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It has been replaced by something so much… stranger.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.