The Birth of the Unicorn.
It happened once before...
Wryth, the flora godhead, waded through her sacred field of waist-high lavender. Entering Wryth’s fields without her blessing was forbidden. Even Ordan, the almighty king of the Godlands, would not dare trespass there. All obeyed her. All but one.
Bayu-the Stormshaper, Steward of Currents, Lord of Tides—emerged from the roiling sea and dropped into the sand to watch a storm unfold. The clouds hung low and dark over the troubled water. The wind steered ships into cliffs, and mammoth waves wrapped vessels in their own demise. All Bayu did was smile.
Wryth’s laughter reached him by stirring breeze, and he followed the melodious sound to the edge a garden hidden deep in a forest. Bayu bent the oaks’ trunks and peered inside to see Wryth—her arms outstretched—surfing the breeze. With crops of lavender and roses, and sunflowers reaching out for her attention.
Bayu had traveled the currents deep and vast but never had he laid eyes on a beauty such as the scene before him. Swaddled in tickling flower petals with bees gathered on her shoulders, Wryth’s yellow dress shimmered and collected the many different patterns of the falling flora. Each plant sunk gently into the fabric and bloomed across her body in remarkable color. He lingered among the whispering trees and watched Wryth dance and sing until she tripped over a stubborn branch and tumbled into the dirt.
Bayu’s bellowing laugh shook the silvae from their trees and he watched the frightened tree spirits disappear into the distant wood. Bayu turned his attention to the field once more, and Wryth was gone. She commanded her intruder to reveal themselves, but Bayu did not move.
The oak trees sprung to life. They ensnared his arms with their branches and marched him, stumbling, into Wryth’s pastures. Wryth descended upon him. She slapped him hard across his face.
Bayu did not retaliate. By the oldest truth of the Godlands, no godhead could slay another. The oak trees released him, and he tumbled to the ground. Bayu quickly moved to one knee with his head bowed. He yielded. He offered his remorse and pledged himself to any request she might name.
Wryth demanded a companion—a piece of him left behind. Bayu smashed his fist into the dirt and shaped a lake at her feet. The pool culminated in a rock form topped with cascading water. Petals from neighboring plants jumped into the water. They grew fins and dove deep beneath the pristine surface.
Wryth was not impressed.
Bayu, them, reached up and plucked a cloud from the rose pink sky. He shaped into a magnificent steed with a coat of impossible black and four tails whipping the air. Four golden eyes blinked at Wryth. Still, she found it incomplete.
Bayu ran his fingers through his locs and listened to the tinkering ivory shells until an idea struck him. He removed an obsidian crystal from his crown and fashioned a spiraling horn which he fixed between the creature’s eyes.
Wryth was pleased. She named him Moncel after her beloved sky. Wryth blessed Bayu with an invitation to her fields as long as he brought wonders equal to the gifts, he’d aleady given.
He obliged.
godtheory by J.D. JACOB