Scene 1

The Empress drifts down the Palace steps, surrounded by a heavy guard. She remains graceful, but is clearly struggling to maintain her composure as she takes in the destruction of the Temple. The Reaper travels with her, sharp eyes scanning the crowd for trouble, ready to dart back into the safety of the Palace at a moment’s notice. The Wheel stands triumphant above the crowd on the Temple steps, revelling in the victory he thinks he has won.

“Ahh, Empress – finally you grace us with your presence. Is this what it takes for you to listen to your people? Countless citizens struggle to survive down here, while you and your cohort enjoy all the comfort and convenience that a stockpile of Pearlescence can offer. Well now, perhaps, you see – we are more than just plankton to be swept aside.”

“So it’s Pearlescence you want?” Hisses The Reaper. “I can give you Pearlescence – if you help me to get it first. The Beasts from the Depths – they carry an abundance of it! Help me get it, and I can give you all the Pearlescence you could ever want.”

A crab raises himself above the crowd, supported on the fins of his companions around him. “So you’ll listen to our demands? You’ll give up your hold on the Pearlescence and share it out, equally?”

“Well yeeesss, once the Beast is tamed there will be more than enough to go around. For me, for you, for all of us.”

“More false promises!” Shouts The Wheel. “We didn’t do this only to be given more tasks – share out your Pearlescence, grant it to us now, or suffer the consequences.” The anglerfish grinds a crumbling Temple brick under his fin.

“No! No more violence,” the crab pleads, turning his eyes on the anglerfish and the crowd. “We wanted equality – but we didn’t want this,” he gestures to the destruction with one claw, then turns back to The Reaper. “We will cease our violence. But we need to know we can trust what you say. I propose a Council – a Council of the people, chosen by us, to take control of Spiral’s resources and keep them in the fins, and claws, and tentacles of the people, where they belong.” Cheers of agreement rise up from the crab’s friends around him.

“A Council?” The Wheel scoffs. “You would keep us in oppression for even longer – we cannot wait for a Council to be established, and your leaders - The Empress, The Reaper, The Hierophant – they cannot be trusted and they must fall!” The Wheel pauses and looks back over the Temple, then adds with a grin full of gleaming teeth, “If they have not already fallen…”

A clownfish races up the Temple steps, stopping just short of The Wheel. “So who should we trust? You? You are no better than them – I see it in your eyes. You told us our leaders were corrupt, so we followed you - followed you to violence and death. Now you seek to put yourself in charge. You taught us to see the real dangers beyond what our leaders told us. And now there is a Beast at our doorstep and my cousin, The Fool, is one of only a few who could see what the real danger was!”

From elsewhere in the crowd, a stonefish swims into view. “This clownfish is right. None of you – not Empress, not Reaper, not Wheel – have shown us that you know what’s best for us. You have kept us in oppression, yes, but also distracted us with this bickering when there are mortal threats to us, to the whole city, crawling closer with every minute.” The stonefish swims in a loop to face the crowd. “So I put it to you, all of you – choose your leader. Do not follow them blindly, but think, choose what you believe to be the right course of action and choose a leader whose aims align with your own.”

A murmuring discussion rushes through the crowd – who to follow, what to do? Who deserves their loyalty? The Wheel, The Empress, The Reaper? The High Priestess, or the memory of the Hierophant? The Magician or The Fool? This stonefish? The crowd is tensed for action, filled with anger and fear, but are unsure how to direct it.

Before the crowd reaches a decision, Administrator Finn, a sea-squirrel like many of the prominent members of the Trades, comes hurrying down the Palace steps, a bundle of paperwork in their arms. ”Yes, choose your leaders,” they say in agreement, “and I strongly advise you do not choose The Reaper!”

The Reaper hisses at this betrayal, and Finn steps carefully around to keep the Imperial Guard between them.

“The Wheel’s crimes are evident, duping you all into violence for his own ends – but The Reaper, too can’t be trusted at all! I have here documents,” they frantically wave some of the papers above their head, “documents which reveal The Reaper’s true plans - to tame the Beast and take its Pearlescence, yes, but not to share it out equally! To share some, in an empty gesture, but to hoard most of it and, ultimately, to use its power to take control of the Imperial Throne!”

The Reaper hisses again and lunges around the guards at Finn. “Where did you get those!? It’s lies, all of it!” The guards draw their weapons, looking to The Empress for orders.

A lobster, a new voice from the crowd, cries out. “The Reaper and The Wheel have both done us wrong. This is our city, not theirs – they must pay for their crimes!”

“Yes, take the city back!” cries the stonefish.

“Make them pay!” shouts the clownfish.

With this the crowd is spurred to action. The crab calls out a final plea, “No, wait, no more violence!” But the crowd has already made up its mind. The Imperial Guard draw back around The Empress and Finn, pulling them away to the relative safety of the Palace, but leaving The Reaper exposed and at the mercy of the crowd. The tide angry citizens engulfs them.

A separate faction of the crowd surges up the Temple steps towards The Wheel. But before they can get to him, the rubble stirs behind him. A lone survivor, a vampire squid, lashes out from the ruins of the Temple, and catches the angler fish with a hooked tentacle. The anglerfish bares its needle-sharp teeth and lunges at the squid. The squid ducks, feints, and suckerpunches the anglerfish in the jaw. The squid’s loyal dogfish darts out from the front of the crowd and tackles The Wheel to the ground.

The vampire squid lunges forwards again and wraps its tentacles around the anglerfish. The surge of the crowd reaches them, then, and the fate of The Wheel is sealed.

As quickly as it started, it is over. The targets of the city’s anger lie broken in the streets.

“What now?” Someone asks in the silence that follows.

Scene 2

Outside the city, at the edge of the Depths, a myriad tentacled forms writhe and squirm their way towards the trio of The Fool, The Magician, and their squid companion. As the tentacles close around them, The Magician sends sparks flying from his staff, while the Fool swings their sword at each nearest tentacle. The squid hangs back, their own tentacles far too small to deal damage to the Beasts, but they call out warnings and advice to their companions.

“Fool, on your left! Magician, up there – a weak spot, I think! An eye! Keep moving – they are large, but they are slow to turn if they miss!” The Magician, the golden koi, casts a respectful look back at the squid.

The three fight valiantly, but still the mass of appendages draws tighter around them.

“There are too many; we have to retreat. Up there, to the top of that hill – a vantage point! Take the high ground!”

“They are too many, too close. There’s no way out!”

“Then you will not fight them alone.” A bold mantis shrimp and a wily octopus crest the hill behind the heroes.

“We would be grateful for your help,” says The Fool, “But…is this all the city sends?”

“The city sends no one,” replies the octopus, “we come on our own will.”

“Then let us pray to the Spirits that it is enough.”

“We have seen how they fight, now,” says the squid, “we know that they can be hurt. Do you have weapons?”

“I do,” says the mantis shrimp.

“And I need none,” says the octopus, flexing her strong tentacles.

As the Beasts approach once more, the squid quickly coordinates the assault. With such a small force, tactics are what will save them. The armoured mantis uses its flashy colours to distract the Beasts and draw their attacks. The octopus is even stronger than it looks and delivers strong blows which send the Beasts reeling. The Fool fights with determination, backed up by the quick wit and sharp eyes of the squid. The Magician throws sparks from afar, taunting the Beasts with their speed and agility.

But still, it is not enough. There are simply too many Beasts and the party is overwhelmed. Squid and Fool beat a hasty retreat, while The Magician and octopus slip away from the fray. The mantis shrimp bravely holds back the blows of the Beasts but, alone, are no match. Their bold armour cracks and chips under the incessant blows.

Before they go down, they let loose a shrill whistle which echoes through the water. With a mighty roar, an enormous moray eel crests the hill behind them. It swoops in and snatches up the shrimp before they fall. Breathless, the shrimp calls out: “Stay strong, my friends – this fight may be my last. But I go now back to the city. I will bring you reinforcements if it is the last thing I do.”

Scene 3

“The Beast!” Says the clownfish. “My cousin left to fight it, and I have not heard from them since. It threatens us all – whatever decision we make for the future of Spiral, it will not have a future if we do not deal with the Beast!”

“But how? Can we fight it? What can we do?”

At that moment, a shadow falls across the city square. The Beast? No, a giant moray eel with a mantis shrimp astride its back. The shrimp’s carapace armour gleams a million colours in the sunlight that filters down from above, but as they get closer the cracks and dents in their armour are clear. They are heavily injured.

With a roar the eel drops them down amongst the onlookers. They stand, trembling. The lobster offers them a claw, which they accept, gratefully.

With ragged breath, the mantis shrimp somehow manages to make themself heard; the crowd listens. “Not Beast - Beasts. There are many of them, too many. We – we fought bravely, but we are not enough. Whatever disputes you still have must wait. This is a threat bigger than any of us. And we – we need your help. All of you.” The shrimp sweeps their gaze across the crowd. They cough and stagger, their legs almost giving way. “I cannot go on. But you…you must. Face the Beasts together, it is the only way. Put aside your differences, for all our sakes. For Spiral…”

You abandon the expended form of the mantis shrimp and hop into a new host. The Wheel may be dead, but you use your narrative sense to locate someone who was close to them, a firm believer in the cause: a viperfish.

The crowd sits in sombre silence as the mantis shrimp collapses in the lobster’s claws. Such a brave and mighty warrior, slain by the Beasts. For so long they had simply been rumour, legend, vague warnings. Now the reality of the situation sinks in and it is all far too real.

“Beasts, yes. Even now, omens of its approach manifest.” A shark, The High Priestess, is suddenly visible at a balcony of one of Spiral’s towers. “The Spirits have spoken to me once more. As usual, they do not agree – but they show me three ways forward.

“One: there is a ritual. I have been shown it: a ritual which will banish the Beasts back to where they came – but it comes at a terrible cost. It will take the last of our Pearlescence, and the sacrifice of the guardian Spirit of Spiral. The terrible forces it would unleash are impossible to predict. A few of us may survive, but Spiral would be lost. But we are surely not all there is in the world, and we would save the seas and lands beyond from the ravaging Beasts.

“Two: we convince the Beasts to pass us by. Even all of Spiral is of little concern to them. Let them take the seas and lands beyond for their own, and in exchange, we save ourselves.

“Three: the hardest path to tread. The Beast is a formidable foe, but perhaps, perhaps, if we were to work together, all of us, the Temple, the Trades, the Palace, and all of the citizenry…and perhaps even one of the Beasts themselves…perhaps that would be enough to destroy them.

“And that is all I know. If there is another way, I have not seen it. And I cannot tell you which path to follow. That is your decision to make. But make it soon – for look, look to the sky, and you will see the omen of the Beasts’ approach.”

The sunlight which, moments ago, had been bright, now fades. The dark disk of the moon eats into the sun, casting the world below into shadow.

