A profound silence hung over the island, broken only by the relentless roar of the vast and mighty Endless Ocean, its waves crashing against the jagged, rocky shores of this solitary place. Svarog and Lada, the supreme deities of the Realm of Prav, had returned here once again to perform the Ritual. It had been exactly three hundred years since their last visit, and now they stood on this sacred ground once more. They walked slowly across a silken carpet of emerald grass, neither uttering a word. Svarog, a burly man with snow-white hair and unnaturally piercing blue eyes, carried an enormous silver hammer slung over his shoulder. Lada, his delicate wife, shared the same snowy locks, her hair cascading down her back like a thick veil adorned with ribbons of starlight. Her aquamarine eyes gazed intently at the horizon, and in her hands, she held a small golden box, encrusted with shimmering diamonds.
The couple approached the part of the island where the enchanted stone, Alatyr, stood. It was a massive slab of something akin to amethyst, streaked with golden veins and flecked with specks of starlight that sparkled in every imaginable color. As they drew closer, it became clear that the stone resembled a giant, unpolished, and somewhat asymmetrical egg, within which new life seemed to be stirring, radiating a soft golden glow.
Lada exhaled nervously as she watched the light within Alatyr grow brighter. Every three hundred years, she was forced to stand here, waiting anxiously as Svarog prepared to strike the stone with his hammer. Each blow always echoed with the unspoken question: “Is it my turn?” Today, she could barely suppress a tremble as she observed her husband’s measured movements. Svarog circled the stone three times, murmuring words of gratitude to Rod, the Creator. Dark storm clouds gathered over the island, creating the ominous sense of an approaching tempest. Svarog gripped the handle of his silver hammer more tightly and, with all his might, struck the seemingly fragile shell of Alatyr.
The first strike…
The echo reverberated in their ears like deafening thunder, and Lada clutched the golden box tighter. She kept her eyes fixed on the stone, resisting the urge to squeeze them shut.
The second strike…
It felt as though the island itself couldn’t hold steady and shuddered beneath their feet. The waves began to pound the shore with wild fury, and a sudden gust of wind whipped through, tousling the goddess’s flawless hair. The air carried the scent of an impending storm, heightening the sense of unease.
The third strike…
A bolt of lightning struck the stone, illuminating everything around with blinding light. Lada squinted, struggling to remain still even as the entire island quaked and ferocious gusts of wind battered her back, threatening to knock her off her feet. After a few frenzied, seemingly endless moments, everything abruptly stilled. A cool breeze now gently caressed the goddess’s smooth face, as if apologizing for its earlier violence. Finally opening her eyes, Lada saw two shimmering sparks floating slowly through the air toward her open box. She couldn’t help but marvel at them, but a sudden pang of dread pierced her chest. The closer the sparks came, the more clearly she felt that something was wrong. It was like the realization of an inevitable end, a feeling that nested deep within her, leaving a bitter taste of ash on her tongue. Staring unblinkingly at one of the glowing sparks, she suddenly understood: her time had come. In an instant, thousands of years spent in the Realm of Prav flashed before her eyes. A carefree existence that had seemed as though it would never end. She had always known this moment would arrive someday, but she never imagined that the awareness of her own end would be so excruciating.
Gods live for thousands of years, yet they are not eternal, with the exception of Rod, Mokosh, and Veles, who are truly immortal. New gods are born from the shimmering sparks carved from Alatyr, taking the place of the old. Lada felt that one of these sparks would be her replacement, meaning she would cease to exist, for unlike humans, gods are not granted the privilege of reincarnation. Her heart clenched painfully, and her hands trembled, nearly dropping the golden box. The goddess glanced at Svarog—he was finishing the ritual, offering praise to Rod the Creator. Panic surged within her. A thought struck her unexpectedly, and Lada reached out, diverting the spark meant to replace her. One of the glowing orbs settled gently at the bottom of the box, painting its walls with an incredible radiance, but Lada didn’t even glance at it. Instead, she stared intently at the other spark as it drifted past and vanished into the pearlescent blue waters of the Endless Ocean. The waves, now calmed, left the surface of the watery abyss looking like frozen glass. As the waters fully swallowed the spark, Lada felt a strange sense of relief. Yet, at the same time, a cold emptiness settled in her heart. Could she live forever, knowing she had cheated fate and condemned another being to oblivion?
Snapping the lid of the box shut with a sharp motion, the goddess squared her shoulders proudly. She turned her gaze to her husband, who was now approaching her. It was time to return to the Realm of Prav. A faint, triumphant smile played on her flawless lips.