Parry had swapped his consecrated clothes for less conspicuous gear (all but the boots) and stored them in his windbag after a good cleaning. He was tempted to scour Baronston's market square on a buying spree, but decided against it: their next destination would determine what they purchased here, if anything.

When he first set out, Parry intended to make for Terryp, the capital of the Empire. His most recent score of incarnations had flourished there, the intelligence he gathered would be vital, useful, and most importantly, fresh in his memories. Overlord Parry had ruled the entire continent, unseating the Emperor and consolidating tremendous power. There was no reason to leave that kind of opportunity on the table.

However, the conversation with the God of Wings had thrown Parry's priorities into turmoil. Was it right to simply forget about Domo and Pharryl? Would it make his "father" happy to find his son returned within a reasonable three or four weeks, safe and sound, even a bit seasoned by the road, and having shaped a Divine Heart and delivered it to the Great Lady's temple in Seven Towers? It was all a fiction, of course. He'd had no vision, it was a story he cooked up to get out of that house, escape the comfort of a loving family and Pharryl's gentle education, cozy workshop and pleasant gardens.

Parry thought it through as he walked along the outskirts of the market, waiting for the Guild Master to finish her business and return. He regretted the lie which now felt like it bound him.

Pharryl is not your father. You're in the body of his son and nothing more. You don't know him, you owe next to nothing. And he's not even real, just another fixture of the Creator's virtual world-prison.

But isn't it the nature of family to incur a debt and the decide to repay it, even at a cost, to make someone else feel better?

Send him a note. Lie better. Explain you had another vision, you'll be back in two years.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

That felt repugnant. The point was to lessen the man's worry, not double down.

Write him a confession, then: "Sorry, Dad, I made up the whole Divine Heart thing, just wanted to go off and see the world, thanks for finally performing the Ritual of the Second Step, I'll be fine."

That level of brazen cowardice brought a sardonic smile to his lips.

Write him a long letter and detail the truth, see if he believes it.

"If I wanted to respect him, I'd go home and explain everything in person." Parry realized he spoke that aloud. It helped to lay out his thoughts in a dialogue, but it wouldn't do to mumble like a lunatic by the side of the road.

Respect "Pharyl the AI subroutine"? Listen to yourself.

His hands balled into fists, frustration boiling up. How was this so easy for Styak? The demon accepted how it felt, that made everything real enough to act.

Once you take the virtual at face value, you have given into madness. The only thing real here is your will, your memories and your enemy. Use fantasy tools because you must, but don't accept the fantasy.

It's the one thing he'd never tried, not in all the thousands of lifetimes. Foggy and scattered as his early memories are, he knew this world felt at first like a grand adventure. It was the greatest imaginable theme park, until death after death after death everything became loss and loneliness and struggle, then disillusionment and finally grim determination to break out.

It hurt to lose the lovers, children, spouses, fathers and mothers, the people and creatures in every incarnation whom he cared about. It hurt to see them again a few lives later, oblivious. It hurt when his pups and hatchlings and children erased in the next incarnation. So Parry never let himself cross that line into simply accepting them as real.

Because you're not crazy. Because they aren't real.

Parry also never succeeded.

Is that why you messed with the setup screens? Look what skipping the sex selector gave you--nothing! The Creator shoved you into a male body same as a thousand times before.

Why did the god's words cut so deeply? What's the difference between treating everyone like code and treating the whole world with avaricious contempt?

Styak resurfaced with a triumphant meow, eager to share a memory it found. Parry experienced a wave of gratitude for the distraction. This terrible, foundational argument felt as intractable as it was painful. He wasn't about to solve it today.

"Alright, let's see what you've got..."