A viperfish, a close ally of The Wheel, approaches the Imperial Guard and The Empress. The guard ready their weapons, but the viperfish drifts calmly to a halt in front of them. “Empress – we may have had our differences, and there is still much to be said. But there are greater, more urgent things at stake now. Let us work together. Send the Imperial Guard, and I will send my revolutionaries. We cannot defeat this threat if we are divided.”

“You speak wisely, viperfish.” The Empress replies. “I hesitate to trust you, but what else can I do? I can see that you care for Spiral and its people as much as I do. Regardless of what we think of each other, there can be no doubt that the Beasts are a threat to all. Guards – open the armoury. We face this foe together.”

“To arms!” Cries the stonefish to the crowd beyond. As quickly as can be done, a force is assembled, and as the last light fades behind the moon, they leave the city to face the Beasts.

As the forces leave, the crab approaches The Empress to discuss the matter of the Council. Administrator Finn is also invited into the Palace, as potentially the most trustworthy member of the Trades now living.

Scene 4

Just before the last light fades, the forces of Spiral emerge from the city and rush to stand by the side of The Fool and The Magician. Imperial Guard, converted Wheel militia, and even the last few Temple acolytes – merfolk from all walks of life. The Fool is overjoyed. “The mantis shrimp, they did it! You’re here at last!”

“Not soon enough,” says The Magician. “They are strong, and so close to Spiral now. And I don’t like how dark it’s getting…”

As they say that, the world is finally plunged into darkness. The Beasts can no longer be seen, but they can be heard: a writhing, screeching, slithering sound – and with it, just the occasional flash of tooth, claw or eye. Terrified cries ring out from the assembled forces of Spiral.

Then, a spark in the darkness. A spark which flickers, flares, grows larger and brighter until it is blinding. A solitary stingray floats between the merfolk and the Beasts, a radiant ball of pure Pearlescence burning in front of them, casting the scene into harsh relief. The Beasts shriek and back away from the light, which flares again – brighter, brighter.

The skin of the Beasts nearest to it bubbles and cracks, and a roiling smoke fills the water. It billows and boils in the extraordinary radiance, tearing away at the skin and the flesh of the Beasts. The Beasts retreat from the blazing sphere, tentacles withdrawn; now only a single, huge maw is visible at the edge of the sphere’s light.

“Who are you!?” The stingray stands defiant in the light and shouts the question at the Beasts, though their skin, too, is burned by the radiance.

“Who are you?” The question echoes back, whispered and re-echoed a thousand times over from the unseen mouths of the Beasts. The maw in front of the light splits wide, vertical rows of thousands of teeth unfurling and yawning wide. A jaw unhinged, the maw gapes further and further, far beyond natural limits – if there was ever anything natural about the Beasts in the first place. Only pitch darkness can be seen within, despite the brightness of the burning Pearlescence.

Then, a figure emerges into the light. She is dwarfed by the size of the Beasts, as tall only as any of the merfolk. She walks forward to stand a few metres in front of the stingray. Her eyes glow pure white.

When the figure speaks, it is with a thousand whispered voices, deafening in their multitudes. “We are Beasts.”

The stingray stands their ground. “Why are you here?”

“We hunger.”

“Are you no more than mindless animals? Why are you here?”

“We –“ The light fades from the figure’s eyes, and she looks at the stingray as if seeing them for the first time. When she speaks again, it is with just a single voice. “Have you forgotten so much? When the world was young, the Spirits created us. Not as monsters, but as…custodians. We gave the world its shape; defined its edges and told the Spirits what it contained.

“And the Spirits, they gifted you merfolk with Pearlescence. The means to reshape your world by calling on us, though you did not know it. Your empire grew vast and prosperous, and we were drawn to your Pearlescence. We did not intend it, but when we touched it, we changed and grew hungry.” For a moment, the figure’s eyes flash white again.

“So you took it away, the Pearlescence. You used it more carefully and in moderation. But though we hungered, you made offerings to the Spirits, and in turn they soothed us – calmed the fire and the hunger that grew inside us. Your empire was large, and you were diligent. It was enough.

“Until, one day, it wasn’t. Look at your empire now: just one small city. And you have forgotten your ways. You forget your duties to the Spirits, and to us.”

“Nonsense!” A Temple acolyte springs forward, forgetting her fear in her indignation. “We keep to the scriptures! We have always been diligent!”

The Beast-figure shakes her head. “But you do forget. You forget why you do those things, and if you do not know the meaning behind them then they become worthless – or worse, you do harm to your city because you are so caught up in your scriptures that you fail to see what needs to be done.

“And so we have risen again. And this time you are weak, and you will not survive.”

“So is that what you want?” Asks the stingray, “our destruction?”

“No…no. Not all of us. But we each must act according to our natures. And as the Spirits made us, so we shall be, and we cannot change that – for without our natures, we are nothing, and without Pearlescence, we will die.” There is sadness and regret in her voice.

“And after we are gone? What then?”

The figure looks up towards the sky, where an immense whirlpool churns the ocean’s surface. The gigantic maw behind her reaches up almost to touch it. “Then, when your city has nothing left, we will go to the world beyond.” A few tentacles reach hungrily up towards the surface.

The Magician steps forward. “The world beyond? Why not go straight there? You have said yourself, our city is small. Why bother? Leave us be and we shall trouble you no further.”

The Beast-figure narrows her eyes at The Magician. “You would sacrifice an entire world to save yourselves?

“Well, it’s either that or be eaten by you. I see no other option.”

”Ah, I see. So you seek to keep the city for yourself, sibling?”

A tentacle whips out from the mass behind the figure, searing in the Pearlescent light, and rakes across The Magician’s skin with razor-sharp barbs.

The Magician screams. “Aaaaargh! Aaaah! Aha! Ah…oh ho ho, ahahaha… ahhhhh….”

They shed their golden koi-skin like a coat, and an inky blackness oozes out, growing and expanding, unfurling, uncoiling to many times their original size. A hundred masked faces smile down on the assembled merfolk. “Oh hahaha… Well, that was fun while it lasted. The trick’s up now, I suppose – but dare I say, a little too late.” Every one of the masks grins just a little bit wider. “I’ve more than enough Pearlescence in my pockets to leave this place,” they say, as they start drifting upwards towards the whirlpool, “and make it big in the world beyond!”

Two seconds remain.

Emissary looms over the fallen Mega. “To be killed by the Sundering is a gift, dear sibling. A gift which I will deprive you of.” Finally, the Artefact flashes past the moon.

Emissary draws their fist back—

One second.

In the last millisecond, the Artefact punches through the atmosphere. There’s no sound—there’s no time for there to be sound. There is the Artefact, and there is light.

And then…it stops. A hundred metres above the city square, the alien object stands still, wreathed in a fireball of shock-compressed air, frozen in time. Directly beneath it stands a figure, surrounded by slowly-rotating rings of glowing light.

“No. Not again – never again.” They adjust their stance, and the rings slow, stop, and turn back, rotating with increasing speed in the opposite direction. The Artefact begins moving again, but up, not down—it moves, slowly at first but gaining velocity, back up into the sky. On the ground, the destroyed buildings begin to repair themselves, the rubble and debris setting itself back into undamaged storefronts. Time reverses.

The figure looks around at everyone. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

One hundred and fifty-six seconds remain. The Artefact hurtles through space, just inside the orbit of Mars around the sun.

Five of the six new heroes begin to get their bearings. Core, however, is stricken by panic – every movement they make pulls rocks up from the ground or sends them flying, and they soon find themselves isolated on a rocky island as the stone around them begins to glow with the heat of rising magma. Overcharger and Remix rush to their aid, trying to calm them down.

“Listen up!” Shouts Chronologist, “We have two and a half minutes until an alien artefact destroys the world. We have the power to stop it, but we need a plan.”

Mega stands up from here they were tending to their sibling, and strides over to Chronologist. Mega glances at Core, then back to Chronologist. “What’s it made of, do you think? Rock? Metal?”

“Metal, probably – Core could destroy it, you mean? They can barely control their power right now.”

“We don’t need finesse. We just need damage.”

“The Artefact is travelling pretty fast – you’ll need some help getting up to speed.”

“Then give it to me.”

“I have another task. Remix! Take my powers. And I’ll need Mega’s, while you’re at it.”

“You got it.” Remix shuffles the powers across, swapping a spectral energy from Mega into Chronologist, and from Chronologist into themself.

“What’s the plan, Chronologist?”

“I’m going to deal with Emissary. I’m not sure what will happen, but hopefully it’ll make your lives a lot easier.” With that, Chronologist conjures time-rings around themself. The rings flare, spin up – then slow down. Chronologist’s movements also slow – slower and slower, until they stop entirely…and then, they vanish. Mega’s sibling vanishes too.

“What? What happened?” Mega looks around, confused.

“I’m not sure…but I don’t think we have time to worry about it. Whether they’re here or not, we still have that to worry about,” Forcemaster points up at the sky. “Even if you destroy it, that will still leave debris,” they add, “We’ll need some way to protect the civilians here, even if we destroy the object.”

“You’re right. Sounds like a job for you, then.”

Forcemaster experimentally projects a small barrier in front of themself. “Right – I’ll do what I can.”

Mega drifts over to Core and lifts them out from their steadily growing crater of magma. A few rocks and clumps of magma come with them, but their effect on the earth is limited by distance. The vertical distance does nothing to quell their panic, though. Mega’s strong arms hold them tight in an effort to stop them flailing.

“You’re going up there?” Asks Remix. “I can’t feel Chronologist anymore, so I guess I have a slot free. Here – you’ll need this.” They reach out towards Forcemaster and pull a spectral force out of them, shuffling it into Mega. After a couple of flickering tries, Mega flashes a spherical field around them and Core – a bubble of air to keep them breathing.

There’s a shout from the crowd of onlookers as they scatter and back away…from nothing at all. The crowd looks confused for a second, then resumes their more general mild panic.

“Hum█▄s, hear ▀e! S█▄n you █▄▄▀ be freed of this mor▄▄▀ █▄█▄. ▄▀██ planet has been ██▄▄████▄▄, and the S▄ndering is ▄▄██▄▀██. ▄▄██▄▀███▄▀█▄▀█████” A voice crackles from…nowhere? Then, suddenly, Emissary flickers into existence, only to vanish again immediately.

“What the fuck did Chronologist do?”

“Whatever it is, you still need to deal with the Artefact.

“Right – we stick to the plan. Remix – deal with it. I will be back.” Mega takes off into the sky.

Two minutes remain. Thirty-six million kilometres lie between the Artefact and its target.

Remix settles into a meditative pose, casting their attention out towards Mega. “They’ll need my help to reach the Artefact in time. Fortunately,” they say, with a smile “time is something I can provide. Uh, I hope. As long as whatever Chronologist did doesn’t interfere with me using their powers. I’ll help here if I can, but this will take most of my attention.”

