The dragon's harem

It was supposed to be a rainy day; it was supposed to be cloudy, dark, and turbulent. A gloomy day like none other, shrouded in cold and darkness. Yet, the sky today burned brightly, bordering on the edge of incandescent purplish blue.

The will of a divine being overrode the natural order, forced the clouds away, cleared the sky, and set the heavens ablaze, shrouding the entire capital in a radiant haze. The last time Eris exerted her will on the mortal world, she threw it out of orbit and almost destroyed it if not for Amaterasu’s help, but this time, she could control her power.

This time, she won’t cause a disaster, but will descend back into the mortal world with the grace befitting of a divine. Of course, she didn’t need to do all of this, and it was just a show for the people. She could’ve just walked out of the gate with Arad or spawned in out of nothing, but where is the fun in that?

The people gathered in front of the castle’s gate and filled the streets to the brim. Some were even standing on the roofs and atop trees to watch and get a better look. It wasn’t every day that they got to see a god, let alone one that would stand as their queen. Mira was amazing, but she was just a demigoddess, not like Eris, who is a full, true goddess with her heaven and army of angels.

The guards standing atop the castle walls looked down and could count more elves than humans for some reason, and half of those elves were carrying canvases and brushes, wanting to draw Eris the moment they saw her. Since Eris was an elf, this would be the first time the elves saw someone of their heritage stand at the throne of divinity. The elvish gods exist, but the elves living in the mortal world have never seen them directly, and so, they only relied on depictions and old artworks.

Today, they were going to see what an actual divine being of elvish blood looks like, they were going to draw it, and make sure it never leaves their libraries for thousands of years. Only the most brilliant of their artists, engravers, and magic crafters dared attempt such a thing, though, and everyone else was here just to watch.

What does true divinity look like? Is it blinding beauty like that of Nymphs? Is it sheer power, or alien physiology that doesn’t resemble anything the mortals’ minds could comprehend? What would Eris look like? Would she show up in a human form, or an unbridled and uncontended divine form?

Some of the artists already had drawings of Eris and a large purple sun by their sides, ready to compare the divine look to what they already knew. And one of those artists was a young girl, fresh out of the schools of the elvish kingdom. She had travelled here using all of her savings, and even though she wasn’t particularly talented like her peers, she was determined to draw the divine.

Her hand trembled as she heard the royal trumpets signalling the start of the festival, and she knew that in a minute or two, Eris would be descending upon the mortal world once more. She stumbled and picked up her canvas, set it between her legs, and looked toward the castle’s gate with a face drenched in sweat.

Everything was ready. She had several more papers ready, all the brushes she could bring, and every color and type of ink that was known. It cost her a fortune, especially the gold and ruby red that was made from grinding actually expensive gems. If she messes this up and doesn’t end up with anything presentable, she would be homeless, and she wasn’t alone. Every single artist here was gambling with their lives, using their own skills as a substitute for luck.

Then, in the next second, it happened. The Young Artist didn’t realise at first, but at some point, she was drowning in her own sweat. The sun had descended onto the mortal world and was just an arm above her head. She was hot, burning hot, yet not burning, she was in pain, but didn’t react to it.

The Young Artist was alone, sitting in a pool of her own sweat as the entire city had vanished with everyone in it. She knew that something was coming down, but didn’t dare lift her head. The blinding sun was right above her head, and if she looked up, her eyes were going to burn up.

The ground beneath her was pale white, and it rippled as the distant echo of something heavy landed and shook the land. The Young Artist looked forward, and what she saw froze her hands. Eris had just landed.

A tall woman, no, a blinding sun? No, looking closer, it was a titanic drakaina of raging flames. But then in the next second, that divine being was inside the Young Artist, flowing within her blood like one.

Was she hallucinating? Probably, since her brain short-circuited as she tried to understand and comprehend the divine. But still, her will was made of steel, and she lifted her brush with a shaking hand.

Her canvas was nowhere to be seen, yet the moment she wanted to draw, it was right there in front of her where she had set it before. Eris was just standing now, so this might be the best and easiest chance to draw her. The Young Artist had to convey the image of the beautiful woman, the burning sun, and flaming drakaina all at the same time, while also incorporating the horrifying and violating feeling of her blood being merged by something else… the art, the drawing of Eris, had to be both stunningly beautiful and utterly disturbing.

But the moment the brush touched the paper, the canvas burst into flames. It wasn’t just the young artist suffering; but everyone else wasn’t able to draw Eris. Their mortal pens and talents couldn’t understand the divine, their hands couldn’t express it, and their paper and magic failed to endure even a fraction of what they tried to achieve.

Eris had just descended from the purple sun in the sky and landed at the castle’s gate, letting a bit of her divine magic so she could look… well, divine for the lack of another word. She, too, was confused when she saw almost everyone sitting on the ground, looking at her with stunned faces and wide-open eyes.

The Young Artist was already frozen in place, tears flowing like a river from her wide-open and now dry eyes as her shaking hand tried to move, yet her brain couldn’t even pick a fist move, she was spoiled for choice, and couldn’t even begin.

But then came the true nightmare. A shockwave so powerful that it almost snapped her back to reality, and the entire white world cracked and twisted beside Eris. Darkness swallowed the light, and for a second, Eris’s light looked like it was going to fade away.

A giant, titanic magic, a demi-god, not a true deity, clad in black steel and obsidian, stomped on the ground beside Eris, and it towered over the light. The infinite darkness and oppressive nothingness were soothing as they contrasted with the blinding star, and the Young Artist for a moment could breathe.

She could see it, an endless super void mercilessly swallowing the blinding star, a black dragon of obsidian stepping on the drakaina’s head, and a titanic man covering the beautiful woman by his side with his dark cloak, leading her forward with heavy steps.

Her hands moved again, but the canvas had already burned to ash, her brush was nowhere to be found, yet her fingers moved, blood seeping from beneath her nails as her heart and body were pushed to their limit, pressing on the verge of destruction, she tried to draw it one last time.

As her fingers bled, it finally hit her: the weight of trying to understand the divine as a mere mortal. Her eyes met Arad and Eris, and she didn’t know whether to be terrified or overjoyed, whether to be aroused or mortified, whether to be happy or sad. Her dying brain released every hormone it knew, causing her to start laughing, piss herself, get high on adrenaline, and even reach sexual climax multiple times with each breath.

This was the cost of seeing the divine, of trying to depict and understand it as a mere mortal, Madness. Everyone else had already given up by then, and so they were mostly fine, but she, she alone, the Young Artist who knew no better, pushed into the edges of sanity and past it.

Then, it happened, the miracle beyond madness. The blood gushing out of her shaking finger coagulated and froze, taking on many colors as it was frozen in space, held only by the sheer impossibility of depicting the divine.

The beautiful figure of Eris walking down the castle’s drawbridge while being protected from the sunlight by Arad, who towered over her like a giant clad in black steel and used his cloak to shade her.

That scene had been frozen in reality, a holographic miracle of art, a drawing without a canvas, a piece of art made from the blood and sanity of a mere mortal who tried to depict the divine, and did it.