“Now, this place is terribly drab, I should probably give it a little swap around, make it more palatable.”

Herah stood speechless, watching Norwe look around the room while their top pair of hands cupped their face, their middle pair crossed arms, and the bottom pair pointed and waved around as if the Maker was acting out just what to change. Their eyes sparkled as stars formed around the black-holes and fell into them.

No, no, no. the artist thought, unwilling to accept Norwe’s answer. Unable to make sense of her Maker calling themself the creator of her universe. That’s impossible.

“Ah my dear artist—”

Herah jolted as Norwe locked their twinkling eyes with her own.

“—impossibility is the drink of the foolish and limitations their food. I would never take you for a fool.”

Confused by their words but understanding the clear insult, the artist growled at Norwe and made to move forward. But Jeffery’s sketchy, flame-like will held Herah’s body in place.

Jeffery!? What the ash are you doing to me? the artist cursed, turning a glare onto her pencil.

Jeffery responded with a vision of themselves smacking her head with their eraser.

“I’m not a fucking idiot! You take that back!” Herah shouted, getting weird looks from Alex, Owen, and Max.

Jeffery tore themselves from the artist’s grip then twirled, slamming their eraser into the right side of her face.

THWUMP!

Spots blotted out Herah’s sight, a dull throb ringing through her skull as her head snapped leftward. Feeling something dislodged in her mouth, the artist spat out a tooth before green flames flared up her throat and burnt away the empty gap. Tooth restored and pain erased, Herah turned her fury onto her pencil.

“You want to go right now!? I’ll kick your ass all over this room!”

An image of the artist with her fists raised as if ready to brawl formed in her mind in response. Jeffery turned their tip to face their creator while bobbing in the air.

Herah growled again, popping her claws. Before another strike could be thrown, Max said something odd.

“Hey, please don’t fight right now. Sounds like Norwe is up to change the shitty wallpaper, and I’m sure we’d all like something not so yellow on the eyes.”

The artist paused, creased her brows, and turned a frown onto the liar, noticing as Owen did the same.

Norwe called you the liar, I think. Herah thought, unaware of the slight alteration to her perception of Max that had crept into her mind. That doesn’t matter right now.

The artist glanced around the room, her eyes only seeing padded white for every wall in the space.

“There’s no yellow wallpaper.”

The liar and Alex frowned back.

The soothsayer.

“What are you talking about, Herah?” Max asked.

Herah noticed the soothsayer looking around the room, his white, pupil-less eyes glaring between the walls and floor.

“Walls are white and padded, no wallpaper.” the artist responded, moving her eyes back to the liar while also noticing Owen turn a confused look in her direction.

The binder.

“I’m looking at rusted, iron walls.” the binder responded, taking his turn to get confused looks from Herah and Max. “What’re you two talking about?”

Merde! The ash is everyone on? There’s no iron or wallpaper or anything not padded in sight!

“Superposition.”

The artist turned her attention to Alex, the soothsayer now looking at Herah and their other two companions.

“What?”

Alex huffed air from pursed lips.

“Name’s not exactly accurate, but it’s the ability for something to maintain multiple separate states at the same time. We’re all observing different versions of the room. And will keep doing so until—” Alex turned his eyes towards Norwe, “—it’s truly observed.”

Filtering his words as mostly more gibberish, the artist found her attention drawn elsewhere. Able to smell things proper again, Herah caught a whiff of something sharp and powerful from the soothsayer.

Fear.

Alex reeked of fear so thick, the artist couldn’t make out his actual scent beneath it. Fully focusing on the soothsayer, Herah noticed Alex shaking and struggling to look at Norwe’s general direction. Confident and direct earlier, now the soothsayer stood afraid and reserved. Like Alex was unwilling to do anything which might get himself in trouble.

Rage filled the artist at that realization.

Lâche!

“Now now my dear artist, no need to feel so crude towards my soothsayer. His fears are his true masters, only to be disobeyed for his sister. And that’s just to an extent.”

Herah turned to look at Norwe, and somewhere in the middle of her motion, the room warped from disgusting and uncomfortable to cozy but bizarre.

Walls of smooth, chocolaty wood now enclosed the space, lined with mouths breathing balls of fire that hung suspended in the air illuminating the room. The fine texture of sand registered beneath her heels and toes, and looking down the artist found a deep, almost navy blue floor at her feet. It shifted and breathed at the slightest twitch from her lower digits. A glance up found a glass ceiling sat above, revealing some liquid darkness sliding across and above the room. And a long table made of cheese, cheddar by the smell of it, replaced all the previous furniture. Chairs of lava held Herah’s wide-eyed companions, none burning in their liquid seats, but all clearly confused by the sudden change.

