Myth-The Resurrection Covenant

The Resurrection Covenant

As recorded by Esotericus, Cosmic Scribe
 

The Unspoken Question

  In the trembling days after the Shattering began to fracture divine consensus, when the gods scattered their influence across widening realms, a question arose that even divine consciousness found difficult to voice: Should a soul ever return once it has crossed the threshold I so carefully guard?
  This was not a matter of power—both goddesses possessed the ability to violate the natural order. It was a question of wisdom. Of whether mercy could exist without becoming madness.
  I watched as Omisha, She-Who-Waits at every ending, wrestled with her own compassion. The Verdant End had always believed in the rhythm of completion, yet her heart—if gods may be said to have hearts—ached for those who crossed her threshold with purposes bleeding unfulfilled. She is not cruel, though mortals fear her. She laughs at funerals not from mockery, but from the joy of knowing that nothing truly ends.
  Tissaia, the Harvest Mother, saw what Omisha felt but could not name: the exceptions to every rule, the threads in reality's weave that remained uncut not from accident, but from necessity. Her addiction to growth and cultivation extended beyond grain and fruit—she craved the completion of stories, the full flowering of purposes half-born.
 

The Silent Covenant

  They met, as I have recorded, in a grove that exists between seasons—a place where Tissaia's endless summer touches Omisha's eternal autumn without contradiction. What passed between them was never spoken aloud, for both goddesses understood that some agreements become fragile when exposed to the scrutiny of language.
  I observed their negotiation, though that word fails to capture the profound intimacy of their understanding. Two divine minds, each keeper of ultimate thresholds, sharing the weight of a decision that would echo through every age to come.
  From that communion emerged what the oldest Circlehands now call the Resurrection Covenant—not a law imposed upon reality, but a recognition of what was already true: that death and rebirth are not opposites, but partners in an eternal dance.
 

The Sacred Terms

  The covenant's requirements were never written, for both goddesses knew that divine law flows from understanding, not from rigid doctrine:
 
  • Only souls whose earthly purpose remains genuinely unfinished may petition for return. Not those who merely desire more time, but those whose incompletion would tear holes in the cosmic narrative.
  • Omisha must consent first, opening the gate between life and death. Without her recognition that the crossing was premature, no soul may re-enter the living world.
  • Tissaia must then reweave more than flesh—she must restore the soul's momentum in the world, its capacity to effect change and growth.
  • The soul itself must choose return willingly, understanding that this second life is borrowed time, not stolen immortality.
  • No soul claimed by Amartya Mazzikin or bound to another god's defiance of the cycle may benefit from this covenant.

 

The Sacred Ritual

  In my observations, their process unfolds thus: Omisha plants a seed fashioned from the departed soul's essence in sacred ground that exists between realms. If the seed fails to sprout, the soul finds peace in whatever lies beyond. If it blooms—and blooming requires both goddesses to will it so—Tissaia kneels and binds the emerging life back to sun, soil, and the momentum of mortal time.
  This is resurrection as collaboration, not conquest. Death pauses; life extends a bridge; the soul chooses whether to cross back.
 

Divine Perspectives on the Covenant

  The other gods regard this arrangement with varying degrees of understanding:
  Amartya Mazzikin sees it as weakness—an acknowledgment that death can be negotiated with, that the absolute can become conditional. She prefers her own methods: the commanding of souls rather than their courtship.
  Twyla observes the covenant with interest but no surprise, for in her perception of branching time, every death carries the possibility of return. She sometimes whispers to Omisha when a soul's thread leads to crucial futures.
  Liora respects the covenant's adherence to justice—resurrection through proper channels rather than violation of cosmic law. She has been known to mark souls she deems worthy of consideration.
  As for myself, I record each name of those who return—and by cosmic necessity, I never write those names again. The returned exist in a space outside my usual chronicles, their second stories unfolding in margins I choose not to fill.
 

The Covenant's Legacy

  This quiet agreement between Omisha and Tissaia represents more than divine policy—it embodies the principle that mercy and order need not be enemies. Their covenant demonstrates that even the most fundamental cosmic laws can accommodate exceptions, provided those exceptions serve the greater harmony rather than disrupting it.
  The rarity of true resurrection ensures its sacredness. The necessity of dual divine consent prevents abuse. The requirement of willing souls preserves the meaning of choice itself.
  In the mortal world, only a few orders claim knowledge of how to petition for resurrection under the covenant's terms. They guard these rites with appropriate solemnity, understanding that resurrection is not escape from consequence, but acceptance of greater responsibility.
  Those who return carry the blessing of two goddesses and the weight of unfinished purpose. They are neither fully alive nor touched by death—they are something precious and temporary, like flowers that bloom between seasons.

Powered by World Anvil