The other heroes nod and move to surround Emi██ary. Except, they don’t because ███▄▀█ isn’t here. The wolf-like shadow-creature ██▄▀███▄ in and out of █▄▄██▄▀███ repeatedly. It vanishes, then reappears suddenly. Forcemaster tries their best to shepherd it, but the minute they ▄██▄▀███▄▀ a perimeter, Emissary ██▄▀███▄█▄▄▀ outside of it and a random building starts collapsing. Overcharger targets them when they appear, redirecting short bursts of energy into Remix.

—

Up in the sky, Mega powers upwards, holding Core tight against them. Two sets of glowing rings matching those around Chronologist manifest around Mega and their air-bubble: one to time-amplify the effect of their powers and another to correct their own subjective experience of time. To reach the speed required to intercept the Artefact would take literal months of constant acceleration at the limit of Mega’s capabilities.

And so time is distorted, pulled almost to breaking-point in two directions. One way to condense those months into the mere minutes they have, and the other way, too, so that Mega and Core themselves do not have to live through those subjective months alone on their flight.

Mega does not know this. All they know is that they are rocketing into space, and they trust in Chronologist to give them what they need. They feel themselves accelerating faster and faster; bursting through the cloud layer, past airplanes, and out into space. Past twinkling satellites and onwards still. The moon is visibly getting closer in the starry expanse, the Earth a blue marble behind them – and then, suddenly, they are past the moon too – and further still, further from the Earth than any human has ever been.

One minute remains. The Earth appears as just a speck in the distance as the Artefact speeds inexorably towards it.

Back on Earth, the battle rages. Emissary ██▄▀███▄███ to the edge of ▄▄▀ █▄██▄█. ██▄▀█ wreck the side of a chemical processing plant, which bursts into flame. The fire spreads quickly, hits a gas line. █▄▀███▄███▄▀█ does something to the pipeline, and ▄▀ █▄██ gas, and fire mix – explosions echo down the streets. The heroes’ focus is split. While dealing with ▄██▄▀███▄▀█▄▀███▄▀███▄████▄

Mega realises that they will not merely have to reach the Artefact, but match its speed in the opposite direction if they are to do anything to it. So they slow down, now, turning, pointing back towards the distant Earth, and begin their acceleration back the way they came as the Artefact, already travelling at ludicrous speed, closes distance behind them.

Glancing back, they see it now. Even with the time dilation rippling around them, it still seems to be gaining at terrifying speed. Carefully adjusting their course, they shuffle a still-shaking Core into one hand, getting ready to grab hold of the surface of the Artefact with the other.

And suddenly, they have it. Or, almost, as feet and hand scrabble for purchase on the angular metallic surface. Their arm is nearly wrenched from its socket as the Artefact pulls them faster still, finally matching its velocity.

Mega places Core down on the object and extends a small bubble of air to them. Mega takes a step back.

Core, terrified, looks up at them. “Wh-what – what are you doing!”

“There are eight billion people down there on that planet,” Says Mega, “and we’re the only ones who can save them. And I know you, Core – from before all this, I mean. Even then, I always admired you. Your selflessness, the way you always went out of your way to help people. Even people you didn’t know. I saw you were panicking, but I knew you’d want to save them, all of them, as much as I did, if not more. So I took you up here, and hoped that… well, that you and I could do something.”

“I…I’m sorry, Mega. I…I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t…I mean, look at this!” They gesture at the alien technology they stand on. “Look at us!” Hurtling through the void of space – two people. Superpowered, yes, but not two minutes ago they were…just people. They still are. “I do want to help – I really do, I just…” Core pauses, quiet for a moment. The flaring energies around them quell, just a little. “You know what scared me the most? That I wouldn’t be able to help. That if I couldn’t get a grip on myself, I wouldn’t be able to do anything – or worse, that I’d hurt someone.”

“No one up here but us, now. If you can rip this thing apart – you’ll save the lives of every single person down there. And I’m here – to help you.”

The forces around Core still further, and a steely resolve glints in their eye. “I know.” They look around them, adjust their stance. They hold a hand out, palm down, as if somehow feeling the weight and the heat of the artefact beneath them. “You’d better stand back, I think. I…I don’t know if I’m coming out of this alive.”

“Core, I-“

“No. Don’t say anything else. My mind is made up. And I’m going to save the world, if it’s the last thing I do.”

An aura flares around Core, a glowing mantle as they finally, deliberately, bring their powers under control. They hold their arms out, and clap their hands together in front of them. A glowing line appears on the Artefact, bisecting it front to back. Core separates their hands slightly, and clenches their fists as if grabbing on to something in mid-air. Slowly, they draw their hands apart, and pieces of Artefact peel back, like citrus rind.

Mega hefts the pieces clear as the come loose, sending them spinning away on trajectories that will miss the Earth. As Core continues their task, explosions rock the Artefact. Eventually, the armour plates are stripped away – but the core of the Artefact remains, barely-contained energies flickering just under its surface.

“You’d better stand back for this one.” Core tells Mega.

Mega nods, and retreats to a safe distance.

Using a scrap of metal, reformed into a piercing weapon, glowing white-hot at the tip, Core pierces the centre of the Artefact and channels the last of their power into it. They vanish, in a white-hot fireball.

Though diminished and slowed, what remains of the Artefact will still deal damage to the city when it lands, even if the Earth as a whole is no longer in danger. Mega takes off once more, to reach Earth before the debris does, and warn the others.

—

A light flares in the sky, high above the Earth. ██▄███▄▀█ slows. ▄▀███▄███▄▀███▄███▄ – snarl, growl. The Artefact – did Mega and Core succeed?

▄▄██▄▀█████▄████▄▀███▄▀███▄███▄██▄███▄▀███▄█▄▀███▄█

With a little over ten seconds remaining, Mega returns to the Earth, slamming into the ground, Remix’s borrowed time-powers dissipating finally. They quickly take stock: although there was ██▄█▄▄▀ to contend with, ▀███▄███▄█▄▀█ appears to be over, the other heroes looking bruised but alive. Except Remix who, somehow, looks ancient – their body ravaged by time in the mere minute that Mega was absent.

“I gave you a lot of time,” they say, wheezing, shrugging, “it had to come from somewhere. So I gave you mine.”

Mega nods, appreciative. Understands the sacrifice. But there’s no time to say much now. “It’s done,” they say, “the Artefact is destroyed. There’s some debris incoming, though – we have to protect the city.”

Barely glancing at the ██▄▀███▄ already wrought here, they take off again, grabbing civilians and herding them to safety as glowing chunks of metal begin to enter the atmosphere above.

Ten seconds. The Earth stands out from the field of stars behind it now, though it is still no larger than the tip of a pencil held at arm’s length; the moon is a pin-prick of light less than a hand-span away.

Forcemaster coordinates with Overcharger, setting up forcefields to deflect the falling debris away from the survivors. Forcemaster pushes themself to their limits, drawing on Overcharger’s gift of power to project huge slabs of forcefield while Remix gets them within range of where they need to be.

Remix is fatigued, spent, but they do what they can, still, holding some fragments of debris at bay for just a second or two to let people escape.

The debris is falling thick and fast, though, and they can only do so much at once. They have to act quickly, switching fields at a moment’s notice. They aren’t strong enough. They make mistakes. They tilt the field at the wrong angle, or don’t make it wide enough. Molten metal flattens portions of the city around them. Some people survive; others die.

Mega finally registers that ██▄▀███▄▀; their sibling is, in fact, alive and well.

Two.

Mega swoops down and hugs their sibling. They carry with them a deep sorrow – the loss of Core, their friend. But a friend who will be remembered as a saviour of Earth.

Forcemaster stares around them at the pock-marked city. To one side: a group of civilians, lightly injured but safe. Smiling, laughing – nervously, scared, the adrenaline turning to relief as they realise that they have survived. On the other side: the broken remains of houses, businesses, parks. The final screams of strangers echo in Forcemaster’s ears. They saved some – but they could not save them all.

Remix, aged, powers spent, collapses into Overcharger’s arms.

One.

The last remnants of the Artefact burn up in the atmosphere.

The Earth is saved.

Scene 1

Before them lies an empty world – the sky above, dark and unfathomable; the land below, featureless and flat. All around them is a shadowy dimness. Only the Pearl in their hands is bright and warm.

The Priestess is weeping. Her tears are diamonds, hard and sharp. “Now my voice is my own, and my own, alone. Now the voice of the Winged Goddess is forever gone, for together we have slain Her. And now with my own voice, I name her Nvaiye the Winged, the Weeping Moon.”

With her voice that sails through the world, to the four corners and back again, the Priestess names the relics of a bygone age.

The Youth: Iiskana the Victor, the One who Soars.

The Priestess: Tethnde the Traitor, the Mournful Voice.

The Quick Brown Fox: Siio the Questioner, the Haunting Doubt.

And as Tethnde the Traitor names, they gain wings. Hers are those of a great swan, moonlit white. The Youth’s are made of the brightest sunlight, radiating warmth. The Quick Brown Fox’s are brown, like those of a sparrow.

Together they look upon the new world in wonder. They have robbed the world of moon and day, the Sun rests in their very hands. They now atone for the sacrilege they committed. They now atone for the sins of the gods they have slain.

Unfolding her mighty wings, Iiskana the Victor takes the Pearl and soars through heaven. As she places it at one end of the earth and hurls it upwards, she shouts:

“Mphellii, I name you, the Light Reborn!” As the Sun shoots across the high heavens, Iiskana follows like an arrow. The dim shadow parts at their crossing, the world brightens in their lights.

As she flies, Iiskana names - the Sky above, the Land below, the Sea that mirrors… Names she once forgot. Names she regained. Memories of her bygone world.

As she names, the sky becomes blue, the land fertile, the sea a reflection of the unfathomable sky.

All manners of things begin to appear. Mountains rise, sculpted, proud. Lakes form, polished, refined. Rivers flow, free, through all the lands. Gigantic misty forms - half-born leviathans and shadowy behemoths - raise their heads at the four corners of the world. Nimble furry creatures dart around the woodlands, exploring with large bright eyes. And with day comes night - the shadows close behind the trail of light, always cloaking half of the world in darkness, where sinister shades dance and laugh -

But no, this cannot be, decrees Iiskana the Victor. “The prophecy has been fulfilled. The Eternal Day shall return.” As her voice booms through the world, her fellow gods glide to her sides.

“How can sunlight shine upon the world evenly?” Asks Siio, looking up at the ball of light that was flung across the heavens. “Does it need to be?”

Iiskana nods. “The Great Clam is dead. We have slain it. The Eternal Day shall return.”

Tethnde contemplates, tracing her memories - memories of those more than her, older than her, older than this world - all the way back to when the Pearl was born.

“Yon, the Pearl of Light, came after Hul, the Great Clam, Devourer of Light. But the Light came before them both. The Pearl is a vessel, the Light is still trapped within.” Her voice rings bright and clear.

With strength and grace, the young gods chase after the Pearl, carried by their great wings. Together, they captured it and held it within their hands for one last time -

“Name. And your will shall be done.” Tethnde looks Iiskana in the eyes and smiles. This is the power they have usurped, the power they have claimed. To name, to will, reality itself.

