Maruble woke to birds singing. Or rather because they were singing. A group of them had perched outside his window, and as much as he banged on the window's glass and shouted obscenities at them, nothing could deter them from being as noisy-- and annoying-- as possible. And he had felt cold. He lay there, bunching the sheets together and burying himself underneath them, but it was no use. He would have used his power if he was still a god, but he was not.

He was nobody. Nothing.

Wallowing in self-pity, his dreams crawled back to him one by one. Even the beam of sunlight that streamed through the windows did little to shake the remnants of it. Maruble tossed the thin blanket to the floor and, after banging on the glass one more time for good measure, he looked at the lake below.

He had dreamed of Nira's path, of wandering that long stretch of road lost and alone. No matter how far he walked, The Sea remained a dot on the horizon that taunted him. When the sun vanished and took his last shred of hope, Maruble changed his course for Derut, the Land of the Bare.

Maruble shook off the thought and trudged downstairs. He reached the bottom and then tripped. Steadying himself, he looked accusingly behind him and recognized the book from the night before. The same one he dropped while talking with Death. It didn't look old, which was strange, but the cover made him curious.

Blank. The spine-- also blank.

He turned the book over in his hands. Yet, even as he mulled over it, his mind drifted to the conversation last night. Had Death thought he was a coward for not accepting his offer? Was he a coward for hesitating? Being the face of a monumental war should have felt like a privilege, the summation of years and years of dreams and ideals, and yet.

He sighed.

Thumbing through the blank pages, Maruble suddenly stopped short. The words started thirty pages in, but this was no ordinary book—no, it was a journal. Each page was filled with elegant cursive handwriting that swished and swirled. He walked to the kitchen, and before realizing what he was doing, Maruble sat at the table.

My thoughts run wildly unchecked. Silly, silly thoughts. They flood in relentlessly. No, suspiciously. And who can I trust if not myself?

I fear it's too late.

Maruble snorted and closed the book. Waving the dust from his face, he snorted and muttered, "Garbage." Convoluted, human garbage. No wonder they couldn't accomplish anything in their miserable little lives. Little lives that could be enriched with the wonders of the gods, if only...

He stood from the table. Once more, his eyes wandered to the lake bordering the house and those endless waters that had once looked so small. Yes, that was the future Death wanted, wasn't it? Humans bowing to whims of the gods as they did in the old age. If it gave him everything he desired, setting the godlands aflame was a small order, and yet. Maruble unclasped the window and pushed it open; a small breeze drifted inside to brush his cheek.

And yet, he would have to play by the high court's rules if he wanted to survive this place. To live as a human, to act as one, to accept this fragile existence as his own. Clenching his fist, he pulled himself away from the window and stepped outside. Even with the chill in the air, the sun felt good against his face as he walked toward the dock. Maruble looked up at the sky, at the wandering clouds that concealed his home, and breathed a long sigh.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

In a flicker, Peace stood before him. He was no longer wearing the polished white suit. Instead, he wore jeans and-- Maruble cocked an eyebrow-- a horrendous green sweater. Standing on the dock, he could almost pass for a human. Almost.

"What are you doing here?" Maruble asked coldly.

Hartley continued as if he didn't hear, "To think that humans have no idea that our world exists. They live unaware, and only in death does a light shine on the great shadows that haunted them." He rubbed his chin and nodded, satisfied. "Shadows, yes. I think that's a suitable word."

"If you've come to gloat, I'm not in the mood."

"Gloat?" Hartley laughed, really laughed, and shook his head. "No, God of Fire, I envy you terribly."

He clenched his jaw and spat, "Don't feed me your lies. There is not a god in Alta that would envy being stranded in this wasteland. Do you envy being an outcast? To be embarrassed in front of your ridiculous court?"

The God of Peace raised a hand, and Maruble fell silent. "I only meant that I envy your freedom in this new world. To be free of one's responsibilities, well... Human life is different. They have their struggles, yes. But it is different. Fate does not play such a hand in choosing their path."

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"If you're done, you can go," he scoffed. "I'm not in the mood."

Peace shook his head, and an icy wind rippled over the water. He said, almost inaudibly, "It's a shame you can't see it, is all."

"They've left me here to die."

"They left you here to learn, Maruble." Hartley put a finger to his head. "I have a gift for you, from the God of Balance himself. Memories."

Slowly, he asked, "What sort of memories?"

"Human memories. A path that has been carved for you in this world."

"Why would I want those?"

"You don't have to accept them," said Hartley, a smile playing on his lips. It's your choice. For all the court cares, you can wallow in this shack until your name is long forgotten, but this gives you a chance—a chance to come home."

At the word home, something in Maruble stirred. "Would it take anything away?"

