Of Divinity and Distress: A Helping Hand

“What strays you from your home lady of the stream?” Christos asks, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down upon the small Nymph. By the time Avalon turns around she’s already realized now that she’s in the presence of a God. A minor one, but a God nonetheless. 

 

“I should be asking you that, my God.” Her head bows out of respect. “I’ve gotten separated from my friends.” The God stares down at her, his irises swirling between the familiar brown and the shine of something more. 

 

“Let me aid you Nymph. The world around today is nothing to travel alone.” His level voice showed immense strength and resolve, all the factors of a God. “Which direction had they gone?” Avalon points further down the path. Christos’s hand motions for her to head in front of him. “Tell me your name, young one.” 

 

“Avalon.” Her words are soft, years of discipline and training taking over. It had been ages since she’d been faced with a God, much less one as handsome as he. “What is your name? Forgive me, I do not recognize you.” 

 

“You may call me Christos… or Chrysus if you prefer.” A rather thick accent comes out at the mention of his more traditional name. One he tries to hide to keep his identity hidden away from mortals and their dealings. 

 

“If you do not mind, My God, I wish to call you Chrysus.” Ava softly responds to him. Watching carefully as he follows behind her. 

 

“Whatever you prefer.” His eyes continue scanning along the path for possible foes and danger. “You said you were adventuring with your friends, what were you searching for?” His fingertips ghost over the nature that passes. His body yearned to feel the bark under his fingertips, the soft yet delicate petals of a spring’s rose. 

 

“We’re searching for an important item of my friends.” She explains, “He happened to misplace his weapon.” Though she sounded embarrassed she had no reason to. 

 

“How does one misplace a weapon?” He chuckles, the pair coming up to a bridge. “It seems difficult to lose track of that.” Avalon laughs, her hand covering her mouth. 

 

“My new friend, Silas, he is… hot-headed. In an altercation, he dropped his sword, and due to anger he forgot it as we continued further.” Avalon heads over the bridge first, Chrysus waiting until she passes. She noticed her newfound friend had stopped on the other side of the bridge. “Why do you pause Chrysus?” 

 

“For protection of you, my sweet Nymph.” Starting to cross his hand drags along the side of the bridge. “My divinity’s tainted due to my body's prior owner.” Quickly his fingertips are painted gold. Fluidly it drowns out his arms. Avalon watches in surprise as the once-wooden bridge shines in glittering gold. 

 

“Golden Touch? For the God of Gold? Irony has not been kind to you.” Once off the bridge, the gold drips off his skin, leaving golden teardrops on the grass below their feet. 

 

“Irony is as cruel as any other.” He solemnly says. Two figures in the distance hurrying towards them. 

 

“Will no other God aid in helping you? Removing the curse?” She asks, ignoring her friends who are rushing closer and closer by the second. 

 

“They view it as a gift. ‘Why, the God of Gold turns all he touches Gold! Isn’t that fantastic?” 

 

“Ava! Avalon!” The gruff voice of a man clutching his hat to his head as he runs. 

 

“Tell me, Nymph. Is a God who yearns still a God?” His fingers pluck a flower from a nearby bush. The stem slowly sucks up the gold bleeding from his fingertips. Its petals consume the liquid metal as if it were water. Before she can respond her friends join her, prepared to fight this new stranger. 

 

“Chrysus-” Gently he hands over the flower to her, encapsulated forever in sheen gold. He heads past the group now, without a single glance back, without a single answer for the men bombarding him with questions as the Nymph tries her best to calm them. 

 

“A God who yearns… Is no God at all.”