Chapter 210

Gods, Men, and Things Unspoken

Three months had gone by since the fateful day that the Kingdom, by and large, had dubbed the ‘Vanishing’. One day, the capital of the Ethwar Kingdom stood proud and tall, a shining beacon of power and might and authority, and the next… it was gone. The gorgeously paved streets–gone. The lines and rows of houses–gone. The seemingly never-ending commercial buildings lining the streets–gone. Gone. Gone. All gone up in flames that could be seen from hundreds of miles away.

The Wheel of Reckoning, they called it–the fiery halo that cast golden fire upon the world, washing it anew. It was, by far, believed to be a punishment sent by the Gods, for the sins of the Kingdom. But the living cannot rest upon the shoulders of the dead–life goes on, and it moves, and time never halts for no man, and for no gods. And now, not even Sylas.

For the first time in what was thousands of years, he lived with the rest–there was no dying and trying anew any longer. He had become part of the world, now, as the timelines converged into one. He never quite grasped the machinations of how his reality and the other realities merged, but he hardly cared enough to mull over it. To him, it was all in the past–the past so distant, the vast majority of it was already forgotten. For despite becoming something akin to a fundamental force of reality, large parts of him were still very much human.

And yet, then again, large parts of him were not human. In truth, he likely should have left soon after he ‘fulfilled’ his quest–making Valen the King. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He stayed and he observed in silence as the broken and shattered recouped and began becoming whole once again. That was the majesty of humanity, he realised–to pick themselves up from the vanishingly small nothingness and build back up the pillars that were the arms reaching toward the wanting infinity.

There, where only ashes and horrid memories were just three months ago, a small, sprawling town was erected–bit by bit, building by building, stone by stone, a new era was being ushered before his very eyes. The story told to the world was half a lie, but it worked wonders–the Gods punished the King and the Queen and the corrupt capital by smiting them down, in their place allowing a cripple fighting for the soul of the Kingdom to inherit the title and begin building it from scratch.

Though the fires were being constantly put out, they were few and far between, just enough to keep the heads awake and alert, but not enough to stir enough fire to burn down everything. Thousands came from the vast villages and towns and cities, and thousands more helped with the building. It was… strange, Sylas mused in silence. The hatreds being washed so effortlessly by a single act of tragedy.

He didn’t help–not directly, at least. For most, the strange, odd, and flamboyant Prophet that accompanied the King was now a shadow of a memory, someone who vanished seemingly with the capital itself. It was not right, Sylas knew, to meddle in the affairs of the mortals much, but he meddled still at least a little bit. He put out a few of the more ‘dangerous’ fires stealthily, pinned the vast world of the Undead to the north into obedience, and ensured that no other nearby Kingdoms considered acts of war for the foreseeable future.

“Hey,” Asha’s voice woke him from his thoughts, prompting him to glance back. A breath later, she appeared from the white mist, donning the ever-so-familiar white dress. Unlike him, she stayed visible and active–every day, she would go down from the mountain and into the settlement. What she did, Sylas did not know–nor did he ask.

“Hey,” he greeted back, pouring her a cup of wine and setting it to the side as she sat down next to him, tossing her legs over the cliff and leaving them hanging. Fall below was deep and vast and led into the dark forest, but neither cared. “You’re early today.”

“I know you’d be missing me horribly after a few late nights.”

“You knew well.”

“... they keep asking about you.”

“It tracks. I am quite memorable.”

“You won’t come no matter what?”

“...” Sylas glanced at her and sighed, looking back up at the sky. He wanted to go, but there was something deep in him, a voice that was holding him back. “I can’t baby them, Ash.”

“Name me one time you’ve babied them.” Asha scoffed. “Besides, if we’re going to make a relationship that will last an eternity actually, well, last, we have to dispense with lies, Sylas. I held back so far on the account that this was difficult for you. But it’s difficult for me, and them too.”

“For you?” He cast her an awkward glance.

“Yes, it is,” she nodded, taking a sip of wine. “Saying goodbyes is… never easy, Sylas. It never gets easy. But just because it is hard, we can’t stop extending greetings either. There’s a whole army of those who did–who hid from all sentient life, retired in some dark corner of the cosmos–but I never want to end up like them.”

