The Gilded Ones #3

Chapter 38

Ixa is a gleaming blue god when he emerges, his body changed during its time in the water. No longer is he the hulking, felinelike creature who’s been by my side all these years. Now he’s a tall, blue-skinned youth, his long black hair curling against golden scales shimmering over his body.

“Ixa here,” he says out loud in a low, almost-human voice. “Ixa help.”

Serve as my vessel,I command, slipping into the combat state.

And just like that, I’m there, inside his body, and both of us are walking out of the water as one. A dying god and her single godsworn. The only creatures who still remain standing after all the chaos Etzli has wrought. An atika is conveniently abandoned by the edge of the pool. We pick it up, swiftly twirl it to test the heft.

This seems to amuse Etzli. “Using your godsworn?” She tsks. “It’s very sweet, but it won’t help you, Deka.”

She gestures, and a barrage of vines comes our way. We easily dodge, moving so fast, we’re like wind across water. It’s as if our bodies and minds are one now, our thoughts completely merged for one common goal: take back the box.

Etzli was correct, this is a game of speed and proximity. And now I have the speed, and soon, I’ll have the proximity.

“Get the box, Deka!” Britta shouts at me, already revived from her almost-death as I’d suspected she would be. “Just get the box an’ take it away from he—”

Etzli’s vines descend like a wave, smothering her.

“brITTA!” I shout, but I keep going. It won’t do any good trying to save anyone. I just need to get to my kelai.

But when I rush toward the mass of vines holding it, they move, darting across the floor with such speed, I know Etzli is concentrating all her focus on it. Nevertheless, I persist, until finally, the box is within reach. Just a few lengths more and—

“Your body is dying, Deka.”

Etzli’s triumphant declaration sends me whirling back toward the throne at the center of the room. The goddess is now seated there, my dying body slung over her lap, all its wounds bleeding so profusely, my entire skin seems golden…which is the only reason I can spot the blue now beginning to seep from deep inside it. The blue that’s slowly overpowering the gold.

My and Ixa’s body turns heavy, and suddenly I can no longer move.

Deka,Ixa whispers, frightened. Why Ixa so tired now?

I don’t reply, because I know the answer. I know why Ixa feels so exhausted, why I’m now barely able to think, barely able to move. I’m dying, but because I’m in Ixa’s body, I’m taking him with me.

Across the room, Etzli dabs a finger in one of my wounds and holds it up. The blue is vibrant against the golden brown of her skin. “The final death. After all this time, it’s finally here,” she says, those white eyes glowing. “All your struggles, all your fighting—it’s all at an end now, Deka. Rejoice in it. Glory in it. Finally, you can rest.”

She gestures, and my knees buckle.

When I look down, I’m slumped over the floor, muscles weighted down by the encroaching darkness. The immovable heaviness. I can’t even move when sandaled feet walk down the stairs to rest in front of me.

“Will you take your godsworn with you?” Etzli asks, kneeling at my side. “Or will you die there”—she points—“in your own body, brave to the end?”

“NO, DEKA!” This shout comes from Keita, who’s still fighting against Etzli’s vines. He’s managed to pull them out of his mouth, even though they keep slithering back in. “Run away, Deka! You can get away, you can fight this!”

But there’s no fighting this, certainly not with Ixa’s body as exhausted as it is. Not with all my remaining friends in Etzli’s grasp. There’s only one thing I can do now. “Promise you’ll free them,” I say, looking up at her.

The goddess laughs, seeming startled. “Oh, Deka, do you really think you’re in a position to bargain?”

I glance around me. “No, but I can make this difficult for you. I can try to run. Perhaps even surrender my kelai to the Idugu. This is their territory, after all. I assume there are rules that bind your conduct when in each other’s temples? Divine covenants and such?” When Etzli glowers, I nod. So I was correct to think the divine covenants Okot told me of would impact other gods as well. “But if you let them go, I’ll come willingly.”

“A graceful defeat.” Etzli seems to ponder this.

“Yes,” I say. “So will you let them go?”

“Very well.” Etzli is almost pouting now as she makes a negligent gesture.

Just like that, all the vines loosen, and all my remaining companions are free. They’re alternately gasping for air and staring at me, devastated.

Adwapa is the first to move. She rushes to her sister’s side and pulls her corpse out of the water, her wails so loud now, they drown out every other sound. She doesn’t even seem to notice anything else anymore.

But Britta turns to me, her body still unsteady from its recent revival. “Deka, no,” she begins. “Ye don’t have to do this. We can fight, we can still win….”

