putting out every fire Sol had set. Furious at being thwarted once more, He attacked. This battle was like the rest, a clashing of equal forces, ending only once Sol’s wrath was played out.
On this day, however, Lun did not follow Him in His petulant departure. She stayed behind, using Her magic to right what had been wronged, standing far off from where Mer still flowed in tender conversation with the humans She had saved. Lun rarely interacted with the other deities, maintaining distance from them in accordance with Sol’s jealous urgings. Her association with Him made the humans wary of Her, untrusting despite Her attempts at placation. It was said that She was a deceiver, duplicitous and cunning, and any who prayed to Her would have their wishes granted in a way to make them regret ever uttering Her name.
But Mer saw what Lun was doing, and understood it to be a sincere effort at reconciliation. While the other deities had dominion over obvious things such as earth and fire, Lun was more mysterious, Her power being something more tenuous, harder to understand. She controlled light in darkness, song in silence. What humans called magic was Hers to control. Her strength ebbed and flowed, but it was greater than the others all combined. This was why Sol kept Her hidden, for She gave source to His might.
Mer saw, and understood, and was intrigued. That was the first day of the end. From then onward, Mer took special notice whenever Lun was near, becoming distracted in Her battles with Sol. Though He did not perceive the reason for Mer’s preoccupation, He nevertheless took full advantage of it, coming down hard against Her, merciless and swift. She grew weak, and the people suffered as a result. Lun, who only watched and waited, a silent observer, felt Mer’s gaze upon Her and luxuriated under it. She saw how Her presence drew Mer’s focus, and She was proud. She wanted more.
Lun glowed brighter with Her newfound appeal. Her power grew, blossoming into tendrils of light like fine strands of silver, building with every glance from Mer until one night, shimmering white gemstones fell with every step Lun took. She paid them no mind, leaving them behind for the awestruck humans, who gathered them up and called them pearls. Still, Mer did not approach. The two deities watched each other, circled each other, not daring to ignite what they both felt simmering beneath the surface.
It took Mer becoming injured for the tension to finally break. It was not a common thing, for a deity to be harmed, and even more unusual for Mer, who had power over healing. It was the pearls that did it, drawing Her attention away from Sol. She was captivated by their loveliness, their soft luminescence. Sol saw His opportunity and dealt a mighty blow, surrounding Her with flame and smoke until She began to evaporate. She cried out in pain, and Her cries reached Lun. Prevented by Her bond with Him from intervening directly, Lun was nonetheless known to be the goddess of last resorts, of hopeless causes.
She threw Her magic out like a web, darting through the columns of fire erected by Sol, to the center where Mer struggled. Lun called upon Mer to rise up, to grow stronger, to restore Herself, and Mer obeyed, swelling and surging with the force of Lun’s wish, feeding upon Lun’s magic until great tides of water erupted on all sides, sweeping Sol away and out of sight. In the silence after His departure, the two goddesses stared at each other across the battlefield. No words were exchanged, for none were needed. Lun scattered pearls into the waters of Mer’s fascination, and Mer danced under the soft glow of Lun’s attraction.
Thus began a secret thing, a precious thing, a dangerous thing. Mer began to long for the battles with Sol, even began to seek them out, for He was never less careful of keeping Lun by His side than just after He’d been defeated. These were their opportunities to see each other, to bask in each other’s presence, to form their own bond, altogether separate from the ones forged by the Sovereign. Lun grew giddy with it, drunk on the freedom of choosing something for Herself.
She whispered ideas of rebellion to Mer, sewing seeds of discontent. It was a cruel thing for the Sovereign to have done, Lun said. The forces that kept Her tied to Sol would not allow Her to protect the humans from His wrath. If She could but be free, She would join Mer in Her fight against Him. This was what Lun said, and what She thought She meant, though Her efforts to aid Sol’s unfortunate targets had perhaps only ever been an act of spite toward Him. Under the surface of Her words lurked a deep and desperate desire for freedom.