As was the artist.

A soothing scent, like that of burning wood and blood filled Herah’s nostrils. A small hum, like a mother’s wordless song, drifted through the air. And said air felt hot and slightly humid, comfortable as far as the artist was concerned. Even with the odd sight, this room now felt hospitable and kind.

Herah knew not to trust it.

Grabbing Jeffery, the only one not moved, the artist levied the pencil’s point at Norwe—

Herah froze.

Where there once sat Norwe, with their six arms, space-like skin, and frankly genderless figure, now a silex with skin the color of dust and lead-like scales filled their seat. Sitting at the respectful height of eight-O, the silex dressed in a white t-shirt with the illegible symbols: Embrasse Moi en Français painted onto it while the table hid his legs. The silex grinned at the artist with black eyes littered with a collage of rainbow specks while a rattled-tail peaked through the backrest of their lava seat, resting atop their bald head.

Herah didn’t freeze because of the sudden appearance of this silex, but because of her recognition. Her mind flashed to the portrait that always sat on Rose’s desk and the grey Cendreux who served as one of its subjects.

That’s you! The memory of her final conversation with Rouge replayed fresh in her mind, specifically on how the teacher knew about Norwe. More like knew you.

“Ah yes, the tool. I know her well, artist.” The Maker’s voice sung from the silex’s throat as their grin stretched into a smile. “A rather fascinating entity, that one.”

The artist growled at Norwe, her anger rising and flame heating up as green jets burst from her nostrils.

“I will not stand for you disrespecting, Feu Rose!”

Norwe kept smiling as they leaned forward, resting their chin upon their left fist.

“My dear artist, the tool might look like one of you, but I had no hand in her creation.”

Herah frowned, her mind stuck on Norwe’s transformation and who or what Rose might be.

Can you change like them too, Feu Rose? Into what?

The artist shook her head and forced her focus towards her Maker and their blasphemy.

“That implies you had one in creating me.”

“As I said,” Norwe winked at Herah, “Creator of your universe.”

Her anger rose further, blue jets shooting from her nostrils and her lips retracting to bare her teeth.

“Impossible.”

Norwe shook their head.

“Your insistence on acting like a fool is fascinating, you might even trick me if you keep it up long enough.” The Maker gestured to an empty lava chair. “Now, please take a seat. There’s much to cover!”

The empty lava chair sat only four feet from the artist, the end of the table opposite Norwe.

Two heads to the table. Herah thought without realizing it. Then the artist did realize what crossed her mind. Why did I think that?

“Because you’re the only one still standing, my dear artist.”

Those words made Herah flinch. There was a directness to them, a sharpness that told the artist the word’s weren’t solely meant for herself. What more, there was praise and scorn behind them as well. For what and who exactly, Herah was unsure.

Glancing to the others, the artist noticed how Alex tapped his nose while shifting his eyes between Norwe and herself, but mostly keeping them to the Maker. Owen held his hat in his hands, crinkling it in his fist with his eyes to the table and his shoulders tensed. Max ran a hand through her hair, her eyes locked onto Herah as if the artist decided what happened next.

Two heads to the table.

And Herah realized in that moment, what happened next would come at her discretion.

I’m the only one still standing. The artist eyed Jeffery, the pencil’s presence still in her mind and their will cloaking her body. Though no real communication passed between the two, Herah knew that whatever her next decision, Jeffery would follow.

“So, what will it be, my dear artist?” Norwe leaned forward, drumming the fingers atop the table. “On your seat or your feet?”

There’s a moment of indecision. Violence, that’s what the artist truly wanted right now. Natural blood-lust and the barrage of blasphemy from the Maker urged Herah to fight. But thoughts of Rose and the conversation the pair shared earlier that day stayed her hand.

I’ll always be too weak alone. The artist glanced at the three others present.

Her eyes landed upon Alex.

Weak.

Her eyes moved to Max.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

I don’t know.

Her eyes ended at Owen.

Weak.

Herah looked at Norwe, who smiled knowingly back.

I have a chance to make allies here. If I can do it with these aliens, I can do it with my own people.

The artist closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and forced her flame to cool.

So—

“For now, I’ll sit.

The Maker blew out a ring of smoke, their forked tongue poking out from their lips and shaking as a wet pitter-patter filled the air.

