Vigor Mortis - Chapter 194: Num Malus Eram

The memory of visceral pain and pleasure still lingers within me as I float up through the ceiling, my body transitioning seamlessly out of physicality to pass through whatever matter stands in my way. My sister surrounds me, her network of countless souls seething with rage, fearing for her life, panicking and calculating and questioning and plotting and hating. She’s beautiful, in her own way. But it’s a sad beauty, a woman chained to herself and her fears. It’s like looking at how Penelope used to be, just more. And as powerful as she is, I won’t let her stop me. Not with so much on the line.

Penelope, Lark, Jelisa, and Nugas move below me, their souls bringing me comfort as I ascend. Especially Penelope’s. Fuck, I love her so much. I hope we’ll get to see her again. Fuck, I hope we get to see her again.

We will, Zoi promises me. We have to. The hero gets the reward at the end, right?

I suppress a shudder. Don’t say it like that, even jokingly. We both know that’s not how the world works. I start to accelerate faster and faster, my uncountable tendrils twisting around me as even this impossibly high-stakes moment is inescapably immersed in euphoria. My body is beautiful, and it finally, finally feels right. Utter weightlessness, whenever I choose. Utter freedom from the confines of flesh. Yet just as easily, I can snap back to something not unlike flesh but improved, refined, composed of everything I love about physicality yet nothing I hate.

My twisting-tendril wings, my four perfect arms, my face that mixes the best parts of each of my lives. My body, smooth and sexless and finally free from hunger, thirst, heat, arousal, sweat… free from everything that doesn’t matter to me, that restricts the person I want to be rather than defines them. We have enough of a body to smile and wave and run and fight and hold everyone we love, and not a single fragment more. We are perfection.

As was the moment we became complete. Penelope… holy shit, Penelope. I love her so much. We love her SO FUCKING MUCH. My old body couldn’t feel much at all, near the end, but damn did we feel that. We felt her reach inside of us, we grasped her fingers with whatever tendrils we could form, held her close, and then my life’s final agony screamed through my body as she tore us asunder.

Piece by piece, she freed us. Piece by piece, she killed us. It was beautiful and exquisite and unlike anything I’ve ever done before. It shines crystal-clear in my newly perfect memory, ready to be repeated lovingly again and again, the joy of my beautiful, genius Penelope finally indulging herself, finally getting to live her deepest desires without a shred of guilt, finally crying tears of joy alongside her innermost fears, embracing them as friends… I have no words. Though I ultimately never made use of my last opportunities for sex, I can’t imagine that the physical pleasure could ever compare to the joy of experiencing the ecstasy of the one I love.

I got to make her happy. Happier than I think I’ve ever felt her. And what could be a greater joy than that?

Saving the world will hopefully feel pretty good? Zoi hedges.

Maybe. But not that good.

No. I guess not that good.

…And honestly, I think we’ll probably hate it.

Yeah. Yeah, we probably will.

I’d appreciate it if you gave me an opportunity to talk before things start to get ugly, Nawra butts in, her message forming directly against my mana-self.

“I’m still inside you,” I point out, briefly turning parts of me tangible so I can speak. “You can just speak out loud.”

This feels more direct, Nawra writes. And at the speed you’re moving, you won’t be able to hear me sooner rather than later. …So unless you’re willing to slow down?

No can do, I write back, and start to accelerate faster. Talk if you want to talk, but unless the words are “okay, I won’t destroy the world,” I don’t think we have much to say to each other.

And what exactly about this world is worth saving? Nawra asks. To me, the only answer is you. I know you care about more than that. Your friends and families. Your lover. I’m saving them, too.

Even if that were the problem, that’s not even true, I answer her. You aren’t saving Liriope, for starters.

Be honest with yourself, Vita, Nawra chides. You know your love of the Athanatos is artificial. You know your former body was designed to love its Progenitor, created for forgiveness and affection for its own people. It’s not real.

Perhaps it was artificial and manufactured when Malrosa was born, I answer, but that love was reinforced and earned at every turn. Liriope isn’t perfect. They hurt and look down on others. They even did it to my own family. But all I ever had to do to get them to stop was ask. What’s wrong with being born with love, as long as the love is deserved?

There’s a pause. Only a few seconds, but that’s an eternity for a mind as powerful as Nawra’s, especially in a crisis like this.

Do you love me, Vita? she eventually asks.

No, I answer frankly. Not really. Do you love me?

Another pause.

…I’m not sure, she admits. I want to. I think I might. But how can I tell?

I sigh, twisting around a few soul-infused wall tentacles that Nawra tries to grab me with before passing through another ceiling.

