The night burned with fire and blood as the siege raged on. The three invading nations had unified in purpose—to break the gates of the First Star's city and claim her people for their own gods. The soldiers outside the walls shouted the names of their deities, calling for divine favor as they struck.
Within the city, the defenders of the First Star stood resolute, their faith in their Mother Goddess unshaken. The sound of drums and war horns echoed through the streets as commanders barked orders, directing their troops to their positions.
After hours of relentless bombardment, the great wooden gates groaned under the weight of the battering rams. Thick beams splintered, and cracks formed along the reinforced walls. The attackers roared in triumph, sensing their impending victory.
From atop the city walls, Aelius, the warlord of the First Star, shouted to his men.
"Hold the line! Let them think they have won!"
As the gates finally gave way, the enemy soldiers surged forward, expecting an easy conquest. But the defenders had prepared for this moment.
The first wave of invaders rushed in—only to be met with a flood of burning oil cascading down from hidden vents in the walls. Screams filled the air as fire engulfed them, their armor melting onto their flesh.
But the enemy was relentless. Stepping over the charred bodies of their fallen, more warriors poured through the breach, clashing with the defenders in brutal combat.
High above the battlefield, the First Star stood at the temple's balcony, her silver robes flowing like liquid moonlight. Her expression was unreadable, yet her presence alone steadied the hearts of her people.
Beside her, Lady Selene watched with narrowed eyes.
"They will not stop, Goddess," she murmured. "They fight with the madness of those who believe they are righteous."
The First Star did not answer immediately. Instead, she raised her hand, and from the highest tower of the temple, a great bell was rung—three resounding tolls that echoed across the battlefield.
The meaning was clear.
A counterattack was about to begin.
The deep toll of the great bell resounded across the battlefield, carrying a message that only the defenders of the First Star understood.
From the alleys and rooftops of the city, warriors emerged like shadows, their movements precise and calculated. The invaders had poured through the broken gates, believing themselves victorious, but now they found themselves trapped within the narrow streets, their numbers a disadvantage rather than a strength.
At the forefront of the defenders stood Aelius, his golden armor gleaming under the moonlight. His sword, crafted in the old ways, shone with an eerie light. He raised it high and roared:
"Now we strike!"
From all sides, the warriors of the First Star charged, their blades flashing in the firelight. The narrow streets forced the enemy to fight in tight formations, where the defenders, knowing their own city, had the advantage.
A young commander, Marcus, fought beside Aelius. His spear found the throats of invaders, his shield deflecting the desperate blows of those who sought to kill him.
"They came with numbers," Marcus growled, "but they are nothing without their gods!"
The battle shifted in the defenders' favor. The enemy, once so confident in their victory, now found themselves losing ground, pushed back step by step.
But no divine presence came to his aid. His gods had no voice, only the faith of men to sustain them.
As his vision faded, he saw a figure approaching—the First Star, her silver robes unstained by war. She knelt beside him, gazing into his eyes.
"You sought to take my people from me," she said softly. "But you never asked yourself—why must faith demand blood?"
Callius could not answer. His breath failed him, and his life faded into the night.
Though the defenders had turned the tide, the battle was not yet won. Outside the city walls, the main armies of the three nations prepared for another assault.
Above them all, the First Star stood tall, watching with unreadable eyes.
"This is only the beginning," she murmured. "Let them come."
And so, as dawn approached, the siege was far from over. The first war had begun, and it would decide the fate of nations.
The sun had barely begun to rise, casting a dim golden glow over the battlefield. Smoke curled from the ruined portions of the city's outer wall, and the bodies of the fallen lay in heaps, staining the earth with blood. Though the defenders of the First Star had held their ground through the night, the armies of the three nations had not retreated. Instead, they regrouped, their commanders barking orders as they prepared for another assault.
From atop the temple steps, Aelius and Marcus surveyed the battlefield. The enemy was reorganizing, their banners fluttering in the cold morning wind.
"They won't stop," Marcus muttered, his grip tightening on his spear. "They lost too much pride to turn back."
Aelius nodded grimly. "Then we make them regret coming here."
A horn sounded from the enemy lines. A massive battering ram, reinforced with iron, was being wheeled toward the main gate. Behind it, thousands of soldiers marched in tight formations, shields locked together like an unbreakable wall.
The first siege had been a test. This was the true assault.
As her commanders planned the next defense, the First Star remained in the temple, watching the war unfold through the sacred flames. Around her, her people waited in silence, their hearts heavy with uncertainty.
One of her advisors, an elder named Cassian, stepped forward.
"Goddess," he said, his voice firm yet pleading, "they will not stop until we fall. Let us call upon you for power. Let us fight in your name!"
Murmurs of agreement spread among the gathered officials, but the First Star only gazed at the fire.
"I will not interfere," she said at last. "Faith is not built upon war, nor will I demand my people die for me."
The council fell silent. Some bowed their heads in reverence, while others clenched their fists in frustration.
Cassian frowned. "Then what shall we do?"
