"Hmm…"
Far above the realms of existence sits the exalted. He gazes down, observing the events of the universe. He rests on a throne made of gold not recognized by any known reality, a throne of diamond no existence has ever witnessed. To some, it might appear a nightmare. To others, a revelation, if fate ever allows them to see it.
Yet, the ruler of all creation, the architect of the cosmos, sits upon it as if it were a daily chore. His cheek rests lazily in the palm of his hand. Truly, he looks bored. Or perhaps amused.
Zenobios turns his gaze to the right. A human has reached the realm of gods. At least, she once was human. Now, she stands among the exalted, able to speak as an equal.
He asks her, "What is your name, child?"
She had been watching the Pool of Reflections, entranced by the oath‑taker. So absorbed by the events unfolding before her that she barely noticed the question.
"Amusing, isn't it?" he repeats, a little louder this time, to draw her attention.
Startled, the girl turns and looks at him. She tries to respond.
"I… I…"
The words won't come. It all feels like a dream.
Zenobios repeats the question, gently but firmly. "What is your name, child?" His tone is kind, but there is something unreadable in his voice.
"My name is…" she begins, but trails off. "My name…"
She cannot remember. Whether it is the overwhelming vision she's just witnessed or the will of heaven itself concealing her past, she doesn't know.
"I… I don't remember," she says quietly, ashamed.
Zenobios chuckles, leaving her confused and embarrassed.
"You may have forgotten, but I haven't. I merely wanted to see if fate is still doing its job."
He turns his attention back to the pool and speaks, half to himself.
"I do not know everything, though I am supposed to. It makes no sense, but that is how I am. I know everything, yet somehow, I do not."
His paradoxical words only confuse the girl more. She looks at him but says nothing.
"Tell me," Zenobios continues, "do you know why the relic chose you instead of my so—"
He stops. He had meant to say "son," but something holds him back. Not hesitation, not secrecy, but something deeper. The girl waits, sensing the unspoken name.
He rephrases. "Do you know why the Piece of Eden chose you and not… him?" He gestures to the man in the pool.
"Why were you there, in that moment, in the Cathedral of Divinity, the Citadel?"
The girl glances at Vyrian's image, then back at Zenobios. She doesn't know why these questions are being asked, but she wants to understand.
"Sire, I…" she begins, only to be interrupted by Zenobios's soft laughter.
"Sire? How formal. Interesting." He chuckles again.
She lowers her gaze, flustered, tugging nervously at the sleeves of her robe. Her attire radiates pure divinity. Once clothed in rags, torn and weathered, she now wears a garment that could only be described as celestial. The white robe, adorned with intricate golden patterns and delicate embroidery, drapes around her like a blessing. She looks like a goddess. Or perhaps she has become one.
Her cheeks burn with color for two reasons. First, the unfamiliar elegance of her new clothing makes her uneasy. These Grecian‑style garments, which she had never seen before in her life, somehow feel natural, too natural. And second, the soft laughter of Zenobios, an impossibly handsome god, responding to her timid voice with such disarming warmth. The contrast is too much to process.
He clears his throat. "Ahem. My apologies. Please continue."
She hesitates but forces herself to speak.
"I… I honestly don't know what's happening. Am I… am I dead?" She looks up at him, voice gaining strength. "Did I die?"
Zenobios smiles, then answers.
"Death is merely a phase of life. You have ascended beyond those chains. You are no longer bound by mortality, child."
"B‑but…"
"I know. This all happened too suddenly for you. In truth, you were never meant to be part of this. And yet, here you are, beside me, watching the Pool of the All‑Seeing Eye, something no human could even dream of witnessing."
He stares into the pool again. In it, Vyrian stands at the cliff's edge, sword raised in defiance.
"I banished them," Zenobios says.
The girl listens closely.
"They defied the code of gods. They once held thrones of their own. But they abused their power. They were consumed by pride, envy, wrath, sloth, greed, gluttony, and lust. They forgot who they were."
"I stripped them of their rights. Yet I gave them a chance to earn it back. This one," he says, eyes still locked on Vyrian, "may have failed."
It begins to make sense to her now. Slowly, a larger picture forms.
Zenobios speaks again.
"It seems the Piece of Eden, the only path back to their true selves, chose you instead. Ha, perhaps fate is fond of drama."
His tone shifts. Cold, sharp, final.
"But to defy me like this, to stain purity, to mock divinity…"
The pool echoes with Vyrian's voice.
Father… I will strike you down.
The girl looks at Zenobios, watching his face for a reaction. Now she knows. She feels it. The connection between them. And with that comes guilt. Was she the reason it happened? Should she feel empathy or regret?
Zenobios raises both hands and studies them.
"I am not a reliable judge. The Piece of Eden sees more clearly than I do. I had hoped to see him redeemed. But perhaps…"
He falls silent.
He remembers the day Vyrian was born, the days before they became enemies, the days they were simply father and son.
Perhaps I was too affectionate, he thinks.
Zenobios rises from the throne, slowly, with grace. Each movement radiates godhood. He approaches the Pool of Reflection and lifts his right hand, pointing directly at the image of Vyrian.
"I admire the courage to defy the very heavens, to threaten their existence…"
His expression darkens. His eyes go hollow. His wrath surfaces.
"But you are still eons away from matching the strength of even my smallest gesture. Foolishness."
He lowers his hand. The pool fades to black. The broadcast of the mortal world ends.
He turns to the girl one last time, then walks out of the throne room, leaving her in silence, leaving her with more questions than answers.
***
Vyrian still stands, sword aimed at the sun, aimed at the throne of the Elder God.
But then, as his oath ends, his arms falter. The pain creeps in, slow at first, then sharp, then unbearable.
"Argh!" he cries.
His vision blurs.
His strength collapses.
His body falls forward into the sea.
The raging storm and monstrous waves consume him.
Has death finally come?