Áine stood on her fairy hill, glowing with Midsummer Radiance. She was the queen of the land, the sun made flesh.
"This is my hill," she declared. "Summer reigns here."
Viracocha walked across the water of the lake. He looked like an old traveler, but his shadow covered the mountains.
"The hill is stone," Viracocha said gently. "And stone obeys me."
The Reset
Áine shapeshifted into a red mare to trample him. Red Mare Metamorphosis. She was fast and furious, a blur of hoof and heat.
Viracocha didn't raise a hand. He raised the water.
Deluge Unmaking.
He didn't just make it rain; he reversed the flow of creation. The lake rose. The clouds fell. The hill was swallowed by a purifying flood.
Áine's fire sizzled and went out. She found herself swimming in a vast, calm ocean that covered her kingdom.
"Sleep now," Viracocha commanded. "The season has changed."
The waters receded, leaving the land fresh and empty, waiting for a new song.