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Her sister follows her, Britta, Belcalis, Li, and Acalan at her side. I don’t worry when they all walk into the field together. After all, what they’re seeing is a vision of it, just as much as their living minds can comprehend. Adwapa holds her sister’s hands, tears flowing down her cheeks the entire way.
And then it’s just Keita and I in the garden, Ixa snapping at the butterflies now returning to the newly blooming trees.
He’s been standing quietly here all this time, just looking at me, as if he’s trying to comprehend. “How does it feel?” he finally asks.
I look down at my hands, pondering the question. “I am all. I am one. As we all are.”
“Does that mean I’ll never see you again?” He turns away after he asks me, as if he cannot bear whatever answer I intend to give him.
“Your heart is breaking,” I say, flowing over so I again stand before him. I press a hand close to it. “You believe I am leaving you. That I am above you now, beyond your reach.”
His thoughts filter easily into my consciousness, a tangle of emotions and longing. Mortality is so fraught—due to its brevity, everything is fragile, every feeling is heightened.
“That is the nature of the divine.” This reply comes from White Hands, who, with her sister Sayuri, is now walking into the garden.
Her thoughts flow easily through me, so I turn to her. “I will not become a tyrant,” I say. “That is your deepest fear.”
“I have many fears,” White Hands replies.
I see them in her. So many, to match the knowledge that she has. The wisdom of age—of immortality. Wisdom to rival a god’s.
“But you have faced them all,” I acknowledge. “And you will continue doing so.”
“It is not in my nature to turn away from what I fear.” She gazes into the distance, where Melanis’s ashes are scattering, the once proud alaki mere dust on the wind.
I say a little prayer that when she is born again, the world will be a gentler place. That I will have made it a gentler place. But everything I am depends on the wishes of those I serve. Ultimately, it is they who will determine what Otera finally becomes.
“What do you intend to do?” White Hands asks.
“I have already done it,” I say. “I have dispersed my predecessors, healed their vales, and sent their creations to a world more fitting for them—one where they can thrive. They too were innocents in this.”
“You have pity for monsters?”
“I have empathy for anyone who was created for a task they never asked to accomplish.”
As White Hands ponders this, I turn back to the golden fields. The others are returning now. Just like in any temple of the gods, time there is different from the one in this existence. They’re sure to have lived several lifetimes in the moments they’ve been gone. It’s not enough to make up for what they’ve lost, but hopefully, it can suffice.
I wait until they’re gathered around me before I speak again. “I have a query for you all,” I say, glancing from one to the other. “A proposal, if you like.”
“And what’s that?” Belcalis seems more curious than suspicious.
She has accepted my new existence with remarkable composure. But then, she has always been a remarkable soul. Bruised but not broken. Compassionate but not weak.
She will make a wonderful empress.
Even as I think this, I see it, her fate unfurling in front of me. So many different threads, but for her, they all end in the same direction: the throne.
The others, however, are as yet unformed. So I ask the question I returned here to ask. “Who among you wishes to join me? Who among you will ascend to the new pantheon of Otera?”
For a moment, there is silence, and then my companions begin to speak.
“Ye want us to join ye,” Britta says, her eyes blinking as she tries to understand what I’m saying. “To become gods, unending?”
“Eternal,” I agree.
Britta blanches. “Eternity is a long time,” she says.
I orient closer to her. “You do not need to explain any further, beloved Britta. I know your feelings, and Li’s as well.” I turn to where he’s edged closer so he can pull her hand into his.