Mer was not as oppressed by Her bond with Ter. Gentle, steady Ter who never caused problems or joined in on any fight. He was content to play with His mountains and valleys, to build new things, and had a distaste for the battles Mer so often participated in. She was the dominant one in their relationship, the guiding force, set by the Sovereign to rule over Him. And He did not mind such a thing, for Mer was fair and just.
It took many long conversations for Lun to bring Mer to Her side. In the end, it was Mer’s love for Lun that swayed Her rather than logic or reason. Her feelings had grown quietly, twining into the threads of Her being and taking over before She was quite aware of what was happening. She wanted to please Lun, wanted to see Her free and happy. I will not say that Lun did not feel the same. She cherished Mer, admired Her strength and Her benevolence, but Lun’s greatest motivation was Her own benefit. A selfless love would have protected Mer from the risks Lun now proposed.
Their plan was this: to break the bonds that held them to their respective partners. To form a new bond instead, with each other. It was nothing less than foolhardy hubris, hazardous and ill-advised. They were deities, though, and thought themselves invulnerable. Blinded by love and ambition in turn, they enacted their plan.
There came a night when Sol raged like never before, goaded into greater and greater flames of anger by His crafty Lun. He swept a trail of destruction across the land, becoming so involved in His frenzy that He didn’t notice Lun slipping away. She shot across the sky, a streak of determination, hurrying to where Mer awaited. They didn’t have much time. It had been agreed that Lun would go first, for Sol was the greater danger, but when She landed and swept into Mer’s waiting embrace, She cried out that She was afraid, and begged Mer to take the lead.
Mer agreed reluctantly, wanting only to please Her beloved. They held each other tightly and began the spell they had worked out together. It was a wholly new kind of magic, made possible only by combining the core of themselves, the essence of their godhoods. Together, they laid siege to the ties that connected Mer with Her lifelong partner. The cords were thick, bound during the foundations of the universe, crafted by an almighty Sovereign with the intention of never being undone. The two goddesses battled hard, pouring every bit of their combined might into the effort.
Had it been any other deity but Lun, it may not have been possible. But She was the one set apart, the one with something more, the youngest deity and favored by the Sovereign. She was Its greatest creation, and It gave Her a little too much.
The bond broke with a violence unlike that world had ever seen, shockwaves rippling across the fabric of reality as a terrible anguished sound arose. Every tree, every rock, every grain of sand in every desert cried out in pain as Ter was ripped away from them. His presence drained from the land in moments, shrinking rapidly until it disappeared entirely. Mer collapsed to the now-lifeless ground as half of Her soul was extinguished in an instant. All around them, the earth screamed in horror at what had just occurred.
It could not possibly escape Sol’s notice. He understood immediately and knew what His Lun might attempt next. He’d never moved so quickly, bursts of flame exploding behind Him as He rushed to where the detonation of magic could be felt by all. There was His Lun, wrapped around His greatest enemy, comforting Her and urging Her to get up and finish what had been started. Sol attacked them both, enraged by this betrayal, throwing Lun to the side so He could rain abuse down upon Mer.
She was weakened by Her loss, and He was emboldened by His wrath. He pinned Her at once, bearing down with flame and fumes, intent on extinguishing Her altogether. What He could not have anticipated was Lun’s attempts at interference. She had never tried before, always held back by Her paralyzing bitterness and Her fear of the consequences. She could not actually harm Him or stop Him, but He felt Her trying, battering at the edges of His awareness with prickling shards of magic, begging Him to let Mer go.
Mer was but a small, vulnerable wisp of Herself. She first cried out weakly for mercy, then shifted and cried out to be ended instead, unable to bear having felt and caused Ter’s death. It was this capitulation that held Sol back, for He did not want to give such a traitorous being anything She desired. His cunning mind devised a far more fitting punishment, and He called out to Lun, saying that He would spare Her lover if only She gave Him use of Her magic. Knowing that He would use it for something monstrous but wanting to save Mer’s life, Lun agreed.
