Void watched the aftermath from the mountaintops above, view obscured by the thick mist of cloud cover on a humid day, the air moist and heavy around them. Only, Void was not her name. Void knew this, somewhere in the fathomless reaches of their awareness. The knowledge hid in the annals of repetition, nested deep within days that occurred so long ago they had faded to fragments, individual small and obscure remnants so minuscule that they could not possibly be pieced together.

  She was certain that once, when the lands were joined, and the oceans not quite so high, they had many names. Names that inspired love, and worship, and others that imparted fear.

  The elves of the many forests, and those that chose instead to dwell in cities, and the demon-kin, along with dwarves and small folk of all sorts—at one point and time, each had appointed their own name. For she was ever-present in their lives, forever present, waiting, watching, for the arrival of those to whom her duty was owed.

  If they knew the name—any would do—Void watched over them. As they struggled, and explored, and met great peril, Vvoid witnessed their victories and failures. As they grew old and frail, more and more falling prey to illness, she watched ever still.

  As they fell, some calling her name in anguish, others in relief, others still in spite, Vvoid drew them to her, whispering gentle comforts to soothe their tired souls and prepare them for the long night ahead.

  As she collected them, plucking their remnants from the earth and folding them into her bosom, like stones from a riverbed, she inspected their lives. They’d all worshipped her—some more, others less—but they had worshipped, or ruminated, or wondered at some point or another, all without ever seeing or hearing any confirmation that she truly existed. That arrangement had always struck Vvoid as vaguely one-sided. With this indiscretion in mind, once their souls were held in cycle she would review their lives, finding great interest in their stories, contemplating whether they fulfilled their potential.

  Most were delusional. Drawn into the inherent selfishness that came from being mortal. Assuaged by an over-inflated sense of self, an innate, illogical denial that their passing and the events that lead to it couldn’t be meaningless. No, they were important. The mandates given by their gods were unique to them, and their upholding of those mandates were exceptional in ways that set them apart from others less worthy. Their ideas were bright, shining, and original, not simply reflections of the same concepts that had circulated the minds of mortals from the beginning of time, altering only slightly to fit the sensibilities of the time. That their struggles were brutal, unfair, and unique. That they were special even in their suffering.

  As if they feared mundanity more than death itself.

  In her grace, Void did not fault them for it. It was difficult to accept how little one grain of sand mattered in the grandness of it all.

  Some shone so bright she wondered if they might be right. After all, her current form was borrowed from one such mortal, a stalwart follower that had spoken to her every day, like they were companions. She had a warm, playful voice, and the sort of confidence that, every so often, made Void wonder if there was any truth to the one-sided words. Her mind ran wild with possibilities. Maybe the woman was more than she appeared, a deity or demigod in disguise, harboring some great secret. But after the mortal died early from illness, it was clear that there was no secret. Void went so far as to descend to the mortal plane, preserving the physical vessel from decomposition as she copied the mortal’s features onto her own. Trivial perhaps, but effective nonetheless. The mortal’s visage was never far from her now, even though the name once whispered in nightly devotion was now lost to all.

  It couldn’t be easy to be mortal, proffered a set time by the end of which existence is inevitably snuffed out, must be truly difficult. Of course they’d rebel against the nothingness. And try their best to divine order from the chaos.

  As the years had passed, they had forgotten her. Void had always believed it was temporary. Mortals were distractible and often fell victim to trends. With time they would rediscover their heritage, and once again, she would happily take them back into the fold. But it never happened.

  Because despite being entirely unaware of the similarities, she too had been desperate to find order in the chaos.

  When the truth was, there simply wasn’t any.

  Gods were forgotten.

  Mortals died.

  Further explanation was unnecessary.

  Still, she found herself drawn to them. Pulled like a moth to the flame to mass graves yet to be interned. Natural disasters. Sites of terrible conflict. Because as the mortals danced, and painted verdant hills red with their sparkling brushes, and sang exultations of agony and terror, there was a possibility that it might happen. That somewhere, someone might put the right syllables together and speak her name.

  Void was sure she’d remember it, if it happened. And when that came to pass she’d be there, ready to guide them into the afterlife.

