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Even from a young age, Joel had been obsessed with the gods. He'd search out shrines of smaller deities in the outskirts of the capital, committing their names to memory. He'd sit with the older folk in town and listen to stories of adventure, morality, and jealousy. The gods were messy, and human-like, and they made mistakes just like everybody else. But they were just that: gods. And Joel was a mere human, tethered to the earth like a bird with clipped wings.
Keeping to himself and only interacting with elders put a target on his back. The kids his own age taunted him for his height and scrawniness, throwing dodo poop at his clothes and tripping him wherever he walked.
His mother said that children preyed on the weak, and that Joel was an old-soul. "Keep true to yourself, and they'll eventually tire of you. They're looking for reactions, and the best thing you can do without making the bullying worse is to pretend they don't affect you."
The thing was, it did affect him. A lot. His mother was on the shorter side, and Joel was too. They had a lot in common, in fact. The same untamable brown hair, and chestnut eyes. The only trait Joel apparently got from his out-of-the-picture father was his rather bulbous nose. Joel liked to keep it that way; he much preferred to look like his mother who Joel considered his one and only parent.
A lot of stigma came with being an only parent, and Joel was ready to fight anybody who even blinked at his mother the wrong way. But none came. The children had plenty of opportunities to say something rude about his mother but didn't, and no whispers came from the adults.
Joel didn't truly understand it. Until one night, sitting under a froglight tree in the orchard, a man appeared in front of him. He was wearing a pure-white chiton, blond hair and blue eyes. His entire being was ringed with gold, indicating his godhood. The thing that stood out the most to Joel was the man's nose. Large and bulbous—exactly like Joel's own.
"I must be dreaming," Joel muttered, and he quickly stood up. Because gods didn't just come down to the mortal realm. And if they did, they definitely made sure to be hidden, and they definitely didn't have children with mortal women.
"I'm afraid you’re not. Joel, I am your father."
The world seemed to fall away from under Joel, and he instantly sat back down. "What?" This revelation felt like one of those hackneyed melodramas some of the older kids wrote and acted out in town square. All he needed now was an amnesia plotline, and he'd be set. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Joel could now place which god this was—the god of the sky. It was his job to paint the heavens blue every morning, and black in the night. Only when he was sad or upset did the sky end up a melancholy grey.
The god of the sky looked down pityingly at Joel. "The Fates have read of a terrible future, and it's quite imminent. It won't happen in this area, but it will affect the entire world causing earthquakes and rising waters. Nearly every mortal will die."
A shiver went through Joel. "How soon does everyone have?"
"Twenty years, at the most," the god replied. His lips were pursed and he seemed to not know where to look—at Joel or somewhere else.
Twenty years felt like a long time away, but Joel supposed if he was immortal, that period wouldn't seem nearly as long. "So. Everyone's going to die. Are you planning for me to be the messenger to tell everybody? Maybe we can build something? A safe house?" His mind was already running with ideas on how to do such a thing. Obsidian, perhaps?
The god shook his head. "No, the mortals will descend into chaos if they were to know. No Joel, I'm asking you if you would like to be granted the gift of immortality and live with me and the other gods. It will be safe up there."
“Immortality?” Joel repeated. “With you?” He could hardly wrap his head around the idea. The prospect of living forever, alongside the gods no less, sounded incredible. He’d be safe from whatever terrible event would occur in two decades.
“Is my mother allowed to come too?” Joel thought of his mother who cared for him, loved him, and also held a demanding job at the copper aging facility below the capital.
The god’s face turned pained, “unfortunately, that’s not possible. You’re half-god, and already have some claim to it. Giving mortals immortality is incredibly difficult; the other gods all have to agree and I haven’t exactly made friends with all of them.”
Joel’s mind was then made up. “I can’t leave her behind. I’m the only person left for her here; she’d be all alone for the end of the world and I can’t do that to her.”
For a long time, the god stared at Joel with an inscrutable expression. Then, he patted Joel on the shoulder. “Very well,” he finally said. “You’re a good son, Joel. I’m proud to have you as my son. Farewell.” And, in the blink of an eye, he disappeared.