“A boring reality you’ve chosen.”

A subusu? Herah thought, a bit befuddled by someone other than herself performing one of her people’s abandoned traditions. A really old one too, so old that it took the artist a moment to recall what it meant. Picked up from the Suie, a subusu is normally a way of saying one has shamed themselves and picked a boring option.

Then Herah processed what that meant.

And her head ignited in green flames.

Fuck it! I’ll not stand for this! Then, her words repeated in her mind. I said I’d sit. And I keep my word.

But before the artist could take a step, a wavy blade pressed into her throat. Only once feeling it, did Herah realize Alex now stood in the small gap between herself and Jeffery on her right.

I didn’t even notice his movements.

“Could you not be an idiot for one second?” the soothsayer spat out, venom lacing his words.

But still, the stench of fear rolled off of Alex. The artist fully intended on sitting, but this interruption from a coward just rubbed her the wrong way. Herah knew the soothsayer was just reacting because her head had caught fire before calming down and a snarl still marked her face. But to have Alex, the one most afraid, step up and pick a fight felt so insulting.

“Could you not be a bitch?” the artist growled back, glaring at the soothsayer.

“Could you both not take attention away from me?”

Herah and Alex froze, Norwe now crouched face to pale face with the soothsayer and one of their claws at his throat. Now able to make out their legs, the artist saw black sweat shorts serving as her Maker’s bottoms.

I didn’t notice their movements either.”

“Your understanding of the forces you wield is lacking my dear artist.” Norwe’s words came with an audible grin. “For now, that is fine.”

More bullshit that meant nothing Herah.

“But enough about that,” Another Norwe appeared in front of the artist, leaning against her seat with their arms crossed. “You made your decision my dear artist, and while I’m becoming iffy on you being a fool, I know you’re not my perfect liar.”

Herah glared at her Maker, as Norwe grinned back at their artist. There were no extra words to be said, no further thoughts needed. An understanding was reached the second the Maker finished talking.

And Herah hated it.

I hate the thought of being a liar more though.

“Fine.”

The Norwe in front of the artist disappeared, there one moment simply gone the next, before Herah grabbed Alex’s wrist and tore his blade away from her neck. Her rage still present, just stored beneath the surface, the artist strode forward right through her molten seat before sitting within it and letting the fire around her head disperse.

The lava chair felt hot, comfortably so, and where her butt and folded wings met the orange liquid, rigidness formed that held her body up and allowed her back to rest.

Across the table, about twelve feet away, Norwe sat in their seat as if they hadn’t moved. There was a surprising amount of space behind them. Glancing back, Herah saw the Norwe with a claw on Alex’s throat. This Norwe winked at the artist before disappearing like the other. The soothsayer let out a breath before stowing his blade into his pocket and moving back to his seat. As Alex took his spot next to Max, Herah noticed the liar give her brother a glare then turn to the artist with a smile. A tangy and warm scent wafted off Max.

The smell of gratitude.

Cute. Herah thought before looking back to Norwe, who still grinned in return. Stupid grin.

“Is it my grin that is stupid or your mentality for thinking it so?”

The artist’s eye twitched, a level of discomfort felt as it dawned that her Maker read her mind. But Herah said nothing, her agreement demanded listening.

For now.

Grin thinning when no response came, the Maker let a quiet moment pass before shrugging.

“I see we’re getting down to business now.” Norwe gestured towards the four seated around their table. “Do any of you know why you’re here?”

The artist’s eyes went to Alex as did Owen’s and Max’s, so the soothsayer raised a hand.

Norwe turned his gaze fully onto Alex. One of the mouths behind the soothsayer stopped breathing fire and started talking in the Maker’s voice.

“And what may that why be, my precious soothsayer?”

Alex flinched, glancing back towards the mouth behind his seat before tapping his nose and letting out some shaky breaths.

“For—”

“Sh-sh-sh-sh.” The Maker raised a finger and wagged it at the soothsayer. “There’s no fun in you giving all the answers, so let me!”

Herah looked at Jeffery, the pencil floating over her head, with squinting eyes and a slightly agape mouth.

Why is Norwe like this?

Jeffery responded with a vision of herself shrugging.

“Such an odd question to ask, my dear artist. Do you question why you are who you are?”

Turning back, the artist found Norwe’s eyes gazing into her own with a weird mix between caring and amusement, like how one might look at a toy. Before able to voice her response, Norwe held a finger up to their lips again.

“Your Maker shall speak.”

