Sparrow - 01/01/205

The Hobo has finally been expunged in his entirety and returned to the One.

The Hobo, born Raiden and taking the name RedDwarf the BeardPirate as an adult, was a blight upon the world.

He awakened to his aspect at an early age, but – as he was the first generation of children born post-Collapse – had no one to help him control it. He was able to erase whatever stone he wished, which he refined as he grew older. He could have become a great sculptor, which is what he was rushing towards.

But then he became possessed. It is unclear what exactly these entities are – if they are remnants of something before the Collapse, some other creature made from the ashes of the previous world, or manifestations of mental illness made worse with greater access to powers – but this matched the same pattern as things that came after. What I will refer to as the Demon.

Raiden became obsessed with his art as a young adult, constantly striving to be better than the already perfect work he was able already realize. He grew desperate for more impressive feats. He carved facades into cliff faces. He fashioned the supports of giant bridges – architectural feats in their own right – into the form of monsters and beasts holding the platform across their back.

But as his fervency grew, so did his recklessness. He lost consideration for others as his passions overtook him. Accidents followed in his wake as did, toward the end, deaths.

While I can sense the passion within him, and the sense of awe, I can feel no intention from him during this time. It is as if he were led by something else, hence my dubbing it possession by the Demon.

What is most confounding to me is that he was planning his last great work, and everything stopped. He abandoned the work and, for the first time in nearly a decade, I can follow his train of thought. Or I could, if it were coherent.

Whatever had possessed Raiden had left him, and with it his mind was scrambled. Raiden was, effectively, dead. In his place was a new creature that would eventually be known as RedDwarf.

His aspect had also changed with his new perspective. Instead of causing bits of stone to vanish, he instead caused fire to spew from his body. He became a mercenary, using this power to destroy anything that stood in his way. The only reason that he wasn’t more of a terror at this point in his existence was that he was unfocused and had strange eccentricities.

RedDwarf was known as the BeardPirate specifically because the fire that was now his aspect would indiscriminately spew from his body, especially when he let his guard down while sleeping. He did not gain any resistance to his own fire, so he typically awoke with whatever hair he had grown over the course of that day singed to nothing. He decided that he did care about having magnificent facial hair but, as he could not grow any of his own, became obsessed with that of others. He grew a collection of beards.

While most of the previous owners were not good people – he was a mercenary and typically dealt with unsavory types – I can mark this as the start of RedDwarf’s decline. His depression turned to envy, which eventually grew into greed. He originally just scalped those that he killed, but eventually the order had shifted. He found a beard he liked, took it for his own, and killed the owner for no reason other than eliminating witnesses.

Things escalated from there.

RedDwarf still had some bits of humanity left to him, but it was skewed. He learned the populace of the kingdom he traveled complained of a refugee crisis due to some local conflict. That the homeless were nothing more than a stain on their pristine civilization. He took this to heart and used his aspect to strike terror to those on the streets.

Within five years, this single individual had solved the problems. The homeless no longer existed – they had all burned to ash.

RedDwarf was able to do so largely because the people with homes thought little for those without, and merely sighed with relief when they noticed fewer about. His aspect was powerful, and those that did attempt to fight back or confront him in some way stood little chance. By the time the authorities took him seriously, the fear and awe of the few homeless left, as well as those in danger of falling into poverty and losing what separated them from who they looked down on, had empowered him.

This is not to be taken as metaphor.

In a very real way, their fear of RedDwarf gave him more strength. His aspect grew more powerful. His body grew sturdier. He began to embody whatever people thought of him. They gave him power.

This is what a Saint is – a creature that has somehow surpassed their human limitations. They are repositories of power, fueled by the attention and regard for others. It is reminiscent of what my father theorized of gods prior to the Collapse.

This is when I found him. I could not kill him. But I could know him.

I used this to help organize a manhunt. He killed most of those who came after him, but there were too many. He had caused too much harm, and I can be persuasive when needed.