And Iiskana names.

“Mphelli, reborn.”

The Pearl shatters in their hands as the light that once filled the heavens explodes to flood the world. Every corner of the dark sky is gilded and lit up. Stars, the ancient arrows, fade away in the bright Light and the Abyss becomes hidden.

So the Eternal Day begins.

Scene 2

Under the Eternal Day, Tethnde sings. She is singing of an old world, a world this world shall mirror, but also surpass. As the winds carry her winged words to the corners of the earth, Iiskana sails with them.

She marvels at the world beneath them. All their creations - conscious or unconscious - fill her with love and wonder.

She sees a beach of white sand, upon which a lonely white nautilus shell weeps in the sea wind. She gives it company, even though she does not understand its song. This changes its harmony to a gentler tune.

She sees great winged beasts make lairs in the highest mountains, carving their homes in hard obsidian. As she flies past them, they race her with leathery wings whiter than snow, she laughs.

She sees tiny animals gather in the forests, fluffy tails wagging like a dance, and she knows that is their language.

She follows the river that flows from the mountain, through the forest, into bountiful plains yet uninhabited, and sees how empty it is. A single willow tree stands by its side, its long branches trying to catch the water that will not slow.

“Here,” her voice continues where Tethnde’s song ends, “people will once again call home.”

“And by the forest,” follows the smiling Siio, who appeared behind Iiskana, “where plentiful quarries live, we shall again dwell.”

The sharp-eyed Iiskana reveals to her fellow gods the best sites for settlements and there they ordained those sites, Tethnde for the human, Siio the fox.

As the world become ready, the gods welcome their people.

The gods journey to the sea and there an island gleam like a sun in the waves. There they call the names of the people they once left behind. There they call the names of the people they promised to deliver.

And their calls are answered.

Through the reflected light humans and foxes walk out, side by side. There he is, father of a goddess, Doites the Chief. There she is, mother of a goddess, Hyeska the Warrior. There he is, once-challenger of a goddess, Kthuntes the Rival. But even as all the people walked through and Iiskana and Siio have ceased their summonings, Tethnde the Mournful continued on.

“Vonden, father of a traitor; Floria, mother of a traitor; Mnes, mentor of a traitor; Beivya and Beivyan, twin scouts that raced the summer wind - ”

Her voice resounds through the world, weaving this world together with the one that was left behind, and the world fell silent for her.

As her tears, drops of diamonds, fell upon the mirrored earth, there, figures start to appear, with limbs of reflections and bodies of sea mist. And slowly, slowly, gilded by the everlasting omnipresent Light, their forms are fixed, their bodies become human, and their eyes open. Vonden, father of Tethnde. Floria, mother of Tethnde. Mnes, Healer-Mentor to the village. Beivya and Beivyan, twin scouts who ran faster than summer wind. And all the others. All those who were lost. All those who were left behind.

Siio jumps down amongst the people, nuzzling them curiously. It speaks to them of the new world, of villages and rivers and forests. Of home. Iiskana holds out her hand to Tethnde, who takes it. And as they join their minds together, the island shakes, and rises to become a ship that shall carry the people across the sea.

The three gods lead their people on one final journey. Iiskana teaches them the ways of this land, the habits of beasts and plants. Siio queries them with no answers but giggles. Tethnde and them trade tales of the past. Doites and Hyeska listen to them attentively, quietly learning, evaluating. Kthuntes absorbs the knowledge, never wanting to be behind. Vonden and Floria tend to the need of the people, keeping track of time when there is no longer night. Beivya and Beivyan scout the land in front, always wanting to see things with their own eyes first, before hearing about them. Phai the Hatted Red Fox leads the march of the foxes, chimes hanging from its large conch hat jingling all the way. Zhethnti the Restless Grey Fox darts from shadow to shadow, always alert.

On their journey, Tethnde recreates Ronvi the Loyal Hound that once accompanied her through her journeys, while Iiskana gifted Siio a Lazy Dog, Thunta. Siio flew around it three time before it landed and jumped over it with a laugh. Wearily Zhethnti regards them both, as Phai walks boldly beside them.

As the people arrived at the site by the river, the gods proclaim to the humans: “Here, Liinus shall rise and be joyful.” And joyful the people are, as their cheers rise up to meet the clouds.

Siio leads its foxes away, to their own promised land. There it gives all the foxes wings, for such would be the right thing to do. Each gains wings in accordance to their colours. As Siio’s are of sparrows, brown and patterned, Phai’s are those of parrot’s, vibrant red, and Zhethnti’s are those of a hooded crow.

The villages grow under the tender gaze of their gods, beneath the Eternal Day.

Scene 3-0

As the gods looked down from above the clouds and saw all they have created, for a moment, they feel content. Time loses meaning in the unchanging Light and their immortality.

“Is this it?” Asks Siio, its rich brown tail curled around its body, as it rests upon a gilded cloud.

Strangely, the question is difficult to answer. Have they not done all there is to be done? Have they not atoned for the sins of their gods and themselves? Have they not created a world beautiful and bountiful for their people?

The goddesses are silent, for they could not answer their friend’s question.

At last, Iiskana speaks, her voice uncertain for the first time, since she left the Abyss: “Let us descend once more, to the land we shaped and rule, and see with our own eyes whether we have completed our task.”

And so, the gods descend once more, to the land they shaped and rule, to see with their own eyes whether they have completed their task.

Scene 3-1

Much time has passed since the people were given this land. Houses they have built, with stones and wood. The land they have tamed, cut into distinct shapes: here a field, there a pasture, there a herb garden. But as Iiskana came down to earth, she sees that the village is empty and quiet. A time of labour has passed. The people have retreated to the shades of their houses, away from the eternal light.

With ease, the sharp-eyed goddess finds the home of Doites and Hyeska, her mortal parents, leaders of their tribe. The house is no larger than any other in the village, no flowing banner bright, no symbols painted with fragrant plant. But by the door leans several long wooden shafts, their heads cut smooth - her mother’s work.

The goddess glides over, golden wings spread. As she lands by the threshold, the stone touched by her feet burns red.

“Have you forgotten something?” Siio’s lilting voice reaches her upon a faint warm breeze.

Iiskana of the bright eyes does not look back. She pushes the door open, leaving behind trails of gold where her fingertips touched. The door closes behind her.

Within the simple cabin, Doites the Chief and Hyeska his Warrior-Spouse sit by the hearth. A basket of herb stands beside Doites, the warm fragrance filling the room. He sorts through them with patience. Hyeska is humming a simple tune, while she trims feathers for fletchings. They are not surprised by Iiskana’s arrival, sudden though it may be. Together, they smile and nod at their immortal daughter with composed pride.

“Welcome home.”

Home.

Is this what she has forgotten?

“Mother, mother, where is father?”

Upon the high seat, clad in silver fur, her mother would pat her on the head.

“He has gone to explore the world, to find the tribes none knew existed, to learn their languages and their ways. And now, daughter mine, who sits beside me in the absence of our Chief, what would you tell our people tomorrow, should they hunt or should they preserve what they already possess?”

“Father, father, what have you seen?”

Returning with tales, clad in golden dawn, her father would ruffle her golden hair.

“I have seen a land where the trees rise up to the clouds and its people live within their leafy crowns, under the familiar Moon but foreign stars. And now, show me what you have learned from your mother, her ways with spear and bow and war.”

“Mother, father, what will I become? A warrior, an explorer, or a chief like both of you?”

“You may become whatever you wish, dear daughter. We have passed on to you our knowledge and skills. You see further than your father and are nimbler than your mother. You can name the constellations faster than both of us, and your arrows are always true to their marks.”

“But always beware, dear daughter. From fallen feathers we craft our arrows, but we must never aim an arrow at a bird, lest we incur the Goddess’ grief. Never forget where your power comes from - knowledge, tradition, favour of the Goddess, trust of your fellow men.”

Father taught her how to live off the gifts of the land.

She shaped this land. She made the things that live and dictated the ways they live.

Mother taught her how to defend herself against the dangers of the land.

She rules this land. She is immortal; her touch burns so hot she can forge bronze and steel with her bare hands.

“Will you join us?” Asks Hyeska, holding towards her a piece of flint and some feathers.

Iiskana hesitates, almost wanting to sit down, if not for her great wings, folded back to not knock into the walls. She shakes her head. “Thank you, but I will not. ‘Tis not the place of a goddess to steal the toils of men.”

As she steps out of the lowly cabin, leaving behind a golden footprint, Iiskana extends her great and glorious wings. Her mortal parents watch her, as she disappears into the high clouds.

“We love you, despite all -”

Scene 3-2

Gently, Tethnde lands by the riverside willow. Softly, she walks through the quiet village. She feels a touch to her ankle and finds Siio’s fluffy tail brushing past her. The little winged fox - a god, a friend - cocks its head at her. The last time they were here - in a different world, a different village - it told her to turn back.

“Have you forgotten something?” Asks the little fox.

The goddess comes before the home of Vonden and Floria, the mortal parents that gave birth to her. The white wood door opens to the lightest touch of her hand.

“Welcome,” says her father, who is tending the hearth, “goddess of our own, light of my life.”

“Welcome…” Weeps her mother, who rushes over to embrace her, startled by how tall she now stands, and how strong her wings.

Tethnde returns the smile, the hug and the tears of sorrow and joy. The woman in her arms, she once saw her die.

She sits down next to them, answering 0ne by one their questions about where she has been and how she has been. She could not help but smile, like when she was still a child.

She is still young. Yet she is old.

It used to delight the Priestess to watch the Youth practice archery. Little girls they both were, with round cheeks and large bright eyes. Yet to the Priestess the Youth seemed tall and mature when she held her stance, back straight as a sapling reaching for the sun. She loved how she could make the arrows fly, so true and swift, like birds of prey. She loved more the sunlight reflected in her eyes.

“Can I be like you? Can I make arrows fly, like birds of prey, true and swift?”

“Of course you can. From father and mother I have acquired this skill; to you I now pass it on. You, too, can be an archer. Together we shall craft arrows with feathers. Together we shall release them like birds of prey.”

The Priestess was always the first to welcome the Youth as she returned from her wanderings. As the moon rises behind her, she would run across the flowery fields to welcome her friend, whose golden hair burns in the last glimmer of sunset.

“You are injured again!”

“I see you have already brought your herbs. The blue-petaled ones for the pain, the purple-leaved ones for cleansing?”

“Well done. Blue for the pain, purple for cleansing, mix juice of roots to speed up healing…”

Is this what is lacking?

None of those things would have happened, if they had the power of gods, if they lived above the reproach of time and transience. There is no need to craft arrows, when with a breath they can summon all the birds in the sky with beaks sharper than obsidian. There is no need to blend herbs, when they are immortals, and with a word they can raise the dead and slay the living. All they have is the weight of the world upon them. All they have is the boundless sky and fathomless sea to sustain with their powers. Toils, perhaps, but never again mortal labours.

Mundane labours shared by friend and families. Shared by people.

