Azarus regarded the Mirror of Eons with a smile. Granon had followed through. The son succeeded where the father failed, saving the remnants of his village. On the mirror’s massive surface, Azarus could see the telltale traces of half a dozen cowering giantkin families. Their once closed off future was now open to the whims of the unfolding tapestry of fate, even if they did not know it yet. Maybe they would disperse with Kuscal’s protection gone, intermingling with the rest of the world. Perhaps Granon would lead the village to a bright new future. What mattered was that something more was possible. And Azarus had intervened to make it happen. His influence had put a finger on fate’s scale. This is how it should have been since he first spoke his name.

Azarus jutted out his chin toward the mirror, raising his eyebrows at it. Sensing the change of attention, the mirror shifted the focus of its reflection, taking a wide angled view of the area. As it panned, Azarus glimpsed Zmei and Orestilla, the two surviving giantkin elders, attending to each other’s wounds. His sense of satisfaction deepened. Faced with the vast mirror, Azarus looked as though he was a mortal smugly challenging a mountain range. He opened his hand, allowing a mote of tri-color flame to hover up and out, hanging, flickering above his palm.

“With the embers of my domain, I lit a blaze able to turn fortune’s tides.” Azarus willed the mote into a miniature bonfire, which seemed to move in slow motion, displaying its glorious colors to the mirror. “This is who I am. This is what you keep me from.”

Neither the screens nor the mirror showed any sign that they heard him, or cared for his display. However, he did sense a small shift in the air. Acknowledgement and apathy is the general impression he felt.

Azarus rubbed his brows, his boastful words forefront in his mind. He felt like a fool, or a mortal. Both for speaking to the mirror in the first place, and for attempting to draw any sort of empathy from his captors. Of course, they did not care that he could not perform his calling. That was the point.

With a self-deprecating sigh, unable to bask in his glory by himself, Azarus willed the mirror to show him Moka. She came into focus, gently patting Granon, who was on his knees, bending over the skinwalker’s corpse. Granon shuddered, stifling his sobs as best he could. He looked overwhelmed by an outpouring of complex emotions. Moka ratcheted up the intensity of her patting, her eyes darting forth, a panicked expression on her face. She cast about, in the same way Azarus had seen her search for an improvised weapon.

Coming up empty-handed, Moka hesitated. Her mouth seemed to move before her mind could catch up. She spoke like she was reciting someone, going as far as mimicking their somber tone.

“Well done, young warrior. Your hunt has earned my respect and the acknowledgement of the tribe.”

Granon’s sobbing slowed as he latched onto the welcome distraction. He wiped tears from his eyes, shooting Moka a confused look, then a grateful one.

“Does this mean I’m an honorary goblin?”

Moka’s pats had graduated to full body, open-palm slaps. A flush crept across her cheeks, rosy red despite her green skin. She cleared her throat, glancing to the side for inspiration. Unfortunately, no miraculous change had occurred in the few seconds since she last checked.

Azarus pursed his lips in amusement as he watched his champion flounder for ways to comfort her companion. He yearned for the ability to touch the world as he wished. Performing minor miracles as soon as Moka glanced away would have been hilarious.

The god let his shoulders slump. He pushed away thoughts of what he would, or could, do if reality were different. His amusement drained, devoured by the bitterness of his desires. Moka finally found her words, providing a welcome respite to the hollow feeling gnawing at Azarus’s triumph.

Moka, in all her goblin wisdom, returned to her more aggressive method of communication. She punctuated her sentences with a sharp claw in Granon’s ribs. Each poke made him flinch, his gold tinted skin doing little to protect him from ticklishness.

“Shut up. This was an important hunt. You are a warrior now, even if you don’t feel like it.”

Granon dodged the third poke, twisting out of the way and rising to his feet to face Moka. She looked somewhat peeved that he was no longer within poking reach. In contrast, he bore a weary look, slumping at every joint from his ankles to his vertebrae.

“Thanks. It’s just… When I dared to let myself dream, it was always escaping this thing,” Granon gave the skinwalker’s corpse a half-hearted kick. “Or getting revenge. Now, I’ve done both. I don’t know what to do next.”

Moka scowled at Granon. She opened her mouth to say something, but hesitated. Her expression softened. She tucked her thumbs behind her suspender straps, idly flexing the stretchy material. Her mouth twisted to the side as she looked Granon up and down before delivering her judgment of his heartfelt self expression.

“Stupid.”

Granon’s back straightened in surprise. He all but touched his eyebrows together as he regarded the unsympathetic goblin rocking back and forth on her heels in front of him, the body of his greatest foe bleeding out nearby. When he spoke, he did it slowly, choosing his words with care.

“That’s rather ungenerous.”

Moka faced Granon with her chin raised, her earlier flustered features gone. Azarus chuckled. His champion seemed most comfortable when in conflict, so she created it when feeling vulnerable. Truly, the childish antics of a mortal.