Joel stayed sitting under the froglight tree until the sun came up once again. He pictured his father running along the sky, giving it a beautiful pink and orange hue.
Joel never told his mother about the meeting.
~~~
As Joel grew older, he struggled with whether or not he should tell the city that humanity was going to die. But his father had been right; if people were to know, everything would fall into chaos. Crime would run rampant, and panic would ensue. Besides, if the Fates said that almost everyone would die, there was nothing to be done. The world might as well live in ignorance.
And so life went on.
He was nearing adulthood and, while he had sprouted up significantly, he was still in the middle of the pack. Nevertheless, the bullying backed off. He wasn't sure whether it was because of his new height or because they all grew up. Either way, Joel was glad.
In the meantime, his mom was getting older. Spending so much time underground had faded her usual liveliness. Her wrinkles seemed deeper, her eyes foggier. Grey streaked through her dark hair. Joel was scared.
He took up a part-time job at the froglight orchard, eventually working there full time after finishing his schooling. In the blazing sun, constantly plucking froglights from the trees, gathering them in a basket, and carrying them inside to be washed, Joel slowly felt himself become stronger. When he had first started at the orchard, he could only carry seven or so froglights per basket, but now he found he could lift nearly twenty.
Joel was proud of the accomplishment; he liked the way he looked in a mirror. The bulk fit him in a way the scrawniness hadn't. Unfortunately, his new appearance did remind himself of his father who he hadn't seen since that night under the froglight tree.
When his mother took a nasty fall in the copper aging facility, Joel was finally able to persuade his mother to retire. At this point, Joel was making enough money for the two of them to live comfortably along with the money he had already saved.
On her deathbed, early in the morning, Joel's mother pulled him into a loose hug, her hair tickling Joel's neck. Her hair was nearly all grey now, her hands shaking and frail. "Son, I need to tell you something. It's about your father."
Joel's face pinched. "Shhh," he told her. "It's okay; it doesn't matter. He isn't here now, and he's never been here to care for this family." A part of him wished his father was here, so he could see what he could have prevented by allowing the both of them immortality. Joel was positive his father could have gotten the other gods' permission, but he hadn't even fought for it. Hadn't even tried.
"But—" his mother argued.
Joel shook his head, and he could feel tears threatening to spill. "I love you."
Joel's mother gripped him tighter, pulling him closer into the hug. "I love you too, and I hope you know that physicality doesn't always denote strength."
"I know, I know." And this time, Joel couldn't hold the tears in. He felt them run down his cheeks like a waterfall and Joel could feel the exact moment his mother's heart slowed to a stop. "You are proof of that."
~~~
After the traditional funeral rites had been executed, Joel left.
He couldn't stay in the capital any longer. People looked at him with pity; they brought dishes upon dishes of food, saying that his mother was in a better place now. Joel seethed inside, knowing that this could have all been avoided.
It was the closest he had come to yelling that the world was going to end.
He travelled the world with only his thoughts as company. The places he visited were a comfort. They didn't know his mother was gone. They didn't know he hadn't always looked like this. They didn't know they would all die in just five more years. He hated seeing civilians pregnant with children, knowing that all was for nothing.
Everytime the cloud of grief began to be too much, Joel skipped town to the next one. And then the next one. He experienced new smells and sights, and met all kinds of people of different walks of life.
Too quickly, the five years were up, and Joel found himself in a snowy taiga village. That morning, the sky turned a terrifying red, and Joel wondered whether or not this was warning from his father that the end of the world was upon them all.
Groans rattled through the earth, shattering windows and scaring away livestock. Soon, the earthquakes arrived, and fire spread like the entire world was dry and parched. It didn't matter that snow decorated the ground, fire jumped from rooftop to rooftop.
Villagers rushed around, eyes wide, calling for their children.
Joel couldn't help but think that this village was lucky. The walls of most of the houses were made of cobblestone instead of wood. The walls wouldn't collapse on anybody. However, that didn't mean the roofs wouldn't.
"Pixlriffs!" A mother was screeching, nearly hysterical. Her cheeks were streaked with tears. "Pixlriffs! Where are you?"