The goddess examines the cosy little house around her. There is a pile of firewood, chopped up by her father’s axe. There is stew bubbling on the hearth, its smell one she remembers from youth. There is a half-finished winter coat her mother left on the stool, still plain, uncoloured.

She could make the fire burn forever, no need to feed, immortal like her. She could take away their hunger, just like she no longer feels hunger. She could clad them in silk and silver for summer, fur and gold for winter.

Will that be right?

“What troubles you, dear daughter?”

“Tell me, father, mother, my first mentors, my people - is this world enough? What more should we do?”

“We are content, are we not, Vonden?” Her mother smiles, “But why is it, that you, dear daughter, seem so lost? Has your journey not yet reached its end? Where are you still reaching towards?”

The goddess contemplated the words of her mortal mother, until a revelation dawned upon her.

Their journey has reached its end. They are only lost, for they have forgotten how to land.

Before Tethnde departs to announce her understanding to her fellow gods, her father stops her.

“Take this, goddess of our blood. From eons forgotten it was passed down, yet to us it has no use.”

It is a sheathed sword, leather worn black, carvings levelled. Nameless. Featureless. Tethnde draws it, but there is no blade attached to the hilt. Instead, a song bleeds out of the heavy scabbard.

Wordless. Nameless. A song that they are all forced to sing along with, that makes their bones ache and their hearts bleed - with not blood but the song.

At that moment, a diamond tear fall from her eye and the cycle of worlds become clear to Tethnde, the Mournful Voice. As the ancient song fills her lungs, she tastes the stream of remorse that reaches back into the Abyss above, the world left behind, and all the worlds before them.

Nvaiye, who took the Voice of the Song, after It was forgotten by the world It sang into existence.

Sacrilege.

Sacrifice.

Power and eternity and responsibility gained from death.

Power and eternity and responsibility that must forever be carried. Sins unforgiven. Fears unquenched.

The Song, last breath of ▅▆▇▃, sworn to right the wrongs of Its ▂▃█.

How could you let go of something handed down to you by gods who loved you so? How could you forsake your duties, when you can never know if the world will again need you?

How could you forsake your gods? (The life you took, the blood on your tongue -)

But it is not so, Tethnde knows. This is where they failed before. This is where she shall right the final wrong. This is where she shall accept - for herself, her friends, and all the gods - that, as even the strongest birds must land, all things must end.

The world is complete, its people happy. The only lack is now them - the gods that has yet to return home.

Only then, can the gods be happy, and free.

“Thank you, father, but take the sword and treasure it well. Within its scabbard dwells the dying breath of a god long dead, a last reminder of how even gods must die.”

Tethnde opens her wings under the ever bright sky and ascends once more.

The song now resides in her heart as well, and its pain forever woven in her Voice.

Scene 3-3

Once again, the gods assemble on the clouds.

“You have descended once more, to the land we shaped and rule. What have you seen with your own eyes?” Speaks Siio, the Questioner.

Tethnde answers without hesitation. “I have seen a world complete, within a cycle ever incomplete.”

“What cycle do you speak of, Tethnde?” Asks Iiskana.

“This cycle. This is what Nvaiye, the Winged Goddess, once suffered through. The creation, the distant care, the removal from her own world, the usurpation.” If only She would speak to her people more, speak to her more. Perhaps, there would have been other ways for the previous world to end. “And the cycle continues with us, here, now.”

“Is that what you want?” Asks the fox, its honeyed eyes sharp.

The goddesses shake their heads. “It doesn’t have to continue with us, here, now. It can end, with us, here, now.” Proclaims Iiskana.

“How?”

If only She would - or if only She could. Tethnde laughs, lowly, sorrowfully. How simple it is, and yet how terrifying.

“Through sacrifice.” Tethnde speaks, each word a struggle, each syllable a war with the infinitely regressing lore of yore. “By giving up what we have usurped, what we have claimed, what we have made our own and used to make this world - the power, the eternity, the responsibility. By surrendering ourselves to the rules of time, to what we have already created, and call it well done.”

She looks over to her friend, for support, for courage, for a smile to fend against the fear and sorrow that rises like a flood.

Her friend is silent, her face unreadable.

“…Iiskana?”

At last the Victor nods, her voice firm: “Together, we can give up this power. The prophecy has been fulfilled and the tale of heroes is over. We can go home now.” She looks over to the fox god: “What says you, Siio?”

It smiles again, in its curious manner, then stretches its lithe body.

“Sounds like the right thing to do. But I want to keep those.” Its tail wags towards its wings.

Tethnde laughs and pats the fox on its head, and say it can certainly keep its wings. Iiskana smiles too, though her eyes are dark as storm clouds.

Scene 4

The gods descend from the bright heavens to earth. Their people - humans, foxes - gather around them in awe. The gods have decided upon the time of their final sacrifice. But before that, they wish to hear their people’s wants and desires for one last time. They have closed their wings and again walk upon the ground like their people. They speak to them, face to face, with no Light framing their figures and no winds to carry their decrees to the edges of earth. They tell their people of their decision and explain their reasonings. They have decided that they shall be frank and not aloft, unlike the gods before. They speak to their people, as friends, daughters, students, teachers. As equals - almost.

They comfort the people who are worried about a future without gods. They promise a bright future to all. Tethnde promises the wisdom of ages, the knowledge of the past that shall be passed on. Siio promises forgetfulness and doubt, there shall always be more than what is already known, new mysteries to be discovered, new trials to overcomes. Iiskana promises the knowledge of this world of life and hunting, protection from all danger, peace for all.

They promise and intend to keep them, but no longer as gods but as mortals. They believe they can.

As the west wind rises, Tethnde was the first to rise up. In the salty sea air, she opens her arms to the tearful wind. Her power dwindles.

As the east wind rushes through, Siio rides it. In the green scent of woodland shadows and pines, it flies past everyone, quick and nimble, asking its favourite question: “Is what once was always right?” Its divinity dims.

As a gale charges across the land, Iiskana shoots up into the sky, soaring, tasting the fresh crisp air of the heights… piercing the heavens like an arrow.

With a thunderous roar the sky cracks. With a silver flash, golden rain pours down, hissing like snakes as it cuts through the cold air. The earth shakes in echo. With a great crash the mirror island shatters - the volcano erupts, pumping out molden gold. The flood of gold parts the sea and like a hungry beast climbs onto earth.

Iiskana dives into the eruption. The molten gold consumes her whole and from within she lets of a heart-wrenching scream that sunders the clouds.

But as the stream parts, the goddess does not fall. Instead, bathed in gold, she shines like the Sun. As she regains her posture, looking upon herself as if this is the first time she has seen herself truly, her wings are bight and blazing.

As she receives the rain as if it was an offering, her wings grow, expanding so much they start to lose their original shape, each blade of feather extending into a sword.

Tethnde’s cry resounds through the storm: “Iiskana… What have you done? Will you violate your promise to your fellow gods and your people? Will you renounce the end we have promised to deliver?”

Slowly, Iiskana turns towards her. “Why then, do you cling to godhood still, Tethnde? Will you not renounce the sky and land amongst your people? Will you not join them as a mortal?”

Without waiting for a response, she glides down before the stunned people. Through thunder, through storms, through volcanoes and earthquakes, she speaks:

“Bow down in praise, mortals of my world. Bow down in awe, weakling born to die. Behold, the birth of your Queen. Behold, the crowning of ME! I am Iiskana, Her Inexorable Radiance, She who Shattered the Sun; Reclaimer and Forever Rightful Owner of Light, the Voice who Named the Future, Lady of Flames and Glory, Huntress of the World, Queen of the Sea and Land and Sky.

“I am - The Eternal Day.”

Slowly, the people bow. Led by Doites the Chief and Hyeska his Warrior-Wife, led by the mortal parents of the immortal goddess, the people bend their knees.

Looking up at the Lady of Flame and Glory, Hyeska speaks, her voice shaking: “Daughter, Goddess, here we are. Here I am. And here - my sacrifice.”

With a beat of Her wings, Her Inexorable Radiance reaches her. Suspended in mid air, She holds out Her hands to the mortal woman knelt upon the ground. As She cups her face in Her hands, tracing her wrinkles with her glowing fingertips, as if to smooth them, tears roll down Hyeska’s cheeks.

“Weep no more, Hyeska the Marked. From this day on you shall be known as the mother of The Eternal Day, the one who birthed all blessings. From this day on you shall walk forever with the Light upon your brows, and until death finds you, the light in your eyes shall never dim.”

The Goddess speaks and Her words are true. Lines of golden light blossoms under Her fingers, growing from Hyeska’s temples into a brilliant sigil above her brows.

Hyeska grasps in pain, yet endures her daughter’s touch with grace.

“We love you.” Says the mother.

“I know,” smiles the Queen, “and your love shall be reward-”

“We ask no forgiveness.”

The words of the Goddess is cut short by Her mother’s knife that plunged into Her chest, sable flint upon which golden blood now flows.

The wind dies. The rain halts. The sea and land and sky stand still in silence as their Queen lowers Her head to look upon Her wound. As the Goddess is still in shock, Hyeska the Warrior pulls Her down, until her feet touches the ground. Then the mortal woman rises and drives the knife all the way through, until even the hilt is buried in the Goddess’ body.

Iiskana the Victor takes a step back. And then another.

As the hot, bloody knife - still firmly held in Hyeska’s hand - is pulled out, blood explodes from the wound.

The blood is boiling hot and as it washes over Hyeska, her skin burns and melts, marking her forever, as the mother who betrayed her child, the one who warred against her own blood.

Iiskana screams in pain and rage. The wind rises, the rain crashes down. Face twisted in anger, hands clutching the gaping wound in Her chest, the Goddess retreats into the sky once more.

“You insolent wretch! How dare you - How could you?!” Seeing how tall Hyeska stands, with Doites now by her side, and how the people have raised their heads, watching Her, measuring, judging, the Queen hisses: “Bow! Avert your gaze! Have you not been taught? Look not at the Sun! Bow!”

“Never has a man bowed to another,” shouts Doites, the Chief, “never should a man bow to another. Will you truly abandon all that you were, daughter mine?”

Narrowing Her golden eyes, Iiskana smiles, her smile as sharp as broken obsedian.

“Traitors. Traitors, all of you.”

The rain is suddenly so much hotter, the molten gold burns with the wrath of the Lady of Flame and Glory, burning all those it touches. The pained screams of the people rise like waves. They cower, curling up like infants.

Tethnde the Mournful weeps at the atrocity committed by the one who she once knew as a friend and raises her voice to the heavens. As her cry is carried through the sky, to the edges of the earth and sea and back again, the sky weeps with her, cold tears mingling with the golden rain, cooling it as it falls. The hiss of the rains - fire and water, heat and cold - fills the world.

Her Inexorable Radiance smirks. “Let’s see who lasts longer, shall we, Tethnde? Is it your grief, or my fury?” Tethnde could not answer her, for her mind in on the sky, the rain, the people, and she could not afford to lose focus. Iiskana knows this well, and leaves her to her futile endeavour.