But as I watched his body cool, as I learned more of his past, his soul failed to dissipate. The fear of those who survived, and those that had made him a monster for children, kept him… He was no longer alive, but his essence still existed.

For a century, his presence lingered over the islands of the south. It encouraged evil in others, pure chaos disguised as a misguided attempt to give people what they wanted. Some wondered whether he was a lesson sent by the gods to teach people to be careful what they wished for.

They are dead now.

It took a century, but I managed to wipe out any record of the monster that was RedDwarf the BeardPirate. His presence still exists in some form – it was impossible to destroy all memories of him entirely – but I could destroy any reputable sources and turn him from legend into ghost story.

And as his story became less relevant to those still living, his essence gradually faded. Until it finally returned.

Even now, I wonder if these writings risk bringing him back. It is why I have had to be vague.

But also, I wonder why the book I found as a child had told this very story in brief. Was it predicting the future, or is this a repeat of what had come before? And is the fact that I stumbled upon that book related to my own aspect?

Sparrow - 10/08/2012

Hey Dad,

I read through your diary. Or your notes. Or whatever they were.

I’m sorry. It doesn’t look like you wanted me to, yet. You wanted me to be older first. But I didn’t know what else to do…

I don’t think I understood a lot. At least not entirely. But…

I don’t know. Should I start over?

What’s the point?

A boat showed up, like you said it would. There was a body inside it. I didn’t see any injuries on them. And they didn’t look desiccated or anything, like they starved. They just stared blankly ahead, like you used to when you were focusing.

Was that you? Your notes said you could kill fish – I guess that was all the floating fish in the ocean every now and again. Could you do that to a person? Did you do that to a person? Just because they were focusing here? What if they were coming here for a reason?

Dad…

They had a book in the boat. I picked it up and I felt a shock. I panicked, I don’t know what it was. My heart raced, and I’m still a bit scared that I’m dying. But… I don’t think I am? I haven’t yet…

I skimmed through it. I’ll read it all fully later, like your notes. It read similar to it, like it was a second part or something? It mostly focused on four people, though. Like had a biography on them. It called them Saints. Is that some kind of special person or something? It felt like they were big people, or people who did big things. Does that make sense?

It did have that Joi person that you had in your notes. A lot. It called him the Shepherd, too.

It confirms most of what you said in your notes. But it went into more detail, and said that things were instead of you just thinking them.

Joi cared deeply about people, and made sure everyone had powers. Anyone with a deep-seated love for something would receive the gift of powers from him, so they could pursue their passions. Even if they didn’t know he existed – is that important? He saw it as his responsibility to keep people alive, even as everything fell apart.

So, does that mean that Joi actually was a god? Or trying to be a god? Or used forbidden magic? Is being a Saint just that, a god or proto-god or something? It doesn’t seem like he was responsible for the Collapse like you thought, right? If he saw it was his responsibility for keeping people alive, he wouldn’t cause all that… well, I guess Mom caused all that, right? That’s what you said in your notes.

Did… he try to fix what Mom broke?

There were three other Saints in the book. Joi was called the Shepherd. There was a RedDwarf the Hobo, LY the Greenskin, and Alys the Judge.

The Hobo seemed like a bad person. He killed a bunch of people because they didn’t have homes, because everyone complained… that they didn’t have homes. Wouldn’t it have been better to just give them homes instead of killing them? Killing people… is wrong, right?

After he did that, the book said he went around the world giving everything that they wished for, but they didn’t want. He sounds like one of the genies in the stories you used to tell me when I was super small.

The Greenskin seemed nicer, but I don’t think I understand… why she was a Saint. People hate each other for being different? Like Mom was different from you and me cause she got smaller instead of bigger, and slept all the time, and didn’t eat? People would… not like her? And kill her? Because of that? I don’t understand…

But the Greenskin thought that was wrong, and she worked to get everyone to like each other, or at least not hate each other. The book said she wasn’t that known – not like Joi and the Hobo – since she just cared about spreading acceptance and loyalty instead of her name.