I shake my head. “You have to go.”

“I won’t leave you.” Keita rushes forward, not even caring when the vines hiss and snap at him. He makes his way to my and Ixa’s side, and then he picks up our hand, our blue skin stark against the brown of his.

Belcalis, for her part, says nothing as she approaches. She just kneels by my side, quiet, as does Acalan.

I shake my head—Ixa’s head—as I regard them all. “You have to go. I’m dying, and I can’t fight anymore.” I look at Katya’s corpse slumped on the floor. Rian’s. Kweku’s. Asha’s. So much loss. So many lives ended so painfully. And for what? We were never going to win in the first place.

We were never gods.

“We fought bravely,” I say, returning my attention to my remaining friends. “But we have no more strength. I have no more strength. All I can give you is this, the chance to get out of here. The chance to choose death on your own terms. To be together at the end.”

My words seem to devastate Keita. “What about you and me?” he asks, tears in his eyes. “What about me and Britta and Li and Belcalis? You promised to stand by our side.”

“Eternity, ye said,” Britta reminds me.

I turn from them, that heaviness growing steadily over my and Ixa’s body. “I lied,” I whisper. “So go.” When no one moves, I imbue as much power as I can into the word. “GO!” I roar. “And take Ixa with you.” I begin sinking into the combat state once more.

No,Ixa protests deep inside our mind. Ixa stay with Deka!

But I’m already traveling back to my body, already sinking in. Now that familiar pain is washing over me, an ocean of it, but I ignore it to watch my friends woodenly walking away, their bodies unable to disobey the sheer amount of power I put into my voice. None of them are wearing their infernal armor anymore, so they’re powerless against it. Powerless against any ability I use on them.

As Keita opens the door, he turns to me one last time, betrayal stark in his gaze. But he does as I command and exits, dragging Ixa’s body along behind him.

No! Deka no leave me!Ixa cries, struggling. Then Britta grabs him and tosses him over her shoulder, and that’s that.

Ixa may be strong, but Britta is stronger.

Her eyes are filled with tears as she exits, a wealth of sorrow in her gaze. And rage as well, because I feel, rather than see, Britta slamming her palm against the wall. Destroying the door’s foundation, and the jewel beside it.

A cool hand strokes my brow. Etzli’s. She’s returned to the throne and is settling me on her lap once more. “See, that wasn’t so difficult,” she coos. “All you had to do was succumb. You’re all alone now. As alone as you were when you entered this realm. That is the way of things for mortals, you see. Everyone has to learn it at some time.”

“Except I’m not mortal.” When Etzli’s brow furrows, little windstorms forming around it to mark her confusion, I continue, “And I wasn’t alone when I came here.”

Memories flash past, my life playing out in front of my eyes. I focus on one. A beautiful song that rose to the skies as I fell. The song of the ebiki, all of them singing out in concert.

“The ebiki were there,” I whisper, a tear sliding down my cheek. “They were there and they sang to me.” And they weren’t alone either. Now I see a universe of colors, of scents all flashing past me. “The entire world, it sang.”

And I can hear it now, the singing.

How did I ever forget it?

I suppose I’ve been in this body so long, I’ve become restricted by it. What was it that the Being said about flesh and corporeal bodies? Oh yes, they constrain you. They make you forget what it is to connect. To be a part of—not just other people but the world itself. The universe.

I can hear that song again if I want. Queen Ayo promised me this. All I have to do is reach.

So that’s precisely what I do.

I reach with every last fiber of my being across the distance, across the city, across continents, across even the oceans themselves. The song is a hardy thing. It can traverse time and space, given the opportunity. But all I need it to do at this moment is cross one ocean.

When a door begins opening in the chamber, Etzli glances around, alarmed. She jolts upright, then glares down at me. “What is this? What are you doing? You shouldn’t be able to do that, the jewel—”

I almost savor the look in her eyes when she looks at the door and realizes: the jewel is gone. “Britta broke it,” I rasp with what remains of my breath. “She did it when you allowed me to let her and the others leave. Also, I was never alone. Not then, and certainly not now. I’d almost forgotten that. Or, rather, I was afraid. Isn’t that funny? You made me afraid of my own power.”

“What are you babbling about?” Etzli seems almost hysterical now. She whirls about as the door in the chamber opens wider and wider, its size mimicking the ones now opening all across the city. “Stop that!” she shouts. “I command you to stop!”