From within the golden rain, the Goddess pulls out a spear with shaft of light and head of molten gold, and hurls it towards Hyeska. So has the Goddess judged. So has the sentenced been carried out, by spears like thunder. Hyeska the Warrior dashes out of the trajectory of the first. The spear lands in the ground and explodes, scattering the people. Three more follows. Blinded by blood and light, the aged mortal can flee no more. The darkness of death has caught up with her. The wolf pack that cannot be outran has caught up with her.

All there is, is light.

In the distance, someone screams. A weight falls upon her, knocking her to the ground. The weight is soft, wet with something warm and thick. The smell of metal and burnt flesh fill her nostrils. A sickening feeling rises in her stomach.

Sight returns last.

On the ground Hyeska lies, blood soaked. The spears of light dissolve before her eyes, melting into the warm and heavy rain of gold, leaving behind the body of the one slain, of the one who took her place.

Doites, the Chief.

“No, no, this can’t be - no, love, please! The fault was mine, the sin mine -” In grief and rage, Hyeska wails, her composure shattered.

“Such is the end of all who opposes me,” Decrees the Lady of Flame and Glory, “such was the first death. Shall there be more? Dare any of you, in foolish hubris, again challenge your God?”

“Challenge, you say?” A youthful voice rises against the gales, drawing the Goddess’ eyes away from Her weeping mother. Kthuntes the Rival notches an arrow to his long bow. “Shall we spar again? Let me test your strength, and you mine. One cannot advance without being tested. One cannot prove one's strength, without a worthy rival.”

The Huntress of the World lets out a cold, harsh laught. “A worthy rival? You? Your foolishness astounds me, mortal. There is no rival worthy of me. There is nothing in this world that rivals me!”

“You won’t accept my challenge, so will you surrender instead?” Kthuntes laughs, his eyes ablaze, “Then come down to earth once more and I shall accept your surrender. ”

With one beat of Her gigantic wings, Her Inexorable Radiance shoots out seven feathers of light, as long and slender as swords. The Rival dodges them, zigzagging between the brilliant damnations, a like a swallow dodging raindrops.

“How long do you think you can run for, mortal? Running for your life, a rat, a fawn… Is this what you call a challenge?” Another beat, another seven swords buried into the wounded earth. “Coward! Is this all that you have? What a mockery you make out of the title of ‘Rival’!”

Another seven feathers miss their mark, and the Rival turns with a notched arrow. “I am strong of heart. I am resolute. I do not fear death or the unknown. Here I am, and here, my vow of rivalry.” As he releases the string, the white-wood arrow cuts through the storm and finds its mark.

The Queen scoffs as she knocks the arrow aside with her wings, swords and shield in one. “Pathetic. I am the prophesied one. I have taken the journey and completed the divine quest. I have conquered the quest-giver Herself, slain her and taken her place. I am strong of heart. I am resolute. Death or the unknown poses no threat to me. I am beyond death, the world is shaped by my very own thoughts. You ignorant pest. You cannot even comprehend what it is you dared to challenge in your folly!”

And yet, despite all, Kthuntes runs on, fights on, aiming and shooting his feeble arrows towards She Who Shattered the Sun. The Goddess chases him in rage, a lioness vexed by a fly she cannot catch.

Just as the Huntress dives down, ready to catch the insolent mortal for a final blow, a spear strikes Her in the back.

The tip melts away in the light of Her wings, yet it gives Kthuntes the time to regain his footings and get out of Her range.

“Did you think our fight was over?”

And there Hyeska stands, tall and proud, body burned, covered in the blood of her family, both golden and red.

“He is not the only one who will oppose you. I have not fallen yet. You have yet to destroy me, yet my life and love you have slain.”

So they fight on. Mortals against god, with no hope of winning and yet they strive on. But such a fight cannot last forever. Soon, their stamina runs dry and their steps slow. The spears of fire sears their back, as they fail to outrun their trajectories completely. The sprays of molten gold weighs on them, dragging them down into the mud. All the while, the Victor shines and blazes, growing ever more powerful. Gold and light gather all around her, a whirlwind, a flowing suit of armour, upon which the cycles of the worlds are shown. Worlds give birth to heroes. Heroes become gods. Gods shape and give rise to new worlds. Radiant. Glorious. Everlasting.

Despite the overwhelming odds, those capable of fighting have returned. The humans led by Vonden, the foxes Phai. Joining Kthuntes and Hyeska, they brace their doom, against a goddess.

“Youth, Iiskana, Goddess!” Vonden calls, as he raises the ancient sheathed sword his family has carried for generations, “friend of my daughter, daughter of the tribe, return to us!”

“Speak no more of such folly.” Is the response. “‘Tis you all that should return to me. Have you lost your mind, turning against your own god? Have you been blinded so much, that you cannot see that away from me there is only the darkness of death? I am The Eternal Day. I am the Last Goddess, the Eternity to End the Everlasting. You will not understand me. You cannot see what I, your god, can see. And though your short-sightedness may be forgiven, your hubris cannot be. Bow and beg. Beg for damnation. And then, perhaps, you will gain salvation.”

“No, Goddess Bright. We cannot see what you see. But one thing I know. My daughter has cleansed my eyes and opened my ears.

“Even gods have their endings. Even gods must/ die.”

He draws the bladeless sword, and the Song bleeds out of the dark scabbard. A Song older than this world, older than the last world, so old its presence brings a pang the the chest of those that hears it. As it resonates through the bones of the people, of the earth, in its everdying breath the truth is told:

Even gods have their endings. Even gods must die.

Such is the cycle that cannot be halted.

“NO!!!” The Golden Goddess writhes in pain, as her golden armour is warped around her. Upon it the cycles of the worlds are shown. Gods becoming beasts. Heroes slaying their gods. In lonely apotheosis they reiterate the sins of the past. Sanguine. Tear-stained. Everlasting.

“This is the cycle I have sworn to - I will not - I will not be defeated by -”

As the Goddess struggles, her wings broken in the strangling armour, arrows and swords of gold rains down.

Dashing across the broken land, bow drawn, arrow notched, Kthuntes races through the rain of weapons, disregarding the splash of gold as they hit the ground behind him. As he bends backward to let another spear of light fly past, he releases the arrow.

Through the storm, it flies true and straight. As the flint arrow head meets the golden armour, the armour shatter and the arrow finds its mark - the Goddess’ open wound.

The Huntress falls.

Her wings are broken, shattered and melting like her armour. Her human form is broken, twisted and bleeding in a way that would be fatal for a mortal. No one dares approach. The world waits in silence.

She draws breath again.

Breath in. The world darkens.

Breath out. Light returns.

With every breath the Lady’s broken form burns hotter and brighter, Her veins are lit up, Her heart a pump of pure gold, until at last Her body catches fire and burns; the fire so brilliant it makes the world a dim shadow in comparison.

The people stand at a distance, dumbfounded. They do not understand what they see.

Breath in.

Breath out.

The human form is no longer, burnt away completely. But the light remains. The fire remains. Not just remain but grows and glows and expands and devours.

Breath in. The world darkens. The Light of the world floods towards the blinding mass of light that was once Iiskana the Victor. Darkness creeps in where the Light has left empty.

Breath out. The Light is released. Immediately it rushes towards every corner of the world, hunting down the shadows that tried to take its place, reconquering its territory.

The mass of Light rises. Higher, higher, but not further. It pulses, grows, glows. A globe. A hole. A sun. A goddess.

“Admirable. Yes.” The Voice Who Named the Future speaks, from everywhere and nowhere at once, both male and female, both human and beastial, one and many. “But did you really think you could defeat me? Did you, even for a moment, believe you have won? Admirable. Yes. Foolish. More so. For the last time, you have looked upon the face of your god. Nevermore.”

Lightning abounds and the sea roars. The erupting gold has finally crept upon earth: an invasion, from which an army emerges. Wolves of pure gold, packs, thousands, millions. Together they raise their heads and howl.

The people hold up their weapons, but their hearts are uncertain. For what do they now fight for, if there is no possibility of victory? How can they defeat a lifeless and deathless army, when they themselves are mortal? How can they defeat the Victor, when She has abandoned ever her form, a pulsating mass of Light she now is?

They pray to Tethnde and see that she is weeping. They pray to Siio and see that it has returned - wings flapping hard in the chaotic wind, a bow of silver in its mouth. Towards Tethnde it flies, with a desperation unbefitting its languid nature.

Beivyan and Beivya the Twin Scout returns as well; to the people they pass on Siio’s words: “Brace for the final affront.”

So they do. Between the river and the rising mountain cliff, choosing this as their choke point, humans and foxes line up into formations, led by the heroic Hyeska and Kthuntes, Vonden and Phai. Armed with bows and spears, claws and teeth, they brace for the flood. Hundred against millions.

“Shields!”

And a shield wall is created. The shields of the people are wooden and round, not enough to form a wall. The wolves tear at their legs, racing at them in attempts to knock them over. But the humans stand adamant, enduring the pain with valour and resolution.

“Spear!”

Those behind them attack the wolves with spears, obsidian spearheads burying deep into the body of the golden beasts.

The beasts roar, as though they are lifeless, they know pain. But they attacks renew in vigour.

Arrows rain down upon them as the archers behind the formation releases their bow strings. Winged foxes gather together and drop down large stones that will crush the golden wolves into the molten juice from which they rose.

The wolf packs come in like tides of the sea, wearing the people down. Never once has a cliff won against the sea. The people know this, yet they stand firm.

Above them, the sky brightens and darkens to the Reclaimer of Light’s breathing. Is this what day and night means in this new world? How much time has passed? The people cannot tell. Minutes. Hours. Years. Only the pulsating mass of Light remains constant, eternal.

At long last, the cliff crumbles against the tide. Too many humans have fallen, their shield burnt, their bodies lost beneath the gold. The battle dissolves into complete chaos.

The remaining survivors gather together, as close as they could, holding ground when the ground is flooding with gold. Hyeska and Kthuntes, Vonden and Phai, Beivyan and Beivya, the deft Zhethnti.

“Memory-less beasts, return to the oblivion that you come from! Sully not the land of the living!”

With a final battle cry, they war with the beasts. Hyeska with her spear she crafted with her own hands. Kthuntes with a sword that glints brilliantly against the gold. Vonden with his spear and shield. Phai holding in its mouth an obsidian sword formed out of the very volcano that gave birth to the wolf packs. Beivyan and Beivya, bows and arrows. Zhethnti leads a group of foxes, raining down slabs upon the wingless beasts.

Above the raging battle, Tethnde and Siio contemplate, side by side. Tethnde grips the bow tightly, yet in her hand there is no arrow.

“What have I forgotten?” Asks Tethnde.

“Much, I would assume.” Answers Siio.

“What should I remember?” Asks Tethnde.

“How the last goddess was slain.” Answers Siio.

“By this bow, that the Youth once held, and stars that are arrows, trap of the Hunter.”

