34-Kit
“How do you choose us?”
“I do not choose you.” Endymion leans against the willow, using a short knife to peel the skin from a daisy-yellow apple.
He smirks; an infuriating curve of his lips as though I’m a child who doesn’t grasp the obvious.
“Despite what you may believe, I possess no ability to force myself into anything. Your mind must welcome me of its own accord. Very few humans ever reach the level of awareness required to appear upon the frequency of a god.”
My own insight hunts me. A chill crawls up my spine, settling between my shoulder blades.
“You have explored this idea of the God-of-the-Gaps.” Endymion pops a chunk of fruit between his teeth.
“The belief that gods diminish as human knowledge expands. Once, lightning was divine wrath. Now it is electricity. Illness was a curse, now it is bacteria. The stars that were once gods are now burning spheres of gas. With every discovery and explanation, each step towards enlightenment, belief in gods fades. And with that fading, our power dies.”
The air thickens, humming faintly, as if proving his point. “Frequencies are the last frontier for magic and science to overlap. The last place where gods can still exist.”
I know this. I’ve written about it in lyrics and journals; within the margins of books that I hide from the others. He’s spent years teaching me about frequencies and consciousness; the thin line between magic and science.
A line I seem to slip across often.
“I know your hunger for power. I felt the same pangs of starvation when I was your age; younger, perhaps. I wanted more. And the more I learnt, the less the mundane satisfied me.”
He circles me with silent footsteps as he cuts another piece of apple, putting the blade to his lips.
“You now understand that power, like anything else, must counteract. As your Newton said, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. With every scrap of power, fame, wealth, and influence, something or someone must be sacrificed.”
Endymion stops in front of me, devouring the oxygen between us. “Shall I tell you all the things others missed out on? The chances, the opportunities, the wealth that slipped through their fingers so it could fall into yours?”
I shake my head. “Don’t.”
“It happens every day. A man catches the last seat on the bus. A woman misses the interview for her dream job. Only she was always going to miss it, because had she taken the bus, she would have been on it when the truck crashed into it. And instead of the man dying, she would have. Every choice you make has the opposite effect on someone else, somewhere else. Humans cling to gods, religion, celebrities, and fortune because it absolves them of responsibility for the destruction caused by their own decisions.”
That hits me like a punch, reiterating what Zach said about power, influence, and how my music shapes people’s lives in ways I never meant.
“Time is peculiar. It cannot be predicted or controlled. Humans possess higher intelligence, higher consciousness, and at any moment, choices present themselves. Time adapts with every choice an individual makes. You simply must learn to adapt with it.”
“So, are you saying that—” My throat closes, nausea rising like a tide.
“You want to know if Melody’s death was a fare for your success?”
I stare up at him, my breaths choppy. Endymion halts his next bite, raising a brow.
“No.” He exhales, and the response bathes me like warm water, loosening my chest. “It would not have mattered who was driving that night, or whether or not you were there at all.”
Tossing the apple core, he pockets the knife. “You would have found me, and her, then wrote this story regardless. Sometimes bad things simply happen, my vessel; no rhyme or reason required.”
Placing one hand on my shoulder and a finger beneath my chin, he tilts my face up. His touch is unnervingly anchoring.
“But some may say that because of that experience, you opened your heart to grief, and your mind to expansion. Enough to allow me to guide you sooner.”
I swallow hard as he releases my chin. “What am I meant to do with all this?”
“Live. Create. Feel. Understand that every choice you make shapes reality in ways you cannot perceive.” His tone softens, almost human. “You are not powerless. You never were. You simply believed you were. And belief is the oldest magic of all.”