  And even though thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of such events had come and gone without even a choked utterance, she continued to attend them.

  Because what else was there?

  Nothing but Void.

  So she watched, from the mountaintop, as the torrent of souls slowed to a trickle, rising lights steadily ascending as they ventured from this plane. Some were assailed by shadow hawks, demonic parasites that crumbled as she undid them, disintegrating to nothing. Far more than there used to be.

  Taxing the small power she still held significantly, Void banished the pests, then rested atop the mountain, her gaze drawn to the bodies below. Many were still dying. But it would not be long now. Soon, when the last soul struggling to stay seated in a broken body lost purchase, she could return to the nothing.

  CRACK

  A nearby rock tumbled down the mountain, bouncing off of outcroppings, fragmenting and eventually shattering as it fell.

  She followed the motion, puzzled. Then spread her awareness out. There was a small family of predatory birds housed in the outcropping below her, along with several goats further down. Nothing truly out of the ordinary—

  A large hand snaked up onto the cliff near her presence, startling her immensely. Another joined it, and with a gruff groan of effort, a mortal lifted himself up onto the mountain top, breathing the thin air deeply in efforts to stymie his exertion. In her shock, Void had forgotten to hide herself. But the mortal did not startle or scream. He simply continued to catch his breath, and like her, seemed fixated on the battlefield below. For a moment, she wondered if he’d seen her at all.

  “If a man cannot find solace at the summit of a mountain, perhaps the world is too crowded.” The intruder muttered. His voice rumbled like distant thunder.

  Void was taken aback. Surely he wasn’t talking to her—

  “Are you deaf, wench?”

  Wench?

  Void turned away, irritated. “Begone from this place. Before your life is forfeit.”

  “Come now,” The man chuckled. “At least let me catch my breath before we get to trading threats.”

  He leaned forward, arms between his legs, shoulders rising and lowering slightly as his lungs expanded and deflated. Initially, she thought him filthy, but on closer inspection, the ruddy-brown dirt that covered him wasn’t of the earth at all.

  “It was you down there. Amid the bloodshed.” She realized.

  He started a little at that, and regarded Void as if he’d forgotten she was there. The only indication that he addressed her at all was the slightest tilt of his head, as his colorless eyes drank in the battlefield below. “There were a lot of men, and just as much bloodshed. It was probably someone else.”

  “It was you.” Void disagreed. “Your arrival turned conflict to conquest. Like a hurricane given breath. Swinging that hateful blade, cleaving life after fragile life with every brutish motion, wisps of the fallen rising behind you like a cloak.”

  “Guess it was me.” The man confirmed slowly. When the words drew no reaction, he relaxed once more.

  “I’ve seen you before.” She realized.

  The man growled and rubbed his forehead, as if roused from deep slumber. “Since we’re getting to know each other, who the hells are you exactly?” He studied her carefully, again, waiting for a reaction. When none came he continued. “Haven’t known many women partial to climbing vast distances in a milkmaid’s slip. Yet here you are.” His eyes traveled downward, seeing all. “Smooth skin, unaffected by the cold. No trembling from the chill in the air. It was—gods, it was a bloody battle—yet that doesn’t seem to bother you at all.” His expression turned dark as he faced her again. “Are you a spirit?”

  The question was aggressive, yet so utterly, wildly off the mark, that Void found herself victim to a strange sensation. It bubbled up within her, a foreign warmth, kindling, until she was overcome with laughter. Her voice echoed across the open space as she guffawed, placing a hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop, only to be overcome again.

  “Misfortune tends to follow those who mock me.” The man glowered at her, somehow only inspiring more laughter.

  Void wiped her eyes. “It has been a long time… since I… have felt mirth. You may request a boon.”

  “A boon?” The man asked, as if the notion was utterly foreign to him. Still something calculating showed in his expression. “If it’s all the same, I prefer to know the names of those I sue for favors.”

  Void felt her spirits sink. “Is that the boon you wish to receive?”

  The man shook his head. “Introductions are mere civility. Only a fool would waste a boon on such a thing.”

  “Amusing.” Void murmured.

  “Your sense of humor leaves something to be desired.” He said, growing mercurial once more.