The Maker then took both of their hands and waved towards the gathered quartet before them.

“You are all here to take part in Recompense!”

fwoosh!

Each wall mouth let out a torrent of multi-colored flames, aimed high and crossing over the table. Each stream blasted and spread across the ceiling in a dazzling display reminiscent of the aftermath of a supernova.

Herah didn’t care for the neon light show, instead her mind recalled the Maker’s last word: Recompense. Her mother had said it too, before her summoning here.

Why’d you say we weren’t supposed to worry about it, Momma?

“What’s that?” Owen asked, vocalizing the other question on the artist’s mind.

Norwe began clapping excitedly as if dying to answer. The Maker leaped onto the table, before spinning forward and shouting,

“Why it’s my favorite game in all of the Slates and the Abyss!”

“Game?” Herah asked, latching on to that one word while pushing mentions of the Slates and Abyss away. Something about those two screamed danger in focusing on them now.

“Yes game!” Norwe stopped their spinning right in front of the artist, before leaning down to eye level with Herah, “Well more game-show for the humans here, a competition is a better fit for you other two.”

The artist leaned away from her Maker, the back of her lava seat losing some of its rigidness to let her sink further into it. Such proximity with Norwe felt uncomfortable, the unfamiliar familiarity of their existence most apparent at such close distance.

“Why is it called Recompense?” Max asked, causing her Maker to swivel about and roll over to the liar. Herah sent Max a grateful smile, getting a wink and nod in return.

I like you. the artist thought to herself, feeling a slim sliver of pleasure at meeting someone so agreeable without appearing spineless. You’re warm.

“It’s called Recompense because,” Norwe, now stretched out before Max, reached out and tapped her nose, causing the liar to jolt back and submerge her entire head in her liquid seat. “You’re repaying me for your existence!”

Any pleasure felt, drowned at Norwe’s reassertion. Again and again, the Maker repeated those heretical words. Words incompatible with her reality. Words assaulting the foundation of her beliefs. Words that were lies, at least, Herah thought them so.

And what could replace this pleasure, but anger? And her anger from earlier had yet to fade.

CRACK!

Fist indented in the cheese table which was unnaturally stale around her hand, the artist rose up with a snarl and blast of green flames.

“Stop saying that! You played no hand in my creation!”

Norwe rolled back over to face Herah, now sitting with their legs crossed and grin wide.

“And why do you believe that, my dear artist? Some might not know what you’re talking about.” the Maker asked, shaking their head mockingly.

While her eyes were on Norwe, the artist’s nose twitched as Alex’s, Owen’s, and Max's scents shifted. Worry and fear dirtied all three smells, while only the soothsayer’s bore the whiffs of anger and the binder’s confusion.

Not that they matter right now, none of them will make a move on me or Norwe. Herah thought, her focus narrowing back onto her Maker. Odd that you don’t have a scent.

The artist huffed more fire, her anger and annoyance rising further at the realization. But even as her blood boiled and her flame raged, her words held restraint and a subtle reverence.

“Because,” Herah gritted out, through clenched teeth, “Bois D’Allumage died so my universe could be born.”

Another shift in everyone’s scent occurred, Max and Alex now smelled of understanding while Owen’s confusion grew thicker.

Norwe reacted by rolling their eyes.

“Ah yes, for the humans and gnome present, the artist speaks of a giant lump of coal that was so lonely and so sad it killed itself in act of cosmic suicide. It ignited and from its burning body: time, space, energy, fire, Science, and matter were born. The five true architects of her reality followed suit, key amongst being the lovely goddess La Flamme.” Norwe, still facing the artist, waved at hand at Herah. “Am I missing any steps in there, my dear artist?”

No reverence, respect, nor care. Not a single hint of any such things came with the Maker’s words. They were too relaxed, too frank, too uncaring.

And that was wrong.

Like Norwe had spat in the artist’s face and rubbed shit on her nose. But utter befuddlement overshadowed any rage that Herah should’ve felt.

The Premier Allumage isn’t a secret of our reality, we once preached it wherever we went. But we never mention the why of Bois D’Allumage’s passing. It—

“Makes my daughter sad.” The Maker offered, completing the artist’s thought and causing Herah to freeze.

“H-how do you know all of this?”

Norwe’s grin stretched to an unnatural degree, the skin of their face tearing slight as black blood seeped from the wounds.

“You know how, my dear artist.”

The artist curled her lips at the sight of the blood, such distortion of her people disgusting and insulting in equal measure. Herah recognized the losing fight, but still refused to admit defeat without at least a bark.