Sol took. And took. And took. He drained Lun of nearly everything She had, then molded what He stole into a spear, a wickedly sharp instrument of brutality that He then drove into Mer’s watery heart. Every ill intention Sol had within Him flowed through the spear, spreading like a disease, an illness that took root and poisoned Mer, penetrating every drop of Her being.
These dark deeds could not be overlooked. The universe trembled, weeping for what had been lost, for what had been ruined.
Then the many eyes of the Sovereign were opened, everywhere all at once, beholding the chaos wrought. Every living thing stopped, the cosmos holding its breath in one eternal, silent moment.
The Sovereign blinked, everywhere all at once, and the fabric of reality shifted and changed. What had been was torn asunder, liquefied and reformed into something new. More structured, more restricted. The land was lifeless and still, devoid of a sentient deity. Mer was imprisoned within Her own waters, trapped forever in Her tears, a home of salt and brine. Sol and Lun, still bonded, were placed into the sky, separate from each other and from Mer, forbidden from moving through the world again.
Seeing Its work and considering it good, the Sovereign closed Its eyes once more.
This was the new world. The humans were left with no memories remaining of the bygone days when deities roamed free. Such knowledge was now taboo, prohibited and punishable by death. Still, something within them sang for the things that were lost. They persisted in their worship, unthinkingly, regarding the Sun and Moon with awestruck eyes, continuing to feed the deities and give them the lifeforce they needed to go on shining.
Something was different within the Ocean, however. She writhed and quivered, twisting Her waves upon the shores, hearing the thoughts of Her treasured humans as they gazed upon Her displays with reverence, and yet…She was hungry. She ached with it, a clawing need that had never existed before. They worshiped Her, and yet She gained no nourishment from their veneration. She was cut off from them, the connection was severed. And as Her desperation grew, She understood that this is what the Sun had done with the Moon’s magic. This was His gift to Her.
His curse.
She resisted. She suffered. And as She began to die, so did the planet. Her lifeforce was what sustained every habitat, every ecosystem. She felt the slow demise of Her world, heard the appeals of the people, and despaired. What must be done was too repulsive to be borne.
At length, She no longer had a choice. A young man, caught in the dangerous tides of Her agony, began to drown. She reached out to save him, as She had for every human in distress before, but another instinct took over. She grabbed instead—pulled—and consumed. The force of Her grasp dissolved the boy entirely, his skin, muscle, and bone becoming one with Her in an instant of pure need. She quaked with horror even as the hunger faded, satiated by the soul of a human. This was what was required, for it was pieces of their souls that they gave in worship.
The Ocean’s tormented grief rang out, filling the skies above, inaudible to human ears but causing every animal and star to weep along with Her. The Sun watched with satisfaction, content that His curse had worked, as the Moon joined Her beloved’s bereavement. She grew dark, Her magic dimmed by the regret for what She had caused in Her recklessness.
There was nothing to be done but for the Ocean to give in and accept Her fate. To save Her dear humans, She must harm them. To preserve Her own life, She must commit atrocities. She mourned every death She caused, sick with guilt as life after life was taken. Her position was made even more difficult upon discovering that She could not simply reach out and grab what was needed. She tried, and felt them die within Her, but Her cravings remained, unabated. It was only the drowning that slaked Her appetite, the very ones who needed Her most. A twisted game the Sun had played, and one She could not win.
So few were drowning, and the humans began to understand the dangers of the water. They had not made boats or other watercraft yet, thus only the swimmers and waders and bathers were taken. Suspicion grew, and fear came fast on its heels.
They began to avoid the Ocean.
She was in a state of constant hunger, subsisting off of what little She could find, until there came a time when no one swam, no one waded, no one dared step one foot into Her waters. The Ocean pleaded for help, calling out to the Moon who watched from above. She was the Ocean’s only hope, for She still possessed Her magic. She could not break the curse; doing so would interfere with the Sun, and that was not allowed. But She could provide aid, helpers to lure human souls to their doom.
