The Artist

"I've seen their goddess Chyrlathyn."
The mortal's words rang throughout the clearing, confirming Zyla's suspicions and draining the hope that she might have been wrong. Adea looked to the older gods and saw that even Volnir had begun to question the wisdom of action.
Only Atia was not fazed. They whirled on their brethren and clawed furiously at the ground.
"And so what?" they demanded. "She is powerful, but so are we. We must stand against her."
Adea looked at her sibling helplessly. She knew they were wrong, but they were as stubborn as they were reckless. She doubted an order from Idon himself would stop them.
"Atia is right," Volnir resolved finally. "Even if the outcome may not be in our favor, we must try. What will we have left if we don't?"
"Our lives," Zyla said simply. "And the chance to rebuild. The Heartlands are lost. All hope we have now is that we can restore them."
"If we lose now, there is no hope for the future," Adea agreed with her mother. "We must bear these sacrifices."
"And if Chyrlathyn comes for us anyway?" Atia demanded. "When we lose and have done nothing to help?"
"Perhaps to fight and to sequester are not the only options," Ykona suggested, looking to Idon. "Perhaps there is another way."
Idon considered this. "Chyrlathyn has never been much of one to listen to others," he said slowly. "But perhaps given the circumstances..."
"She will not meet with us," Zyla said. "And if she does, it will be a trick."
"We won't know unless we try," Idon said. "We will invite her to talk, and see if she can be reasonable."
Zyla glared at him, and around to the others, who all murmured their agreement.
"Fools!" she spat, before flying off to her divine domain.