“I see stupid, I say stupid. Look at you. There is no world where that power was free.”

Moka gestured to Granon’s still golden skin. Her hand caught on a suspender as she moved. It stretched out before slipping off Moka’s hand and snapping back into place. Her sudden yelp broke some of the rising tension.

Rubbing her chest with one hand, Moka continued in a less sanctimonious tone.

“I’m sure you know what to do next. It’s a matter of accepting and embracing it.” She winced as she peaked beneath her collar to see a forming welt. Her lips pressed into a line. She had the decency to be embarrassed, but not enough to soften her words. “Bury your head all you want. Your problems will still be there waiting for you.”

Granon was silent for a long time, his head bowed in thought. Azarus watched the giantkin try to control his emotions, easily seen on his enormous face. He pushed them aside after a few moments of struggling. With a furrowed brow, he contemplated Moka’s words. Azarus admired Granon’s ability to parse the meaning of something without getting caught up in how it was delivered. It was the sort of thing he would expect from a leader.

When Granon spoke again, his voice held a note of determination.

“He said to worship him at his shrine. I…”

Moka’s eyes lit up. Tension seemed to melt from her shoulders. She cut him off mid-sentence, pointing toward the forest. Her combative tone fell by the wayside as she latched onto the new information. Azarus could see the shadow of the excitable girl she must have once been, showing itself through her excited babbling.

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“I built it over there! Probably too small for you, though. You should build a new one! Do that first. Maybe if you ask, he would protect the village? Doesn’t seem like something he would do, which means he might do it!”

Moka emphasized when she said ‘he,’ making it as clear as possible she was referring to Azarus.

Granon’s emerald eyes flicked to follow Moka’s outstretched finger, then to the mountain peak, where Kuscal’s shrine stood. A thoughtful expression lingered on his face. His gray-stained hands twitched.

“I have an idea. With your building skills, we should be able to do it in no time.” Granon paused, taking in the torn earth and flattened dwellings around him with fresh eyes. He swayed on his feet. “Let’s gather the villagers first and see who survived. Maybe Elder Orestilla with her stone skin. You can meet everyone that was hiding. Then, after a nap-”

Granon looked back to Moka, seeing her standing stock still, staring at the air in front of her face, her eyes going from right to left. He scratched his head, unsure if he should interrupt her or not. On the other side of the mirror, Azarus vainly encouraged Granon to speak up, because he could see what Moka saw.

First Floor Cleared!

Congratulations. You changed the fate of this village while embodying your god’s domain! Please use the next [5 minutes] to wrap up any loose ends. At the end of the timer, you will proceed to the next Trial to receive your rewards and next task.

Timer Started: 00:04:59

It took Moka a second to snap to. When she did, she looked almost lost, like someone stripped of a gift moments after receiving it. Granon watched her with a puzzled expression. Moka caught his look and hesitated. Her eyes darted to the side, fleeing his questioning look. She swallowed hard and wet her lips. Granon waited while she gathered her thoughts. When she did, she pulled her eyebrows together, crossed her arms, and regarded Granon with a scowl.

“You have your task and I have mine. Do you think you’re the only hopeless lug around?”

Granon responded to the provocation with a series of slow blinks as he gave Moka his blank-faced regard. Despite Moka’s accusations, the giantkin was not dim. It took him less than a minute to puzzle together Moka’s strange behavior. When he did, the sadness in his voice echoed like thunder on a melancholy night.

“You are leaving. The skinwalker is dead, so you have to go right away.” He absently shook his head, running a hand through his ashen hair. “Your god is not as cruel as I thought, but he is a taskmaster.”

Moka planted her feet wide, stuck out her chin, and bared her teeth at the sad man. Her nostrils flared as a moment of genuine anger swept through her. She spat her words in a tone that left no room for argument.

“Our god.”

Granon flinched, his eyes darting down to his ash-stained hands. He stared at his palms, looking as if he was weighing something on them. With a sharp movement, he clenched his hands into fists.

“Aye, little one. Our god.” Granon rolled his shoulders back, letting his hands hang at his sides. He set his jaw and looked Moka in the eye. “Will I be driven to the same lengths as you?”

Moka tossed her hair, her earring jangling together, and shrugged.

“I don’t know what deal you made, but servants do what their master says. Not up to me.”

Azarus’s mind blanked for a moment as he processed his champion’s words. A rather large problem made itself clear after a moment of thought. As far as he knew, he had no way of contacting Granon after Moka left the floor. Vague instructions to worship him were not good enough.

He checked the timer.

00:01:23

Azarus winced. He needed to figure something out, and he had little time to do it. Caught up in problem-solving, Azarus almost missed Moka’s demanding, bordering on petulant, statement.

“Now give me a couple of strands of hair or something. I could use a rope on my travels.”