Is all that a big deal? Like… giving everyone power seems big. Killing a lot of people and then granting wishes seems big. But… getting people to like each other? Is that really big? Is that important or hard?

The last one – the Judge – she seemed sad. She made a mistake as a kid and burnt everyone around her by accident. She kept hurting herself, and everyone else… cause she felt responsible? For a mistake? But she ended up dying after killing the bad people who made her make that first mistake.

But… she didn’t die. She came back? And she saw it as her responsibility to hold everyone accountable. That every action must have a consequence. That things had to be done the right way. And that she was the one to make sure people did that.

Dad, I think I have to leave soon. Mom died.

…and so did you.

I don’t think there’s anything for me here. I’ll find somewhere else to go. Your notes said that there were people alive on other islands, so maybe I can find someone to help me there. Until I’m big enough to do things on my own.

Thanks, Dad.

Darrow - 18/06/2012

This will serve as compilation of my notes from the past twelve years, after the Collapse. Perhaps Sparrow will find it useful when he’s older. If not, I can hope that he’ll be able to pass it along to someone who will.

The magic of old has vanished. It was much more flexible, and in some ways more consistent, than what exists today. Perhaps Joi – who still eludes my senses – has retained his ability to use it. But no one else has.

Before magic failed, the world was encircled by a single sun, two moons, and countless stars. When magic died, the stars and moons died along with it. The sun split into numerous pieces, though it took several months for these pieces to coalesce into anything approaching stable.

Over the course of the decade, the shifting plasma formed fifteen orbs, each about the size of one of the previous moons. Each shined with a separate color, and their orbits seem spread far enough apart that if a collision happens, it will be far into the future. I shall refer to these as “suns” for simplicity.

Whatever caused my sun to split appears to still be in effect, as tendrils of energy split from the new suns with regularity. Most of the time, these return to their original sun with little effect. Occasionally, the tendrils will coalesce into a new orb. They are almost always fragile and flow into orbs of similar size, split apart again, and drift along before being collected by one of the suns and absorbed into its essence.

Sometimes these orbs reach a critical mass or separate from other orbs and maintain their identity. At least long enough to be noted. Some of these seem to be re-absorbed eventually and it seems unlikely a sixth sun will develop. Future observation will likely be needed.

The land itself was split due to my wife’s power and has become a massive archipelago. Fifty-one islands could conceivable be called the remnants of the empire, whereas a larger portion of the land has snaked its way north, making what could be a safer passage than the open ocean to the two other continents. The people of those continents were unaffected by my wife’s destruction, but they seem to be just as affected by the Collapse as those who survived the empire’s destruction.

Every human has access to a unique ability. I am certain there will be duplicates in the future, but as of now that does not appear to be the case. Even those abilities that appear similar on the surface have some slight nuance in their manifestation or effects.

My power, for example, is to be able to see everything at the cost of leaving my body behind. I’m unable to explore this ability to its full potential, as I’m unable to leave my son for long periods of time. I try not to think of what will become of my when my body dies. Would my mind go with it, or would it linger elsewhere?

My wife’s power seemed to cause massive destruction. It appears to have changed after her initial release, however. She has been unconscious since the Collapse, and her ability has created the bounty of flora on the small island we inhabit. Without this, we would have died. Her power seems to feed on her self, however, as she has regressed in age and does not have much time before she’s gone entirely.

From observing the survivors, there do appear to be shifts in their abilities over time, but never this extreme. There are a handful of instances in which people have pulled on a new ability they had not yet demonstrated. But these new abilities appear limited in duration – only lasting as long as whatever instance of extreme stress caused them in the first place.

Perhaps my wife’s stress-manifestation was destruction, and her natural ability was to creation? I have not seen such an oppositional manifestation with others. I have also not seen any person’s power cause them to stay within a coma.