  “It’s funny,” she murmured, “Because what you ask cannot be given. I’d do nearly anything, to know my own name again. But it is beyond me, lost. As am I.”

  There was a long pause. “So… you are a ghost?”

  She grew annoyed. “I am not a spirit.”

  “A lost, beautiful woman, who just happens to appear at the top of the mountain most would consider impassable, with no memory of who she is, somehow utterly unaffected by the weather. Not a spirit.” The man recounted as if he was spelling out the most obvious thing in the world. Slowly, he relaxed, stretching out and lounging in a practiced manner as he observed his handiwork below. “Yet offering boons. A goddess, perhaps?”

  She hesitated, mouth working silent before she spoke. “I am nothing.”

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  “What a coincidence. I climbed up here in search of nothing.”

  The man removed a wrapped bundle from his satchel and unfurled it, tearing chucks of it free as he studied the remnants of a battlefield below. The barbaric consumption did not match the sharpness in his eyes, the way they searched and analyzed. And the longer he looked, the deeper his scowl grew.

  Idly, almost as an afterthought, he drew a long pull from his wineskin, then tipped it, pouring a small portion of the contents into a stone cup.

  When she remained unmoving, he gave her a withering look and pushed it further in her direction.

  “For me?” She asked, genuinely surprised.

  “Assuming you’re willing to share your mountain, that is an offer of parlay.” He said, still transfixed on the battlefield. Then his gaze slid to her. “Or simply an offering. If that is preferred.”

  Void approached, footsteps silent on the summit. The stone cup radiated warmth, and she realized, with no small wonder, that it was indeed an offering—given with willingness and intent—the likes of which she had not seen in an age.

  Gingerly, so as not to spill a single drop, she raised it to her lips. The liquid coursed through her, pleasant and revivifying. “It’s warm.”

  “Because it’s spiced. In truth, I prefer it unadulterated, but out in the elements, there’s nothing better.” He grew quiet, still focused on the destruction below.

  “Did the victory not please you?” She asked.

  “It should have.” He pointed out the contingent of soldiers, tending the wounded and finishing off the dead. “A perfect rout, acceptable casualties, nothing particularly wrong with it. Strong. Decisive. The end of what could have led to years of war.”

  A conqueror through and through.

  “Your frown tells another story.”

  He nodded, for the first time smiling a bit. “Yes, well. The nagging voices of my advisors grow quiet in times of conflict. It is good that we have won. But with the danger receded, I won’t make it halfway to the capital without some ass braying in my ear, about lineage or legacy. We are so rarely recognized on merit alone.”

  The words resonated. So much of what she’d done would never be recognized. Countless souls guided to their resting place, tucked away until ready to resume the cycle once more. None would know her name, either in this life or the next.

  Void sat beside the man, wondering if the kinship she felt was real or imaginary.

  She startled as he plucked the now empty cup from her hands and refilled it, contents imbued with the same willingness and intent. “You are kind.”

  He froze, genuinely taken aback. Snorted. Then surrendered to mirth, laughter flowing out of him, warm and deep. “I’ve been called many things over the years. Calculated, cunning… cruel.” His eyebrow rose. “But never kind.”

  “Well. We are rarely recognized on merit.” She repeated, breathing in the spiced liquid, savoring the offering. It had been so long that consuming two in such a brief span of time felt positively greedy. “Do not give credence for the words of those unwilling to follow you into hardship. When you need them, they will fall away just as easily.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching. Observing.

  He leaned closer. “Wise. And beautiful. How aren’t you married?”

  Again, his intention was plain. After eons of being little more than an afterthought, his attentions too focused, too unexpected, too much. She nearly took flight.

  Instead, Void waited until she found her nerve. “How presumptive. Perhaps I am.”

  “To man or god?”

  “Would it matter?”

  He nodded, as if it was obvious. “One I’d fight for you right here and now. The other would require planning.”

  “I am not some object to be claimed. And no matter how accomplished a warrior, you’ve never fought a deity.” She scoffed, though in truth she wasn’t entirely certain.

  “No.” He admitted. “Not for lack of wanting. But enough about my troubles. Tell me your tale, lass.”

