Chapter Text
I knew the end was approaching.
I could feel it. It had been almost two centuries since Mezalea had collapsed in on itself, since my brothers and king knew their last breath. Only my body remained, nothing but a broken container barely holding in the last remnants of knowledge a millennia long. I was breaking apart at the seams, spilling out the last remnants of magic that had kept me alive for so long.
There was no way around the inevitable anymore. Whatever miracle had granted me life had simply run out. Within a short time, perhaps even days, I would be like my brothers, but even that was uncertain.
While the memories of Mezalea had never been easy to conjure without a vicious pain that bit at my mind, the ache had been worn dull as memories grew ever sparser. Long past the age where I could aid the mortals that continued to remake the continent, I was now left with only myself as company. To fill the silence, I would start up at the starry blanket of the night sky, trying to recall the constellations and planets overhead. No matter how hard I searched the sky, I could not recognize them, a grim reminder of how my existence continued to fray at the seams.
In some strange twist of fate, as the memories of every lifetime continued to ebb and fray, Joels only burned brighter. With perfect clarity, the memories of his life, his friends, and the experiences he had only been privy to embedded themselves within me. They became my source of entertainment and comfort as I continued to wander across the continent, searching for something I did not know.
Once, I would have considered viewing his memories as my own as besmirching the last innocent reminder of home. Now, they were all I could hold onto, all I truly knew. My memory could no longer be trusted.
In many ways, I should have known from the very first breath I ever took that he was me and I was him. And yet, he still found new ways to surprise me.
The disrepair on my body limited my movements and memory, leaving me no choice but to finally take the opportunity to truly know Joel. Days were spent recalling every moment of his life and understanding the emotions he felt. His happiness, his sadness, and the violent, weeping loneliness that slipped into madness. They had never been my experiences to know, but now I did. Now I knew him, more than I knew myself. He was an easier man to understand, easier to comprehend than the spiraling mess that comprised myself. Everyday, I came to grow more fond of him.
For all the grief that blanketed him in a cape of misery and sluggishness, for all the tearing of heartstrings he suffered every morning he awoke without her tall outline beside him, he endured. He was so human in that regard, more than I could ever mimic.
The knowledge that I could never truly live up to him or my brothers tore at me as I continued to wander, rest never coming to the body that knew not of exhaustion. I supposed I could have walked until the very last drop of magic had slipped through my cracks and onto the earth underfoot. No doubt, azalea blossoms would grow where the magic landed as it had on all the earth I crossed. What good was a trail if the prize at the end was not of any value?
I was certain there was none still alive who recalled myself or Mezalea, for we both had grown into folktales and legends whispered in lowered tones. Even if I encountered one who considered me more mortal than fiction, I could never impart the stories of my home and my life without a voice. Indeed, that was the horrible paradox of my existence: kept alive to continue the legacy of Mezalea without a voice to inform those who sought answers.
The weight of time bore down on me, and my hour was nigh.
I decided on a summers day to let myself die.
The choice was not made in rashness, but rather, a long debated and calculated decision. I had had two centuries to keep the legacy of Mezalea alive and I had failed. The age of Empires, I concluded, had simply passed me by, and like a fool, I’d let it slip away. Now my body was broken, my mind faltering, and the spirit that drove me near extinguished.
It had been so long since I had seen anyone, my journey always leading me away from the settlements that continued to expand. In part, for lack of belief that I could accomplish anything, and in part, because I feared they might hurt me. A strong wind could blow me over at this point.
I was beyond repair now and I doubted any mason alive could offer me alternatives free of pain.
My journey had led me all over the continent to the extent that when I returned to a place I had been prior, enough time had passed that the land had been heavily changed. Small huts could grow into sprawling cities, massive rivers growing into barren valleys. Time made the land new, and I could never trust if the land I passed once belonged to something I had known before.
Atop a large hill, I was gifted with a view of the large valley that was of equal distance between the remains of the Grimlands and Rivendell. Standing in the windswept grass, I searched my surroundings for the settlement that had once stood, finding only empty plains. No signs of man could be seen, the buildings long destroyed and reclaimed by nature. I attempted to recall memories of the land prior to the construction of the empires that flanked it, but like so many of my memories, they were cast in a fog.
Above my head, the sun was high, clouds sprawling across the bright sky. The wind was soft, winding between the blades of grass as it conducted them in its orchestra. It played the sounds of mountains and empty earth, accompanied by the chorus of bugs, wind, and leaves. The wind was gentle, cooling me on what otherwise would have been a humid day.
Scanning the valley, I could see blossoms of flowers dotting the landscape. Like blotches of paint on canvas, they were spread throughout the grass, always close to touching, yet just apart. There was some poetry in that, and I debated whether I’d find more meaning if I delved into Joel's memories. Deciding against that, I sat down and soaked in the feeling of being alone.
A ruler long ago had found great meaning in the experience of being alone, jotting down the elegant language to describe how it felt in dozens of journals over the course of their lifetime. I’d never ventured to perform my own independent evaluation of their work after they passed, and no doubt, I would have never understood it. I had never been alone until the Rapture, and the ever comforting presence of my brothers would have blinded me to the rulers true meaning.
I wondered what they had written and what comfort it would have brought me. If not reason, at least a memoriam to the person they had been. None alive could recall this ruler nor the work they did. They were forgotten to time, no trace left to be found. Perhaps their texts would be found one day by a people who could not speak their language, and they would disregard the journals in favor of the treasures Mezalea held.