Granon quirked an eyebrow at her. Then a grin blossomed through his ash-stained beard, once a cheerful reddish-brown. He nodded, plucking a few long hairs from his head and twirling them together. His fingertips seemed to glow gray, displaying the echoes of Azarus’s power still lingering there.

“Of course. I would be my honor if a piece of me would accompany you on your journey.”

Azarus ripped himself away from the exchange. As much as he wanted to watch Moka make friends, he had other worries. He closed his eyes and sank into his domain, syncing himself with the emerald flame. Channeling the bulk of his domain to his hand, he reached out and flicked this way and that in whatever way felt most natural. Opening his eyes, he took in the screen that had appeared before him.

[Divine Store]

Purchase [Divine Inspiration] for 50 DP?

Yes/No

Azarus selected yes. He did not know for sure he had enough points, or that it was worth spending them, or even if this would solve his problem, but he threw the dice anyway.

The notification winked at Azarus, turning into a screen portraying a microphone with a series of trailing dots. Azarus rolled his eyes at the screen. By all appearances, he had fifty Divine Points, but they did not buy him another ticket into Granon’s soulspace. It was disappointing. He was looking forward to touching the world again.

Azarus took a moment to gather his thoughts, the ticking clock in the background urging him to go faster. He ignored it the best he could. These could be his last instructions to his first follower. They needed to accompany the giantkin for the rest of his days.

That thought crystallized in Azarus’s mind. More than instructions, Granon needed a life mission. One that would paint Azarus’s name in glory.

Mind made up, Azarus spoke into the screen.

“I, Azarus, gave you my hand at your darkest hour. Now, I task you to do the same. Gather like-minded individuals in my name. Form a wandering congregation to aid the weak; those who need a little push to overcome their challenges. Recruit the worthy.”

The screen blinked away. In the same breath, Granon cut off mid-sentence, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as a vision descended upon him. Azarus could only hope Granon got the gist of what he was trying to achieve. What had happened here felt right, like it was a piece of his domain. Sending Granon off to do more of the same thing made sense, even if it was all he could come up with on short notice.

Granon’s vision snapped forward just in time to catch Moka’s sad smile and slight wave as she exploded into thousands of pixelated cubes. The Mirror of Eons stayed on Granon’s image, showing him frozen in time. He stood tall beneath the cloudless sky. His mouth was half open, words already on his lips. He was reaching out, his hand splayed open as if trying to catch mist in the wind.

Azarus seared the image into his mind, resting it next to his memory of Granon when Moka first met him. From the dead-eyed laborer to the bright and teary-eyed survivor. He believed that the course of Granon’s life had pivoted. Time would tell, but for now, he had faith. When Azarus broke free, he would peer through the veil of Time and Space to see if he had misplaced his faith or not. Until then, this was goodbye.

The mirror’s image changed to show a confused, but refreshed, looking Moka standing in a ghostly desert. She jolted when the sand moved, forcing her to jog, to stay in place. After a few seconds, a small cactus appeared on the horizon. It traveled quickly, arriving in front of Moka’s feet despite her attempts to side-step it. She hopped over it, looking both bored and derisive as she did so. Another cactus appeared in the distance.

Azarus watched for a few minutes as the mirror forced Moka to jump over an endless line of cacti of various heights coming at her at regular intervals. She tried sitting down in protest, but only once. The wounds closed quickly after Moka pried the cactus’s spines out of her face, leaving unblemished green skin. With a huff, she gave in to the tedium, hopping the cacti with the air of a disgruntled employee.

Notifications blinked at the edge of Azarus’s vision, drawing him from watching Moka as they performed the rare song and dance of asking permission before bombarding his senses. With a reluctant wave, he allowed the first screen to jump at him. It filled his vision like an overeager puppy.

Quest: By my will - Complete

You have transformed your [Domain], bending it to your will like putty in your hands.

Rewards: Divine Points, Increased Domain Control

Azarus narrowed his eyes at the screen, suddenly reminded of the last few notifications he had received. The screens stole Kuscal’s domain from him, and were trying to sweep it under the table with lesser rewards. He could feel his domain react to his will, flowing through him noticeably easier than moments before. However, he swiped the screen away, feeling decisively ungrateful. The screens had not ‘increased his domain control,’ it had loosened the restrictions on him and wrapped it in a pretty bow.

With a sigh, Azarus set aside his irritation. The same as Moka had to jump the cactuses or feel their spines, he needed to play the screen’s game. One of the first screens had stated he was competing with a pantheon for the title of King. That slight concern now seemed much larger, having fought a minor god and now ascending to the next level of the Trials. There was no way of knowing when the Trials would introduce him to his peers. So, he greeted the next screen, intent on studying the patterns of the Quests and Achievements. If he was going to play the game, he needed to figure out how to earn more.