I’m not exactly the best at it myself, I answer, but I think it’s about selflessness. Selflessness and joy. There’s a happiness to love, one that just bubbles up from nowhere simply by being with a person. And it makes you willing to do anything for them. That can hurt you, I think, if they don’t love you back. But if they do, then you know it would hurt them to sacrifice yourself too much, and it kinda balances out a little. You just… help each other. Support each other. Enrich each other’s lives simply because you profoundly enjoy doing so. That is love, I think. It took me a long time to find it.

Oh, Nawra says. I have been alive a lot longer than you, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt that. Perhaps I simply can’t. I do enjoy being around you, Vita, but…

Not enough to stop, I answer. Yeah. I know. Which is why I have to do something both of us are going to hate.

As if I would let you leave, Nawra sighs, and I feel her soul twist above me, spreading and solidifying into a shell of anima. My body can’t phase through her walls when they’re like that, even while devoid of mass. You will not bring our brother into this, Vita. I won’t let you kill yourself.

I’ve died for less, I answer. I didn’t know if I’d come back the first time, but I’ve never once regretted the sacrifice. This time, I don’t know if I’ll make it back either. But that’s okay. I’ve made enough mistakes to know this won’t be one of them.

“Vita, wait. Vita!”Nawra writes and screams, her island-body shaking with the force of the sound as I teleport away, high beyond the sky, far out of her reach. This is the real strength of my new body, a power so good that I don’t even think my godly siblings can match it. Teleportation is mana-intensive. Immensely so, and it only gets exponentially more difficult with the amount you’re teleporting and the distance you’re traveling.

But I’m only made of matter when I want to be, and that means my range is practically limitless. My body isn’t completely massless, as it still needs some kind of anchor for the anima to function in this world, but it can get extremely close. I can’t repeat the trick on my own mana ocean, either, because mana actually has no mass and I simply do not know if there’s any way to teleport nothingness. Presumably Nawra doesn’t either, or she wouldn’t be stuck in a ball of mana oceans at the center of our dead universe.

She’s right about one thing, I suppose. We can’t let what happened to our mana universe happen to this one, too. To me, though, that means we have to actually protect the people in it.

Far up into the sky, above the highest islands, I look down at my world. It… is not a good place. I’ve been starved, I’ve been beaten, I’ve been tortured, I’ve been oppressed. People have despised me for good reasons, and they have despised me for horrible, worthless prejudices. I have been hurt, and I have hurt others, in countless horrific ways. To many, I am a monster. To most, they will never know I ever exist.

The air is so thin up here.

I look up at the terrifying black spot in the sky, speckled with motes of white. I watch the Mistwatcher, my kin, drink down a ball of fire and light so massive that it defies all comprehension. God’s Avarice.

A star, Nawra reminds me silently, her whole ocean rippling with fear.

A star.

I teleport to my brother. Or at least, I try. I have no idea what the distance before me is like, no comprehension of the scale involved. My guess is conservative, but it’s still farther than any distance I’ve ever traveled in my life. And yet, my brother seems not a single inch closer. Only the cold black void around me and the shell of my world behind me indicate that I have moved.

My world. My world. Still linked to the Mistwatcher by a near-invisible trail of yellow, it floats in bright defiance of the cold black around it. A hundred planets, a thousand peoples, all shattered to pieces and cobbled together like the ragged-sewn scraps of clothes Lyn would dress us in, all those years ago. The yellow glow suffuses all of it, and it’s only out here in the blackness that I wonder if I’ve ever truly seen the color white.

I look back to my brother, and I teleport again.

I go twice as far, this time. Still, he seems no closer. I teleport again. Barely, if I squint, he looks bigger now. Again, ten times as far. Again, ten times that distance. Are the specks of light I see in every direction as large as this star? How far away are they?

You don’t have to do this, Vita, Nawra begs. Don’t sacrifice yourself for people that don’t even care about you.

Go ahead and let Penelope destroy your life’s work, then, I answer. Otherwise, I suggest you finish that tunnel.

Again, I teleport. Nawra rages, tendrils of herself striking into me, obliterating parts of me in her anger. But I know it’s just to scare me, a false attack that she can’t afford to commit to. She’s too obsessed with her own survival.

I’ll kill you, Vita!she shrieks. I’ll kill everyone you care about!

You’re a monster, Nawra, I tell her, but you’re not the right kind of monster. You’re sadistic, callous, powerful, self-obsessed… but you’ve got nowhere near my level of spite. You’ll save your own life and leave everything else be, and we both know it. But me? I’ll gladly die to ruin you if you so much as think about hurting them again.

