Thunder boomed through the temple as a god appeared in a flash of light. Brushing an errant lock of black hair away from the empty pits where his eyes should have been, he smiled.

“So. Who died?”

At the central dais, Lorata turned her head to cast a disparaging look over her shoulder. She moved only precisely as much as she needed to, as if the act of acknowledging the other god was beneath her. “No one’s died, Shirasil.”

“Oh?” Shirasil asked. “Then why the full house?” He swept an arm around the room, his silk sleeve whispering with the motion as he took in the few dozen other gods in attendance.

They were an odd sight to behold, every one of them almost passing as a different species of Lusio. Almost, as, though their likeness was based on the mortal species of their planet, their visages diverged in distinct and unsettlingly ways that were decisively otherworldly. Widengra, the orc god, had skin that swirled with living patterns of blood, barely an inch of green showing beneath his tattoos. Quimalad, an arachnoid, was ever shrouded by a white mist, their many limbs moving like shadows through a fog. Lorata herself might have appeared human, if not for the golden light which shone from her eyes and hair and clothes.

Ever the showboat, that one.

“That,” Lorata said, turning her back on Shirasil, “is perhaps the first good question you’ve asked this century.”

Shirasil cocked an amused brow as he strolled toward the center of the room. Some of the deities stood patiently nearby, hands clasped piously behind their backs, while others scattered toward the edge of the marble chamber, muttering and hissing amongst themselves. A few paced nervously near Lorata and the dais. Only one was reclined on a stone sofa, their silver hair spilling over the side of the marble and their silver face turned to the ceiling, which opened to the purple-blue nebula of the heavens. That one, Yua Tin, smiled pleasantly, as if the tense atmosphere of the room slid from their conscience as easily as water over a carp’s scales.

Shirasil liked Yua Tin.

“What’s this?” he asked, stopping before the dais. A shimmering, contorting sliver of nothingness floated in the air over the pedestal, like light reflecting through broken glass. A shattered fragment of living reality: a remnant. “You said no one died.”

“No one has,” Lorata repeated.

He reached a hand toward the remnant, stopping when his fingers buzzed against the edge of the containment spell. The broken space inside spiked and sizzled, as if trying to claw its way out. “Then where did this come from?”

“Step back,” Lorata snapped, grabbing Shirasil’s hand. Energy crackled between their skin, and defiance swelled within him like a thundering wave. Oh, how he’d love to meet this challenge with a show of force. How he desired to crush her smug, superior ego beneath his boots. It would be desperately cathartic.

Instead, he slipped his wrist from her grasp and stepped back with a respectful bow of his head. “Come, now, you treat me as though I’ve been tainted.”

“Stop acting as though you are, and I will stop treating you as such,” she said.

He shrugged helplessly. “What is a chaos god to do? It wouldn’t be in my nature to leave well enough alone. The day I settle down—” He smiled, the expression as empty as his bottomless eyes. “—Now, that’s the day you should really worry.”

“Enough,” Widengra grumbled, his voice deep and grating like a mortar and pestle. “We are all accounted for now. Lorata. Why did you summon us?”

Lorata stared at Sharasil for a moment longer, then flicked her hand to another god fidgeting nearby.

The halfling deity, god of fishing, moonlight, and the tides, stepped forward. “The remnant came from Emrox. Something happened there. Something big.”

“What?” a nereid god stopped her pacing. “That’s not possible. It was destroyed.”

“It was,” the halfling agreed. “It has been abandoned since the Frey. But something happened there recently, nevertheless. I felt it in the oceans. The remnant was collected here at the same time.”

“And we don’t know what?” Sharasil asked. “Surely, Lorata, oh seer, our god of light, whose eyes pierce the darkest shadows—you saw this happen?”

Lorata scowled in exactly the way Sharasil had hoped, bringing him immense amusement. “I did not. However, I discovered something else.” She made a sweeping gesture about the room, and a display appeared in Shirasil’s vision.

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

“System users?” he asked as he mentally scrolled through the list. “I don’t see what—”

Murmurs hushed through the room. There was a new name on the list.

“Who is this Kanin?” Widengra asked.

“Unknown,” Lorata said. “Clearly, they didn’t gain access to the remnant of anyone present. They must have found one another way. A new remnant.”

“Impossible,” Quimalad said. “Where would they even find one? This is without precedent.”

“Is it?” Shirasil asked. “Not so in the early days. And we know many remnants fell dormant in the world before we could find and contain them. Others remained inaccessible. Perhaps they stumbled somewhere they ought not to be.”

“That is my assumption as well,” Lorata said, though her tone indicated she was none too pleased Shirasil had reached the same conclusion. “Something left behind in the ruins of Emrox, perhaps.”