The measure of their character was not written down, so they would be forgotten.
I wondered if Joel would follow suit.
The sun continued on its daily journey towards the east, golden beams beginning to cover the mountains in its glow. Slowly inching towards the snow capped peaks, I allowed myself one final moment to feel the lightness of life. Stretching my hands out, I let the blades of grass flow through my fingers, memorizing the feeling of connecting with something I was not a part of, yet knew deeply.
It was almost time.
Rising to my feet, I set out towards the valley, slowly traversing down the decline. The valley was somewhat steep, but with care, I was able to maneuver myself to the bottom. Casting my eyes around for a good place to lie down, the shape of something man made caught my attention. Turning to face it, I attempted to make out what it was, confused by how I had not seen it sooner.
It was a fountain.
Old and cracked, the fountains exterior was nearly consumed by moss and tall grass that surrounded it. The stone was pale, made lighter by the incessant blare of sun that bore down on it. The fountain stood out against the rest of the valley, the sole structure in sight. I found it strange that it was here when every other aspect of the community that had once stood was nowhere in sight.
Approaching the structure, I began to inspect it, picking at the moss and ripping away the grass. Brushing the dirt off of it, I pressed my fingers to the stone, tracing the shapes I found. The fountain, though very dirty, was highly detailed, clearly made by a trained mason. Its groves and mounds told a story, though one I could not recognize. The figure portrayed in it was unfamiliar, but from what I could tell, was probably a young girl. Carvings in the stone on the other side of the fountain showed what I assumed to be lightning storms.
Pausing, I attempted to recall the last time I had been in the valley. The hazy memories were indistinct, images of a bustling crowd, violet eyes, and some patron I didn’t recognize. I couldn’t be certain of what I remembered, but as I stared out across the valley, it became somewhat more familiar, enough to the point where I could make an assumption.
It had been over a century since I’d been here last, and at a festival for a goddess, I’d helped a child find their toy. I had not seen the goddess nor could I recall her name. This was strange, as I had always known who had represented the divine Panethon.
Whoever this goddess had been, she had been forgotten by the people and the world. Her community, either fled or abandoned, had turned to the dust that forms bone and soil. Nothing remained of her other than this fountain.
I knew what happened to her; the fate that befell any god who was forgotten. Without worship to sustain them, they were rendered back to the same magic that had imbued them with immortal life. Their titles and responsibilities were given to some new god, continuing the cycle.
I wondered if she had met that fate. She was so young, too young to be forgotten. She would have been so scared. I could picture her face in my mind, violet eyes filled with fear as her body turned to shimmering dust.
Placing my hand into the fountain, I moved it around, creating ripples in water that had been undisturbed for ages. Peering into it, I watched as my reflection was altered, glimpsing traces of myself that had long passed. Was there something in the water that knew me more than I knew myself? Could it bring me back to who I had been?
I refused that train of thought, denying myself the opportunity to delve into hypotheticals. I had come here with purpose, and I would not abandon my task.
And yet, some part of me urged to pause. It told me there was something I could still do.
Hoisting myself into the fountain, I allowed the cool water to wash over me. It felt so nice against my body, like soft hands welcoming me back to a home I no longer knew. Closing my eyes, I let my body sink beneath the waters surface, letting the last breath escape me.
The magic within me grew warmer and warmer, glowing through the cracks in my skin. Relaxing my body, I allowed it to move, helpless as it pulled itself to the center of my chest. Feeling to my arms and legs gave out as the magic grew brighter and brighter, and through the water, I could see it leaving. Darkness began to creep into my vision as water began to bleed through the cracks and into my hollow body.
As the last magic of Mezalea separated itself from my body, I prayed that it go to the little storm goddess whose fountain I laid in. Perhaps by giving it to her, I’d ensure she would not be forgotten, but sustained years to come.
As the darkness enveloped me, I wondered if I would see my brothers again.
The sounds of water splashing against water drew me out of the slumber that claimed me. Blearily blinking my eyes, the budding sensation of coolness clutched my body. Staring up, I could see sun beams rippling, as if I were underwater. The need for breath drew me upwards, and with heavy gasps, I shot out of the water.
Cloth and hair sticking to my skin, I heaved in air as I scanned my surroundings. Wherever I was was foreign, as I could not recall a time where I’d been in such a fine garden. The sun streaked through the trees leaves, casting the land in its speckled shadow. It was warm and humid, and I could hear the cawing of birds and hum of insects.
Hastily stepping out of the water, I heaved myself out of the fountain, feet hitting the soft grass. Clutching my arms to my chest, I took several steps, feeling the grass between my toes. The water that clung to me began to drip off, soft plinks hitting the blades and beading on them.
So transfixed was I with the scenery that I failed to recognize Joels name being called until the speaker had their hands on me. Stepping backwards, I tried to wrench myself out of their grasp, but their grip was too strong.
The person before me had deep brown skin speckled with golden freckles. Dressed in a yellow dress that hung off her shoulders, her curly ebony hair flowed down her back and was held off her face by a golden wimple.
“Joel,” she spoke in a soft yet excited voice. “God of Lightning, Thunder, and Storms, it is my honor to welcome you to the pantheon.”