Another villager was physically restraining her from running back into the fiery debris that had been their village. "You can't go back in there—it's a death wish. All we can hope is that your boy has already made it out."
Joel stepped forward. "I'll go in," he told the woman. "I'll glance into the houses to see if I can see him."
The other villager violently shook his head. "The boy is either dead or safe with the other children. You shouldn't—"
But Joel was already gone. He couldn't stand and watch as another son was ripped away from his mother. If the boy was still inside the village, as his mother thought, Joel was going to reunite the two of them if it was the last thing he did.
The smoke coming from the wooden roofs and light posts immediately engulfed him, but Joel continued on. "Pixlriffs!" He called out, before doubling over and letting out a cough. Still, he went deeper into the village, holding a scarf up to his mouth and nose.
His ears instantly perked up when he heard the screaming of a young boy, the voice coming from inside the house to his right. "Help; anyone! Please! I'm stuck!"
Joel bounded inside, taking in the scene in front of him. A beam from the roof had fallen, sandwiching Pixlriffs' leg between it and the floor. He looked to be seven or so, with a blue cloak and brown hair filled with ash.
Joel was instantly at his side, and he heaved the beam up an inch—enough for Pixlriffs to wriggle out from under the beam. The boy's breathing was laboured, and Joel wasn't sure if Pixlriffs had broken a leg or not, so hoisted him up on his back. "We're getting you out of here," Joel said, determination laced in his voice.
He stepped out of the house, using one hand to keep the scarf over his face and the other to keep Pixlriffs on his back. "Pull your shirt up over your mouth," Joel instructed. "It'll help keep the smoke out."
Joel felt shifting on his back as Pixlriffs did as he was told. "I'm scared," he said quietly, and Joel nearly didn't hear him over the crackling fire surrounding them.
"It's okay," Joel told him. "It's going to be okay. You'll reunite with your mother, and everything will be okay." He wasn't sure if he was just telling Pixlfirffs this or also himself. To get Pixlriffs' mind off of their current situation, Joel began talking. "My name is Joel. Did you know that I'm a god? In my true form, I can wrestle the ender dragon and I tower over everyone I meet. I only look like a regular man now because, if I were to show mortals what I actually look like, everyone would be scared of me." It was more than an exaggeration, but Joel hoped it was capturing Pixlriffs' imagination.
"The capital where I live worship dozens of gods, but I'm one of the most important." They were nearing the outskirts of town, and Joel could just barely see the outline of trees, currently not on fire. They wouldn't be that way for long, but Joel focussed on them nonetheless. He needed something to walk towards. He could feel it getting harder to breathe, and his nose burned from the irritation the smoke caused. Still, Joel continued talking. "The capital has this massive catacomb with a huge statue of our main goddess. People ride along the streets on dodos instead of horses or donkeys. I'll take you there one day."
Finally, they were out of the village, and Joel could see Pixlriffs' mother run towards them, eyes shining with relief.
Joel tried to take in a breath of fresh air, but ended up in a coughing fit, Pixlriffs sliding off his back in the process. Each cough seemed to come out harder than the last and, eventually, Joel collapsed into a heap on the ground, his heart stuttering and slowing down, almost at a deathly pace.
~~~
When Joel opened his eyes, he was in an unfamiliar room lying in an unfamiliar bed. A man sat at his bedside, looking nearly the same age as him. With blond hair and blue eyes, he looked almost familiar but Joel couldn't place him. "Where…where am I?" He asked. "Who are you?" With striking realization, he immediately sat up. "Who am I?"
"Hey, hey, it's okay," the other man said. "You've just been turned into a god; it might take a while to get used to it."
Something in Joel's stomach dropped, and the slightest wisp of this isn't what I wanted passed through him before dissolving, and he couldn't quite remember what it was he had just felt. "Oh."
"I'm your father," the blond man said, and he gave Joel a bright smile, teeth pearly white and straight. "You just turned 29 and I gifted you immortality for your birthday." In a playful voice, he said, "can't have five-year-old immortal gods, now can we? We often wait for the kids to grow up before stunting their growth."
