Wandering Sky

The White Goddess had prepared for the ritual. The sun had set, and the moon was rising, yet she still hadn't decided whether we should wield our divine power in front of this people.

She turned to me. "The praying is done. The ritual must begin."

At the moment she decided to let the mortals witness our divinity, something miraculous happened. A tiny, pin-sized dark hole appeared before us, rapidly expanding into a man-sized, elliptical portal—a gate ripped through space and time. From the depths of this dark endless void, a pale skinny young man with the darkest hair and eyes I had ever seen stepped out, accompanied by several ravens, with two of them settled silently on his shoulders.

Then, he suddenly spoke, "Well, I think you forgot to call me, Ms. Bjork."

Cynthia smiled before replying, "Don't be so touchy, my favorite Grim Reaper. We were thinking about paying you a visit later. It's better to introduce someone new in person, right?"

"Hello, Sky God! I hope you like my agents, the ravens. Anyway, what do we have here today?" he said, looking at me.

"Hi, Mr. Helsson, I'm Kris Wu. We're trying to resurrect them all. Can you help?" I asked him, feeling a bit hesitant.

"Ha ha ha... don't be so formal, Kris. That's just my way of teasing Cynthia. Just call me Erik. And I've already brought some souls of these people for you guys." He tried to lighten the mood.

"Thanks a lot, but what do you mean by 'some'? And do you have my bride's soul?" I asked impatiently.

"Easy now, Kris. We need to focus on the rituals first," Cynthia reminded me.

"It's alright, Cynthia, he deserves to know. All I know is her soul isn't in my divine realm, nor is it stuck somewhere around here. Evil spirits or some god might have taken her soul, and it's the same for other missing souls. I'll check on her after the rituals," he replied with a serious voice.

Then the last sliver of twilight had vanished, leaving the vast steppe sky under a canvas of countless stars, illuminated by a round watchful moon. The scent of burning juniper and primal earth hung heavy in the air.

In the middle of the prepared field, a great bonfire blazed, casting its light towards the entrance of the Sacred Mountain path. Cynthia, the White Goddess, moved with a grace that seemed to predate time itself. Her voice, usually so calm and measured, now resonated with a deep, sonorous power that vibrated in the very ground. Her arms rose, adorned with carved ivory bracelets that chimed softly.

A wave of collective breath rippled through the onlookers as Cynthia began to chant in an ancient language, a melody woven from the rustle of wind over steppes and the murmur of forgotten rivers. As her voice soared, a soft, ethereal light began to emanate from her, a gentle, pulsing glow that seemed to draw the very essence of the moon down to the earth. She began to sway, a slow deliberate dance, her bare feet pressing shallow depressions into the dewy grass. Each movement seemed to pull energy from the earth itself, the ground beneath them subtly thrumming.

As she moved, a gasp rippled through the crowd. The moon's dimming intensified, and a dark, curved bite appeared on its edge, slowly, inexorably growing larger. The full lunar eclipse was beginning, and I felt something resonate and vibrate deep within my very soul.

As she spoke, her human guise dissolved in a flash of pure, blinding white light. Where she stood moments before was now an ethereal figure, dressed in pristine white deer pelt, adorned with magnificent, pearlescent antlers on her head, and wearing a shiny metallic necklace that gleamed with internal light. Her skin was the smooth, unblemished ivory of a newborn snowdrift, her hair a cascade of bleach blonde strands, almost translucent in its paleness. A soft symphony of chimes and jingles emanated from ivory bracelets on her wrists, catching and refracting the dim moonlight with every subtle movement. In her left hand, she held a white shamanic drum, its surface glowing with a faint, internal luminescence, A matching, carved drumstick rested in her right. She looked almost like an ancient marble sculpture frozen in timeless perfection, yet thrummed with the soft vital pulse of untouched snow-kissed earth.

Meanwhile, Erik stepped forward. The residual light in the clearing seemed to dim, drawn into his presence. A deepening shadow rippled over him, consolidating his form. His simple attire became impossibly dark black cloths, shimmering like solidified night. Enveloping him was not a woven cloak, but a breathtaking, living mantle of countless glossy black raven feathers. The feathers overlapped and shifted with a life of their own, absorbing the moonlight and casting an aura of deep shadow around him like a veil of darkness. His two divine ravens, flew from their perches on his shoulders, their black wings rustling softly like whispered secrets, circling once before diving deep into his cloak of darkness. He stood, an imposing figure woven from night and shadow, the very manifestation of the boundary between life and what lies beyond.