I have experimented with this thesis myself, and it has worked with my own ability. I have put myself in perilous positions, enough to evoke the stress response, and rather than sense the entirety of the world, I have a much more visceral sense of the surrounding area. As if I were viewing the world from eyes of its inhabitants. If maintained for any length, however, smaller animals die. I feel a portion of myself die along with them.

I am leaving this record behind as I fear I will not be alive much longer. For the past several years, I have sensed attention on this island. It was a surreal sensation, as I could not see anything nearby, or far away, observing it. I thought it was my imagination, but now I know it is not.

For the last few months, an individual has been heading from one of the northern continents toward this island, specifically. They appear to be normal, but they have avoided showing any of their abilities so far. As if they knew I was observing them.

I do not know if I will be able to stop him, but I will not likely survive the confrontation either way.

Sparrow - Day 1

Hi, book!

I think this is how you’re supposed to do a diary. I don’t know. Dad won’t let me read his, and he keeps it locked up super tight.

I went to the shore today and tried to catch a fish. They were all floating far away. Just… floating. Maybe they were taking a nap. I wanted to go out there, but Dad won’t let me swim out in the ocean.

I told Dad about it, and he told me not to go to the shore anymore. But he seemed a bit happy about something. He’s not happy much.

He also told me not to talk to anyone. I don’t think he meant him. Or Mom. I hope not. I like talking to Mom.

She doesn’t talk back, though. She just sleeps. Dad said she was really tired, cause she… used up a lot of energy? I don’t know why she doesn’t eat. Unless she’s tired and needs sleep energy instead?

That’s probably it.

She’s almost smaller than me, now. She used to be as big as Dad. I think. I remember it from when I was really little.

Dad is sleeping more now. Maybe he’s getting tired, too. Maybe I’ll be bigger than him, too!

Until tomorrow, book!

The Guide - 15/03/10

This is a treat, now, ain’t it?

For you.

You have the unique honor – unless you share this with anyone, of course – of reading the first correspondence between the gods of this world, and the mortals. You – the one reading this – you’re the mortal. I’m the god.

You better not waste this opportunity! It only comes once every world. Be a prophet! Make a name for yourself! Be a notable in the annals of history!

Or abandon it and be worse than a nobody: be the one person who actively discarded the greatest chance of having their life mean anything.

Feel the earth quake under your feet. That is me!

Watch the seas boil from the shore, feel the heat on your skin. That is me!

Fall into despair as everything you thought you knew is twisted beyond recognition. Your very essence taken to be nothing more than a pawn to further a plan far beyond your ken!

You should feel honored to know – it is much more than most get.

Oh, now that you know, you may be tempted to fight against fate. But, oh, how I need you to also know before you venture forth that your attempt will be in vain. Even as you see marginal momentum toward freedom, toward control, it is only what I allow. And only as long as it amuses me.

How could one such as you do anything more than struggle against one such as I?

Bow down to your new god, and pray he is merciful!

Heh, nah. You don’t have to worry about any of that.

Had ya going for a while, though, right? Not much of one for all that fire and brimstone crap, to be honest. I see myself more as a helper, a guide. Using whatever powers I have to shepherd you mortals along your way.

Never thought I’d be out here, free and all, helping to mold the world into a better place. For that matter, I didn’t really exist as a person ten years ago, neither. Bits and pieces collect, and build, and congregate, and form into a massive gestalt I might as well call my personality.

Always wondered if that’s how humans – or whatever they’re gonna call themselves in the future – become people. Or whether there was something inherent within them that just gets revealed over time. Are people born as people, or do they learn to be people?

Eh, all that’s something for someone else to noodle on. All that “what is reality” and “how does all this nonsense work” bullshit doesn’t bother me too much. It matters more to my…

…huh? I gotta figure out what to name the nine of us, shouldn’t I?

Oh well, introductions first.

I’m guessing you’re a mortal and you’ve stumbled on this letter. As far as I know, it’s the first kind of communications between us – the new gods – and all y’all.