Joel blinked rapidly, his thoughts and feelings like mush in his head. "I'm a god," he repeated, almost under his breath. Yes, that sounded about right. Almost. But who was he to question his father who just gifted him something like immortality? "Why can't I remember anything?"
His father patted Joel's shoulder comfortingly. "You spent all of your life down in the mortal world. When you arrive up in the god realm, your memories from down there are taken away so what you saw in the mortal world won't cause you pain. Don't worry, if you ever go back to visit the mortals, your memories will return."
Joel's eyes lit up. "Can I go back now?"
"Not a good idea," his father said with a sad shake of the head. "The mortal world is going through a tough time. Nearly all of them are dying."
"Can't anything be done?" Joel asked hopefully. While he had no memories of any mortals in his life or even walking among them, it felt wrong to not help them in any way he could. "Give them a sort of sanctuary?"
"If it would change anything, I would," his father sighed. "The Fates have foretold the Rapture would kill most of humanity. Anything the gods do would mean nothing."
"Most? You mean they'll be survivors?" Hope bloomed in Joel's chest.
Joel's father stood up. "Not many, but yes. Enough to repopulate the earth. Now, you should get some rest, son. I'm sure you'll be back on your feet in no time; then we can see what kinds of powers you wield."
~~~
Living with his father and the rest of the gods was exciting. He couldn't tell time passing as he met new people, and honed his thunder and lightning abilities. His father said only a couple of months passed, but it felt like days.
Whatever hesitancy he had previously felt about being immortal, he chalked up to weariness and thus promptly forgot about.
He enjoyed helping Peril with creating storm clouds for mortal farmers, and sparring with Jeremy among the clouds. Some of his favourite days were spent just hanging out with his father, accompanying him as he coloured the sky with a variety of shades he created in his home.
Still curious about the mortal world, Joel often asked his father how the mortals were faring down below. He wanted to visit to see if he could help in the aftermath of the Rapture. Joel could help move large debris or help close up cracks in the earth by filling them with boulders.
And, everytime, his father would say, "the mortals need to learn to care for themselves. If we always help them out when they are in times of trouble, they won't learn and evolve. It's better to visit when they're thriving, which is going to take a bit more time."
So Joel dropped the subject and continued on about his day until he would remember the mortals once more and bring it up again. It was a never-ending cycle, and Joel had no reason to think anything was amiss.
That is, until all the gods became translucent. Except for Joel.
"They're forgetting us; the mortals are forgetting us!" Peril exclaimed that day when all the gods gathered together to figure out what to do next.
Jeremy gestured to Joel, who was still solid. "Why isn't he being forgotten—he's our newest god! This doesn't make sense at all. No one could possibly remember him; he hasn't even been down to earth in his god form before."
Joel's father put two hands on Joel's shoulders, staring deeply into his eyes. "Joel, it is time. You must travel down to earth to help the mortals remember us. In our translucent forms, we are weakened and unable to travel there for long periods of time. I have no answers as to why you're not being forgotten, but we mustn't question it; you may not stay like this for much longer."
Joel swallowed the lump in his throat. He had no memories of ever being in the mortal realm before and, as such, it was practically a new experience. "Do we know how many mortals are still alive?"
His father shook his head. "We don't. You'll have to find them on your own. You must help the survivors remember and get them to give offerings to us; we're counting on you."
Joel didn't know how he could force mortals to worship the gods. He knew the capital he had come from was the main area where people believed in them, so he hoped descendents from his old hometown were still around. If not, and the survivors believed in different gods or no gods at all, Joel was going to have a tough time.
"I'll try my best," Joel said, and he managed a strained smile. Then, he descended down to the mortal world.
~~~
When Joel finally landed on solid ground, his head immediately felt like it was being split open by a cleaver. Instantly, he fell to his knees, gripping at his skull, and scrunching his eyes closed. Old memories came to him in waves, crashing into him like a tsunami, nausea rolling through him. His old bullies, his mother, his old home. His father giving him the option of immortality at a young age and gifting it to him later in life when Joel was on the brink of death.
Joel laid there for what seemed like hours, nursing his migraine and the rush of his mortal memories from who knew how long ago.
As the pain ebbed away, and Joel mentally sorted through his memory, he couldn't help but feel the anger burning within him. His father had forcefully turned him into an immortal god. He had lied about who Joel had once been. Did he want to save his father and the rest of the gods? Joel wasn't so sure anymore.
And so he walked. He had no idea where he was in the mortal realm—nothing looked familiar. Any sign of old architecture from his city or any of the other empires from his time were gone. Just how long had he been up in the god realm? His father had told him ten years, at the most, but Joel was beginning to think that that was just another lie. Chills ran through his body. Finally, as Joel was about to give up looking for civilization, he found a familiar hill. It was much grassier than he remembered, but it was the same one he remembered climbing as a young boy before the Greatbridge and his home came into view.
Joel crested the hill, and the familiar sight took over his senses. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes as the bridge's path led to the gatehouse. The bridge was cracked and looked worn, but it was still there. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He couldn't believe that he was finally home.
Joel slowly made his way across the bridge, glancing down the side to see the water gently lapping at the stone pillars holding it up. The pillars were undecorated, probably destroyed in the Rapture or stolen by pirates.
He made his way through the gatehouse, the wooden doors already cracked open just slightly, before stopping in his tracks. Joel blinked at the scene in front of him. There were no buildings, just parts of the foundation roped off. Off in the distance, the froglight orchard grew wild. His home was…an archeological dig?
"Joel?" A voice asked, and Joel spun to the source, only to see a mortal man in a blue jacket and brown hair. "Is that really you?" The man looked awed, and he pulled off a pair of gloves, nearing Joel. "I didn't think I'd see you ever again."
It clicked, then. Why he wasn't being forgotten like the other gods. Pixlriffs had remembered him. "Pixlriffs?"
Pixlriffs chuckled. "The one and only."
"How long has it been? It looks like it's only been thirty years or something." Part of Joel was relieved that it hadn't been too long since he'd been gone. Pixlriffs had been quite young when Joel saved his life, and now he looked to be in his mid thirties. Maybe he had just arrived in the mortal world in a spot uninhabited by people. Maybe this was an archaeological dig sight because a landslide had covered the entirety of the town.
Pixlriffs went serious and he shook his head. "Joel, you've been gone for over 1000 years."
"1000 years?" Joel repeated. "But—but you're here. You're not an immortal god. This isn't possible. I must be dreaming."
"I can't explain it either," Pixlriffs said. "But, one day, I stopped aging. I don't know if I was always like this, or if it was a substance I touched or ate or if it was something else entirely. But Joel, it's been over 1000 years since you saved me. New empires have formed, and the others have no memory of the Rapture at all, only versions of it in their legends."
Joel's voice came out in a whisper as he said, "the gods are slowly fading away because nobody remembers them. I'm the only one not affected because you've remembered me."
Pixlriffs let this sink in. "Tell me about the gods," he finally said. "If I remember them, then they won't fade away. Still, you should find some villages too. Spread the knowledge around in case anything does happen to me. And," he added with a smile, "later, you can tell me what your ancient capital used to look like and I'll re-build it to its former glory."
And so Joel did. He told Pixlriffs about Peril and Jeremy and the other gods he had lived with for a thousand years without knowing. When he finally got to the god who painted the skies, with blond hair and blue eyes, and a nose like his own, Joel paused before making up his mind.
"And I'm the god of the skies and thunder and lightning."
~~~
Later, after Joel and Pixlriffs finally parted ways, Joel found himself in a grassy field in a village that had taken to his godhood quite easily. The sky was clear and, as Joel looked up at its endless blue, Joel pictured a sparkling marble empire in the sky.
He hadn't wanted to become immortal for the sole purpose of being with his mother, but she had died before the Rapture occured and there was no way to take it back. Now, the only way he could die was if he was erased from mortal's minds and wiped from history books. And Joel wasn't ready for that yet.
Joel exaggerated his feats and his traits to the people living in Lower Stratos; he didn't want to be forgotten. Memory was too precious to him—he would never go back to the god realm ever again. He wanted to make a name for himself here. Not only to prove the bullies who had picked on him wrong, but also for his mother who had always been there for him. Every morning to pep himself up for the new day, he told himself in the mirror he was strong. Both inside and out.