Summer knelt in front of the low altar, pausing for a second to fish the ends of her hair out of the way. Normally she didn’t work skyclad, but Lammas was particularly important to her, so she put in a little extra effort. Then again, she didn’t celebrate this part with anyone else, normally.
Four candles sat in a perfect diamond, oriented to each cardinal direction. Disdaining a lighter, she touched each one and called it to light, then folded her hands in her lap. Maybe other pagans did things differently, but fire magic was part of her, and this was how she chose to be grateful for her gifts — by using them.
Staring into the flames, she fell into meditation. She shaped the thought of her patron god — dark hair, green eyes, a sly smile: Loki.
It had been years, centuries, since the last time Loki had anyone even vaguely interested in his divine title as a God. These days he was nothing more than a mythic creature, one who had tried to take over Midgard a decade or so ago. Despite even that, though, people were determined to still believe he wasn’t real. Midgardians, such terribly hypocritical individuals.
So when was the last time someone had bothered to worship him? Since the last time someone had bothered to give him offerings, ask for help, or even dedicate a small altar to him?
Centuries. It had been centuries.
As he sat at his kitchen’s island, poring over a book in front of him, he felt a sudden tug within his abdomen. It faintly resembled the feeling he got when teleporting somewhere, only this tug was harder, pulling at his insides as if begging for him to pay attention to something. It was a feeling he knew, one he’d felt before, and yet for a moment he was too stunned to pay much attention.
Someone was calling for him? It seemed strange. Why was someone suddenly interested in him?
Shoving these thoughts aside—after all, he’d been waiting for this for years, now was not the time to suddenly question—he closed the book shut and closed his eyes, willing part of himself to drift away and be tugged by that strange feeling.
What he met was the scene of a woman kneeling before an altar and seeming to be in deep meditation, her unseeing eyes staring at the flickering flames of four candles before her. She was calling for him, that he knew. He could feel it.
The form he’d sent off towards her was an invisible wisp of smoke that encircled the altar for a moment while the God decided the best way to catch her attention and prove that he was indeed listening to her. In most cases, he sent spiders, in other cases he sent crows, and sometimes he played with the flame of a candle.
The latter seemed a suitable solution at the moment. The wisp of himself moved to one of the candles, the North one, and the flame flickered while the others remained still. For a moment it just flickered, but then the flame grew taller despite the shortness of the wick, and suddenly seemed to be dancing, a repetitive bowing movement, like it was waving.
Summer blinked, surprised out of her meditation and losing her visualisation. Was she doing that? It looked like the north candleflame was /moving/, almost bowing or waving. She cocked her head to the side, frowned a little, and tried to make it still.
The flame kept dancing. That meant whatever was controlling it wasn’t her.
“Um. Hello? Is someone there?”
It never even crossed her mind that it was a response to her prayer. After all, she’d been worshiping Loki for years, and never gotten a true answer. Just the knowledge that there were beings out there, looking over her, was enough, most of the time.