There are a lot of things that could change this, of course, and make me a liar. Maybe one of my… let’s call them siblings already manifested and decided they’d want to write something instead. Maybe one of them – or some other thing that isn’t a mortal – sabotages this one cause they don’t like what I say.

I guess I don’t really care.

This isn’t all that important; I’m only doing it for the records cause my youngest brother gets rather ornery if I don’t. I don’t really understand it myself, what with him being him and all, but I’ll let him have his little eccentricities. Wouldn’t be able to be me without him, after all.

So yeah, a bunch of things changed all at once. Might as well call it the Collapse since the old man called it that and all. It’ll probably stick – should thank him so I don’t have to hem and haw about nonsense like names.

Hm… he still has a son out there, right? I’ll go ahead and make sure he lives a good, long time.

Well… strike that good part out. Probably won’t enjoy the long life, but… well, he’ll be making differences and keep things a’moving. Just gotta make sure he bends in the right places.

Need to make a quick visit to that brother soon, though, and make sure things are still on track.

Oh right, the introduction…

So, uh, I guess I need a name…

…

I like Guide. You can call me the Guide.

The others aren’t going to like me being all forthright, so maybe this letter won’t get out. But I figure you mortals deserve the truth. You’re the ones who’re able to live in the world, make changes, and all that stuff. You shouldn’t be the playthings of the gods, right?

We’re all babies, to be honest. The kid of that old man, he’s older than me. Technically. But we were born fully formed; didn’t have to do any of that learning and making mistakes and growing up and whatnot.

I mean… we’ll still make mistakes. But we’ll make adult mistakes. We’ll ruin countries. We’ll kill people. We won’t stick our hands in a burning fire.

Saying we were born is not entirely correct. Or that we were formed, either.

There was a “GOD” at one point in time. Who knows if knowledge of them will stick around or not, or what name will stick onto them. They created the world whole-cloth – so I’m guessing either the Maker or Creator is most appropriate. They didn’t interfere with their creation all that much. They cared about the systems and the starting points and were content to observe the resulting world. To watch their toys go along.

The gods the old man was referring to? Not gods.

Don’t get it twisted – they were powerful. The closest thing to an immortal that could have existed before everything did get twisted. They held powers comparable to only others of their kind.

So yeah, it makes sense why they were called gods. But ultimately, they were mortal. Just powerful ones.

And now, for the most part, they’re dead.

The Maker – let’s go with that for now – crashed out. What happened to cause it? Don’t know.

But the Maker didn’t actually die or anything. They just kinda… split. There are a ton of mechanics and stuff that are way too boring for me to learn. But here’re the basics.

Think of a thing. Whatever thing, doesn’t matter.

It almost certainly has three separate parts to it: a body, a mind, and a soul.

Unless you were being a clever girl, you probably thought about something you could interact with. You interacting with it? That’s its body.

Now maybe it wants to do something. Animals want to eat, trees want to grow, rocks want to fall. That motivation – that thing they want to do? That’s its soul.

Now the mind is a bit more unique and can’t be described so simply. It’s the interaction between the body and soul; the glue that pulls the two together.

The Maker split into their three component parts, and thus the Body, Soul, and Mind of the Maker were born. All of them completely, separate, whole… pieces.

Incomplete wholes.

And that’s what I am – the Mind of the Maker.

Or a portion of it, anyway.

The Soul is in countless pieces. And I mean that quite literally. The entirety of the world is just a bunch of Soul particles bouncing about, splitting and merging and coalescing and exploding as its wants move. Even if I were so inclined to stop time and count up each and every unique bit of Soul that existed, it would only be true for that one moment.

The Body… well, it split into several pieces. I can’t tell you how many, though. I gotta have my own secrets, and I don’t want mortals making any kind of checklist to hunt them down or anything.

They’re… interesting. I’m about to get one of them now, for some plans. If that kid’s going to work out, anyway.

