She wakes up and faces a void of nothing. There is darkness everywhere she looks. She is floating- no, she is not floating. Her head is id down on something, and she is not quite alone. She can see Death sitting above her, and now that she turns her head she can tell that her head is id out on her p. Everything else she observed was true though.

  One arm has been crossed over her own chest, the other hangs limp into the void. Her legs hang limp too. There is nothing else anchoring her to existence besides Death, and her fingers gently stroking through her hair. She passes one gnce down her own body and sees that her skin isn’t grey and pallid anymore. She’s hale and whole again.

  For all good that does to a dead woman.

  “Was that it? All over some boar? Journey’s end, just like that?”

  She’s not even sure what happened. Did her earnest wish for something to die- some living being to die- push her over the edge? Did her God’s love consume her from within as some penance for daring to use it for selfish means?

  “All over an old man you call friend.”

  Homer. That's right. She did this to save Homer. She hopes he’s fine. Even if she did manage to instantly kill the trollhog, the momentum of its charge still continues… But with the killing intent gone, the power from its legs gone, Homer might be able to take the blow. Unless she killed him too. She’s not sure. She only wanted to kill one thing.

  “I’m sorry that I failed you.”

  Death’s hand does not stop for anyone, not even for her most beloved worshipper. Instead it runs through her hair slower, gentler, and eventually goes down her cheek to gently stroke her thumb there. How long has it been since Maia was touched like this? Her mother used to pet her like this when she was falling asleep, and her father used to ruffle her hair just like so- and then they died, and she was left alone, and she hadn’t touched a human for years.

  Not that Death was comparable to a human.

  “You’ve not failed. Nor have you truly died.”

  She feels dead, though.

  “... We’re within our own bubble in time. You overdid it a little. Only the trollhog and you passed, but yours is a mere temporary death. You’ll resuscitate within some time… Not free from my love, but with a lightened burden.”

  So she’s not done yet, is she.

  “And if I tried to release *all* of that at once, I’d probably cause a great catastrophe, wouldn’t I?”

  Death chuckles, expression sad. Yet her lips etch into a small, somewhat skewed smile.

  “Maybe. I don’t want to think about it.”

  “Me neither.”

  She doesn’t really want to think at all. This is all temporary, huh. What does that mean? Is she going to snap into consciousness and find herself in a field bereft of all life? Did Homer and Aymanah survive and drag her away? Did they get the reward for the boar?

  “Neither of us is here physically. Like we’re in our own little world. This sort of thing is probably beyond your understanding, but you’ve created a little pocket dimension akin to my realm, which brought me here without my own interference.”

  Yeah, that all flew over Maia’s head. Her eyes close and she exhales. She feels lighter. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be so normal. That heaviness of death has left her body, and she remembers just what she’s fighting for. This.

  … To be on her p, or to be freed from the curse?

  Maybe both.

  “I cannot cim to have been aware of the beast you felled. I do not keep track of every single mortal being in this wide world. No-one could. Not even my brother. But knowing that you finally brought death to an animal so truly unchained from it brings me joy. It was in pain, I think, and running rampant… So, thank you. My follower, my beloved.”

  Her follower, her beloved. That sounded nice.

  “I didn’t kill it for any noble reason. Just to save a friend who had underestimated it. I wish it could’ve died more peacefully.”

  “Sometimes a peaceful death is not the best way for something to die. We all have our designated days and ways to go.”

  Maia reaches out with her arm all of a sudden and touches Death’s face. Traces her features, eyes still closed. Her skin feels like cold metal, or like rock. She’s heard of obsidian, rock that’s been taken from the very core of the world- or that’s what her father said while talking about all sorts of things to make her sleep as a child.

  Death’s skin was like obsidian. Her thumb momentarily touches a lip, eerily smooth, and then traces down to her jaw, powerful and notable. And then she trails up to feel her forehead, the shape of her eyebrow, and so on.

  There’s no purpose to any of this. She just wants to map out her features like this. Makes this feel so much more real.

  “My most zealous of followers- or even the most zealous of priests of any religion- would kill you for touching me so brazenly.”

  That doesn’t dissuade Maia at all. There are no zealous priests or rabid necromancers here, none but she and she alone with Death itself. Eventually she lowers her hand and ys it across her own chest, letting out an exhale. The air of this pce felt so heavy. One inhale and a tonne of lead was within her lungs, one exhale and a tonne of lead remained within her lungs. But it didn’t feel bad. This was all surprisingly rexing.

