There is a knock upon my door. I shall pause my tale for a moment so I may share what is happening here with you, dear reader.
The knock is merely a formality, of course. The god of Messages knows that I am aware that he is outside my cottage door as surely as I spill forth the words on this page. Messages is polite that way, and he likes to keep things in order. Messages also knows not to wait for verbal assent, and is entering now.
Messages is a delightful presence amongst the gods. His stays are typically brief, but his combination of straightforwardness and politeness means that I have never had issues with him. While he isn’t what most would call handsome, having a body clearly built for running long distances, with his long legs and knobbly knees, but his gray eyes and soft hair are quite easy on the eyes. Everything is as he desires, as physical forms are whatever we gods desire them to be.
“You’re getting distracted again,” He reminds me.
So delightfully to the point, as always. While it is important to give context to what I say so that you, dear reader, can better understand the world that I speak of, it is also important to stay on task. Speaking of which, what brings you here?
“That’s not fair,” He says with a slight smirk, “You already know.”
Humor me.
“Well, you asked,” He concedes. “I have two things for you. I’ve got a message and a question for you.”
A question for me? And from whom?
“Well, me,” Says Messages.
You aren’t the god of Questions, so how about we start with the message, yes?
“Works for me. Here’s the message.”
He hands me a screen that lists the message. The screen is not physical, just a representation of the concept of the message shown. It is much easier to manifest our missives to one another in such a form. Typically, such messages between deities is sent directly, a concept that once sent is simply known by the recipient god, and of course, Messages himself. He knows every message that is sent in any capacity the moment it is sent between two entities. This does not mean he is cognizant of all of them, much in the same way a mortal can be looking at a messy room and are aware of all of it, yet remember very little of it. The difference is the gods are much more deliberate, and have a capacity a mortal simply cannot contemplate. The fact that Messages is taking his time and focus to deliver one to me is in and of itself another message, and this fact is not lost on me.
His message is marked from the goddesses of Magic and Physics. Twins, those two. All of the gods are related, but not in the same way mortals are. We come from the same reason, not the same genes or heritage. Some of the gods, like the twins Magic and Physics, choose to lean into the idea of being related to one another, to the point they regard each other as siblings. Others, such as Messages, are aloof and choose not to foster the idea they are close to any other particular deity.
As I reach out and gently touch the screen- a formality, but one I enjoy- the message rushes into my focus with the sensation of blue and white theming the twins share.
“We’re concerned about what those mortals are doing,” the message begins without preamble. The teenage whine of the two sisters drips from every word in the message. “So it’s been like, a couple hundred million years? We’re super stoked that these newer sentient people can appreciate what we do, but there’s kind of a problem. We made a mistake, and didn’t even realize it until you started talking about it.
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“When we all made the world, you remember how we all worked together to make sure everything fit together nicely right? Well most of us. Not the Doomed ones or whatever, but thats not the point. We all agreed what each of us manages and we all agreed on the Miracle compromise and all that, how it should be impossible for mortals to reverse-engineer our work? And then you start talking about these mortals who are reverse-engineering our work. There’s literally a rule that stops them from messing with those things. So how come some snotty elk boy is touching our stuff?
“If we find our you messed with the rules of The Story, we’re going to get everyone else together, and kick your ass, alright? We know its like, your thing, but keep your Strife to the mortals, ok? We really hope this is just a weird blip and they’ll die or whatever, but if this gets out of hand, we’re coming for answers, Strife.”
Messages stands awkwardly as I finish reading the missive. He’s always clung very tightly to his ideals that a message should be the business of the sender and recipient, so the fact he brought this to my attention is of significant import.
“I knew you’d also know about this already,” He explains, “So its only a minor compromise. But still, I have to ask: Is this true? Is someone changing the rules?”
I am capable of many things, but the one thing I cannot do is speak untruths, except in certain contexts, such as explaining an untruth. Everything I say is fact by definition by sheer virtue that I am the one who said it. When I say that no one is changing the rules, I am right, and to disbelieve me is futile. Not only is no one changing the rules, but none of the gods can change the rules. All of the gods who made the world gave up the power to change the rules when we agreed it was finished, and have worked within those rules since.
“You could change the rules,” He points out.
He is correct. However, to do so would be anathema to myself, and I shall not. While I have the power to undo myself, I do not wish to. I am not a god, vying for power amidst the others, all while trying to stay within the rules.
“Right,” Messages says, mollified by my response. “I just needed that from you directly. Thank you.”
It is understandable, even appreciated. I watch him awkwardly kick at some dirt at the floor of my cottage as I wait for him. He did, after all, mention having a question as well?
He begins to speak, then stops himself, looking uncertain. He knows I know, and yet feels awkward about the question. I remind him that he can take the time to be comfortable. The Story can wait a little longer. He takes a seat on a stool at the edge of the room, and takes a breath. A physically unnecessary gesture, but many of the gods use mortal mannerisms as a means of comfort. Finally, he speaks.
“What in the world do I do with an IOU?”