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A blinding green light envelops him. Its cradle is gentle, if cold. The angel opens his eyes. He sees nothing but white, save for a pulsing of green—it’s too bright to look at directly, but it pulls at him, singing in harmony with the mana in his veins.
The source itself… he isn’t sure what to call it, what it’s made of, he just knows it’s some almost unfathomable power. He’s tasted something close to it before—Eternal Sword held in his brother’s hands, Origin smiling approvingly—but this seems deeper, and it’s Here, it’s Now, it envelops him completely.
“What…?” he whispers, confused.
A voice echoes around him, inside him.
You are a long way from home, aren’t you?
Their tone is gentle. Their tone is sad.
The angel shudders. He thinks of—the years, so many of them, that he has spent listlessly traversing space. All the other angels have left him, found a place elsewhere. It’s just him, and a horde of lost souls that he is not sure what he’s going to do with. They remain in storage, in Derris-Kharlan, for now, because any other fate seems too cruel. There is no one to use them here, anyway.
Just him.
Him, and his regrets.
Oh, how he wishes he could fix them.
This world is new, and boundless.
You can do with it as you wish.
The angel recoils at the thought.
“And what? Become some sort of god?” he scoffs. It doesn’t appeal to him at all. (He thinks of his brother, splitting the world in two. He thinks of how he helped.
Never again.)
There is a hum, in the air around him, resonating in his bones.
It is… strange.
I have not yet encountered a being capable of crossing dimensions without help.
You are the first.
He scowls, at that, uncertainty bubbling in his chest. What does this being mean? Did Derris-Kharlan shift dimensions without him noticing? Or…?
Why are you here?
Where are you going?
The angel exhales, long and slow, regret on his shoulders like mountains. He could lie. But what is the point, now? It is just him, and this source, a power that seems capable of reading his very heart. What would he gain, from lying to them?
So he tells them the truth.
“My path is… aimless,” he says. “I do not have a destination in mind.”
But you have something you’d like to accomplish.
“That is true.”
I could help you.
Trepidation strikes in his heart.
The angel squints as well as he can at the source, not sure what he thinks of them, or their offer. They seem… insistent.
This power is the last thing he wants.
What is it you wish?
Truthfully…?
“I want to go home.”
You cannot.
Not anymore.
Of course.
He wouldn’t deserve that, anyway. To turn back time, to rebuild bridges he burned, to return to the son he left—
The son who is almost, certainly, dead by now.
His hand reaches up to touch the weight of metal against his chest, the locket he kept, these thousands of years. It brings him more pain than it does comfort, looking at it only reminding him of what he lost, of what he chose to forsake, to abandon.
Why would someone like him deserve to return home?
But maybe I can help you go somewhere else.
He pauses.
Thinks of Derris-Kharlan, aimless, empty, ever-roaming.
It is just him, on the comet.
“Where is there to go?”
I told you before. This world is new, and boundless.
And you—you have something you’d like to see accomplished.
Things you would like to atone for.
He cannot atone if he cannot return.
Except.
He thinks, again, of the thousands of lost souls he is guarding, the thousands of lives taken by the exspheres. He wonders if there is a way to save them. A way to provide them… a second chance. A new life.
If he could give that to them… would that be enough?
It would certainly be better to try, than to let them sit around and collect dust.
Now, creator.
What is your wish?
He…
He shouldn’t, but…
The god makes a wish.
The source itself… he isn’t sure what to call it, what it’s made of, he just knows it’s some almost unfathomable power. He’s tasted something close to it before—Eternal Sword held in his brother’s hands, Origin smiling approvingly—but this seems deeper, and it’s Here, it’s Now, it envelops him completely.
“What…?” he whispers, confused.
A voice echoes around him, inside him.
Their tone is gentle. Their tone is sad.
The angel shudders. He thinks of—the years, so many of them, that he has spent listlessly traversing space. All the other angels have left him, found a place elsewhere. It’s just him, and a horde of lost souls that he is not sure what he’s going to do with. They remain in storage, in Derris-Kharlan, for now, because any other fate seems too cruel. There is no one to use them here, anyway.
Just him.
Him, and his regrets.
Oh, how he wishes he could fix them.
You can do with it as you wish.
The angel recoils at the thought.
“And what? Become some sort of god?” he scoffs. It doesn’t appeal to him at all. (He thinks of his brother, splitting the world in two. He thinks of how he helped.
Never again.)
There is a hum, in the air around him, resonating in his bones.
I have not yet encountered a being capable of crossing dimensions without help.
You are the first.
He scowls, at that, uncertainty bubbling in his chest. What does this being mean? Did Derris-Kharlan shift dimensions without him noticing? Or…?
Where are you going?
The angel exhales, long and slow, regret on his shoulders like mountains. He could lie. But what is the point, now? It is just him, and this source, a power that seems capable of reading his very heart. What would he gain, from lying to them?
So he tells them the truth.
“My path is… aimless,” he says. “I do not have a destination in mind.”
“That is true.”
Trepidation strikes in his heart.
The angel squints as well as he can at the source, not sure what he thinks of them, or their offer. They seem… insistent.
This power is the last thing he wants.
Truthfully…?
“I want to go home.”
Not anymore.
Of course.
He wouldn’t deserve that, anyway. To turn back time, to rebuild bridges he burned, to return to the son he left—
The son who is almost, certainly, dead by now.
His hand reaches up to touch the weight of metal against his chest, the locket he kept, these thousands of years. It brings him more pain than it does comfort, looking at it only reminding him of what he lost, of what he chose to forsake, to abandon.
Why would someone like him deserve to return home?
He pauses.
Thinks of Derris-Kharlan, aimless, empty, ever-roaming.
It is just him, on the comet.
“Where is there to go?”
And you—you have something you’d like to see accomplished.
Things you would like to atone for.
He cannot atone if he cannot return.
Except.
He thinks, again, of the thousands of lost souls he is guarding, the thousands of lives taken by the exspheres. He wonders if there is a way to save them. A way to provide them… a second chance. A new life.
If he could give that to them… would that be enough?
It would certainly be better to try, than to let them sit around and collect dust.
What is your wish?
He…
He shouldn’t, but…
The god makes a wish.
