There are many times I have been asked this question: “How can I die as to not become a haunt.” I will answer this question now, publicly, for all to read because the next time I explain the answer I will do it through showing and not telling: Die standing. Die kneeling. Die in your bed or die with you face lying in the mud, it makes no difference to me. Don’t ask yourself whether you are ready to die. Ask yourself whether you are ready to move on.

– One of the few excerpts of Neneria’s published works, this one was featured in mass print and is common to all historical archives. Dated to before the Great War.

“Good job Maisara, I truly mean it.” Arascus said as he looked down at Maisara. The Goddess of Order, in her armour and skirt of scales that matched the colour and gleam of the silver hair, was tarnished by blood. From her boots to the top of her head, in patches great and small, in some parts it was as if someone had bucket of blood onto her. In others, it was as if someone had taken a garden hose and sprayed her, in the cleanest spots it was simply as if she been flicked with blood. In certain parts it was smeared, in others, the droplets had settled as they were. As brutal as it was, Arascus had seen it all and more before. Bloodshed was nothing new to him and nothing to new to Maisara.

But he saw Maisara’s eyes glaze over. Those eyes, cold strong mithril rather than shining diamond, stared up and through Arascus. He saw Maisara see him, but he knew she wasn’t really seeing him. She just stared, her lips cracked open, her throat struggled for air and released a quiet, guttural sound that could have been anything from acquiescence to denial to anger.

It took only a moment of gazing down at Maisara’s gaze to realise that he had inadvertently struck a chord. What chord? Arascus did not know if the woman herself knew, but the words had obviously struck something.

He kept his grip strong over Maisara’s hand so that she would have something to hold onto and some connection to feel. Maisara’s lips quivered again and Arascus saw something that for thousands of years, he had always thought the woman had buried so deeply within her soul that it had shrivelled and died and was simply incapable of it; That she was too much effort for what it was worth.

Maisara’s eyes began to shine with wetness. Arascus said nothing as the mere thought of rationalization left his mind. These things were things to sit and talk through. Someone like Maisara, who buried so much of herself under so much sand could only hope to excavate one part of herself whilst burying the others more.

And yet here she was, still on the exit ramp of the helicopter, still stood on that grey steel tread plate. Looking up at him, totally frozen. Arascus realised there was still a pilot in the helicopter and he applied the tiniest amount of pressure to Maisara.

The Goddess of Order did not move.

—

The world shattered. Time slowed to a crawl. Humanity was wiped out and the sun burned out. Maisara saw Arascus looking down at her and she saw a mountain looming overhead. A skyscraper about to collapse onto her. The sky ripping overhead as the blue ocean above fell down and threatened to crush her. Maisara knew she was looking at Arascus only because she knew she had seen him when she went down the ramp from the helicopter. She knew he was there. She knew he had told her she did a good job and that he truly meant it.

Frankly. It wasn’t even the good job. Praise was worthless. She was a Divine. And not any minor runt that sneered at mortals but Of Order. She was one of the grandest of them all. Of course she did a good job. And Arascus said he meant it. Not even that he meant it, that he truly meant it. Maisara felt his hand give her a tug and realised what was going on with her vision and why she couldn’t see anything.

She had not gone blind or insane. Her vision was just wavy and cloudy as if she had her eyes underwater. She… Maisara could not say it, could not even acknowledge it. The world splitting in two was a preferable option to what was happening right now. And she felt it again. Wrapped around her fingers, the sole connection that stopped her running She wanted him to run. She wanted him to stay. He was to go and leave this place immediately and never see her. But he wouldn’t. Maisara knew he wouldn’t. He simply wasn’t that type of man. That was why he had attracted so many Divines to his cause. That was why characters like Of Death and Of War who had trouble functioning in anything even closely resembling a hierarchy had agreed to call him Father.

It was like staring into a mirror with her reflection looming over her. All proud and competent and truly Divine. A deity who came and brought order to chaos, who set the hearts he could at ease and the hearts he could not, he stayed to see it through. There was just one difference though.

It was a version of herself that did not sacrifice everything to have nothing.

It was not the version she could have been; Dreams of becoming as grand as Arascus had been washed away long ago. It was the version she wished she was.

Maisara swung her arm out to one side. Her executioner’s axe materialised in one hand. For once in her damn miserable life, she didn’t even bring it out with the intention of hurting someone. She just wanted Arascus gone.

—

Arascus did not even react to Maisara’s axe materializing. He noticed it, he noticed it immediately. Any deity that survived the Great War would have noticed it for the blade was so large that when Maisara let it drop onto the tarmac, the weapon cut a line straight into the stone. Yet he simply did not care. The weapon was not frightening in the slightest. Not when Maisara had dropped it, not when Maisara started to slowly lift it up above her shoulder to swing straight down on the God of Pride. It was not his will to save or his will to conquer, neither of them were strong enough to overpower Arascus’ sense of self-preservation.

It was that he had seen this. In Fer and in Kassandora and in Irinika. He was no mortal so he would not claim to know what it was like to look upon someone’s child and seeing your own in them, but he imagined this was similar. How many times had he played this exact scenario? How many times had he been threatened? How many times had be commanded to leave? How many times had he seen a deity break down?

