Koronos sits by the stream back in his peaceful, green realm.
The battle is over. Supremus is dead. The Nightlands ever looming, always waiting for another opportunity. The worlds spin on, indifferent to what was sacrificed, the cost, and what was lost.
Shelove rests beside him, warm and solid. A hawk watches from a nearby tree, head tilted as if asking a question he can't answer.
The Sword of Otepi lies across his knees. It's just metal now. Beautiful, ancient, sharp, but just metal. The warmth and glow is gone. The presence is gone. The gentle pressure of her approval, the flicker of her hope, the weight of her watching. All silence.
He doesn't know if she followed Supremus into whatever comes after. He doesn't know if she's angry, or grateful, or simply... done. He doesn't know if she approved of what he did, or if she'll ever forgive him for it.
He'll never know.
Zeyzey sits on the opposite bank, her back against a tree. She's watching for any threats, standing guard for her liege. She killed an ally. She smashed a locket containing a soul. She did what was necessary, and has no regrets. She's said barely a word for a long time, she finally speaks, loud enough so Koronos can hear her over the flowing water and wind rustling the leaves of the trees, "You know, her son is still alive?"
She looks at Koronos. He looks at the sword. "What say you?"
"Solaron, her son, is the king of Otepi. Not the hero of legend Otepi, but the desert city state named after her, this is known; it's not terribly far from here. He might be happy to have her sword as a memento of her memory, if you no longer have a use for it. Just a thought.
She adds, "also, majik is returning here slowly. It may take a long time to become like Sleeping Dragon but it's happening. It was that locket, it was draining this realm."
Koronos nods, "yes, I feel it."
Neither speaks again. There's nothing to say.
Nearby, the young Samiran, Daggeroth stands guard; his bow strung and ready if needed. His eyes are much older than his age, for all he has bore witness to but now carry a silent strength.
The stream flows past them, indifferent. Shelove, the great black pantera sighs in her sleep. The hawk preens its feathers and waits for something: perhaps a mouse, a rabbit, the end of the world.
In the Celestial Temple, a young princess clutches a locket that no longer pulses, the inset crystal now broken. She doesn't understand what happened. She only knows that the beautiful, lonely song is gone, and she misses it, and she'll never forget the metal man with gemstone eyes who was more afraid of her than she was of him.
On Hadron, the prison fortress stands empty. The throne room is silent. The vault where the locket waited for ten thousand years is just a room now.
In the parasitic dimension between worlds, something ancient and patient watches. The Nightlands didn't win in the depths of the seas of Sleeping Dragon. But it can wait. It's been waiting for eons and it's always hungry.
Koronos stands. He sheathes the sword, no longer the Sword of Otepi, it's just a sword now. The only piece of her left. Perhaps he will give it to her son.
"Come on," he says to Zeyzey. To Shelove and Daggeroth. To the hawk. To himself.
They walk into the forest. The stream flows behind them, he is content. Suddenly, he feels something powerful behind him similar to when a portal opens but a thousand times more powerful, looks back and Zeyzey is gone. Impossible. Then he senses it; so he pulls the sword from the scabbard. The Sword of Otepi was completely recharged just by being close to whatever it was. Its power fully restored, radiating energy and light as he holds it, Daggeroth looks on in awe. They both know something divine just occurred.
The end, almost.
Somewhere in the Void they gather. The gods, Otepi amongst them. They are meeting here to change how Everliving occurs. Otepi says to the collective of deities, "the old plan for the Everliving is largely a failure, no longer should they be chosen randomly at birth, but rewarded from deeds."
Thunderbird the Sky God, the watcher, in female human form asks, "who would be the first ones to test this on?"
She replies, "I know of one who has passed test after test, a certain Red Malatak that followed my champion against the horrors of the Nightlands, and possibly a young Samiran, but it's too soon for him to bear such a mantle, but his time will come."
"If we are taking accounts of deeds, what about deeds to oppose the Nightlands directly? There is one mortal that stands above all others, in all of history; she is more of an Everliving then most Everliving will ever be. Her morality may be questionable but that is irrelevant; she fought the Nightlands with your champion, she nearly died doing this, and she has no mandate, no Everliving powers. We need soldiers that will fight, we need soldiers that can see, and she sees even what we missed for ten thousand years,"says Thunderbird as her wings slowly pulsate with energy.
One moment Zeyzey was walking by a stream, guarding her liege, then she was somewhere else: not a place, not a space, just somewhere else. Before her are the gods of legend, she knows this. She can feel it in her being. "Am I dead?" She asks a simple, straightforward and practical question.
Thunderbird in human form: a beautiful woman in golden armor with glowing rainbow-colored wings on her back, says "no, you are not dead, but one day you will be, but before that day comes you could be something more. This isn't a gift, it's a burden, you may live for thousands of years, or you may die tomorrow. Such is fate."
Zeyzey says nothing, wondering if it's a trap, the gods surely have damned her a long time ago.
Thunderbird continues, "if we grant you Everliving powers, would you fight the Nightlands?"
Zeyzey lets the words hang in the air, moments tick by, "I'm not the hero type… if you have been watching, you know I'm far, far from a hero, surely there are better candidates; a better first choice?"
Otepi, was once a general long ago, in her mortal life. Her eyes glowing yellow along with her glowing yellow wings on her back, and she's not as amoral as the others, says to her, "there are, you're certainly not my first choice, but you're high on a short list, because of your deeds of fighting the Nightlands. Listen, we are at war and we're losing." She pauses to let the weight of those words settle as she accesses Zeyzey. Then she sees it, the ephemeral quality that drives her: she's not afraid to die, she's afraid of failure, "we need warriors that will fight against it, you fought it. So, will you fight again, this time with the powers necessary to confront it or would you turn out to be just another failure?"
Zeyzey with her long jet black hair blowing on the a gentle divine breeze, stands up a little straighter, chin up, defiant, she says to them, "with all due respect your divinity… and other divinities" as she nods to the others, "I may be many things that make for a long list, but being a failure isn't on it. Also, you all made a mistake."
Father Fate replies, "we do not make mistakes, mortal."
She laughs, "of course not." then continues, "you made a mistake making a bunch of disparate soldiers scattered across the realms, that's not how to win a war; that's exactly how to lose one."
The gods all look at each other, unsure what to make of her.
Moments pass, then it's Otepi that speaks, "she is right, and she has the heart of a general," directed at the other gods, then she turns to Zeyzey, "very well, you're not the weapon I wanted; you're the weapon we need, Zeyzey… the Everliving. You will be our angel of death and retribution, to turn the tide. Fight the Nightlands and punish those who serve it, even if they are Everliving, this is your mandate,"
"The lone soldier dies fast, will there be more?" She asks as she scans the gods and her eyes fall on Father Fate who spoke moments ago.
He speaks, ancient, wise, "yes, there will be more, some you already know. Things shall be different henceforth, in addition, we have a message for you to give to Koronos."
The air folds. Not like a portal: something deeper, older. Koronos feels it before he sees it: a presence. Familiar and utterly new. Everliving.
He turns.
She stands there. Her white feathers, white cloak and white, studded leather armor, more divine and cleaner than before. Jet black hair, longer now, touched by something otherworldly. Her eyes hold depths that weren't there before. And for just a moment, as reality settles around her, he glimpses them: wings of shadow and smoke, unfolding and vanishing.
Zeyzey. But not the Zeyzey who left.
They look at each other. The small mountain stream flows between them. Shelove tenses, then relaxes, recognizing her scent even if everything else has changed. Daggeroth just stares in awe and remains silent, something important is happening between demigods.
"I can't serve you anymore," she says. No preamble. No apology. Just the fact.
Koronos nods. He knows. He felt it the moment she arrived.
She tells him anyway: brief, efficient, the way she does everything. The gods. The mandate. Otepi's command. The war. The Nightlands. The servants she will hunt. The Everliving who failed and the new way of the gods offering a choice for the chosen.
He listens. Says nothing and steps across the stream towards her.
When she finishes, there's a pause. The stream flows on as he looks to Sleeping Dragon in the sky; the correct moon. The hawk watches.
"I am grateful," she says, her voice steady, "for you letting me serve… and for showing me what Everliving are supposed to be. You are the standard from which all others shall be weighed. Not all Everliving can be as great as you, but they should put forth greater effort."
Not thank you. Not for kindness or friendship or trust. For letting her serve. For giving her purpose when she had none. For seeing what she could be and giving her the space to become it.
She looks down and sees a good white feather, as she picks it up she says, "oh, that's a nice one for my collection." It's the feathers her tribe always used and was ultimately co-opted by the Purifiers cult. She looks to Daggeroth standing near, stares at him for a few moments and his blue feathers that he wears; it's the colors of his people's village.
"Aye, it is, I considered picking it up for myself." Koronos says, as he steps closer and watches her, she doesn't back up.
After a moment, she tucks the feather into her belt, closes what little distance remained between her and Koronos and she continues, "the gods made a small Everliving army but for whatever reason, never bothered to tell them they are supposed to be one. So, we ended up with misguided ones like the Octavian emperor you defeated and those useless rulers on Sleeping Dragon. Some went far astray, like Malivance or even worse, Supremus. I will rectify this and guide them, if they are indeed guidable, and if they are not; then it may become a different conversation entirely."
Koronos meets her eyes as she turns her gaze back to him. Gives an ever so slight nod in acknowledgement of what she said, but in truth, he cares nothing for the policies of deities but they are very close now. He reaches up, slowly glides his hand on her shoulder, up her neck, to the back of her head, leans down and kisses her on her waiting mouth, after a few moments, releases her.
"About damn time." She says, eyes locked on his. She steps back.
She starts to turn and her black wings of smoke unfurl from out of her back, a gift from Thunderbird the Sky God, but stops, "I almost forgotten that I have a message for you; you have done enough, the gods ask no more of you. But, if you ever need me to help fight the Nightlands or wish to rejoin the fight, or continue what you started here, you can find me at the Purifier Citadel, but it will be renamed to the Citadel of the Everliving; a name the Nightlands will come to fear." She launches into the air, her black wings beating the wind and flies off into the East as Sleeping Dragon blocks the sun-star, towards her home in the jungle lands of Samira.
He pulls the Sword of Otepi and looks at its radiance, then back to the sky. He doesn't know the impact he had on Zeyzey that ultimately influenced the gods, nor does he care to know, because he's Koronos.