Appendix • A Meeting of Gods

While crossing the Vastenean Ocean, Oondak attempts to follow Yuli in a visit to the garden. Instead, he is drawn to a vision granted to him by the Earthmaven, in which he is but a spectator of a larger conversation between three gods: the Earthmaven, the Allfather, and the Sovereign.

## Transcript

Oondak. You stand in a field of golden wheat, waving gently beneath a bright, blue, cloudless, sunless sky. You recognise it, of course. You've seen it before, and over the years the warmth of this place has infused you so many times. It almost feels like home.

Next to you stands the same woman from before. Tall and stockily-built, with deep ruddy-brown skin from hours spent in the sun. Those thick muscular arms and calloused hands clasped behind her back, and a gentle, kind face beneath a tangled mess of curls. But that face today is grim. Almost sorrowful. Lost in thought. She does not look at you, or even seem to notice you are there, but continues to stare out across the field of gold.

Then two things happen, almost exactly at the same time. Far above, in the sky, a sun appears. A radiance so bright it's almost blinding, growing larger and larger, until you are forced to look away lest the sheer white sears through your dreaming eyes and blinds you in real life. It lasts for moments, and then the glow fades and another figure stands amidst the wheat, a circle around him charred and swept away by his descent. You see a tall figure, with the face of a wizened old man: a long plaited beard and a mane of hair swept back. Except his skin and hair are made of sunlight, every inch seeming to glow and burn and swirl with incomprehensible patterns of light. A long cloak of that same sunlight burns behind him, disappearing into wisps of flame, and his simple, regal clothing, pure white, is inlaid with lines of gold that seem almost to channel the sunlight into a glistening display of power and wealth.

At the same moment, directly in front of this fiery display, reality seems to fold in on itself into a pinprick, fractal shadows collapsing into a singular point and then bursting open into a doorway, through which steps a man. A stark contrast to the radiance opposite him, he seems almost normal, like a tiefling with no horns, taller and lankier of limb, and impossibly handsome. Beautiful, in a way no mortal man or woman could ever be beautiful. He has deep, crimson red skin, long obsidian black hair that comes down all the way to the small of his back, seeming to trail behind him like wisps of shadow, and atop his head sits a crown. A jagged crown with two curling horns carved of black bone, and almost talon like spikes jutting upward, framing a singular black opal at the very centre, just above his forehead. His eyes are black as night. Solid and pupilless, betraying no emotion or thought.

The man on the left, the one made of sunlight, in a voice that booms with ponderous might, speaks first.

"Thank you for coming, Azarael."

The other man, Azarael, sneers, and when he responds his voice seems to ooze disdain.

"I wouldn't have, if Rualla hadn't asked. Say what you came to say. Let us be done with it."

Next to you, Oondak, the woman’s face twinges into a momentary wince.

“Azarael, please,” she says gently, “Peace. You promised.”

The man with the horned crown sniffs, and waves one hand in acknowledgement, motioning for the other to continue. The sunlight on the first man’s skin dims slightly, to the point you can actually make out a bit more detail on his face, and see the deep set wrinkles and weathered lines of a man that has lived a long, long time.

"Azarael," he says slowly, "the Gates of Oblivion cannot remain closed.”

Azarael lifts one eyebrow in response. "I disagree."

"You must know the consequences you are inviting. Without the gates to lure them away, corelings will roam free. Unpredictable. My solari cannot patrol all of the divine realms. Already they are under attack, and if we falter in keeping *it* chained....it will be your doing."

"I will do what is best, to keep my lands safe. Mine. I have no oath that binds me to protect yours."

Rualla steps forward, both hands motioning placatingly. A warm breeze stirs through the wheat. Soothing, familiar to you, but it seems to have little effect on the rising tension of the scene unfolding before you.

"What he is trying to say, Azarael," she says in a low voice, "is...we must all do our part..."

"*Our* part?" Azarael snarls. "*We* must do our part? Who is we? How long have I fought this war? Alone. Millions of years of blood and mud. I turned my own children into monsters. Drove them to hatred and jealousy of one another. Of me. Just so we might have a chance. What has it earned me?"

"You have always had our gratitude..," says the man made of sunlight.

"I don't *need* your gratitude. I don't want it. I wanted your help. When there was a chance to end this. And where were you? Tending to your pets, as if that could have changed things. What happened to *them*? Did your divine, guiding hand save them?"

Rualla, pleadingly, reaches out a hand towards Azarael. "Az..."

He hisses, pushing the hand away.

"I did my duty as I saw just," the man made of sunlight booms. "Perhaps I was wrong. I did not agree with your methods. I still do not. But we cannot let these differences undo us now. The people we watch over, we owe them our protection."

"Still pretending that you care," sneers Azarael, "How *noble*."

The sunlight on the other man's skin flares in anger. "What is *that* supposed to mean?"

"You know what it means. You know. You know, what we did, what we *continue to do*, is wrong. You’ve always known."

"We've both always known."

"But only one of us pretends to be selfless."

The man on the left sweeps one arm in a wave of fire, in exasperation. "How many times must we have this argument? They *need* someone to protect them. To guide them! They have always needed our help, no matter where we are. To stay clear of the mistakes we made. To become better. To *be* better."

"As long as we keep our place," Azarael spits, "As long as they stay ignorant. Like pigs to the slaughter."

"One falsehood, for lifetimes of good. How can that not be just? You deal in bargains. You always have. Is this one not worthy of its price?"

"I also deal in lies, and I promise you this. No matter how tender it is, no matter how well-intentioned or honourable it might seem, a lie will remain a lie."

The flaring sunlight on the other man's skin dims, and he lets out a long sigh.

"Azarael. Please. I beg of you. *Listen*. We were kin once. We still are. We sought the same things. To better the world. To remake it in our image. To help our people become greater. That was our dream. *Ours*. Not mine. Ours..."

"That world died," Azarael replies, more quietly now. "Our dream died with it."

"But this one still lives! Help me keep it that way."

Azarael shakes his head. "You cannot be both the disease and the cure. At least I have accepted that."

He turns to leave, the space before him beginning to fold in on itself once again into that dark doorway. The other man shouts at his back, the sunlight flaring once again into a light that is almost blinding.

"How can you turn away from this! You would damn them all in your self-pity!"

Azarael pauses. He doesn't turn, and his answer is almost too quiet to hear.

"No, brother. We damned them all the moment we came here."