“I will not,” I say quietly. Then I slowly, painfully motion my head toward the door. “Etzli, meet Queen Ayo.”

That’s all I’m able to say before a massive reptilian form slams into Etzli. Suddenly, the goddess is nothing more than a shrieking doll as the ebiki queen, now much smaller than usual, picks her up and slaps her across the room. The wall cracks as the goddess lands, but I don’t even wince. I want to enjoy every moment.

Etzli’s vines bristle up, attempting to protect her from Ayo’s next strike, but they’re no match for the ancient monarch, who tears through them like they’re paper before slamming into the goddess again. As Ayo tramples Etzli, familiar footsteps rush up the stairs to the throne.

“Deka!” Britta says, darting over, Keita, Belcalis, and Acalan by her side. Adwapa is nowhere to be seen, but she took her sister’s corpse with her when she left, so I don’t imagine she’s returning anytime soon.

A river of pain washes over me at the thought. Asha, Katya, Rian, and Kweku. So much loss. I can scarcely breathe, I’m so overwhelmed by it all.

“Are you all right?” Keita asks, agitated.

“Surviving,” I grit out. Then I turn my eyes to Britta. “My thanks for smashing the jewel, by the way.”

“Of course.” Britta nods.

Another shriek forces my attention back to the battle, where Queen Ayo uses her entire body to grind Etzli into the wall, not even moving when vines attempt to wrap against her midsection.

“DEKA!” Etzli shrieks, panicked. “DEKA, STOP THIS!”

“But it’s not me who’s doing it,” I point out. “That’s Queen Ayo, one of my godsworn.”

“It is…our pleasure…to serve,” the ebiki queen growls before advancing on Etzli again.

Except now, the goddess has another trick up her sleeve. She gestures, and a door opens, one that connects to the battle outside Hemaira’s gates. There’s a pause in the sands as the nearby soldiers freeze, already unnerved, no doubt, by the hordes of ebiki trampling the armies of the gods.

Then something swoops over them. A familiar leather-winged figure.

“Do not touch her!” Melanis shrieks as she dives into the chamber, droplets of gold flying in her path. She’s now so severely wounded, she’s bleeding in several places.

She attempts to slam into Ayo, only to be pummeled aside by White Hands, who charges through the now-closing door, Sayuri at her side. As Melanis shrieks, infuriated by this interference, White Hands holds out her hand and whispers.

“To ash,” the Firstborn commands.

And Melanis plummets to the floor, one of her wings dissolving to dust.

Behind them, Sayuri palms her spear as if she doesn’t even see Ayo and Etzli fighting. “My turn,” she rumbles, and then, as Melanis flaps there, still shrieking, she stabs her through the other wing, tearing the leathery appendage to shreds.

White Hands taps her out of the way, then beckons for Melanis to stand. “My turn again,” she says grimly, stepping in front of her sister.

Melanis forces herself back up with a hateful sneer. “Two against one,” she growls. “Such fair odds.”

“This was never about fairness,” White Hands says calmly as Sayuri walks to her side.

They both stare at Melanis as they begin to speak. “Melanis the Bright, second-born of the Gilded Ones,” White Hands and Sayuri say together. “For your crimes against your sisters and against this realm, we shall end you now.”

“With what?” Melanis spits. “You don’t even know my final death. Do your wor—”

White Hands’s punch lands at the same time Sayuri’s spear pierces Melanis’s stomach. I only barely hear the words, “To ash,” and then the ancient alaki collapses to dust upon the chamber floor.

The spear lands on top of the mound it formed, its solitary clink the only sound that heralds the death of Melanis the Bright, once the most beloved of all the Gilded Ones’ daughters.

White Hands clicks her tongue. “Of course we know your death, dearest sister. We’ve always known it. We just hoped you would stop being hateful before we had to use it.” She turns to me. “Greetings, Deka,” she says conversationally. “Still at it?”

“Only just now sorting things out.”

“Better late than never” is her calm reply.

As I watch her, a movement stirs beside me. My companions are gathering. Keita is holding something in his hand: the box. “Here it is,” he says quietly. “What do you want to do now?”

“What do I want?” I repeat. I ponder the question until a rattle sounds from my throat—a very familiar one. “I’m dying,” I say, somehow surprised.

I’ve been dying all this while, and yet my final moments still come as something of a shock.

“Oh, Deka,” Britta says. Tears in her eyes, she grasps my hand tighter.

Keita does the same with the other one, his grip slipping because of just how much blood is flowing down my fingers. I’m cold now. So very cold. Everything is becoming muted. I can’t even hear the fighting happening around me.