Peace shook his head and responded, "It would be separate memories. Separate, but not any less real than the ones you truly lived."

"Human memories," he breathed, the words sounding choked even in his voice. "And if I do this, they'll take me back? Give me back my power?"

"No promises." Hartley tapped his temple. "Only hope. You live as a human for a while, live with these memories, and hope that they might."

Maruble watched the god's hand. At some point, the clouds had covered the sun, and now the dock lay in shadow. He whispered, "Give them to me."

"May I?"

The god reached out his hands, and Maruble nodded. "Do it."

Hartley touched his head.

Maruble was running, running as fast as he could until the air stung his lungs, and a wild laugh leaped from him. A girl yelled from behind him, "Slow down, Ruby!"

Then, he was arguing with his parents. He had stayed out too late again, but this time, he had gotten caught. Maruble slammed his bedroom door in their faces and blasted music until their words melted into nothing. They were nothing.

Kissing a girl. No, kissing his childhood friend until she pushed him away. "This is weird, isn't it?"

"You can do anything you want, Ruby. If you would just try," his eleventh-grade teacher said, rubbing his brow. "If you would just apply yourself."

He was in his dorm room, listening to his roommate's sobs. There was class and friends and parties, and he was breaking down from all the pressure. He dropped out that week, and Maruble never heard from him again.

The call.

The funeral. His parents' funeral.

Smashing things at the junkyard, screaming and screaming. The yard owner came running, but when he recognized Maruble, he left him be. In a way, that was worse.

Surviving. Emptiness. His grades were slipping.

Moving back home.

The silence.

The quiet.

The drowning.

Maruble gasped.

"Careful," murmured Peace. The world moved in shapes and colors around him as he stumbled, but the god caught him by the arm. He inspected him carefully. "You've just experienced a portion of a human life. How are you feeling?"

"Like I have a migraine," he groaned. He wanted the memories out. They were too much. Everything he had seen, had felt... Maruble rubbed his head. No, none of it was real. And yet, it was his life. All of it was him. "How long do I have to suffer this?"

"It's for your own good, Maruble. I hope you can see that in time," Peace turned to face the water. "But for now, I'll leave you to it."

"Wait."

Hartley turned.

"How-- where do I start?"

"Start by leaving the damned house." The God of Peace smiled, really smiled this time, and jerked his head to a shaded corner of the house, where a bicycle had been left. "Good luck, God of Fire."

He flickered and was gone.

Maruble staggered. The new memories made him off balance, and he had to grip the railing to keep from tumbling into the lake. He dug his hand into the wood and remembered, squeezing and squeezing until his hands stung with splinters.

And then, he swung his head to the strange contraption—no, to the bike. The realization hit him suddenly: not only did he know what the contraption was, but he also knew how to ride it.

He smirked and strolled over to the bike. Humans were pitiful, building such horrible creations just to get around. As Maruble rolled it to the end of the drive, he stopped slowly. They had taught him. His human parents. He shook the thought as soon as it came and breathed a laugh. Fake as the memories were, they hurt as real as anything.

Maruble hopped onto the bike and wobbled. He peddled slowly, awkwardly, until the bike moved down the drive. It was the God of Balance's fault that he was doing this at all, and the thought made him peddle faster and faster until his feet couldn't keep up with the momentum. Maruble hit a bump and flew off the bike, banging his elbow on the concrete. For a long time, he lay there and looked up at the sky.

This was being human. He was almost sure he could hear his father laughing if he listened close enough. Maruble touched his bleeding elbow and hissed.

No, he wouldn't give up that easily. He would retrieve his power and burn Alta to the ground if Death asked him to. He would prove them all wrong. Standing shakily, Maruble grabbed the bike and hopped back on. He fell again and again—more times than he could count—until he could move with speed. There were holes in the knees of his jeans, and his hands were a shredded mess, but, by the gods, he was doing it.

He peddled and peddled, moving out of the driveway and down the long curve of the road. A laugh tore from his throat, cutting through the cold air in a wisp of smoke. Just like that, he had done it. He was riding the damned bike like a real human. Those filthy weaklings thought this was hard?

Maruble was so caught up in his laughter that he had not seen the curve of the road. He grabbed his brakes, but it was too late. Flying from the bike, Maruble reached for something—anything—to no avail. He landed in a ditch and, after a few quick breaths, laid his head back in the dirt.

Still. Even still, he had done it. A quieter laugh broke from him.

Tomorrow was the beginning of it all. Even if the idea of being a human made him feel sick to his stomach, he would do it for the future of the godlands—to show everyone what it meant to be a real god. Athema herself wouldn't see what was coming; he was sure of it. As Maruble picked up his bike, he comforted himself with only one thought: being a human couldn't be much worse than attending one of his father's parties.