The First Star looked toward the battlefield, where the enemy forces had begun their charge.
"We endure."
The battering ram struck the great gates with a deafening crash. Once. Twice. On the third strike, the ancient wood splintered, and with one final blow, the gates shattered. The defenders braced themselves, gripping their weapons as the enemy forces poured through the opening like a tidal wave.
The battle resumed with renewed fury. Sword met sword, spear met shield, and blood soaked the ground. The warriors of the First Star fought fiercely, but the enemy's numbers seemed endless. For every soldier they cut down, two more took their place.
At the city center, Marcus and Aelius stood at the front lines, rallying their men.
"Hold the line!" Aelius bellowed, his sword cutting through an enemy warrior. "Do not let them reach the temple!"
Marcus blocked an incoming strike and countered with a swift thrust. "They think we are weak!" he shouted. "Show them they are wrong!"
Back in the temple, the First Star closed her eyes. She could hear the cries of battle, the clash of steel, the prayers of the dying.
For the first time, doubt crept into her heart.
Would endurance be enough?
Outside, the city burned, and the battle raged on. The fate of the First Star's people hung by a thread, and soon, a choice would have to be made—one that could change the world forever.
The war had reached its peak. Fires raged across the city, thick smoke darkening the sky. The forces of the north, west, and south pushed further into the capital of the First Star, their warriors relentless in their assault. Blood soaked the sacred streets, and the walls that once stood strong now lay in ruin.
And then, the heavens trembled.
From the north, a storm rolled in with unnatural speed, thunder cracking through the sky. A blinding light struck the battlefield, and from it emerged Odin, his spear Gungnir in hand, flanked by Thor, whose hammer crackled with lightning, and Tyr, the war god, sword drawn. Their warriors, now emboldened by their presence, let out a deafening war cry.
From the west, a golden chariot descended from the heavens, drawn by divine horses. Zeus stood tall, his eyes burning with power, while Poseidon wielded his trident and Hades remained cloaked in shadows. The Greek pantheon had arrived, their divine aura fueling their armies' determination.
From the south, the sands themselves rose into the sky, forming a massive whirlwind. Ra, the sun god, emerged in his radiant form, his divine staff glowing with celestial fire. Anubis, the god of the afterlife, marched beside him, and Set, the bringer of chaos, grinned as he prepared for war.
The presence of the gods filled the air with overwhelming power. The defenders of the First Star felt the weight of divine fury upon them.
And yet, at the steps of the great temple, the First Star remained still.
The gods stood before the temple, their divine might shaking the city itself. Warriors on both sides paused, their mortal struggles overshadowed by the presence of their deities.
Zeus stepped forward, his voice like rolling thunder.
"Goddess of this land, your time has come. Surrender to us, and we shall allow your people to live. Resist, and we will reduce your city to ash."
Odin tightened his grip on Gungnir, his one eye locked onto the goddess. "The mortals have chosen us. You are but a shadow of the past. Step aside, or we shall cast you down."
Ra raised his staff, his golden form blazing like the sun itself. "You have withheld your power for too long. We rule now, and the world shall follow us."
The goddess gazed upon them, her expression unreadable. The wind carried her long silver hair, and her flowing robes gleamed in the firelight. Slowly, she rose from her throne and stepped forward.
Her voice was neither angry nor afraid. It was calm, unwavering.
"I see you have come in all your power. Gods of the north, west, and south, you have been born from the belief of mortals, and you now demand dominion over this world. Tell me—do you fight for them, or for yourselves?"
Thor clenched his hammer. "We fight because they believe in us! Their faith has made us strong!"
Poseidon scoffed. "And what of you, goddess? You claim to be above this, yet you sit upon your throne while your people bleed. Do you call that divine?"
The First Star closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them, her gaze as deep as the cosmos itself.
"I have given them no command to worship me. They are free to choose. But you—" she gestured to the gods before her "—demand faith, demand obedience. You have taken what was freely given and turned it into your right to rule."
Hades stepped forward, his voice as cold as the grave. "Enough words. The war is already decided. We will claim this land, whether you resist or not."
The world trembled as the gods unleashed their power. Zeus raised his hand, summoning a thunderbolt and hurling it toward the First Star. But before it could strike, a golden barrier formed around her, the energy dissipating upon contact.
Odin lunged forward, spear thrusting, but the goddess raised her hand, and an unseen force sent him skidding back.
The other gods joined the fray. Thor's hammer crashed down, sending shockwaves across the battlefield. Poseidon called forth a great wave, threatening to wash away the defenders. Ra's divine fire rained from the sky, scorching everything in its path.
Yet the First Star did not attack. She only defended, her power forming shields of light, protecting her people. Her presence alone was enough to withstand the might of multiple pantheons.
The battle raged on, divine against divine, mortals fighting in their gods' shadows. The sky burned, the earth cracked, and the fate of the world hung in the balance.
The war had escalated beyond mortals.
And now, the gods themselves would decide its outcome.