  “I’m more matron than lass.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  It would have been wiser to leave. She knew that somehow, definitively. While Void was a stranger to the greater pantheon, she’d watched their meddling from afar, observed them, as she had the rest. And though they had reined in their misadventures in this more recent era, one lesson had remained perfectly clear.

  Nothing good came from directly involving one’s self with mortals.

  They were too short-lived, prone to accident and tragedy.

  Yet there was a feeling she couldn’t shake. Something about him, this man in particular, that was different. He was a great warrior. She’d witnessed as much. But upon meeting him, there was a keenness to his mind that drew her in. The way his eyes lingered upon her, not as some forgotten being, but as the greatest of treasures.

  Still, it came as a surprise when she began to speak, intending to thank the man for his reverence and take her leave, when an entirely different sentiment left her lips.

  Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper. “I have no tale. For a time I was more… that is almost certain. But the pieces are lost. Scattered amongst the annals of eternity. My name is no longer called in worship or supplication, and with it any power once held slowly wanes, the setting of a desolate sun. It has not been uttered in so long the languages it was spoken in have died alongside it. I cannot remember it. Perhaps I do not wish to.”

  Even as she spoke the words, Void cringed at her honesty. The foolishness of it. After all, what use did a mortal have for a dying god? Whatever kinship she’d felt would be lost now. He would turn from her. As all the others had.

  The silence echoed.

  Almost as if he’d heard her mind, the man stood, his boots scraping stone. His prominent shoulders straightened with a long inhale, and he breathed out slowly. “I know little of gods and immortals. It’s never been my business to know. They steer clear of me, and I of them.”

  “You inquired.”

  “I did.” He agreed, turning towards her. His eyes were deep as the oceans, and just as vast. “And while the business of gods is beyond me, power? That I understand. Better than anything else. You derive divine power from worship?”

  “It is not so crass—”

  “—Am I wrong?” He interjected.

  She averted her eyes. “In the broadest of strokes, that is how it works.”

  “Good. Now that we’re done with the equivocations, what happens if things remain as they are?”

  So direct, so unrelenting, in asking a question that required an answer she’d prefer to avoid. To hide from.

  She answered anyway. “The same thing that happens to all that is forgotten, given enough time.”

  Nothingness.

  Oblivion.

  Void.

  Despair took her then, its frigid grasp curling around her essence.

  The man’s breath warmed her cheek. Void startled at the sudden immediacy of his presence, and she attempted to draw away, only for him to catch her chin in his hand, turning her head as if examining livestock. “Oh yes. You could pass for a Ferus.”

  “How dare you.” She slapped away his hand, feeling another unfamiliar emotion flare within her. Anger.

  “Strong arms too.” He added as an afterthought. “Never a bad thing.”

  Void balked. It had been an eon since she’d lashed out at anyone, for any reason, but before she knew what was happening, the skies swirled above, and the rumbling of thunder reached them both. She stood, fists tight at her side. “Care to inspect my teeth while you’re at it?”

  His eyes flicked skyward, and he slowly shook his head. “Already seeing them clearly. And they don’t disappoint.” He focused on her. “Just down on your luck. Crestfallen. Not broken.”

  Fury and embarrassment warred within her. “This was a mistake.”

  “Just listen to what I have to say before you make that summation.”

  “I’m done talking.”

  “What if I told you there was a way to turn back time? To the days you were cherished by countless. Revered. Loved.”

  It struck her as brutally as any blow. Overhead, the darkness of the clouds ceded, as the fight went out of her.

  “That isn’t possible.” Her voice was hoarse.

  “Just listen.” He insisted, so earnestly she couldn’t help but stay.

  The man leaned in and told her his scheme.

  And it was a scheme. A ridiculous one. Fanciful and short-sighted in the way that only mortals could be. But his belief, along with the utter certainty in the words, filled her with another strange, utterly foreign emotion.

  Hope.

  And maybe it was wishful thinking, or desperation, or both, but the longer he talked, the more plausible it all sounded. It was deceptively well thought out, by the time he drew to a close, she was nearly convinced.

  It was clear where the cunning portion of his reputation came from.