Not that it matters anymore. Ayo has Etzli under control, and, more to the point, I’m not afraid of her anymore. I’m not afraid of any of the gods. All this time, I’ve feared their power, forgetting that I had my own.

And they can’t take what wasn’t theirs in the first place. I had to give it. That’s why they did everything they did. Why they told me so many lies. So I’d be so scared, or worse, so grateful, I’d give everything of myself to them.

And the worst thing is, I almost did.

I almost believed their lies, even up until the end.

I blink, my eyes unseeing, as a warm weight curls over my body. Ixa, once more in his kitten form. Ixa make Deka warm again, he says plaintively, trying to share his heat.

But it’s too late. Much too late.

I thank him nonetheless. Thank you, Ixa, I whisper. I love you.

Then I turn to Keita, squeeze his hand. “I love you.” I can’t see his face anymore, nor Britta’s, nor Belcalis’s, nor any of the others, who are now all shimmering white figures in the distance, despite the fact that I’m not in the combat state. “I love all of you. Always have, from the moment we met in the Warthu Bera.”

“I love you too, Deka,” Keita’s voice is a faraway whisper, and it’s laden with sorrow.

As is Britta’s. “Yer not alone, Deka,” she whispers, her voice fading into the distance too. “No matter wha happens, ye are us, an’ we are ye. Always have been. Always will be. Take that with ye as ye go.”

You are us, and we are you.The thought wraps itself around me as the world dims, a reaffirmation. Everything is one, as it has always been. It’s just as the Being told me, as Myter and even Anok said. Everything is one.

Darkness creeps in, a slow and shivering cold.

But it doesn’t bother me. Nothing does as I move upward, my spirit rising toward the light. I can see my friends below, shaking my unmoving body. Crying as if their hearts have broken.

“DEKA. DEKA!” Britta screams, but I no longer heed her.

Instead, I turn toward the box, the one that’s been slowly opening while everyone was distracted. A light is emerging from it. A thousand colors, all hues I’ve never before seen, each one threaded with sounds: Birds’ wings. Waves crashing. Black holes singing their most mournful laments. All of it together forming a name. My name. The one I could not utter when I was in my body, clothed in flesh. Limited by the cage that was mortality.

I reach for it. Reach for my name, singing high into the sky.

And the universe slams into me.

A star whizzes by. Another million. Billions. I am the expanse now, the ever-watchful eye. I remain as I am, awed witness as planets form and die, as galaxies crash into each other, creating new ones—new life. Gods are formed, immeasurable glowing infants sent by the Divine Hand to watch over each world. I see myself as I was in the beginning, the Singular, a glowing mass intertwined with the ones who would come to name themselves the gods of Maiwuri and the gods of Otera—the Gilded Ones, the Idugu, the Maiwurians—all of us woven together, the world that is Kamabai forming inside us, just as we form inside it. All of us inextricably linked—one organism and yet separate beings.

But somewhere along the way, a few of the others—the Gilded Ones and the Idugu—stopped seeing that. Turned so far toward what they thought was humanity, they removed themselves from the natural order, and in doing so, destroyed everything they were meant to be, everything they already were. I watch as the white and green of corruption creeps through them, infecting our pantheon, spreading until our siblings in Maiwuri seal us off, splitting the world in half. But I remain nearby, a silent witness. A hopeful mirror that never managed to reflect to the others what it should have.

And now?

The thought moves through me, a reverberance across universes.

Now I look across Otera, my gaze orienting on that which is closest: Etzli, body filled with fear as she gazes up at me, seeing the wonder, the magnificence, of what I am. That fear coils through her, a sickly white–tinged purple, cliffs crumbling and falling upon themselves.

She is still in the body of my mortal mother, the abomination of it so obscene, curdled gray twists me with displeasure.

Etzli seems to sense my anger, because she casts about desperately from where she’s trapped under the claw of the ebiki queen. “You do not like the sight of me in this body?” she says, a wheedling, nearly human sound. “I will remove myself.”

She shifts, and within moments, she has abandoned her vessel of flesh.

The Etzli I remember floats in front of me once more, a glowing brown silhouette threaded with vines. Once, she was responsible for looking after growing things, but gone are the trees, the mountains and fields that once formed her being. Now all that remains is a mass of serpentine vines, each one withered, as her spirit has become.

She prostrates herself in front of me, so profanely human a gesture, another shiver of displeasure prickles over me, winking out the stars in nearby galaxies.