Damn you, damn you, damn you, damn you!

I smile at her distress. I can’t help it. I’m really not a good person, not yet. But this is a good start.

I teleport again. I teleport again. Every time, I increase the distance, thinking I’ll surely overshoot and end up disintegrating inside the flame that dwarfs a god. But I barely even start to get closer, one jump at a time. It feels like months before I’m finally there, staring at my brother up close.

His body shifts, his eyes swivel, and he stares back.

Tendrils larger than every island I’ve ever lived on combined writhe in constant motion, haphazard eyes and chaotic growths combining into a form that defines my world’s idea of power. Unmatched in size, in strength, in scope, and in control, the Mistwatcher is without question the most formidable being to ever live, an insurmountable symbol of death.

What a horrible thing to call a brother.

The first time I saw the Mistwatcher, years ago, the weight of his attention alone was enough to shatter the faux shell around my true soul and drag me kicking and screaming into nascent godhood. I understand what caused that, now; the literal pressure of his mana against my soul, concentrated by his active will, was by itself nearly enough to kill me. But this deep into the void, this far from the shattered scraps of his graveyard of a home, that ever-present yellow isn’t here to suffocate me. I am alone with myself, so I spread my innumerable fractal tendrils and infect the dark with blue.

The Mistwatcher screams. Or perhaps he roars. Or perhaps he merely shakes in fury; I cannot tell, not in this soundless, empty place. What matters is that I have his attention. Among all his innumerable eyes, one in particular focuses on me most intensely: a dark slit of a pupil in a crimson red orb, a mirror of my own soul in the shade of a dead sibling I’ve never met. The Mistwatcher knows what I am, and he tolerates no competitors.

“Here, boy,” I whisper, the sound going nowhere. “Follow your little sis.”

Tendrils of anima, bursts of mana, and the physical limbs of the Mistwatcher all rush to me at once in a furious convergence, but I simply teleport away. This is it. This is the moment where I learn if my plan is genius or simple suicide: does he teleport after me? My gut says no, he won’t. He’s enormous. He spends hundreds of years traveling from meal to meal. Even if he has enough mana to teleport something as large as he is—and he might—he’s never shown the willingness or even ability to do so.

He moves. It’s a thing of utter horror to watch, as his body accelerates faster than anything I’ve ever seen, despite its insane size. So much power. The Mistwatcher could destroy any island he chooses with a casual flick. But despite how unexpectedly fast he catches up with me, he still has to catch up. He didn’t teleport.

I’m going to win.

Win? Nawra laughs helplessly. Win!? No one wins from this, Vita.

Everyone wins, I correct, as long as you lose.

You don’t, Nawra says.

I don’t, I agree. But that’s okay.

I teleport again. And again. Each time, I have to go farther as the Mistwatcher goes faster. Soon, I find myself nearly home, floating just outside the atmosphere of my world, far above Nawra’s island. I can go no further; the Mistwatcher’s mana is what holds these fragments together, and if I ever immerse myself in his mana he will kill me instantly.

I can never, ever go home again.

It’s over, Nawra, I tell her, slotting some of myself into a fragment of anima and firing towards her island like a beacon. Almost immediately, the Mistwatcher finds her, and her body—her island—starts to crumble and shatter. Are you safe?

We’ll see, my sister hisses, a smaller segment of her stony enamel body rocketing upwards and burning black in an attempt to escape the Watcher’s wrath. Her very self leaks from the small escape shard, her mana acting as an ablative barrier to buy her mind and soul precious extra seconds of time.

Still need help with the tunnel in our other world? I ask.

…I wouldn’t say no, she grumbles.

The black bordering my mana-self twists away, rapidly fleeing towards a hole in the nearby purple. I follow her up it, helping Nawra burrow through to the end until we finally, finally burst free of the cocoon of our so-called siblings. The world of mana is somehow even more empty than the black void of stars, existing only as a true and unforgiving nothingness in every direction. It does not matter where we go, so long as it is away from the yellow. The tunnel collapses behind us as Nawra and I finish emerging, and it seems that the damage she suffered in her escape has left her lesser than me. Weaker.

Did Penelope do it? I ask. Is the world safe?

I think I’ll leave you to wonder, since you speak so highly of spite, she answers, and then her mana flies away. I let her. She’ll never be truly comfortable around me unless she holds all the power. It’s just who she is.