And yet Maisara suddenly blinked her tears away in that same way Kassandora would do when she realised she was being emotional. But there was once simple difference. Kassandora would cry when she knew she had let herself go a step too far. Maisara broke down because of a damn compliment. He had tried before, maybe she simply wasn’t ready then. But he wouldn’t let this chance pass. The woman’s house was on fire, Arascus would throw her onto the grass if need be for the sliver of possibility she would leave her rut. The worst thing to do now would be to leave her, to let her put her fire out and start rebuilding those tremendous castle walls even thicker than before.

Maisara croaked out a wordless sound. It was more like the growl of an injured bear trying to scare the wolfpack away. What was it even? Was she trying to tell him to go? Was she just mumbling to herself? She pulled at Arascus grip. The God did not let go. She pulled again. Arascus kept his grip tight.

The axe came down in a sudden fall.

With his other hand, Arascus reached up and parried by flinging the axe to the side with one grand sweeping motion. The weapon tumbled around on the concrete until it came to a clattering stop. Arascus pulled Maisara towards himself to break her balance, he caught her other hand, he held wrists above her head as the Goddess of Order, caked in blood, stared with a terrible gaze. It was angry, no doubt at him, no doubt at Maisara herself, no doubt at the whole injustice of the world. No doubt at everything and anything Maisara could think of.

Maybe there were different ways to handle this individually. Arascus did not know, Arascus did not care. He knew what to do. The words did not even have to be considered or thought of, he simply spoke.

“Maisara. I’m not going anywhere.” Man could fight against beast, man could walk around mountains, man could escape the law, but when a storm happened upon man, all that could be done was to sail straight through it. He gave her the push she needed to get started. “No one else could have done it, you’re incredible.”

—

“You’re incredible.”

The words echoed through Maisara’s mind.

“You’re incredible.” It was like the unending bombardment done by Elassa in the battle they all just fought had been given auditory form. It was a meteor shower about to annihilate Arda, each continent-devastating rock simply a repeat of what Arascus had just said. Maisara felt her legs go out. If Arascus wasn’t holding her by the wrists, she would have collapsed onto the ugly steel treads she had spent her entire ride here staring at. Those steel treads, with the scratches, with the parts that had been rubbed down, with the-

“You’re incredible.” And it echoed in Maisara’s mind again, she didn’t even know what to say. Arascus was too good. That’s what there was to say. He was too good for her. She had been wrong, he wasn’t a mirror image that was simply what she could be. He was an ideal she did not even have the right to aspire to. Maisara could not imagine herself saying those words. She could not even imagine hearing those words except when overheard. No one would say it to her, she would say it to no one.

And the echo in Maisara’s mind came one more time. “You’re incredible.” And this time Maisara kicked forwards. Her boots slammed into Arascus’ legs. The God that was holding her up didn’t react or even seem to notice. He lifted her into the air.

This time, it wasn’t the echo. It was him. “I’ve got you Maisara, you can’t fall.” Maisara stared at Arascus for a moment. And she… Maisara closed her eyes to contain the wetness. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She knew he would, there was no stopping it now, but she didn’t want him to.

It shouldn’t be him doing for her.

It shouldn’t be herself either.

It should be Fortia.

Why wasn’t Fortia here?

Why did Maisara not go to her friend first?

Why did she go to do her damn job!? What would an hour difference have done? Or two hours? Couldn’t she have rung? Couldn’t she have just texted? Couldn’t she have done anything other than what she did? Was it her destiny in life to make the worst choice imaginable, every time, all the time? But why bother thinking about what she could have done? If things were different, things would not be…

Maisara couldn’t even finish the line of logic. She didn’t care anymore. Arascus set her gently back on the ground but still kept hold of her hands. At this point, was it even possible to try and trick herself what was happening wasn’t happening? Maisara tried asking for the God to let go of her but she knew the moment her mouth made a sound, the floodgates would open. But she didn’t want him to see her like this. Maisra dropped her head, leaned into Arascus, felt him finally let go and wrap his arms around her in a hug.

His arms were big. He had an ambience to him that was warm. He…

Why did Maisara even bother try to distract herself?

Her mind finally admitted what was happening, with nothing but bitterness and humiliation.

She was crying.

—

Arascus stood and let Maisara pour her tears out. There was nothing to do. She simply had to sail through the storm. And Maisara did. He had seen it all before. The tears, the puffy cheeks, the sneezing, the mumbling of pained sounds. It was nothing new and he didn’t have to look down to know what was happening.

“What are we going to do now?” Maisara asked.

This was the mistake Allasaria had made a thousand years ago when she dragged Maisara into the White Pantheon. “We are going to do nothing.” Arascus made sure to stress that first word.

If Maisara were to ever work under him, he would not trick her into it. He would simply show her a better way. It was the same as when men bemoaned the situation in Epa. Did he manipulate the Divines of this continent? Or did he simply present such a good way forward that to not take it was stupidity? Weak men called it manipulation. Weak men simply could not compete.

This wasn’t his journey. If he could, he would walk it for everyone. But he couldn’t. Maisara had to walk that path herself because only she could take the steps. The most he could do was push her back on if she ever stepped off. And besides, this wasn’t about collaring Maisara and leading her on a leash. This was not about indebting her with gratitude. And this won’t about try to claim Maisara as some trophy that finally the Goddess of Order had been broken. It was about trust.

Not trusting Maisara. Trusting himself. He had done all he could. Now it was time to put it to the test. “You are going to go back to Fortia.”

Maisara burst out into tears once again.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep