Of War and Lies

1

Leather, sweat, and blood isn't usually the smell someone would envision a god to wake up to. Well, it wasn't just that. There was also the sweet, sweet cologne of the man sleeping next to me. And the dirt, of course. We were outside. We had been for a while.

The morning air was clear and crisp, with a little bit of a chill running through it because of the breeze. I stood and looked down at my companion, still asleep with that damned look of rebellion he always wore as if it was all that mattered. The sun peeked his bitter little head out from behind a cloud. Prick. I bent down on one knee, kissing the man I loved before he waked. Then I walked off, leaving behind the blankets and the highway and the graffiti and the punk-rock lover that I shared all of it with. I hate the sun. He always brings the end.

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If you (or the other average mortal being) were to picture one of us, one of the gods that watch and preside over your little planet, I would bet that it looks ethereal. Holy. Regal. A noble king, one with a crown of woven horns and a cape as dark as night. A loyal prince, one with a head of wild white hair and eyes deep as the sea. And another prince, one with nails sharp and teeth sharper, with a firey cloak that burned through any truth, with ebony hair that shined gold in the light. You would see it. You would, wouldn't you? I know I would.

But I don't. I see a king whose horned crown pierced the eyes of the innocent. I see a prince whose white hair did nothing to conceal the blackness of his heart.

And I see a prince who is no longer a prince, a dark-eyed prince who was never a prince, a prince whose only fall from grace was the only truth he told. I see his cloak of fire torn to pieces and tied fiercely around his head in defiance. I see his obsidian hair hopelessly losing its gold, sinking into an inky blackness indescribable by man. I see him sliding a leather jacket over his arms, shrugging it over his shoulders in a way that begged for no mercy. 

I see it all because it's the truth. And I see truth because I see lies. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

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What should I say here? I'm Ael. I was born in a place called Vixaria, the home of the gods. So, by default, that made me a god. I'm sure you could find some quirky old man in a small town who knows everything and everyone about our mythology, but here's the gist. There's a king, Acer. He's tall, sad, and sometimes he cries a lot. So much that it created your oceans, in fact. How's that for a creation story? Rhetorical question. Anyway, this guy rules over all the gods, and by extension, the whole human race. Yippee, I guess. He has two sons: Nerus and, you guessed it, Ael. Both of them were supposed to rule over the gods one day. Wouldn't that be nice? But there was one catch.

The princes were twins. One, a god of truths. The other, a god of lies. I'm betting you can guess which one I was.

Nobody wanted the god of lies on the throne, but nobody wanted the god of truths to rule without a counterpart. So the boys were raised side by side, together as one, and they grew into their own people. Nerus, a fair-haired, kindhearted boy who loved nothing more than the flowers and the land and his father. And Ael, a dark-haired, falsehearted boy who loved the fighting and the wars and the flaws of humankind. We balanced each other out, I guess.

I remember when we were younger, we always ran and played together like there was nothing different between us. We laughed at the same things and cried at the same things too. Father said that the only way he was even able to tell us apart was because of our hair and eye colors. I would laugh, and Nerus would laugh too. We were inseparable. But, once we were taken in for our private lessons and tutoring, I suppose my affinity for war and his for peace separated us greater and greater. 

Throughout our lives, it was rammed into our heads that we were different, that I was lies and he was truth. I was war, and he was peace. Here's the thing that always got to me though:

War is not lies. War is the truth. It's peace that is the lie.

This story, this mass of text that you are reading right now, is about one thing and one thing only. It's about my fall, a fall which many might compare to the fall of an angel. This is a story of truth and peace. This is a story of war and lies.