I also felt a surge of energy, a celestial blueprint awakening within me. A powerful, azure-blue light erupted from inside me, swirling around me like a miniature storm and lightning. The air crackled with the crispness of a high mountain breeze as my clothes transformed, shifting into blue clothes with azure robes layered on top, intricately embroidered with rich tribal patterns that seemed to perpetually shift and swirl. One moment, they depicted vast, silent constellations and the pathways of cosmic energy. Next moment, they blurred into the invisible currents of the upper atmosphere, rippling with the distant echoes of thunder. The patterns never settled, constantly reforming, their appearance subtly morphing to the edge of the spectator's mind, as if the very essence of the Wandering Sky were woven into the fabric and responding to observation itself.

Then, from the very essence of the swirling azure light, a distinct wolf-pelt shroud began to form, materializing from crackling energy and shimmering into existence as if woven from condensed starlight and shadow. This magnificent blue wolf skin covered half of my face, framing my head and shoulders, attached together by turquoise links, glinting like frozen sky, stretched back to secure it around my shoulders, becoming a savage living cloak—a totemic mantle embraced by my distinct essence. This was my very own skin that I never knew I had, possessing the power to shift me into a great blue wolf at will. Knowledge of its power surged through me, the ability to shift resonated within me like an ancient memory. My gaze, blazing with the infinite depths of untamed celestial energy, pierced through the eyes of a wolf mask. I had fully become the embodiment of the vast Eternal Blue Sky.

The moon, now half-eaten by shadow, began to take on a coppery hue as it plunged deeper into totality. The chanting from the crowd, swelled into a fervent unified energy, their belief in their own deities pouring into the ritual space, making the very air crackle.

It was then Erik's turn. With a subtle, almost imperceptible shift, he moved into the circle. Erik's movements were sharp, precise, and contained, almost like a shadow-dance. His own form didn't glow. Instead, the space around him seemed to drink light, becoming deeper, richer, almost a void. As he moved, his two divine ravens rose out of his cloak. They didn't fly wildly but circled with an almost hypnotic grace just above him, their dark forms cutting elegant arcs against the ethereal light of the other gods, their eyes gleaming like distant stars.

Erik's dance was a silent sophisticated dialogue with the unseen. His hands, long and pale, made precise, almost surgical gestures, pulling at invisible threads in the air. He was a conductor of souls, weaving them back towards their mortal shells. As Erik's movements intensified, his cloak, a living mantle of dark raven feathers, began to unfurl and shift, extending into two vast, midnight-hued wings. The feathers, which before had merely absorbed the moonlight, now seemed to drink the very essence of shadow, becoming impossibly deep and vast, reflecting no light at all. They moved with a silent, powerful grace, defining him as the Lord of the Underworld, a stark formidable presence against the ethereal glow of the other gods. The air around him shimmered, not with light, but with an almost tangible chill, and a faint, almost inaudible whispering seemed to emanate from the ground – the stirrings of trapped spirits. His movements were not about summoning, but about guiding, about gently, yet firmly, urging what was lost to return.

Cynthia's ancient light nurtured their bodies, making them begin to glow. Erik's deep, drawing void manipulated their souls back to where they belonged. Yet, they still slumbered in a deep sleep, as if something vital was still missing. Our people watched, their minds overwhelmed by the sight of their chosen gods, their Belief solidifying with every beat of the ritual, feeding the power that flowed from our divine bodies. This was not just magic, it was the fabric of reality being rewoven before their very eyes.

As the moon became a full, terrifying "Blood Moon," hanging like a wounded eye in the sky, Cynthia turned to face me and spoke, "Now this is your turn. Don't think, just remember what you have forgotten."

As Cynthia's chant and her drum beat intensified, a vibrant cerulean aura, the color of the Eternal Blue Sky, began to pulse from my body. This wasn't Cynthia's gentle glow, but a powerful, almost electric light that surged with untamed potential. I mirrored Cynthia's swaying, a nascent divine rhythm taking hold. My movements grew more confident, drawing strength from the vast expanse of the sky above and the burgeoning Belief radiating from the crowd. I wasn't just dancing, I was becoming the Sky, pulling down its immense, formless, familiar power. Now, I remembered who I truly am!

All three energies began to intertwine, merging into a single, potent current. A faint shimmer, like heat haze, rose from the inert bodies of the fallen. Simultaneously, an ethereal wave of vibrant, shifting colors began to bloom across the eclipsed sky. Suddenly, a single, mighty bolt of lightning thundered down, striking the very center of the assembled fallen without scorching a single thread of their clothing or disturbing the earth around them. Not long after that, a collective gasp rose from the crowd as the dead stirred, their chests heaving, and became the living once more.

Three divine beings now stood fully revealed, each a breathtaking and formidable vision of power, drawn from the raw elements of their own essence. The crowd, no longer merely witnessing, but fully Believing, fell to their knees, their faces pressed to the earth, overwhelmed by the tangible presence of their high gods. The Trinity of Tengrism had truly arrived.