“Is it that bad?”

“It’s awful. Yes, we will say a lot of goodbyes as we watch the ages come and go, and we will bury innumerable beloved, but we can’t just run away from that reality.”

“That’s not why I’m running, Ash,” he said.

“I know.”

“You do?”

“I’m sympathetic, I’m not a moron.”

“... I saw it. The way they started looking at me,” he said slowly.

“How?”

“Worship.”

“...”

“Awe. Desire. They deified me, Ash.”

“...”

“Even Valen… wouldn’t look me directly in the eyes.”

“Can you blame them?” she asked.

“I can’t. No, I don’t blame them. I’d probably be the same.”

“... what’s the problem then?”

“I don’t know,” he sighed, scratching his head. “In some ways, I guess I have to get used to it, no? And it’s hardly as though I feel wholly and completely human, anyway.”

“No, I get it,” she said, smiling faintly. “We are human, Sylas. You twice as much as me.”

“Doesn’t say a whole lot.”

“It does,” she said. “Remember–I fell in love with a human, not a God, not a Voyager. Just a poor little boy, lost and broken and scarred. It is hard to watch those you considered brethren cast you up onto a pedestal.”

“Ever happened to you?”

“Wow, you are not particularly bright.”

“Look into the mirror, dumbass–it was a roundabout way of asking you to, you know, tell a story.”

“I know,” she grinned as he rolled his eyes and groaned. “How does it feel?”

“Not nice.”

“Then maybe stop doing it to me?”

“Not a chance. Anyway, the story.”

“There’s no one particular story, Sylas,” she said. “But, though it may break your heart, you were not the first human I have ever loved.”

“Shocking, but go on.” He said with a deadpan expression.

“But you are the first to have ever loved me back.”

“...”

“As soon as they all learned I was more than a human, without ever even truly knowing what, they… well, you’ve experienced it. But we can’t fault them for that.”

“I don’t.”

“So, embrace it. Go showboat there like your usual self, and awe them by proving that you can be a proper moron and still ascend beyond humanity. Give them hope.”

“Dig a hole and bury yourself in it.”

“Besides, how are you going to give them gifts if you stay here on the mountain like a socially crippled hermit?”

“Has he ever told you what the world looked like in his eyes?” Sylas suddenly asked, prompting Asha to wince in pain for a moment before replying.

“... no. He never said anything. Why?”

“Tell me–what do you see when you enter that settlement?”

“What do you mean?”

“How does that world seem to you? Hopeful? Encouraging? Wild?”

“... whole,” she replied after a moment’s silence. “Why? How do you see it?”

“Dark, cloudy, muddy,” he replied. “Hanging above everyone’s heads are tendrils, some thick and some thin, and when they snap–”

“--people die. No wonder he didn’t like crowds.”

“It is not even that,” he said, taking a sip of wine. “It’s constantly being reminded that things converge toward a singular end. Young, old, healthy, crippled, sick… there is nothing that lasts.”

“Wait–is… is there a tendril above me?” she asked, and though he didn’t say anything, the look in his eyes spoke more than words ever could. “Sylas…”

“I realised something only when the finality of it all happened,” he added. “Every single waking hour of every single day, there will be flickers converging from all corners of the cosmos… into me. I will become a resting place for the entire cosmos, Ash. And when all things have come to an end, and the last of the living has died… I will die too.”

“...” Asha’s eyes teared up suddenly, a surge of emotions–past and present–thrashing about within her soul.

“Don’t cry,” he said, smiling lightly. “It won’t be the end. From my death, new life will emerge. And so, the cycle begins anew.”

“I–I really never knew. Never… why didn’t he ever tell me?”

“Probably because he loved you more than me.”

“Hey,” she elbowed him gently. “So, this ending… is it any time soon?”

“Hm? Oh, gods no,” Sylas burst out into laughter. “That’s what you were worried about?”

“... can you blame me?” she said, suddenly snuggling up to him, hugging his side. “My eternity with you has only just begun. I’d rage into madness if it were to end so soon.”

“You’ll get sick and tired of me a million times over before we come anywhere close to that end,” he said. “Now, you ready to hike back down?”

“Not tonight.”

“... why?”

“...”

“Oh. Yeah, not tonight.”