The first sirens were four sisters, young and beautiful. They danced under the light of the Moon and praised Her above all else, and She favored them greatly. In the dead of night, She laid a trail of pearls to guide the sisters to the Ocean. Trusting their goddess, the sisters stepped into the waves and were taken under. They thrashed and fought, but no harm came to them. Working together once more, the Ocean and Moon wove bright, silvery magic into the bones and sinews of the mortal girls, changing them, strengthening them. The Moon imbued a deadly song into their throats, planting within them small pieces of Herself to give them what they needed for their task.
Once they were no longer human, they could commune with the Ocean so long as they touched Her. She explained to them what was required, and they shuddered in terror. They did not want to do this thing, and the Ocean swore She would not force them. But they felt Her hunger as their own, an aching pain that never ended. They felt the world dying by degrees, and at last, they agreed to help. At night they stalked their prey, choosing small groups of humans and singing to them with their new voices. The Moon’s song was a spell that made any mortal cast off their fears. It filled them with a longing for the Ocean, the same longing felt by the Moon Herself. The victims rushed into Her waters and breathed Her in, the way the Moon wished to do. On the rare occasion one escaped, it was the Ocean’s own part in the spell that removed all memory of what had occurred, a safeguard against discovery.
Thus, balance was restored. The sisters served in secret, faithful to a fault, and the Ocean was well fed. The earth began to blossom once more, and in time the people began to venture back into the water. A century or more went by. The Ocean developed a close relationship with Her sirens, the only beings She could truly befriend in this new reality. There was always the devastating missing part of Her, the lost bond with Her other half, and of course Her constant longing for Her love, the Moon. They reached for each other, Ocean and Moon, and talked in their limited way. It wasn’t the same.
It came to pass, after hundreds of years, that the sirens grew weary of their job. They missed being human. They longed for partners and children. They craved lives where time mattered and secrecy was not required. The Ocean felt their distress and became uneasy. What would happen to Her if Her daughters refused to serve? When the Moon was at Her fullest and most powerful, the Ocean reached out to seek Her counsel.
Let them go, was the Moon’s thought, on the condition that they find their own replacements.
Though it saddened Her immensely, the Ocean agreed, and the sisters were told what they must do to earn their freedom. They balked at first, unwilling to subject other innocents to the life they themselves wished to leave. After much discussion, the four girls came to a decision. The eldest, a worthy mediator, brought forth their requests to the Ocean. They wished to form a set of guidelines to protect future sirens. Their conditions were as such: each siren should serve a specified sentence, with the promise of aid upon her release. Knowing the Ocean’s powers, the eldest also advocated for the removal of their memories, so that they may not suffer under the knowledge of the deaths they had caused.
Full of pride for Her daughters and already missing them, the Ocean agreed. They went forth into the world and sought out their successors, each sister using her voice to lead an unsuspecting girl into the same waves they had been led into so long ago. One by one, the new sirens were taught what they needed to know. It was always a rough transition, but the sisters were determined. When all was ready, the Ocean reached into their minds and whispered Her farewells. She told them to think of one thing they wanted to remember, one thing they might keep the essence of within themselves.
They chose each other.
Released from service, four young women awoke on a beach knowing only that their sisterhood was precious and eternal. Surrounding them in the sand lay a bounty of gems. They gathered up the stones and began their new lives, forever laughing at this most fortunate of mysteries.
The Ocean watched how She could, reading of their fates in the thoughts of others who knew them, for the former sirens never ventured near Her waters again. Thus it went, with the Ocean bringing in new sirens, releasing those who had served their time, and forever mourning the curse that led Her to use the humans She loved in such a way. As centuries and then millennia passed, She grew resigned to this fate and lost hope of it ever being thwarted. She found glimpses of joy in the successes of Her daughters, eternally grateful for the Moon’s gift.
It was enough, to do the best She could.
Enough, to live on fragments.