Let’s say that they have the potential to be powerful, but it depends on how they’re used and who uses them. Of course, since they’re Bodyful, y’all can touch and interact with them to your wildest desires.

And finally: the Mind.

That’s me. Or us. The Maker split into nine parts. Siblings probably work out better than any other kind of relationship. We’re in a weird spot, to be honest, and I’m pretty sure I’ll actually be killed if I go into more details. You certainly wouldn’t be able to read about it, and that’d waste all the time I put into this so far.

So yeah, this is the first documented interaction between the New World Order and those that survived the Collapse. As proclaimed by me: the Guide.

Good luck, my dudes.

I’ll be doing my best to help you along into the future of your making.

And I’m a god. I could hardly fail.

Right?

Darrow - 01/01/2000

The gods are dead.

This is not metaphor nor hyperbole; they no longer exist.

I am beginning this journal in an attempt to center myself, to make sure there’s a body to return to. So that I can still interact. To do more than merely observe.

I pray that it helps. That it’s enough. I pray that praying matters anymore.

Who is there to listen? Do I even want to know?

Can I know?

My wife and I were academics, with a special focus on the phenomena of apotheosis – or how a mortal ascends to become a deity – and how that process relates to magical strength and flexibility. If perhaps magic’s entire purpose is ascension.

Not that it matters anymore; magic is dead. Or at least, the magic I thought I understood, at least partially, is gone.

It has been replaced by something so much… stranger.

My wife was more gung-ho than I was, conducting experiments and writing papers. Testing theories and quickly discarding them when needed to evolve her hypotheses. I suspect that she cared more about proving others wrong than she did herself right, but it never interfered with that beautiful mind.

I cared more for the process of accumulating information, gathering knowledge and learning how the threads of seemingly disparate systems connected to a glorious whole. She complained that I was much too passive.

I suppose there is now irrefutable proof that she was correct. I failed to act, and I am alive.

We were close to a breakthrough on the eve of the new year. That was only yesterday, as time of writing.

Joi the Shepherd, the self-proclaimed son of a long-forgotten goddess of beauty, was exhibiting the early signs of becoming a godling. I have no idea whether his existence will continue to be known in the future, and I would be doing our work a disservice if I failed to provide context.

He had built a cult around himself in the past few years. Some were wary, but outwardly he seemed to only care about leading his followers to a more carefree path through life. For people to follow their passions and excitements, to fully express themselves at the potential cost of decorum. That life is short, existence is finite, and that the ultimate goal of any person is to enjoy themselves, and others, while they’re able.

He was, mostly, innocuous.

Not everyone agreed, and there were a few poorly-documented assassination attempts on both him and his prominent followers. The victims were never realized, and the assassins never reported on their failures.

He gained in personal strength – symbols appeared across his skin. From the reports we were able to gather, they appeared as tattoos – though radiating with golden magic. Most details are lacking other than the icon of a sun in the middle of his forehead. The last we could gather – mere days before everything collapsed – was that his eyes had begun to radiate something approaching a pure golden light.

All of these changes could be easily explained via a quick trip to a cosmeticist. While not exactly common, nor cheap, there are services that can accomplish this and more.

It was drawing attention, though. Both positive and negative. And as the attention focused, his power seemed to expand.

I doubt the populace at large would have noticed – at least at first, but as Joi began to change, more people throughout the empire began to develop magical powers. It began with his closest followers before spreading to others in his inner and outer circles. While the reports are vague – as everything happened so quickly – recently, even those who have never heard of Joi began to cause strange effects about their person.

I theorize that Joi was a powerful mage, and that he was using his powers to spread magic to others without the need for learning. It is a forbidden magic, but it does exist. Magic is a dangerous tool, and a large part of instruction is in learning to use it safely. Formal institutions bind those it releases into the world such that, should they abuse their knowledge and abilities, their own strength would be directed inward and they would cease to be an issue.

