[First Era – Year 3 of the Divinity War; Orpan’s Fortress]

  Before Moraithe could gather his thoughts the unfathomable being scooped him out of the world, and tossed him into another place, a strange place with other worlds floating in a sky amid a panoply of brilliant light. His friends were gone, the world was gone, and he stood alone on a strange shore.

  Moraithe stammered at the being who had just saved the world and whisked him away. “You … What … Why would someone like you take note of someone so insignificant?”

  “There is nothing insignificant about you. I was once where you are now, stumbling in the dark with none to lead the way. It is like entanglement, I find my glory in your glory. I seek to lift you, and every soul, up to be like me, to have what I have. You of all people deserve that much.”

  “Me?” Moraithe nearly fell back.

  “You have a well of gratitude that dwarfs even my substantial reserves.”

  “What? I'm no one, I can barely throw a punch, let alone save anyone. How … Where did I get such wealth?”

  “Due to Throm'tor's experiments, amnesia has stolen most of your strength. But that wealth of gratitude remains, and no one can take it from you, not without your approval.”

  “But after what you did how could I have more than you?”

  “By my estimates, you must have over half the gratitude in all the universe. That is quite a lot of money, quite a lot of power.” The being stepped in and looked closely into his eyes, as if he could see his very soul. “But you don't remember me, do you?”

  “You just saved the world. I … Should I?”

  “My name is Elithir. Once, I was your father.” The being turned and stepped away to look out over a strange sea. “But before that, you were something even greater to me, and likely, just about everyone else.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Elithir turned back to Moraithe. “It's no great riddle.” He tapped Moraithe gently on the forehead. “If you could only remember.”

  “Why don't you at least tell me what you know about me.”

  “Very well. But first I must do something about that world. There is a war coming to all worlds, the enemy is combined, and they have no true bodies, but great wickedness. They have killed a great many. So I must save and protect what I can.”

  Suddenly they had both returned to the world, back to the fortress with his friends.

  By some trick of the light the world seemed to invert, everything falling through the surface of the earth to emerge on the inside, as if all things were bent inward, inside the planet, and they could see the whole surface of the world at once. Elithir rose into the air, high above the land or rather in the center of it, as if in the center of a hollow world. He spoke and every corner of the world was filled with the sound. And every eye turned up to see him.

  Moraithe stood there, feet sinking into the detritus of the battle, and watched as the impossible unfolded before him. The ground trembled, shaking as if the earth itself feared what stood at the center of it. He stood there—the one who had wrenched the world back from the edge of oblivion, Elithir, whose presence was a churning, infinite thing. Not man, not god, but something beyond both. The air rippled with the force of his voice, heavy and deep, vibrating the bones of the world itself.

  “Look upon me,” Elithir called, his words weaving through the vast expanse of the sky, over oceans, through mountain passes. They passed like a soft breeze over the land, touching every ear, soothing the deepest aches, and raking the soul with their weight. “I offer you mercy, and in mercy, I offer you choice.”

  Moraithe's heart hammered in his chest. He had felt the tremors of that distant battle, the unspeakable invasion that had only just been halted. The dead. The broken. They lingered in the aftermath, their cries muffled, but not silenced. Was it enough? The gods had no place here anymore, not after what had been done. But this … this thing … this being who now held the pulse of the world in his hands, whose voice soothed yet stirred unease in the pit of Moraithe's stomach.

  Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

  The words, so casual, so unnervingly warm, rippled through the air: “I will heal your wounds. Your bodies shall mend, your lives restored. No more shall you wander through a thousand ages seeking to reclaim what has been lost. I shall protect you—if you choose it.”

  Moraithe's breath caught. Lives restored? How many had fallen in the wake of this battle? How many would need to spend ten thousand years to remake or restore their bodies, until their next death, over and over, only to face the same damnation once more? Their lords had failed them, but this … this being, Elithir, was offering them an escape—a way out of the war. A way into his embrace, where time could be turned and twisted, a place where the world itself could be saved.

