She was tired of being a deity. There were too many humans to manage. Too many rules to remember. Too much responsibility on her shoulders, weighing her down.

But a deity must stand straight. A deity must not show weakness, must not complain, must not go, "Oh, why don't you just DO THAT YOURSELF?"

A deity must act as a good example. She must fix her own problems, as well as fix the overwhelming number of human problems. She must continue the legacy of the deities before her.

Just then, she heard a messenger's footsteps echoing through the hall. Stand straight. Do not show weakness. Do not complain.

The moment the messenger crossed the threshold, she knew what was brewing. The cries and shouts of the mortals had shaken the celestial castle. How she wanted to help them, but the rules laid down by ancient tradition, untouched and mysteriously invented, forbade her comply to the request.

She remembered fondly the days before the deity had kidnapped her for their realm. She was just a simple daughter of the major, free to do as she pleased. Often she wondered whether the deity choosing her was result of her lack of attendance to the temple. Perhaps it was their way fo punishing her for her infidelity. She pushed such thoughts away and heeded the words of the messenger.

'The people cry for bread and rain. Their fields are burning up, famine has spread, children are dying. The deity must do something. As their visionary, you must speak their wisdom and will,' said the messenger.

The stern voice of dies Vulcan echoed in her mind: They must be punished for not thanking me. Till the gold statute in my honour is built, no man shall live.

Shaken, she turned to the messenger. Did she dare go against the tradition and obedience to the crown deity? 'I will speak with the people. They will see my vision and my pray they heed my warning.'

'Follow me to the archway.'

She stepped behind him. her feet scraping on the crystal floor. her mind absent to the beauty around her. If I find a man who is willing to sacrifice himself to find the urn of gold, perhaps they will be inspired to fulfil the deities' wish. Where can such a man be found? Who would desire to be so heroic and steal gold from the gods? An image of a man arose in her mind, carefree and handsome. A shepherd. She smiled.

The temple shook and the earth trembled. Theodora clenched her hands under the flowing fabric of her cloak sleeves. The haggard people and their cries pierced her heart. Don’t look at them, her mind begged, but her eyes tarried over their tears. How could she remain indifferent to their pain? Behind her, the messenger was shifting with tension. A whirl of cold air filled the portal, which transported her vision to the temple curtain. Her words calling for a hero to find the hidden gold of the deity were welcomed with silence and tension.

‘She weeps,’ a voice cried from the temple.

Theodora froze. The crowd raised their hands toward the hovering cloud. Bowing to the ground, the temple druid uttered pleas for forgiveness. The boom, boom, boom that echoed from behind her kept her still. She couldn’t move a muscle but felt the tears trickle down her cold cheeks. The temple faded from her vision with a zap, leaving her shivering in the portal arch. She daredn’t look at the messenger. A rustle forced her to turn. The custodian of the portal, an old deity with ringlets of grey sneaking from his veil, stepped toward her, the mist encircling his draped figure.

‘You have given them an impossible task, my lady. Our mighty king alone knows where he holds his treasure, and he watches all who seek it. I thought by your tears you would break the rules and promises you made, but your mission to them can only kill them. Perhaps you are indeed a true daughter of the Sun.’

She hastily wiped the tears from her cheeks as he sailed away. She had become what they wanted, or so they thought. The legacy would continue to thrive. Stand straight. Do not show weakness. Do not complain. She might have tried to solve a kingdom’s problems, but she had not saved herself. He would pay the price for taking her mother.

‘The deities are all assembled in the great hall for the winter feast. What would they think of you if you were late? Never keep his holy majesty, Vulcan, waiting. A low deity as yourself is forcing your own death sentence.’ The messenger's voice broke her thoughts.

Theodora did not reply but followed him down the passage to the hall with a grim expression.

Gods from all over the realm filled the great hall. Theodora hid her sweaty palms under her gold dress. Gold! The chatter and laughter died upon her entrance. A deathly silence filled the room. All eyes turned to the deity in gold rivaling, his majestic holiness Vulcan, who alone wore the cry of the Sun.

She stood, unable to move to her seat, as Vulcan rose from his throne and stepped onto the gold floor. His dazzling light blinded her vision. She almost turned her gaze from him but forced herself to meet his beady, dragon-like eyes, bloodthirsty and breathing fury.

‘You!’ his voice boomed across the hall. The other deities lowered their heads and looked at neither god. ‘You, vixen! Begone from my presence. Lose yourself to the pity of those foul mortals. Your immortality is not welcome in my court. Your reign is over; you are nothing but a fallen deity. Remove yourself!’

The hall quaked. His intense stare pierced her very soul. She felt an agonising, soul-shattering sensation of the gold fabric being ripped from her dress and melted away into the ground. Stand straight. Do not show weakness. Do not complain. The words flowed through her.

‘Your holiness,’ she said, holding herself tall, ‘I took a vow when you chose me from mortals to join your realm, to honour the traditions, protect mortals, and serve those who worship me. I have done all in my power to save them from the tempest you are throwing at them. You may have the Sun in your palm, but I have blood pumping through my veins.’ She pulled the once gold, now grey veil over her face and fled.