“Do we know how long this person has had access to the System?” another god asked.

Now Lorata looked uncomfortable. “That is… unclear. I typically run a status check on the System on a bi-decade basis.”

Shirasil barked out a laugh. “They could have been walking around on this planet for twenty years without us noticing?”

“Absolutely not,” Lorata snapped. “The last check was done seven years ago.”

Shirasil laughed even harder.

“However,” Lorata said, raising her voice, “I think it’s more likely they received access today. Too many things have happened at once. This remnant appearing here might be an indicator of the event. Not to mention, there’s an even bigger issue at hand.”

“Oh, please.” Shirasil grinned. “Do tell.”

Lorata made another gesture, and their shared displays updated again. Instead of the user list ending with this new Kanin person, dozens—nearly two hundred—more spaces in the list appeared. They were all blank.

“Templates,” Lorata says. “Auto created by the System. Potential new users that meet the requirements to be added.”

“What does that mean?” Widengra asked. “Can they be removed?”

Lorata frowned, her lips drawing a thin line. “I do not have the authority.”

Shirasil snickered. “Of course not. This is what happens when you dabble with magic older than the gods, Lorata. You pretend to have made it your own, but you’re only fumbling your way along like a child playing soldier.”

“This is no laughing matter,” Lorata hissed. “Do you not understand the implications of this? If each of these new users imply the existence of new remnants which have been unearthed, we are facing potentially mass devastation.”

There was a pause, then several gods started speaking at once.

“Surely, not all of these indicate acquisition of a remnant?”

“—an upset to the natural order—”

“You can’t mean war—”

“Lovely,” a voice said, tinkling like windchimes. It was not a voice Shirasil or any of the other gods often heard. The room quieted. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Yua Tin flowed from their couch like liquid moonlight into the air, face still raised to the stars. “To be reminded we still live in our infancy in this vast space? That a thousand years is so brief. Look at us throwing a fit over the first small pebble we overturn. Here there are worms and fertile earth and cool ground. Look at how we witness an ecosystem and call it pests. It’s beautiful to be reminded of our folly, isn’t it?”

Shirasil marveled at them, wondering how anyone could think they might be tainted.

“You’re suggesting we overreact,” Lorata said. “Perhaps this is true. Though it is my belief that this would be preferable to brushing off this significant threat. It is our purpose to retain the order, is it not?” She turned to the rest of the gods. “Our duty. At minimum, we need to search out these new users. Learn what change has transpired—if there are new remnants waking in the mortal realm.”

“I for one, agree,” Shirasil said. Lorata raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Is this not why we raise champions in the first place? To be our eyes and hands among the mortals—to settle matters regarding the remnants, should they arise?”

“Yes,” Lorata said, eying Shirasil with clear suspicion. “Precisely. Now is the time to make use of our champions.” She stood straighter, shoulders back, managing to look down her nose at all the other gods—even the ones twice her height. “First we must settle the issue of finding a suitable vessel for this remnant—or vessels. It is so large, I think it will need to be split at least ten ways; bring forward your submission when decided upon. Then, summon your most trusted champion. Send them looking for what has gone wrong in the world. To search for these templates and this Kanin individual.”

“And if we find them?” Widengra asked.

“Evaluate the risk they pose,” Lorata said. “Use your best judgement from there.”

Widengra smiled at this, and Shirasil withheld a snort. Trusting Widengra to exercise good judgement was like trusting nereid to live in a desert. The rest of the gods bowed or nodded respectfully and began to disperse, vanishing from the hall in wisps of light. Shirasil turned to leave as well, musing over each of the gods and which would require his closest attention.

“Shirasil,” Lorata said, stopping him. “I wanted to thank you for the support. It is not often we see eye to eye, though in this regard, I suppose I should not have doubted.”

“Is that your version of an apology?” he teased.

She smiled, tight lipped. “It’s as close as you’ll ever get. Though, after your initial comments, I am unsure why you changed stances.”

“On the contrary,” Shirasil said. “I enjoy mysteries. I enjoy the discovery of a tangle of things yet understood. This anomaly is the most exciting thing to have happened in millennia, and I crave to learn more. Suggesting we investigate is very much in line with my priorities.”

She considered this with a slow nod. “I see. That is good to hear. Well then, I will hold you here no longer.”

Shirasil inclined his head, turned on his heels, and let the hall of the gods fade into stardust behind him.

Oh, Lorata. Arrogant, naive Lorata.

He did intend to investigate, of course. His champions would be eager for the action. But he didn’t only intend to send his minions; some things required a more delicate touch—a more direct involvement.

He was the god of curiosity, after all. Maintaining the status quo was not in his nature. And this promise of mass disruption Lorata warned of—

Oh. It would be delicious.