I glance back at my world. My shattered shell of dead planets. The home of everyone I have ever loved, every evil that has ever befallen me, every cruelty and kindness baked into the fabric of our home. The closest I can get is still so, so far away. I can’t see anyone. I can’t sense anyone. Perhaps Penelope and I were too slow, and none of them survived.

Either way, Zoi says, we are now truly and completely alone.

An island-sized tendril swings down at us, and we teleport away. Farther than we’ve ever gone before. Farther than the distance between my home and the star. Far enough that I can no longer see where I once was. Far enough that everything I have ever known is nothing but a memory.

And now there is nothing. Nothing but the other stars, tiny pinpricks of incomprehensible distance. I pick one at random (because what else can we do?) and start to move. After each jump, I feel no closer than before, and I can only tell I moved because the other stars have changed their positions in the sky. If Penelope were here, she could have probably used that to figure out exactly how far away they all are. But… I can’t.

I’ll always be lost without her.

Time passes at speeds we have no way to measure. It feels like a year before Taal and I finally get close enough to a star to find something other than all-consuming nothingness, and though we’ve cried countless times since we left, none of the tears compare to these. We’ve nearly gone mad in the lonely silence, a slow death by starvation because our minds are so hungry for something to do. Someone to talk to.

Anything, really.

But it’s barren here. There are planets, beautiful planets, but they are all lifeless. Empty. No air, no water, no joy. We probably spend a decade here regardless, flying among the rings of stones, swimming in the molten rock, devouring the metals for power and pleasure. There was already next to nothing here when we arrived, but when we leave it is stripped even further, devoid not just of worth but even potential for worth. I’ve been scared to leave since the moment I arrived, but when I do I only feel dirty for having stayed so long and taken so much.

I want to be better than the Mistwatcher. I have to be.

Months or maybe years or maybe decades pass again. I find another system. I eat what I’m comfortable eating and move on, admiring the many colors and configurations of worlds that did not exist at my last stop. Even lifelessness has beauty. This universe is so much more than I ever could have imagined.

Lifelessness. Fuck, I miss her. We miss them all so much. I hope they’re okay. I hope they’re happy. I hope they’ve found someone other than me. But selfishly, I hope I’m not completely forgotten. No matter how much they would probably be better off without a Vita-shaped hole in their heart, no matter how I know they should be able to find and fill the loss of me with one another, I still can’t stop hoping that I am missed.

We truly are horrible, Taal laments.

I can’t stop myself from hating Nawra. She was right to abandon me, as much as I constantly wish I had someone, anyone to talk to. Even her. Every decade I’m out here, the anger festers more strongly. I start trying to seek her out in the mana world, but I know there’s no chance we’ll ever find each other. Mana can only move so fast, and she’s already started heading a different direction without any intention of stopping. But I wish I could catch her. I wish I could find her and torture her and rip her apart bit by bit, for forcing me to make this awful, awful choice.

I don’t even know if they’re alive. I sacrificed everything, I cut myself away from every last good in my life, and I don’t even know if they’re alive. Damn her. Damn her!

We truly, truly are horrible.

It’s beautiful here, at least. It really is. We’re developing better and better spells to see farther and farther away, and there’s just so much. Clouds of gas thousands of thousands of times larger than planets glow in gorgeous patterns across the sky. Tiny, rapidly spinning stars that belch out enormous amounts of energy turn out to be consistent enough to be a divine timekeeping device. Colors and patterns and beauties beyond anything in brother’s broken world abound in every direction, hidden from us by our jealous, gluttonous god.

If my family does still live, they’re still bound to him, trapped by his evil and reliant on his mercy. So I can’t stop searching. I can’t stop eating. I can’t stop. I can’t.

There are people out here somewhere. We know there are. We won’t be alone forever.

Yes. We’ll keep looking. We won’t be alone forever. I have to believe that, or I’ll just curl up and die.

I almost do, a few times. It wouldn’t be hard. I am composed of the very substance I think with, and the dissolution of my form and obliteration of all thought would be a simple act of will. But I did not make this sacrifice just to leave it all behind to rot away in vain. It sometimes takes years, but I always pick myself back up and search again. Again, and again, and again… until I finally find it.

My new world is blue.

Oceans of water instead of mana swirl between ground-locked islands so large I feel as though they need a different name. I’ve never seen anything like it, even in the dozens or hundreds or thousands of years I’ve been out here, broken and alone. I dive into the waters, finding them startlingly salty. It’s enough that I’d never imagine my old body being able to drink it, and yet everywhere I look I see clear evidence that this is not an issue.

There’s life. I finally, finally found a world with life. My body can’t make tears but I still cry, loud and sad and joyful and fragile. It’s not just any life, either. I can see it, in tiny dots of order around the world. For the first time since I lost everything, I’ve truly gotten lucky. There are people here.