  But the offer came into focus as the words grew darker, richer. “I will take your world into a revenescent,” he intoned, as the land around Moraithe trembled beneath his feet. “A pocked dimension. Your world will be sheltered. And I will keep it safe.”

  A silence followed, thick and suffocating. Moraithe could feel it—could hear the distant stirrings of hope, mingled with fear. Who would follow? Those who wanted to hide from the fire, from the rage, would seek shelter. But the others … the ones who refused to be hidden?

  Elithir's voice, now heavy with command, slipped into every crack of the land, into every corner of their souls: “I will take those who wish it, and the matter of your world shall come with them. I will separate it, twist it, divide it into two. Two worlds, separate and whole. You may remain, whether you wish to fight or merely wish to reject my words.”

  Moraithe's chest burned. He did not want to be hidden away. He did not want to leave. He wanted to fight, this was his war, he had started it, and he would finish it. He wanted to stand with the others, not be coddled away in some… pocket of reality. His hands clenched into fists, and at that moment, he knew there was no choice. He could never bend to this offer.

  Suddenly the inversion was undone and the world was right-side-out again. Then, the earth below him began to rise, a violent surge that pressed against him with such force that it seemed as though the world itself would crush him. He stumbled, legs shaking, and then—a rush. The ground ceased its rebellion, and with a suddenness that stole the breath from his lungs, he was thrown upward.

  The sky spun in dizzying arcs as he soared, weightless, for a brief moment. Around him, the jagged edges of the land were cast as if in some great celestial forge—each sliver of earth a speared fragment of the world. And before him, rising and falling, endless spikes of broken land shot from the ground like towering spires. The shape of the world was coming apart.

  But then, just as quickly, the pressure returned—forceful and unyielding, holding him in place, pulling him down to the surface once again. His feet found purchase on a jagged piece of land, and there he stood, gazing around in awe.

  He wasn't the only one. Around him, he saw others—distant figures, each standing atop their own jagged piece of earth, each caught in their own moment of shock and wonder. The world was changing. The great being had wrought something incomprehensible. The world was breaking apart. But somehow, the world was being remade, remade into something new, into two.

  The spikes removed from the earth were taken and brought together. The metallic gleam of something immense shone between the great spikes of earth. The spike on which he stood fell, his stomach lurched as all the spikes were brought down onto it. Crushing the fragments together, locking them into place, the world folded upon itself. Though it ought to have been deafening, somehow the sound was muted. The air hummed with power, and for a moment, it seemed as though time itself was bending, warping, like the fabric of reality itself was being skinned and stitched together anew.

  The spikes of land—each bearing a piece of the old world—sank, melding with the world's core, only to rise again like skin being stretched over bones. Slowly, the world took on a new shape. Continents shifted like puzzle pieces, some crushed into mountains, some spread thin into valleys. The seams were barely visible now, only small ripples here and there where the earth had been laid back together.

  Two worlds now orbited one another.

  Then, in a blink, the other world was gone—swallowed whole into the revenescent, a pocket of the cosmos that shimmered with light beyond the known world.

  Yet, in that brief instant, in the flicker of light from beyond the veil, as the revenescent opened to swallow up the other world, Moraithe swore he saw something in the depths of that revenescent—hundreds of worlds, perhaps thousands, spinning like stars in a sky that should not exist. It was as though the very essence of the universe had been scooped up and wrapped in a blanket of some untouchable mystery. There, in the boundless depths, thousands of orbs shined with billions of lives, and infinite futures.

  Moraithe stood still, his breath caught in his throat. The enormity of it pressed down on him. What kind of being could do this?

  His eyes traced the outline of space where he had seen the revenescent open wide to swallow a planet, his mind racing. This Elithir was beyond a force, beyond a god, he was something beyond comprehension. Beyond reckoning.

  Just what kind of a person, what kind of power, what kind of being could entangle entire worlds?

  Moraithe swallowed, his resolve hardening. He had not chosen to hide. He had to know.

  He turned to find Norgoth and Saffrael right beside him. But before he could speak a word the unfathomable might of Elithir stood before him again.

  “I promised you some answers. Perhaps it is time for a long overdue talk.”