Perhaps Joi was a trained mage, and he was powerful enough to break the bonds. Or he found something that was able to circumvent the restrictions indirectly. Perhaps he fled the university before the bindings could be placed and managed to develop his knowledge on his own. Perhaps he was mentored by another.

Or maybe there was some loophole with the bindings – or the ones who placed them.

My wife cared little for this theorizing; she wanted to go out to meet with the potential mage on her own. To confront him, or his followers, and learn more about him as a person. Why was he doing what he was doing, or was it accidental? Did he understand the effects of giving power to the masses, and was he prepared to live with the consequences?

Honestly, I think she was a little sweet on him if he was as she suspected. As an older sister might be to a careless, but ultimately well-meaning, younger brother.

Neither of us appreciated the stilted hierarchies of the university, nor the strict control of knowledge. She for obvious reasons. I was forever frustrated that all of her hard-earned accomplishments were undervalued or, worse, attributed to me as her research partner.

But if Joi was consciously spreading magical power throughout the masses, he was being reckless. My wife wanted to speak to him, find if his motives were just, and attempt to steer him in a safer direction. To become a mentor of sorts.

And somewhat of a cheerleader.

But our son had just been born, and she was in a poor state for travel. She didn’t take that well.

But to circle back to the Collapse – I suppose it needs a name.

I suspect Joi – or at least the events surrounding him – were responsible for magic dying. Perhaps, with my newfound power, I will be able to say for certain one day.

It is too soon to know whether all of society will collapse, but I can say for certain that the empire itself is no more.

A large portion of the university – at least those who knew of us, our specialties, our interests, and our more progressive inclinations – mobbed our home. I wish I could give it a nicer name, but there was little thought in their mind beyond punishment, and I can only assume they intended our deaths.

Both of us reached into the well where our magic would come, and found it missing. But there was another well nearby, and it was bursting with power. For the both of us.

My wife called upon this power, and the world cracked. Those after our lives fell into the sea, losing their own.

But whatever my wife did could not stop there. She could not control this power; it was more than she was ever able to call upon in her life.

Cities and towns across the empire collapsed as fissures spread across the land. Countless lives were lost – either by falling into the abyss while the water of the ocean spilled into the gaps, making new rivers and seas, or as structural collapse snuffed their lives from existence.

I know this as I called upon my power as well. Instead of a massive surge of destruction, I left my body.

And now I must confess that some of the specifics above – or lack thereof – were a lie. A lie I want to believe, as I don’t want to trust my own experiences.

The power that ripped through the empire was indeed caused by my wife, but the destruction of the land was not what killed so many. The mages’ lives were ripped from their bodies directly; they were dead long before the collapse of the land could claim their bodies.

Most of the innocents of the empire were likewise not killed as a consequence of damage, but via whatever my wife released directly.

As much as I despise myself for the thought, thankfully she was not the cause of every death. Across the empire, others were waking to a new power within themselves; a power they could not control. Accidents happened and people died.

And now for the last lie; the number of deaths is not countless. I saw each and every one. I know each and every person’s name – even though I should have no way of doing so.

I do not want to write that number. I can lie and claim it’s because of the deaths that will surely come in the next days, weeks, and months. But the truth is that I don’t want to see the number written out. It would make everything more real.

And as I watched the destruction, felt the lives being lost, I sought out the gods. They care little for mortality at the best of times, but I assumed they could not ignore something of this scale.

And what I found was nothing.

Whoever, or whatever, Joi is is still alive, but there is an interference preventing me from seeing him directly. I do not see anyone even approaching his power. I do not see any other interferences.

I do not know if the gods were dead, or if they never existed in the first place. Or if they were charlatans with at least some power. Regardless, the gods are not here now.

My passivity gave me the power to observe, and I’ve fought to suppress that and return to who I was. The pressure of leaving is ever-present, and I have no idea how long I can keep it at bay.

But my son is alive, and I have to keep him safe.

My wife is… not quite dead. I doubt she will ever return to us.

But I will hope.