  But it was his closing that snared her. “Granted, all this will take time. So until it comes to pass… I’ll revere you until you tire of my supplications. In the mornings and the nights.” He reached out a hand so large it nearly swallowed hers, holding it in a gentle grip. “However you see fit. As often as you see fit.”

  It was a road to attaining everything she’d wanted and more. Hardly an act of generosity, but he was clear enough in what he wanted, and when she imagined playing the role, it warmed her. Being loved and surrounded by love.

  “Is there a chance you would come to love me too?” She asked. “Or would this arrangement be purely of convenience?”

  “A chance?” The man stared her down, his visage stoic. “Do you have any idea how many others have thrown themselves at me, all possessing barely a fraction of your grace and wisdom? A forest nymph would balk at your beauty. It was written before the first words passed between us. The offer to slay a god for you was not in jest. Do with that as you will.”

  It wasn’t merely that. Void was entirely aware that the man was a conqueror. A regent. And having a goddess at his beck and call would benefit both him and his kingdom a great deal. But the way his cheeks tinged, and how suddenly, he struggled to look at her, punctuated the integrity of his claim.

  He meant every word.

  And while she could not share same sentiment, exactly, at least not yet—Void was not entirely certain she remembered how to love—she already cherished him for the offering. Both the wine, and what he offered her now.

  But it could never be.

  “You are kind.” She turned her head, struggling to hide the wealth of unfamiliar emotions that surged within her. “But I cannot give you what you want. There is a problem of lineage. If we follow your designs it will never be assured. More the opposite.”

  His expression grew grave. “Children?”

  She shook her head. “Gods may be frivolous with their encounters, and any children sired by those they lay with will possess only a fragment of their godhood. Those birthed from a goddess are fated to become demigods. And I don’t possess even a whisper of the divine energy required to produce one.”

  He cocked his head. “Then… in time—”

  “It is unlikely I will ever reach such heights. Even with your aid. Apologies.”

  The silence stretched on. Now he would leave. She was sure of it.

  “That is… unfortunate.” He finally said.

  She lowered her head in shame.

  “I’ve decided I don’t care.”

  Void slowly looked up, unsure if she’d heard correctly, almost certain she hadn’t. “What?”

  “I don’t care.” The man repeated, pausing on each word.

  “But—lineage, the continuation of your bloodline—”

  “Indifferent.”

  “Your kingdom will expect an heir.” She pointed out, baffled by the sudden turn.

  “In truth, I put little stock in such things.” He shrugged. “Too many noble brats turn out to be worthless twits who barely hold a candle to the titans who seeded them. In the grand scheme of things it matters little.”

  “To open yourself up to treason, threats of succession—”

  “As I told you. They will not care so long as I continue to do what I do best.”

  Her breath caught. Then something occurred to her. “What is it? The grand scheme?”

  “What else?” He smiled widely, as the sun kissed him from behind. “I’m going to conquer this world. And all who dwell within its reaches.”

  “You’re mad.” She murmured.

  “It was always my intention to delay domestic matters until I’ve drunk my fill. Having met you, I’ve decided I’d rather meet them halfway. Furthermore, we can give them children. Practically everywhere I go there are infants bereft of parents. If you’re willing to isolate yourself for a few months and emerge with a freshly screaming babe, they will be none the wiser. A girl first. A boy later. Then however many more you want.”

  “Mortals talk.” She shook her head. “It is too great a secret.”

  He waved it away. “My spymaster will see to that.” He turned from the battlefield, and the weight of his focus laid heavy. “The question is, will you come with me?”

  Before Void even came to the decision, she felt herself nod. There were parts of this that set her ill-at-ease. Throughout history, those who fancied themselves conquerors often met unfortunate ends. The concept of a conqueror in and of itself held little appeal to her. But mortals always found their way to violence. It was inevitable. Even the kindest of rulers eventually found themselves entrenched in bloodshed.

  And without him, absent the hope she’d been given, she would simply fade away.

  Perhaps he would learn, given enough time. His appetite would be sated, eventually. Then he would be hers, and hers alone.

  “Yes.” She said.

  He took her hands in his, his delight infectious. Again he looked at her as if it was the luckiest day of his life. “Well then. First things first. We’ll need to give you a name.”

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