Work Text:
The branches come alive at his command, rising as they have been summoned. Their commander himself rises from where he stands. The branches swirl around him, they are unwinding, spooling, following him… where to?
I see a seam, a rip on space itself, and even I , for all my years of working here, do not understand what it is.
I catch my breath.
Beyond him, beyond the rip in space and time, sits a golden throne. Swirling around it are debris and dust, but nevertheless, its a throne. A golden one.
Burden, I think. Purpose, I think. Sacrifice, I think.
Understanding dawns on me.
In front of me stands a god. The wielder of branches; the maker of stories; the god of…time, of the multiverse, of all existence itself.
As he reaches the seam, leading to the end of time itself, he turns. His eyes are a glowing green, bright through the abyss, as he looks upon me.
Even I, who have seen all the realities of the whole of existence, have never seen such a spectacle. No word in any language could describe what I see.
A singularity; A god making his ascension; The ruler of time ; A king who was never meant to be.
My king.
I bend my knee, I bow my head. I must look incredulous, I think, a man in a coat suit swearing my fealty on polished floors. Yet when I lift my head back up, I see that the others are on their knees too.
He only smiles at me before he makes his way to the golden throne, his golden throne, the one at the end of time.
The rip closes on itself as he vanishes with his branches.