She’s about to beg for her life.

You do not have to do this,she pleads. We can be allies. You said you didn’t want to be alone. Don’t you want to be part of a pantheon once more? My sisters and I, we can be with you, help you shape Otera in your image. That is what you wish, is it not?

I orient myself closer, shaking the nebulas that form around the human equivalent of my head in refusal. I wish to serve the realm I was placed in. I wish to protect the natural order, to help those I serve understand the divine within themselves. That is our purpose.

The very words bring clarity. All those years of searching, of trying to understand. And yet the answer was always inside me. Just as it was always inside everyone. All of us are part of the natural order, all of us are part of the divine—every person, every thing, part of the great wheel that is the universe, that is the glory of life and yet Not Life.

Purposes can change,Etzli argues. We tried to aid the Oterans, to show them that which they could not see. We even birthed children for that purpose, but all of them were blind. Mortality blinds you. Even a drop of it is enough to sever you from greater understanding.

And yet you fell prey to such fallacies too,I remark.

As will you.Etzli is angry now, and her frustration sparks around her in burnt-orange tones. You think you know all because you are renewed. But you know nothing, you understand nothing.

I consider her words.

I know pain,I tell her. I know what it is to suffer, to push back against a fate you cannot see. I know what it is to be human. I know what it is to be alaki. I know what it is to be your Nuru. And soon, I will know what it is to be your Angoro.

My words only deepen her anger, a volcano of rage, but it does not shake through the cosmos as it would have. Etzli is muted. Nearly human now—as are her sisters, as are the Idugu. All of them fallen so far. The sadness of this thought causes a nearby lake to turn to ice. I breathe it back to its normal temperature, reawakening the fish caught in the onslaught.

All these people you think you serve, all those friends you sought to protect—what do you think will happen now that you are what you are?Etzli sneers. Soon, you will forget your mortal life and then your mortal emotions, and you will be as you were. As we were.

Her words send another upheaval through me, mountains of ice shaping and forming in distant oceans. I glance at her. Your words are offensive to me. Cease.

They are the truth,Etzli spits. End us all if you wish, and you will soon become like us. A god alone does not remain a god for long. Even we, the Eternal Ones, can suffer the effects of loneliness.

As I ponder her words, I look down at Anok, imprisoned in the stones under Abeya. Separated from her sisters and yet a part of them as always. Etzli tries to follow after me, but I motion, restraining her where she is.

This enrages her. Do not ignore me, Deka! she shouts. Do not dismiss me.

Such noise….I continue onward, stepping lightly on the stone cell, which glitters with the unending blackness that is Anok’s essence. At my lightest touch, the stone explodes, freeing the goddess, who re-forms and bows to me respectfully, yet another human gesture.

It is time,I say. I am here to fulfill my vow to you.

And not a moment too soon. The green of corruption coils around her, constricting her. How she has remained cognizant for so long, I do not know.

I am grateful,Anok says. Although, I must confess, I do not know what to call you now. Daughter, sister, son, brother, child, self. All these things you are to me. So what shall I call you? I no longer know your true name. And you should not offer it, not when I am as I am now.

I ponder this query until finally, I arrive at an answer. Deka, I say firmly. I am all you have said and more, but I find I have grown fond of this identity. Deka.

Anok laughs. Our Angoro, our slayer.

Indeed. Are you prepared?I do not know why I offer her this courtesy, only that of all the Oteran gods, she is the only one who tried to remain steadfast to her purpose. That effort in itself is enough.

Anok looks down. I wish for a moment.

We wish for a moment.I turn to find Okot waiting behind me, his essence just as scored with the corruption as Anok’s. And yet, like her, he retains something of his purpose. I see it now, how he guided Myter to us in Gar Nasim after we escaped the shadow vale. They had been waiting there for weeks, but it was only when he led them that they were able to find us.

That was not his only method of helping us, though he did not realize what he was doing at the time. He also made that pretense of capturing us in Irfut so we would be pointed in the direction of searching Gar Fatu, another malevolent-seeming action that nevertheless helped us on our journey.

It puzzles me. Why? I ask. Why did you help us? Even as you pursued us, you gave us aid.

I did not realize it then, but I felt guilt,Okot admits. A human emotion. I wanted it to end, though I did not know how. Then Anok was imprisoned, and I began to speak with her in secret.

We had forgotten we were one,Anok continues, floating closer to him. But once we were reminded, we came to an agreement. We would do what we could to aid you.