There are people here.

We’re not alone!

This world is so, so beautiful. It might be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, bar one woman. The trees are massive and lush, drinking in the light of the planet’s star as they seek to be ever closer to it. The air is thick and humid, and life swarms through every last inch of it. Giant insect-like beasts swarm the ground and the air, while fish grow to unimaginable sizes here where the waters aren’t restricted to simple lakes.

And the skies. The skies are blue. Not yellow, but blue. A calming pastel shade rather than my deep sapphire, but I can’t help but whoop in triumph. I’m here. I made it. There’s not a single soul or mote of mana here, and yet there is still life. You won’t take this one, brother.

I don’t make myself visible the first time I visit the people who live here. I’m too afraid to, so I just watch. They remind me of giant centipedes, close to nine feet long from head to tail. They have twelve legs on their armored, segmented bodies, all in the back two-thirds of their length. The front side of them lifts up from the ground, bending back so the torso and head can rest above the ground and their four claw-like hands can easily grab, manipulate, and throw objects.

They seem to still be new to intelligence, or perhaps they are just content with their lives; they build simple buildings, farm fields of vegetables and grain, and raise animals without anything beyond the simplest of tools. But at night, they all come together and curl around one another in the largest building, talking and laughing and telling stories and appreciating one another until each one finally falls asleep in an enormous pile. I can’t help but fall in love with them. I already hate myself for what I have to do.

We’re no strangers to self-hate, of late, Zoi says. But we’ll make it worth it. We’ll prove ourselves better than our older siblings.

Yes. We will. This is our test. It’s hardly fair, though. No one but them suffers if we fail.

Then we’ll succeed.

I watch them for days. For weeks. For months. I learn their names, their relationships, and slowly, their language. But I’m still the same stupid Vita; I’m far from fluent, even after so long. So I don’t reveal myself. I keep putting it off until the moment I no longer have a choice. A young hunter trawls the forest, a spear in two hands and a dagger in the third. A beast has been harassing their livestock, and she aims to slay it. It’s going to get the jump on her, though. I can already tell. She’s looking the wrong way; it’s getting ready to pounce. I already care far too much to let her die.

I won’t be that kind of god.

The beast halts mid-leap, panic filling it as it simply freezes in midair, unable to move. The hunter startles, brandishing her weapons in terrified confusion. I wait just long enough for her to realize what she sees is both impossible and lifesaving before I let myself appear, my body twisting into visibility from the fingers that hold back the beast, down the arm, and flowing out into my full visage, tendrils twisting in the wind.

She collapses in reverence immediately, and I don’t have the heart to stop her. I don’t want to be her master, I want to be her friend, her guide, her… anything else. But no matter how much I still feel like a child, these people will never be anything but children to me. There is no way for me to bridge our difference in power. No hiding the vast gulf between what we are. I am a goddess, whether I like it or not.

So I smile, though the gesture means nothing to her, and I say three simple words.

“Be not afraid.”

I might not have their grammar exactly right, but it gets the point across. She looks up at me, standing and gazing with awe. I present her quarry to her, and she slays it before returning to her village. That night, she tells everyone of the spirit of the forest, and I chuckle along as they all theorize about who or what I might be.

From then on, I continue to help them in small ways. There are countless other villages, but I focus on this one for now, mastering their language and helping them out in little ways. I’m there when one of the women lays a clutch of eggs, the whole village rejoicing and throwing a feast. Three of them, a beautiful set of triplets. I watch one of them develop wrong over the course of the month, emerging sickly and struggling to breathe as his two brothers cry like banshees.

It’s easy to see why. And while I’m no Penelope, I am a Princess of Liriope. I know how to fix him. So I reveal myself again, take the baby from his mother’s arms, and I make him strong. Nearly the entire village is there when I do, watching me emerge from nothing and heal a child with a thought. It feels good. It feels right. It’s what I should be doing for everyone in this world, not just this village. I just don’t know if I’m ready for that, yet.

“Who are you?” the mother asks. “What are you?”

“I am Vita,” I answer, to both questions.

“Great Vita, you have saved my son’s life, and the lives of many more of us besides. Our entire village owes you a debt.”

“That’s good,” I say sadly, “because I intend to collect.”

They go still. I steel myself, feeling my ocean writhe in turmoil.

“What would you have us do?” they ask.