“Impossible, you’re not dead!” The artist shouted, “Bois D’Allumage isn’t able to come back!”

Norwe jerked up unnaturally, flinging their body head first into a standing position before letting out an eerie laugh. It sounded warped and chunky, like metal bending harmonized with meat mushing together.

“Well, you see,” the Maker snapped their torso down so their face met Herah’s while standing and raised a finger, “There’s a minor flaw in your argument. It is the belief that I am Mortal, like yourself. That the universal laws you’re forced to obey are not merely suggestions I can take part in. Life, Death, Thought, and any Concept that you are slave to every moment you exist hold no grasp upon me that I do not give or take at my leisure. Most can’t even touch me without me willing it so, for I am something that neither exists nor do I not exist. Even the idea that gave birth to your people can’t affect me unless I say so.”

The Maker lurched back upright before placing their hands upon their chest in a fanciful manner. Their grin stretched further, the tendons of their face tearing while now white and black blood poured from the wounds.

“After all, what parent is forced to obey their child?”

A truly disturbed and gross sight, stood before the assembled Gifted, the artist smelling fear and disgust from all the others. Herah herself felt further insulted by the perversion of her people’s form.

But your words are far more insulting.

A cold silence hung over the room, Norwe clearly waiting for someone to say something but no one willing to do so. The artist knew only fire and violence would follow if the words came from herself, so Herah looked to everyone else and noticed Max’s studious look. It felt as if the liar could parse exactly what was going through the artist’s mind, though not like reading Herah’s thoughts but her emotions. It felt odd, but not uncomfortable like when Norwe did so. Then, Max looked to Norwe and raised a hand.

“A decrepit one?” the liar offered, breaking the silence and getting an immediate glare from her brother in response.

“Max!”

“What?”

Norwe turned away from the artist, letting out another laugh. This time it sounded deep and wet, like the rumbles of a distant earthquake spliced with the bubbling of lava.

Some more words were exchanged past that, mostly Max saying something smart then getting scolded by Alex, but Herah heard none of them. Instead, her mind went to grappling with her Maker’s response.

You can’t be Bois D’Allumage. You can’t. It’s La Flamme’s word that you’re gone. It’s been so since her lullabies first filled our ears and fed our flames.

But the artist knew Norwe’s words to be true. Deep down in her flame, beneath her memories and where her instincts lied, Herah knew her Maker spoke only truth.

The artist had known the second Norwe appeared in all their horrible glory. But Herah couldn’t sync any of what the Maker showed or did with what should’ve been. Her sole experience with a god was with La Flamme.

Warmth, mystique, and gentleness radiated from the matriarch of the Cendreux. An unending and infinite love poured out from her presence. Something felt in every fire that was, is, and would be.

Norwe felt nothing like that.

The Maker acted nothing like that.

Playfulness, curiosity, and cruelty bled off of Norwe in a blend that screamed of danger and ruin for all those unfortunate to stand in their way.

No god should ever feel like that.

No god should ever make their children or their children’s children fear for their own safety.

Oh. the artist thought, letting out a small breath as the realization wrapped around her mind. That’s why I don’t want to accept this. Because—

“—you’re afraid, my dear artist.”

Herah blanched before looking up at Norwe, her Maker’s smile a guillotine over her head. Even unable to smell Norwe, the artist knew how pleased her current state made the Maker.

No god should take pleasure in their subjects’ despair.

Yet, you do.

“Yes, I do. Because I’m a Maker, not a god.” Norwe answered, his smile as wide as ever.

A new silence now hung in the air, Herah now docile and unable to do more than stare as her flame cooled down to a soft red and a cold shame settled over herself.

How pathetic of me.

“Don’t worry, my dear artist.” Norwe reached out to give an affectionate tap to the artist’s brow—

CRACK!

Norwe leaped back as Jeffery shot down, pierced the table where the Maker once stood, slid themselves back up, aimed their tip at Norwe, and bobbed protectively in the air between their creator and the Maker. A small part of Herah felt grateful for the pencil’s interference, understanding instinctively there was danger in Norwe’s touch. That small part found itself buried under the mountain of her shame.

I can’t believe this.

The Maker made no further move towards the artist, instead their smile widened just that bit further though blood no longer spilled from the open wounds on their face. Instead, tendons or maybe worms seeped out of the tears and crawled down their chin.

“Something tells me you’ll be getting your spark back soon enough.”