And I would pretend to hinder you the entire while, in the event that my brothers caught wind of it. Thankfully, they did not. And now, here we are.Okot turns to Anok, smiling, a thousand flowers blossoming in the wake of his expression. If our time is at an end, let it be together. We were once one. In these last few moments, let us be as we were.

Anok smiles. Indeed, she says. And that is the last word she speaks.

I watch, something akin to wonder spreading through me, as Anok extends her hand to Okot and he does the same. Their forms meld, transforming until they become one darkness, one universe of shadows, forever bound together. I do not have to say their names, do not have to sing them out of existence, because, as I watch, they sing together, one final, blissful melody that echoes throughout the universe of heavens.

And then they are gone.

And now remain the other six, all huddled together, different shades of fear and defiance in their bodies, all of which merge into a sickening array of storms that boil across the land called Otera.

Even though I already know their answer, I nevertheless ask the question: Do you wish me to sing the song of your dispersal, or will you do it yourselves?

When I allow them to speak, unsealing their mouths, a barrage of protests and pleading assaults me. And nowhere, in any of it, is remorse.

So I orient closer and begin to sing. An entire realm joins me as I sing the song of Etzli and Etal, of Hui Li and Hyobe, of Beda and Bekala. I sing their rainbows and their storms, their dewdrops searing across the surface of volcanoes, their stars spinning universes into the light. I sing all the things that they are and all the things that they were, and as I sing, they begin to brighten, light shining through their beings, chasing away the traces of green, the traces of white, the traces of everything malevolent, until soon, they are nothing but brightness, nothing but specks, dust in the universe.

Stars, soon to be reborn.

With them go their vales, the rifts closing up, repairing as if they never were. I spirit the humans inside them back to their homes, back to their loved ones, whichever of them still remain, but the creatures—the vale wraiths and the smaller shades—I gather together in a new world, a dark, cold place far from this one. They had no say in their creation. Why, therefore, should I stand as the hand of their destruction? Better I send them to a place where they will thrive and, perhaps one day, develop sentience and birth gods of their own.

The other monstrosities and wonders the old pantheon visited upon Otera, I send to the remotest portions of the realm, far enough away that the more sentient creatures will be safe from their predation and that they, as well, will be safe from them.

Then I turn my attention to the battlefields, the divine armies disoriented by the loss of their creators, the Oteran armies steeling themselves for any new conflict that may arise.

Return home,I whisper into the minds of every soldier. The war is ended now. You have lost enough.

And one by one, the soldiers begin gathering their weapons, their wounded, and their dead, then they disperse from the fields and the sands, back to the homes they came from, a slow but steady exodus.

And once again, I am alone in the quiet. And the weight of my actions heaps upon me. Not sadness, not that human of an emotion. But quiet. Stillness. I am done. I have ended my siblings, the fellow members of my pantheon. What shall I do next?

I feel it before I see it, the peaceful light shining over me. The Being so enormous, I feel engulfed by it and yet equal all the same.

All and yet one.

“Well?” it asks, flowing toward me. “It is done.”

“Yes,” I say. “They are ended. But why could you not end them yourselves?”

This is the question that has plagued me since I accepted the Being’s existence. Its benevolence.

It shakes the universes that are its head. “We are the natural order. We are the divine hand. We are all things—even you. That which you undertake, we undertake.”

“I am your process,” I say, finally understanding. “I am your balancing.”

“That is the nature of the Angoro.” The Being peers at me. “Well, then, have you decided? Shall we end this world or remake it?”

I consider my options, ponder them well. It takes me centuries and it takes me a moment. “We were all. And yet one,” I say.

“That is the order of things,” the Being agrees.

“We are all of us gods. And we are all part of the divine order.”

“Indeed.”

“Even them.” I look down at my friends, who are carrying my body out of the chamber. At all the armies, throwing down their weapons.

The gods are gone. And everything is chaos. The dead, the wounded—suffering. So much suffering now. It resounds into the universe, a symphony of pain.

“Even them,” the Being reaffirms, its eyes gazing back at my friends, who are currently heading toward the garden.

It already understands my intent, but then, it always has.

“I wish to share my divinity,” I say. “I wish for them to ascend as well.”

“All of them?”

“No.” I look down at my friends, seeking to understand. Who among them should ascend, and who should remain?

And then it occurs to me: that is not my decision to make. Everything is a choice. That is where my predecessors strayed.

But I will not make the same mistakes.

I orient down. “I will ask them,” I say, looking at my friends. “But first, I have one final thing to do.”