Muri The Lightning Primordial

Chapter 9 [The Fall Of A Primordial 2]

CHAPTER NINE

The Fall Of A Primordial

They cooked together in reluctant harmony.

Muri seasoned the fish with a mixture of salt, crushed herbs, and a pinch of something spicy that his mother guarded like a state secret. His fingers worked the seasoning into the flesh, feeling for the perfect texture, the right amount of give.

Venit, after initially protesting that she did not take orders from mortals, found herself drawn into the rhythm of the work—chopping roots with increasing skill, stirring the pot when Sena told her to, adjusting the fire under Sena's direction.

"More heat," Sena said.

Venit gathered more woods and stuffed into the flames, and the flames surged upward with a roar.

"The normal amount of heat," Sena amended, her voice flat.

"I don't do normal." Venit grin as she watched the flames roar.

"Then do less." Sena sighed as she reduced the flames before a pyromaniac was born.

Muri laughed, a low, genuine sound that surprised even himself. "Look at you. Following instructions. It's almost like you're a real person."

"I am humoring you. Do not mistake it for obedience." She snaps.

"Of course not, Your Divinity."

The fish roasted on the hot stone, filling the air with a rich, smoky aroma that made Muri's stomach clench. The roots softened in the pot, their earthy scent mixing with the herbs in a way that promised comfort.

Muri's stomach growled audibly, and Venit gave him a look that he could feel even without seeing it.

"Hungry?"

"I haven't eaten properly since yesterday."

"You should have said something."

"I was busy carrying a dying goddess through the jungle."

"I was not dying, I was resting."

"You were unconscious."

"Strategically."

"You were bleeding, and cold, and making sounds like a dying animal."

"I do not make sounds like a dying animal."

"You definitely made sounds like a dying animal." He smirks.

Venit picked up a piece of raw root and threw it at him. It hit his shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Keep talking and the next one will hit your face."

"You can't aim."

"I have the aim of a divine being." She scoffs

"You have the aim of a distracted child."

Another root hit his chest.

"Stop wasting food."

"It's a root. There are more."

"You're impossible."

"You keep saying that like it's an insult."

The fish was done. Sena pulled it off the stone, flaking it into a large wooden platter. The roots followed, glistening with butter and herbs, their skins crackling with heat. A small bowl of wild greens dressed with something tangy completed the meal. The smells mingled together in a way that made Muri's mouth water.

Sena surveyed her work with satisfaction. "Good. Now. Before we eat, I need you two to do one more thing."

Muri groaned, his head dropping back. "Mother."

"The sheep haven't been brought in from the far field. They'll be vulnerable to predators overnight. Go herd them back. By the time you return, everything will be fully ready."

"Can't someone else—"

"You're already dirty. Go."

Muri opened his mouth to protest, but he knew that tone. It was the tone that had ended every argument he'd ever tried to have with his mother. He closed his mouth and stood, brushing dirt off his still-damp clothes.

Venit looked at him with an expression of pure disdain. "Sheep??"

"Sheep.…"

"I am a goddess…"

"Yeah right."

"And you want me to herd sheep???"

"You heard my mother."

"I heard your mother. I was hoping you would override her."

"You've met my mother, right?"

Venit sighed, a long, theatrical sound that seemed to drain the air from the clearing. "Fine. But I am not happy about it."

"It doesn't matter. Let's go."

The far field was a stretch of open grassland at the edge of the jungle, where the clan's sheep spent their days grazing. By evening, they were usually gathered near the gate, ready to be led back to the pen.

Tonight, they were scattered across the field like clouds that had forgotten how to form a proper sky.

Muri stood at the edge of the grass, listening. He could hear the sheep—their bleats, their movements, the soft shuffle of hooves on earth—but they were spread out, nibbling, wandering, doing exactly what sheep did when they had no intention of cooperating.

"This is your domain," Venit said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Sheep??"

"Sheep are honest. They don't pretend to be gods."

"Neither do I. I am a god." She shrugged

" Could have fooled me." He scoffs

He stepped into the field, his movements slow and deliberate. He made a soft clicking sound with his tongue, a call the sheep recognized. A few heads lifted. A few took tentative steps toward him.

"You're... clicking at them?" She asked bewildered

"It's a language. They understand it."

"They're sheep!"

"They're intelligent beings with a complex social structure."

"You're making that up."

"Maybe. But it works."

He moved through the field, guiding the sheep with a combination of soft sounds and gentle gestures. They followed him in a loose cluster, their bleats becoming more coordinated as they fell into the rhythm of the herd. It was almost meditative—the steady pace, the soft sounds, the way the sheep trusted him to lead.

Venit watched from the edge, arms crossed, her expression a mix of boredom and reluctant curiosity.

"This is beneath me." She sighs rubbing her temple.

"You said that about gutting fish too."

"I was right then, and I'm right now."

"Then stay there. I'll handle it."

He continued his work, slowly gathering the stragglers. But there was one—a stubborn ewe near the treeline—that refused to move. It stood facing the jungle, its legs planted, its head held high, as if it had decided that tonight, it would become a wild creature.

Muri approached it direction, clicking softly. The ewe ignored him.

He tried again, this time adding a soft, soothing murmur. Nothing.

He sighed and turned toward where he knew Venit was standing. "I don't suppose you'd like to try?"

