The Silent Intervention

• Religion
• Short story
• Spirituality & New Age
• Fantasy

								
Part 1: The Divine Council

The Council of Divinities shimmered like a constellation brought to earth, each god a star of unique brightness and hue. They gathered whenever human prayers reached critical mass, convening in the timeless space between worlds. Amara, Goddess of Compassion, sat in her customary place, her form shifting between mist and matter. Around her, the other gods took shapes that reflected their domains.

Alecto, God of War, burned with the glow of freshly forged steel, his voice like a low thunder. “The Eastern armies pray for victory. Their children starve while the Western Tribes hoard resources. We could teach them a lesson about sharing—one sword at a time.”

Calista, Goddess of Boundaries, sighed, her form a shifting tapestry of walls and winds. “The Western Tribes pray for protection,” she countered. “They’ve claimed that valley for generations. Their roots are embedded there.”

Amara listened as her fellow gods debated. She felt the weight of human prayers pressing against her consciousness—the loud pleas of commanders and priests, and the quieter, desperate murmurs of mothers and children on both sides.

“Nothing to say, Amara?” Alecto taunted. “No wisdom about restraint? No lectures on ‘loving thy neighbour’?”

Amara met his taunting gaze with a small, tired smile. “I’m listening.” She extended her awareness downward, through the celestial planes, to the mortal realm, where voices rose like threads of smoke.


The Settlement of Union

Below, in the contested valley, two armies faced off. From the west, the Priestess Eveline pleaded with the gods for divine protection. “Great Mother, guard us. The Eastern army means to take our home, our land. We have lived here for generations.”

Meanwhile, from the east, Commander Leo offered a contrasting prayer. “Goddess, grant us victory. The Westerners grow fat while our children waste away. We pray for the strength to take what we need to survive.”

In the midst of these warring powers lay a small settlement—an unlikely haven founded by Maria, a healer who had defied her tribe’s isolationist stance generations ago. Maria’s settlement, now known as Union, had grown as a bridge between cultures, drawing traders, scholars, and refugees from both sides.

As Amara focused her attention, she heard the quiet prayer of Rosa, Maria’s granddaughter: “Divine Mother, give us wisdom to find another way. Help us heal, not harm.”


Divine Deliberation and Humour

The gods continued their debate, each one seeking to expand their influence by supporting a faction. Amara watched their familiar posturing with weary amusement.

Alecto scoffed, “Humans asking for miracles while they sleep through the day—some things never change.”

Calista shrugged, clearly amused. “Oh, they’re praying to the whole pantheon now, are they?” She chuckled. “Might as well put us all on special. ‘Blessings: Buy One, Get One Free!’”

Amara couldn’t resist a remark of her own, “So, Alecto, you think a few shiny swords will help them ‘learn’ compassion?”

Alecto laughed, unamused. “Oh, right. They’re all just one hug away from world peace.”

From the shadows, Lyra, Goddess of Crossroads and Possibilities, stepped forward, a grin dancing across her face. “Alecto, if you’re so keen on spreading peace, why not start with your own temper?”

Calista smirked. “How do you suggest we handle this, Lyra? Anoint them all priests and hope they pray the conflict away?”


A New Voice of Dissent

Just as the Council seemed set to follow their age-old routines, a young god of Discovery, Caelum, spoke up with a hesitant but clear voice. “What if we simply let them find their own path without interference? Perhaps they’ll surprise us.”

Alecto scoffed. “Ignore prayers? That’s rich. The mortals would riot. Can’t have them thinking the universe doesn’t revolve around them, can we?”

Lyra interjected with a smirk, “For a god of order, Alecto, you seem surprisingly rattled by a little creative thinking.”

Calista crossed her arms, eyeing Caelum with a mix of scepticism and intrigue. “Do you actually believe they’d make the right choice?”


Part 2 – Memories of Intervention

Amara drew her fellow gods into a shared vision. It was a memory of her own past intervention—a battle from centuries ago. She had sent lightning to strike down an unjust aggressor, after which the survivors built her a magnificent temple. Yet over the years, they used her name to justify conquests, claiming her divine favour as proof of their superiority.

Lyra raised an eyebrow, her expression half-amused. “Amara, I’d almost congratulate you. That was practically a ‘how-to’ guide on accidental tyranny.”

Amara nodded somberly. “And what did I gain? More temples, more wars, and more prayers for vengeance.”

Caelum, undeterred, pressed further. “Then perhaps we should try something different. Why do we need to choose sides at all?”


Proposal: The Mist of Possibility

Amara took a deep breath, gathering her resolve. “I propose an experiment. Instead of intervening to grant one side victory, let us cast a mist over the valley—a mist that creates moments of understanding. A way for them to see their ‘enemies’ as kin and recognise their shared struggles.”

The other gods considered this, their forms flickering with uncertainty.

“So, instead of power,” Alecto said slowly, “you want us to stand back and play philosopher?”

Lyra chuckled. “Honestly, it sounds rather novel. A quiet nudge instead of a hammer. Imagine that.”

Amara smiled. “We’ll let them decide the outcome. The choice will remain theirs.”


Part 3 – The Valley of Decision

The armies advanced, unaware of the divine mist that began to creep along the valley floor. It was no natural fog. Instead, it carried traces of the gods’ own essences—Alecto’s strength, Lyra’s potential, Caelum’s curiosity, Calista’s protective boundaries, and Amara’s compassion.

Commander Leo, sword in hand, strode through the mist, struggling to organise his forces. Suddenly, he came upon a woman kneeling by a fire, her children huddled around her. She looked up with fear, then recognition—they’d met at a trading post months earlier.

Priestess Eveline, meanwhile, found herself lost in the fog. Out of the mist came a scholar she’d denounced years ago for “corrupt” beliefs. Now, she saw he carried her people’s ancient texts, preserved with the same reverence she held for her own scrolls.

As the mist thinned, soldiers and tribespeople found themselves facing the so-called “enemy” not with swords drawn, but hands outstretched. There were nods of understanding, murmurs of shared suffering. Small gestures of peace took root.
________________________________________

								Rate this book:5.0 / 1 vote