“Yes. By this bow, that the Youth once held, and stars that are arrows, trap of the Hunter.”

Together, they look up at the sky. Cracked. Sundered. Shifting between light and dark with the Queen’s every breath.

“What more should I remember?” Asks Tethnde.

“That which would fill you with remorse.” Answers Siio.

“Then make me remember. I am doomed to remorse already.”

“I am a hunter, and it is my nature to make people forget. I am the Questioner, and it is my nature to question, not to answer. Once, and once only can I give what is mine. Once, and once only, before my godhood rejects me and make me mortal once more.” The little fox looks Tethnde deeply in the eyes, and then smiles its curious little smile. “But I will do it for you and our people, for you are a good friends of mine, and it is the right thing to do.”

Tethnde holds out her hand, upon which Siio places its paw.

The divinity within it dwindles, and Tethnde sees.

Side by side, two girls sat under the riverside willow. One was teaching the other how to fashion arrows, what length to cut, how much to trim. The other was teaching the one how to blend herbs, which goes together, which would make poison.

As the other was focusing on her first arrow, carefully trimming the delicate edge of the snow-white feather, something soft dropped on her head. She turned to see the one grinning at her, and found a flower crown in her hair. Blue flowers, purple leaves, starry blossoms in between.

She laughed, pinning a long feather behind her friend’s ear.

Then, as her heart aches with remorse, Tethnde understands.

Silently, she raises her hand towards the broken sky. The cycle of day and night is made more real, the night darker, the day brighter, both longer. In the night sky - the darkness brought by the Light Herself - the Abyss shows its face, and the stars blink.

The Mournful Voice sings. A final song. A eulogy to godhood, to divinity, to the unstoppable cycle that she is about to break.

As she draws open the silver bow, and notches a single arrow, as her friend once did, as her friend taught her -

Breath in.

In darkness, taste the remorse of ten thousand eons.

Breath out.

In blinding light, remember the promises made and broken.

Breath in.

Sing, and feel the godhood burn up inside.

Then, release.

The stars of the Abyss light up. Even as the Light floods out once more to reclaim its kingdom, the stars shine through.

They are arrows.

As the arrow flies for its mark, like a bird of prey, swift and true, followed by starlights, as sharp as blades and as hard as diamonds, Tethnde falls.

As the last drop of divinity dries up, her wings dissolves like a dream, the last moonlight, never to be seen again. And from the heights she fall, free, mortal.

For the briefest moment, in the blinding Light, Iiskana’s face - the face of a human, of a maiden yet to learn of old age - can be seen. And there was fear. Was it for her, or was if for the net of stars that proclaims Her doom?

The arrows disappear into colossal globe of Light.

The pulsation halts.

The rain stops.

Silence.

The Light dwindles into the shape of a body.

It falls.

Scene 5

Before them lies a broken world – the sky above, cracked and dark; the land below, shattered and gold. All around them is a shadowy dimness.

Tethnde struggles to her feet. Siio was there to save her from certain death, its sparrow wings small but strong.

Iiskana was not as fortunate.

Around the broken body of the Last Goddess the people gathered. Her body is glowing, hot, bright. Slowly, slowly, she draws her ragged breaths. With each breath, Light bleeds out of her thousand wounds. Chained in starlight, drenched in blood, she does not rise again.

As Tethnde comes to kneel beside her, all stars fade away to reveal one single arrow. Shaft smooth, fletching white.

“Ha… Did you really think… Did you, for a moment… believe you have won?” Looking up at the one who fell her, the Last Goddess smirks, coughing up Light as she struggles to speak. “I am… eternal. I am… the Cycle… I have become… ”

“Enough, Iiskana… please. It’s enough….”

“Crowns, thrones, blades… in darkness, whispers… in the night… I… always win, in - in the end -”

Bitter tears Tethnde weeps and as they drop upon Iiskana’s body, they evaporation away. They are diamonds no longer. Warm and salty, they are tears of a mortal.

“Iiskana… why…”

Iiskana laughs. Hollow, bitter, full of Light. “I… too, have seen the cycle. I have journeyed, across worlds, across time. Oft have I crossed the land, with… or without you. Sometimes I fail… Sometimes… My reward is another journey. Solitary… unknown. I am fearful… I slew a goddess without remorse, but not without fear. To advance. Always to advance. To what end? The endlessness of this quest… frightens me… endlessness of… cycle frightens me.” She tilts her heavy head to look at Kthuntes, the Rival, and laughs again, a puff of Light escapes her mouth. “Oh… how I fear both death and eternity.”

“I have bested you, after all.” Says the Kthuntes, Rival of a Goddess. Yet no joy comes to his voice.

“Not… not so fast,” The dying goddess grimaces, “I was still… the chosen. I saw the cycle, but could not believe… My faith was weak, or was it too strong? I did not believe… it could be broken. So I wished, to stop it. To end it, by being its end… by being the last god, the Eternal Day… If my reign… lasts… the cycle… would have stopped, right…?”

Even as she speaks, the Light within her dims, and your surrounding brightens.

“How could you… why were you so stupid!” Cries Tethnde, eyes red, face stained with tears, “Iiskana - you stupid - !”

“Huh… sorry.” Once more, the goddess looks up towards the sky. “Do you remember, Tethnde? I used to ask you… what would the Winged Goddess see, so high up in the sky… And you would say… she would see us, all of us, living happily, joyfully, and she, too… would be glad…”

“It’s fine now, Iiskana. Just, stop talking. I’ll… I’ll fix this, alright? We’ll fix this together.” Tethnde fumbles in her pocket, looking for herbs, bandages, something to stop the blood, the Light.

Yet the dying goddess merely shakes her head. “You know… the wings really suited you. But flower crowns more so…”

“Mother,” Iiskana calls, but she can no longer see. Her eyes, golden like the sun, always burning, are dim and unfocused. “I ask no forgiveness.”

Hyeska, tall and proud, replies stiffly, even as tears run down her cheeks. “And I will give none.”

Iiskana smiles, as if it was a blessing. And when she spoke again, her words are barely a whisper. “Siio…” Wisps of Light flies about her, deserting her form. “Take me… to the sky… one last time…”

The fox cocks its head, honeyed eyes deep and sorrowful. “Is this what you deserve?”

And Iiskana the Youth smiles. “The Sun I had become… a devourer of Light… and now I must return it…”

Solemnly, Siio the Ferryer nods.

So Iiskana passes into the Abyss of death, her form dissipating as the last Light leaves her, returning to the sky where it was promised to be.

So the heroes reached their endings, and the gods will not rise again.

Note: Scenes 1 and 2 are unchanged from the previous edition. Only scene 3 has been updated.

Scene 1

The children at Holly Hill Primary School wave goodbye to their parents, looking forward to an exciting day of fun and learning. Miss Peach says hello as they come in. Miss Peach is waiting for a parcel, with all the new books to read to the class, but the post hasn't come yet. She's starting to get worried. Angela the Postwoman is never late, and the post should be here already. Could something have happened to Angela? Miss Peach is worried.

Amy sees that Miss Peach is upset, and asks what's wrong.

“Angela the Postwoman should have come with our new books already. I'm worried that something has happened to her.”, Miss Peach says.

“Maybe she doesn't want to deliver post any more?”, Amy suggests. “It must get quite boring.”

Miss Peach shakes her head. “No, that can't be it. Angela loves her job. She gets to see the smiles on people's faces every day when they get the mail. Doesn't that sound nice? I can't just sit here and do nothing while Angela could be hurt. We'll have to go and find her.”

So Miss Peach and all the children (except Brian, who says he doesn't want to, throws a tantrum, and gets left at the school) go down into the village to look for Angela the Postwoman.

They check at Angela's house, but she can't be there. Angela's husband says she isn't home.

They look in the post office, but she can't be there. The post office isn't open.

They ask the lollipop man, but he hasn't seen her.

They ask a squirrel, who can see very far from up in its tree, but it hasn't seen her.

They ask a crow, who can see even further. It flies up and up and up, and it spots her in a field. What could Angela be doing in a field?

Miss Peach and the children thank the crow, and go to the field. Angela is covered in mud. Her legs are stuck in it all the way to the knees. The children grab her arms and they tug and they heave, and Pop! Angela comes out.

“Thank you!”, she says, “I don't know how I would have got out of there on my own. I was just delivering Farmer Schotty's mail, and I got stuck in the mud on the way. I'll have to be more careful next time.”

“Oh, and I have something for you too.”, she says, handing over the books. “Sorry they're a bit dirty.”

Miss Peach and the children wave goodbye to Angela, then head back to school. Now they have all the books they need, so they can start the lessons properly.

Scene 2

The first lesson is writing. The children practice their letters. Charlie's writing is very neat. Miss Peach is pleased.

“Well done, Charlie.”, she says, “You're doing very well. Maybe you can answer a question for me. How does language work?”

Charlie looks confused. Miss Peach tries to look encouraging.

“Um… You say things, and then people hear what you said.”, Charlie says hesitantly. This is an odd question. He isn't sure what Miss Peach means.

Miss Peach smiles at Charlie. She says “Yes, you say things, and then people understand what you said. They think things because of your words, but your words are just sounds. Isn't that odd? What does a sound like “Angela” have to do with the woman we just helped?”

Charlie looks even more confused. He doesn't think he's doing well in this lesson any more. Miss Peach tells the children to put away their books. Now it's time for PE.

Everyone goes outside to the sports field. Today they're playing tennis. Everyone is getting very excited as the games go on. Miss Peach is pleased that everyone is having so much fun. She has a question for the class.

“What is a sport?”, she asks. Lots of children put up their hands. “Tennis”, “Football”, “Cricket”, they say. Miss Peach asks differently: “Yes, these are all sports, but what is it that makes them sports? Is running a sport? Is chess a sport?”

Dana has a suggestion: “It's a game where you run around.”

Miss Peach asks “What about water polo?”. The children come up with more suggestions. Miss Peach keeps prompting them to think of more things. PE doesn't usually have this much thinking in it, but this is fun too.

The next lesson is arithmetic. The children are practicing times tables. Emily has a question for Miss Peach.

“Why does 6 times 6 have to be 36? Why can't it be 30 again? I think I want it to be 30. I like 30.”

“Excellent question!”, Miss Peach says. “Does anyone else know the answer?”

Fred puts his hand up. “The 6 times table goes up in sixes. 6 times 5 is 30, so 6 times 6 is 30 plus 6, so it's 36.”

Miss Peach thanks Fred for the answer. She starts to say that he'll be getting a gold star, but Emily rudely interrupts.

“But why can't 6 times 6 be 30 anyway? Maybe it doesn't want to go up in sixes. Maybe 30 plus 6 is 30. I say 6*6=30, so now it is. Who says Miss Peach gets to say what 6 times 6 is?”

Miss Peach was annoyed at being interrupted, but is enjoying where this conversation is going. Miss Peach asks Fred if he has an answer to that, and he doesn't. Miss Peach makes a suggestion herself.