  “At this journey’s end, will I still…”

  Death shushes her by shifting her position a little. Still id out on her p, but perhaps a bit more spread out. Truly like a cat being toyed with by its owner. Was she just a pawn in some game of the gods, a cat being moved along with the toy of salvation?

  “That is your own choice. Yours, the worlds, and those of around you, but not mine. My thumb ought to not come crashing down on the scale. It is all predetermined, and those around you- the ground underneath you- and you yourself act as tools for that predetermined fate.”

  The lesson that death simply happened. One must accept when it does. Did Maia feel like she was ready to die? Was the whole point of this journey not that she wasn’t supposed to die, that she could keep living, so that she could keep praying for her good destined death to come? Her chest rises and falls slowly, calm overtaking her.

  Acceptance of the inevitability.

  And acceptance of the fact that she would have to ponder upon what lied at the end of this journey.

  And acceptance of her longing for it.

  “I should get going soon, shouldn’t I?”

  Maia’s not sure how she leaves, though. Does she just wait until this moment at the end of the world passes and she wakes up in the real world? Must she wish to leave, or can she spring herself up to stand on the vast nothingness and walk away? Death merely nods wordlessly, not giving her any answers. Maybe she doesn’t know either, or she thinks Maia knows.

  “Do you have any st words for me? Any nuggets of wisdom? In stories, Gods always pass on advice and gifts to their chosen champions. My mother always told me of the founder of our glorious nation, and how he had gained the blessing of every god…”

  Maia feels a wave of exhaustion course through her. This must be the sign that she’s returning to the world of the living. Her limbs feel heavier, and her eyes pry open to see that her healthy skin is starting to turn a pallid grey again. Her hair is becoming wiry, and she bets her eyebags are about to deepen. What a cruel joke, to become whole again only to lose it so soon.

  But there’s comfort in knowing that her soul is still pure.

  “I couldn’t tell you anything you don’t know. Give you anything that you do not already have. Life would probably lecture you about the joy of seeing the world, the gift of having good friends to do so with, and the blessing that is learning of new pces and people… I will not. But I will- begrudgingly- acknowledge that these are things worth rejoicing over.”

  The sweeter one’s life is the sweeter it feels to die and reminisce on all of it. That is the point of nostalgia, the longing for the past that is most strongly affiliated with the moment of death, when the mind wanders through all the good that one has gone through in their life.

  “Here is one final good memory for your travels home.”

  Death suddenly begins to lean forwards. Maia’s eyes widen, and for the first time since coming here she attains full, utter crity that makes her face feel a little red. There’s no time to react in any way, yet she still opens her mouth to speak… Although this just helps Death along, as her lips gently press against Maia’s. ‘Tis nothing but a passing peck of the lips, a moment’s connection between the mortal and the divine, but it feels eternal.

  And then she crashes right through. She slips through Death’s thigh, falling at a dizzyingly rapid pace into the void below. She can see Death above her turning into a dot and eventually even that disappears, the void’s utter quiet repced by the howling of wind as she falls. At one point it feels like she comes to a momentary stop, back striking against something physical as air is knocked out of her lungs- breaking a physical barrier, almost- and then she falls again.

  … And her consciousness cuts.

  Death is left in the void. She can feel it compress; a minute or two and it will blip out of existence and she will shift back to her throne. What a bizarre girl, capable of creating such things by accident. What could she do if she controlled her blessing more?

  But it is born from love, and she’s learned that love cannot be controlled. The walls keep squishing in harder, the pocket dimension breaks upon itself, and Death finds herself coming to a stand in the emptiness as her eyes close. The only source of light gone with her pale moonlit eyes, the utter darkness takes complete hold.

  Did her father, Time, love? Nobody had spoken to Time in uncountable eons, left to his own devices to manage the very lubricant that oiled the gears of existence. There has never been a mortal or a god associated with Time. He has always stood alone, unshaken, unbent and unbroken, everflowing and everpresent.

  At times she found his existence something admirable, something to be emuted.Other times, like now,

  as this reality breaks, and as she feels herself fading back to her ziggurat, to continue her work,she feels sorry for him.For there is no greater blessing than being in love.