"Try what?"

"Herding. You know. Using your vast cosmic powers to move a single stubborn sheep."

Venit's voice was flat. "You want me to use lightning on a sheep."

‘ Does she think zapping every problem solves it?!?’

"No. I want you to use presence. Walk toward it. Calmly. Let it feel you coming. No radiating."

She hesitated. Then, to Muri's surprise, she walked into the field.

"I am only doing this because I am bored," she said with a matter of fact

"Of course." He smirks

"Not because you asked nicely." She repeats.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

She approached the ewe with long, deliberate strides, her posture rigid, her chin held high. The sheep turned its head, sized her up, and then—

Bleated loudly and trotted away from her, deeper into the trees.

"Stop!!" Muri said, holding up a hand. "You're chasing it."

"I'm approaching it, just like you said. "

"You're walking like you're about to declare war on its family. Be softer."

"I do not do soft." She snorts

"Try."

She exhaled, a long, frustrated breath.

Adjusted her posture. Rolled her shoulders and walked again—slower, her arms relaxed, her steps lighter, almost tentative.

The sheep stopped. Turned and looked at her.

Then it walked toward her.

Venit's eyes went wide. She stopped breathing. "What is it doing?"

"It's coming to you. Don't move."

The ewe approached, its hooves making soft sounds in the grass. It sniffed her hand, its nose twitching. Then it made a sound that was almost—almost—affectionate.

Venit stared at it, her voice barely a whisper. "Did that sheep just... accept me?"

"Sheep are good judges of character. Congratulations. You've been approved by livestock."

She looked up, and for a moment, she seemed genuinely moved. Her eyes softened. Her lips parted.

Then the sheep headbutted her gently in the thigh, and she stumbled.

"I've been assaulted."

"You've been accepted. There's a difference."

She glared at the sheep, but she did not pull away. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"You feel warm inside and you don't want to admit it."

"I feel violated.”

"You feel special."

She led the ewe back toward the cluster with surprising gentleness, and together, they guided the herd to the pen. Venit did not admit she enjoyed it. She did not admit that the soft bleating of the lambs made something in her chest feel warm and unfamiliar.

But Muri noticed she didn't complain about the sheep again.

Dinner was served under the moonlight.

The whole clan gathered outside, each family in front of their hut, the central fire crackling with warmth. Platters of fish, roasted roots, and greens were passed around. The air was thick with the smell of good food and the low murmur of conversation. Children laughed. Elders told stories. The sky above was a deep, endless blue, scattered with stars that seemed to lean down to listen.

Muri and Venit sat at Sena's fire, each with bowls in hand.

Venit eyed the fish with suspicion. She turned it over, examined its edges, poked it with a finger.

"I should warn you," she said, loud enough for the nearby families to hear, "I am not accustomed to mortal food. I have existed on cosmic energy and the essence of storms. This may not agree with me. Do not be offended if I take a single polite bite and set the bowl aside."

Muri rolled his eyes. "Just try it."

"I am merely setting expectations. Managing disappointment before it happens."

"Right. A single polite bite. We're all ready."

She lifted a piece of fish, examined it, sniffed it.

Then she took a bite.

Then the world paused.

Her eyes went wide. Her jaw stopped moving. She looked at the fish in her hand as if it had personally betrayed her.

Then her hand moved again.

Another bite.

Faster.

Then another.

She made a sound—something between a hum and a groan of pure satisfaction—and before anyone could say a word, she was eating with the kind of desperate enthusiasm usually reserved for someone who hadn't seen food in a month.

The platter of fish began to disappear.

The roots followed.

The greens vanished.

Muri stared, his own food forgotten, his mouth hanging open. "Venit…"

She didn't respond. Her mouth was full of roasted fish.

"Venit, you said you weren't accustomed to mortal food."

She swallowed, barely pausing. "I also thought so "

"You said cosmic energy was enough."

"That was before I tasted this." She gestured wildly with a half-eaten piece of fish.

"What is in this? Who made this? I need the recipe. I need to write it down. I need to memorize it. I need to learn to cook!!" She muttered with stars in her eyes.

Sena, sitting across the fire, smiled with the serene satisfaction of a woman who had just been validated by divine approval. "Herbs, Salt, secret spice mixture and patience."

"I need more specific instructions…"

"That's all I'm giving you."

"I will trade you secrets of the universe for this recipe."

"I'm good. I have enough secrets." Sena smiled softly

Muri leaned back, a slow grin spreading across his face. "So much for dignity."

"You shut your mouth."

"The great goddess, brought low by a piece of fish."

"I will strike you with lightning."

"With what? You've dropped all your cosmic essence to focus on dinner."

She threw a root at him. He caught it—sharply—and laughed.

"You're ridiculous," he said.

"I am enjoying myself. There's a difference."

She took another bite, closed her eyes, and let out a sound of pure contentment muttering primordial words human ears were never meant to hear. Around them, the clan continued their quiet conversations, but a few heads had turned, amused by the strange woman who had arrived with Muri.

And for the first time that evening, Venit smiled—not the smug, superior smile she wore like armor, but a real, unguarded smile, the kind that came from a full stomach and good company and the unexpected joy of being alive.

Muri didn't see it, but he heard it in her voice.

And that was enough.