“I am a traveler,” I tell them, “from very far away. From a horrible place of violence and death. My sister is callous and cruel. My lover may be alive or she may be dead. And my brother seeks me, as he seeks all things, to destroy and consume all that has ever been. One day, he will come here. You will not be alive to see him. Your children will not be alive to see him. Your children’s children’s children’s children’s children may not be alive to see him. But one day, he will come.”

I spread my arms, gesturing to… everything. Everything in the world.

“This is all so beautiful,” I tell them. “You are all so beautiful. But it will not be enough. You will need to be ready.”

They look at each other, fear in their hearts. But they nod.

“It will be war, then?” they ask.

“Not war,” I shake my head. “We do not have time for whatever it is you think of as war. I will make you above that. I will unite your people across the world. I will work with you, help you, care for you, and empower you until you span the stars with the might to kill a god.”

I smile sadly, letting out a long and painful sigh.

“Then, you will be able to turn that power against me if you choose, and I will finally know if I was good or evil.”

That night, the village unanimously agrees to serve me. It’s even more terrifying than staring down the Mistwatcher, but I suppose I’ll have to do that again, too. May as well get practice. Considering the distances I’m used to, it would be trivial to teleport to other villages and do more or less the same, but I want to make sure I can handle one before I try to expand from there. I need to make sure anyone I make a pact with will be safe if I leave.

“I will give you part of my body,” I tell them. “I will nestle it inside you, where it will grow as you grow. When you die, I will take it back and add it to my power once again. But so long as it is inside you, if your situation is dire, you can call upon that power to work miracles.”

“How will we use this power?” they ask me. And that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not a good enough teacher to show them how to craft spell formulae without hurting themselves. Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to give them advanced technology or weapons or super-advanced bodies that wouldn’t even die without a head. The only thing I’ve ever really been great at is reading souls.

But if I can read them well enough, that should do the trick.

“Pray,” I tell them. “Wish deeply in your heart. Cry out in need, and I will feel it. If I am able to answer, I will.”

I will craft the spells myself. Magic is my body, after all. I am wherever my mana is. I will feel them. I will be inside them. And to protect them, I will spend myself like pennies off the street. …At least until they die of natural causes, at which point I will have to reclaim the gift or risk wasting away. I don’t know how to make them immortal without making them undead, and I don’t have the ability to sustain and feed that many anima beings. At least, not yet.

So as the years pass, I watch them grow old. By the time I’ve united a couple dozen villages, I’ve watched that first hunter girl pass peacefully in her sleep, and I’ve sobbed as I swallowed everything she was. By the time the planet has orbited its sun fifty times, the whole world knows of me. Vita, the Goddess of Blue. The Lifebringer.

The Wrath of Stars.

Not everyone loves me. Not everything runs well. I try to stop wars before they start, but I’m not always successful. Stopping them after they start is both painful and much, much easier. I am loved, I am respected, but I am also feared. I do not tolerate the sort of callousness that leads to poverty, hunger, and hoarding. And as the population of my people grows, I know fewer and fewer of their number personally. I have those I respect and seek advice from. I have those I consider friends. I have those I consider problems. But I have no equals, and most of my world is little more than a number, a schedule, a constant upkeep of life and death as I travel between maternity ward and funeral, to give my blessings and collect my dues.

I often lose myself in it. I often like to, preferring it to the agony of idle thought. But I do not let them forget: there will be no war among them, but soon there will be war. A dark and hungry god will come. Do not rest. Do not be complacent. They must learn both the power of destruction and the wisdom of peace, or their world—and every world—will end.

“Father, why is the sky blue?”

A boy and his father sit by a lake, exhausted and happy from a day of swimming in the sunlight. The boy’s lower segments dangle into the water, his small legs kicking up idle splashes as memories of play continue to tempt him to jump back in. But his father is tired, so they rest together, wrapped tightly to one another as my people often do to show their love.

“Because the Goddess is blue,” the father answers, and I sigh. “Her body, Her power, Her essence… it suffuses the world, and grants us protection.”

I’m not even sure why I stopped to watch these two, but now I feel the need to correct them. I manifest myself in front of the pair, my feet kissing the top of the calm water, and I give them a smile. Their faces are nothing like mine, all mandible and chitin plate, though most of them still know my mouth turns up when I am happy, and down when I am not. Not that I would change their appearance if given the opportunity; their multi-segment mouthparts are honestly quite adorable.

Only you think they’re adorable, Taal, Zoi complains. They’re even weirder than our mouth used to be, spike tongue and all.

Well. This is no time to have an internal argument about what sort of chitinous mouthparts we prefer, so I give the pair a polite nod as they both prostrate themselves and beckon them to rise.