“Of course, there's nothing to stop you saying that 6 times 6 is 30, but if you believe that, you aren't using “times” to mean the same thing as I am. Let's say that the sort of multiplication you're talking about, where 6 times 6 is 30, is called “Emilytiplication”, and the sort of multiplication I'm talking about”, she points at the times tables on the blackboard, “where 6 times 6 is 36 is called “Peachtiplication”. Both of these are valid functions if you know how to Emilytiply all the other numbers too, so we have to decide which one we want to use. The meanings of words like “times” are arbitrary, so the only way to tell which multiplication is best is to work out which is most useful. So, Emily, what makes Emilytiplication better than Peachtiplication?”

At this point, Miss Peach has an unusually intent look in her eyes. Emily is nervous. She thinks maybe she's digging herself into a hole and should stop. She also thinks it's far too late for that now.

“My multiplication is best”, she starts hesitantly, getting more confident as she speaks, “because it has more thirties in it, and 30 is my favourite number. Your multiplication only has 30 as 6 times 5 and 3 times 10 and—” she tails off, not quite sure what all the other factorisations of 30 are. “And anyway, my multiplication has all of those thirties too, and another one, so it's cooler.”

Miss Peach considers her reply for a while. Emily is hopeful that what she said is right. Miss Peach starts drawing rectangles of dots on the board. She starts talking about what multiplication really means. The children are only slightly confused. Miss Peach takes her grid of 6 by 6 dots off the blackboard and asks Emily if she can fit them in 30 boxes. Emily shuffles the dots around for a while then, frustrated but determined to prove that her multiplication is best, eats 6 of the dots and counts the rest. They taste like chocolate. Miss Peach congratulates her ingenuity.

Scene 3

Now it's time for Miss Peach to read to the class. The children are excited. Miss Peach is a wonderful storyteller.

She finds one of the books Angela delivered earlier, and settles down in the reading chair. The children gather around to listen. Miss Peach opens the book and smiles. This is one of her favourites.

“Once upon a time”, Miss Peach begins, “in a town named Spindle, in the Dreamscape of Jo, an aspiring writer, there lived some Muses. Muses are a strange sort of people who exist to create stories and inspire their human's creativity. In their world, stories are Vignettes which are places they can visit through doors in the Hub.”

At that, Miss Peach carries the whole class with her into the notebook she's reading from. Everyone ends up in a huge building with corridoors leading off in all directions. There are some people sitting on benches near the class. Once of them is a mermaid. In the corridors there are hundreds of doors in all manner of different styles.

“Here comes a Muse now, look. She's going to go into the Vignette Journey to help the hero complete the trial. Shall we follow and see what happens?”

The Muse walks through one of the doors and the class follow. They see the Muse taking on the form on the Priestess, before acting out the story in the Vignette. The children gaze in wonder at the beautiful tropical island. Miss Peach points out the Narrative running through this place and directing it, as well as the streams of Creative Juices that power and sustain it. They watch the Muse, as the Priestess, guide the Youth through their trials, taking advantage of their Muse powers and their Trope cards to direct the story where they want it to go. The story ends as the Youth and Priestess descend into the water, and Miss Peach and the class return to Hub. “Impressions like us can do things even outside our stories. I think it would help if I show you what happens to Journey next.”

So Miss Peach and the children wait a little while in Hub until serious looking Muses in business suits arrive carrying a big complicated machine into Journey. Once again, the class follows them in to see what happens. This time, instead of playing parts and helping write the story, they turn on the machine which trundles all over the Vignette and eats it right up, leaving a broken field of stone behind. The Journey Impressions all run away into Spindle, and the class follow them.

The Journey Impressions are very upset. They still exist though. Some of the children try to comfort them, though hugs wouldn't fix the destruction of their world.

Miss Peach continues the lesson.

“Even after Journey was destroyed, its Impressions kept going. They lived in Spindle for a while. They're just as fictional as us, but they were able to go on living without their story being told. In fact, Impressions are an important part of Muse society. When the Muses started to worry about a lack of Creative Juices in Dream, they started meeting to brainstorm solutions. The Impressions were there too, talking with the Muses about what was to be done.”

As Miss Peach talks, the class find themselves in a hall full of Muses and Impressions animatedly discussing Vignettes, trading Tropes and plotting what to do about the Great Fade. The children wander around for a while listening to the discussions. The general level of friendliness is exaggerated a bit relative to actual Brainstorms. Once everyone has had a chance to see what's happening, Miss Peach continues her narration.

“You may have heard already that there was one Vignette that the Muses hoped would not only help restore the Dreamscape and their powers, but also make Jo a success and finally bring them out of obscurity in the world outside of Dream. The Magnum Opus is meant to be Jo's greatest work, and when the Muses got into it, they found a distorted reflection of their own world. In the great underwater city of Spiral, nothing was exactly the same as what they knew, but major events in either world tended to influence the other. The Impressions of the Magnum Opus, despite being fictional, had great power over what happened in Spindle and were able to influence Jo, who isn't fictional at all. Even we, from a less important Vignette, are visiting the world outside it.”

“There's an even more direct way Muses and Impressions can influence the Mundane, or outside world.”, Miss Peach begins. The class leave the Exhibition Hall and end up in a small village with a pit in the ground in the middle. Miss Peach tells the story of the fight for control over the pit between the Academy, who wanted to be careful and make sure the machine in the pit wasn't used, and the Weather Station, who wanted to investigate where it would lead. Hyacinth nearly falls in, and gets a very stern telling off from a member of the Academy who's patrolling around the pit. Everyone forgets how upset they were about being fictional when they watch the huge Juice mutants battling the Muses. Eventually, the pit is opened and the Muses go in. Miss Peach invites the children to follow close behind, to see where the Muses have gone. They end up in the ocean of the Magnum Opus, but that's only a brief stop on the way through the whirlpool and into a very busy and wide room in a building. Stalls fill most of the space, selling posters and figurines. The crowds wandering around are dressed in lovely fancy costumes. Miss Peach warns the children to not wander off, because it's a very big place and it could take a long time to find someone here.

“Vignettes connect to each other through Transitions that the Muses use to move around between them, and we can too sometimes. The whirlpool we just went through was a very special Transition that goes out of the Dreamscape entirely. Now we, and the Muses who went through the pit, are in the Mundane, where Jo lives. Maybe we can find them somewhere nearby?” Miss Peach shows the children a picture of what Jo looks like so they can recognise them, and warns them again to be careful not to get lost.

Izzy is the first to find Jo, and leads them back to the class. “Where are your parents?” Jo asks, concerned.

“I am Izzy's teacher, Miss Peach.”, Miss Peach explains. “We're on a school trip. It has been very interesting so far.”

“A school trip to an anime convention?”, Jo exclaims, “My my. The most interesting field trip my class ever went on was to a farm. What are you all learning about here?”

“Actually”, she says, “we mostly came here to see you.” Miss Peach turns now to address the class. “You see how Izzy and I are able to interact with Jo, even though we are fictional and they aren't?”

Jo is looking extremely confused. Miss Peach continues. “Being fictional can't stop you having an impact on the real world if you just put your mind to it. Shall we see where the other Muses at the pit went?”

Before Jo gets a chance to demand an explanation, Miss Peach and the children are in a forest, near a gentle footpath, where some more of Spindle's Muses are trying to figure out this strange world. Miss Peach tells the children to stay out of the way while the muses meet Jo, and have a talk.

“After all that effort to open the pit, the Muses were finally able to talk directly with the person they had been inspiring with their art all their lives. Never think that you can't do something just because you're fictional. If the Muses can break through the bounds of their existence, so can you - if you put your minds to it.”

“None of this is to say that our normal lives at school are any less valuable than going on adventures in the Mundane, but it just goes to show that if we can influence Jo and other real people, we must be real ourselves.”

Miss Peach takes everyone back to Spindle to continue with the next part of the story. “Even while some Muses fought to escape Dream, others fought for power within it. Many of them were unhappy with the Academy's control, and had secret meetings among themselves to plan what to do about it.”

Miss Peach continues explaining a brief and somewhat sanitised history of the revolution and the destruction of the Academy. When she gets to the climax with fighting in the streets, some of the children want to join in. Miss Peach keeps a very close eye on them to make sure they stay safe.

“With the Academy gone, the revolutionary Muses rejoiced, but whatever the Academy had been doing recently, its aim had always been to protect Spindle from dangerous influences, which the Muses would still have to deal with. Concepts, which are archetypal characters from the Transcendental, had been building up power in Dream, some trying to take over from the Muses and Impressions who already lived here.”

The arrival of the Concepts into Dream, as well as the Muses and Impressions who fought alongside or against them, is yet another story Miss Peach tells. Juliette becomes worried about what would happen if the Concepts try to go through the pit and take over the Mundane too. Miss Peach admits she doesn't know what would happen, but points out that some of the Concepts are nice, so there's a lot they could do to help the Mundane as well. Some children are crying anyway. They are all feeling very emotional because this story has taken such a long time to tell that they're now late for nap time.

Once the story about the Concepts is done, Miss Peach takes everyone back to the classroom for a nap, while she keeps reading the notebook.

When the children wake up, Miss Peach asks the children how they're feeling about the idea of being fictional now. They're all still too worried about the Concepts to give much of a response. Miss Peach says that the story of Spindle isn't finished yet, and they should all write what they think happens next. Some of them are disappointed that Miss Peach won't be telling more of the story, but she encourages them to imagine what it would have been like, and write it down so they can share their ending with the class. Everyone takes their pencil and paper and gets to work. Once they're done, Miss Peach asks if anyone wants to tell their version of the ending.

Juliette goes first. She's still worried about the Concepts getting to the Mundane, so her story focuses on The Trickster getting through, and letting all the other concepts through as a cruel joke. They overpower the humans, doing things that aren't usually possible, and take over the world. It all ends up a horrible mess as the Concepts fight over what they're going to turn the Mundane into. She's sobbing by the end of the story, and Miss Peach has to hug her for a long time before she calms down.

Miss Peach asks if anyone has a nicer idea of what might happen next. Kieran reads out his story. He is also worried about the Concepts escaping, but in his version, all the Muses and all the Impressions and all the nice Concepts band together to stop it from happening. They go into the Magnum Opus and fix everything there, telling such an amazing story that the vignette becomes strong enough to plug up the hole to the mundane, like a bathtub. It ends with them all singing a song together. Kieran tries to get the class to sing along, but they don't know the lines or the tune.

Lyla tells her ending next. It's much shorter. She doesn't think that Kieran's ending is likely, because the Muses don't like each other so they wouldn't be able to all get along. In Lyla's story, Lyla goes to the Mundane and kills Jo, and all the Muses and Impressions die, but none of the Concepts are able to escape. Miss Peach is worried about Lyla. She asks her what's wrong, and what would make her consider such things.

Lyla doesn't answer.

She doesn't quite look upset.

She looks more resigned and determined.

Miss Peach doesn't think such a young child should be considering things like that.