“No need to worry,” I assure them. “I was just passing nearby, and thought I would chime in. I do not, in actuality, cause the color of the sky.”

“I-I am so sorry,” the father stammers. “I did not mean—”

“It is fine,” I insist, kneeling down to match his height. “Honestly. Truly. You have done no wrong. But if you’d like to know the real answer to the color of the sky, I can tell you. It’s a bit more of a confusing and complicated story, though.”

The child nods vigorously, enraptured and excited beyond measure. I’m fairly certain these people did not nod or shake their heads to indicate yes and no before I arrived, but I suppose they picked it up from me somewhere along the way.

“Well,” I say, my smile widening, “have you ever seen a rainbow?”

And so I explain, as best I can, how natural light is made of all colors, and how the atmosphere bounces blue around more than the others. I’m not sure I do a good job, and the child doesn’t seem to understand all that well, but he listens very intently all the same.

“…Anyway, that’s it,” I sigh. “My apologies for interrupting your evening. I just felt the need to say something. I don’t often stop and chat like this.”

“Thank you, Vita,” the father says. He has calmed down considerably since my sudden appearance, which makes me a lot less anxious.

“Thank you for telling me, Miss Vita,” the child says. “You seem to really care a lot about the sky.”

I stiffen, glancing up above us at the clear, beautiful day.

“…I suppose I do,” I admit. “In the world I came from, the evil god had shrouded the world in yellow mist. The sky was all yellow, always. Day and night. We never got to see the sun, and we never got to see the stars. I was surprised, when I came here, to find the world was blue. It isn’t quite my shade of blue, you see, but I vowed to never change it. I like it just the way it is.”

I glance back down at them, an awe and melancholy on their faces that makes it clear they have nothing to say. That’s alright. For some reason, I’m feeling oddly talkative.

“I knew someone once who would have been able to explain it better,” I say. “She was so, so smart. Good at everything she ever did. That’s something I lack, you know. Something that we need. I think it’s important that you never stop asking things and getting the real answer. You will never be more powerful than evil, but if you can be smarter, we might have a chance. Ask questions, learn, create, and help me make this world a better place. Can you do that for me?”

“Yes, Miss Vita,” the child says, and I teleport away.

Sixty years later, my people make their first trip into space. They know far, far more about it than I do, and inconceivably more about it than I did when I started my journey through it. I’m very lucky my body didn’t need to breathe or eat or drink or… be… pressurized? None of that was planned; I just removed all the things about myself that I hated and was left with something that could incidentally survive the vacuum of space. I was just a fool stumbling into an unearned victory, as I’ve always been. My bad luck has balanced out more times than I care to admit.

I should spend more time talking to people. More time learning. I need to find a way to automate a lot of the upkeep I’m currently doing just to keep myself growing without hurting anyone. At the same time, though, I don’t want to stop. I don’t want to have less to do. I don’t want to have time to think about the home I lost. About the people I’ve lost. About the sacrifice that might not have even mattered.

I’ve been alone with myself a long, long time, Zoi says. And no offense, but I’m not good company.

So we push forwards. We work harder. We watch in awe as our people make beautiful, incredible things out of metal, things I could have never imagined with how rare it was back home. I’m always tempted to eat it, but I don’t. If I ever get too hungry, I can always teleport to another solar system for a little while… though I don’t really like doing that.

I just hope this works. The problem is, I don’t know how to make it work. People at peace don’t want to make weapons of war. What they have now wouldn’t even come close to killing me, let alone him. And if we’re ever to be equals, they have to be able to at least do the former. But they’re branching off from what I know. They’re learning more about the universe than I ever have. Little by little, they’re ceasing to need me. And without even being able to guide them, I’ll be alone again.

I don’t want to be alone. I am so, so tired of being alone.

Two hundred years in, I barely even feel like a person. People rarely call on my power, and I rarely answer when they do. It takes a lot to shake me out of my stupor, teleporting invisibly around the world and facilitating the transfer of souls. I’m losing myself. I can feel it. It’s barely been two centuries, and I can already feel it. I’m becoming like him. Just like I always feared. I already feel the temptations, the urge for efficiency, the callousness of so-called ‘superior’ plans. I should have known better. I never had a chance of being good alone.

But then, something in the mana world moves.

I spot it from far away. Unfathomably far away. If there’s one thing I’ve managed to consistently improve over the years, it’s my early warning system. My people don’t need it in the world of matter; I’ve spoken of my travels, and with my perfect memory we’ve managed to backtrack to where I was in the universe when the Mistwatcher and I parted ways. He will not find us for a long, long time. Long enough that he’s less of a threat than I am. But in the mana world, I am still vulnerable, and I both fear running into him and hope I can run into Nawra. Not that I know what I would do to her, if I did.

But what I see isn’t either of them. Not the deadly yellow or the cold black. I think it’s the Mistwatcher at first, but after a moment of panic I return to myself and realize the shade is wrong. It’s not the lifeless yellow of my brother. The tone is warmer, darker. Like a sunset on a clear night. It’s orange.

There was no sapient mana being that was orange, when I left.

Hesitantly, I fire off a part of myself to meet it. Three years later, it makes contact. But for the last month and a half of travel, I already know.

Penelope, I write with my tiny blue scout. You found me.

The orange shifts and twitches, full of emotion and life. But slowly, hesitantly, like someone handling fragile glass, it writes back.

It would seem that you found me, my dear.

I weep. The entirety of me weeps, a howl of emotion that brings my entire planet to its knees, their souls aching from the sobbing mana inside them.

You found me, I write again. You found me. You found me you found me you found me you found me you found me.

Yes, Vita, she writes. I did.

You’re alive.

Yes, Vita, she confirms. I am. We all lived. Your plan worked. I’m so sorry it took me this long to tell you. The Mistwatcher was… particularly watchful, after your escape. It took him centuries to calm down.

You’re fucking alive, I weep. I can’t say anything else. I can’t think about anything else. She’s alive. I want to hold her, I want to touch her, I want to kiss her, but all that would happen if we tried is mutual annihilation. She’s one of us now, self-made like Nawra. Leave it to Penelope to turn herself into a goddess just to see me again.

Alive and well, she confirms. What of you, my love? It has been a long time. You don’t… seem like your best.

Could be worse, I write, my sobs turning into laughter. Found a planet. Centipede people. They’re really nice. I’m helping them as best I can but I’m not very smart.

You’re better than smart, Penelope says. You’re clever. Clever enough to save a whole world. And now, I’m here.

Now you’re here, I agree. You’re actually here. I love you. I love you so much.

I love you, too. I’ve missed you.

How?

There’s a pause.

What do you mean, ‘how?’ Penelope asks.

How come you missed me? Why did… could you not find someone better? In a thousand years? Or however long it’s… I don’t know. I don’t know how long it’s been. I don’t know anything.

The orange mana shifts, twisting and writhing as if struck. Then it moves forward—she moves forward—and envelops the small part of me I sent to intercept her. Pressing in on all sides, just barely touching without annihilating, I feel her. I feel her the way I’ve always felt her, the truth of a soul laid completely bare. I know she is in pain, because my agony pains her. I know she is furious, because though this gift of her presence feels like everything to me it is woefully insufficient in her eyes. And I know she loves me, because I am fully surrounded by that love, ignited and passionate and all-consuming.

I have a gift for you, she says. I can’t transfer anything larger than this, but I believe it will suffice for now.

A gift? I write, but she’s already pushed it out of her mana and nestled it into my own. It’s small, maybe a quarter of the size of my torso, and it’s very, very soft.

Can you pull that through your tunnel, do you think? she asks.

Yes, I tell her, and I form a new hole through the two universes, an extra vulnerability through which my soul could be attacked. But I know I’m safe. I’ll always be safe with her.

I pull the gift through, and Rosco falls out of my chest and into my arms.

We kept him for you, Penelope says. You can thank Lyn, it was her idea. I realize it’s not as much of home as you might like, but—

He’s perfect, I cut her off. Thank you. Thank you so much.

Of course, she says. I’m sure we can coordinate on more now that we’ve found each other. I’m extremely limited on the degree to which I can expand myself, and metal is rarer than ever after the Mistwatcher’s tantrum, but I’m sure I can take some of the burden if you’re having logistical issues with… a whole planet, you said? A whole sapient race? That’s very fascinating, and an invaluable resource for potentially facilitating intrauniversal trade. In fact, I think…

I feel bad about it, but at that point I stop listening. I’m too focused on the dumb little stuffed crow in my arms. My first and oldest friend. An obsession I brought between lives, now in my arms on an alien planet. I can’t help but laugh, squeezing him as hard as I think he can take. I’m not alone. Not anymore. I survived, in body and spirit, and I’m not alone anymore. I will be okay.

My love is here, and we can make the universe a better place together.

I pull a small segment from my soul in a way I haven’t used in many, many years. Just some mostly-blank anima, fitted with a control shard and ready to make something move. I place it inside my little bird friend, because there’s no longer a monster to take the soul away.

“Hug,” I order, and everything is finally alright.