After a shower that felt as divine as it was short, I donned a sweeping vestment that Vahdat provided and joined with my bodyguards in one of the antechambers of the Church of the Second Sun. All four of them, including Ginan, had dark bags under their eyes that would count as carry-on luggage for an intra-ring transport ride. And yet despite their obvious fatigue, each of them visibly brightened upon seeing me.

“You look ridiculous,” joked Ginan as she stood. “How are you even able to walk without tripping over those sleeves?”

Something was off about her. I couldn’t put my finger on what until I glanced at her legs and processed the scene before me. Then it hit me. “Your leg! You stood on your own! How?”

Ginan grinned while hoisting up her pant leg to show the limb underneath. The amputated stump that should have been there was instead a full, pristine leg. “Side effect of being close to you when you did your little light show. It happened to the others as well. Verm here used to be missing a finger, Jix can see without his glasses, and Svit… What happened to you again?”

“I lost a few pounds!” exclaimed the rotund man as he patted his bulging gut. “Easiest weight I’ve ever burned off.”

I couldn’t help but snicker at the notion, “Great. If the whole deity thing doesn’t work out I can start up a radical new weight loss program.” After a round of laughter from everyone, I continued in a more serious tone, “Thank you all for protecting me thus far. Sister Vahdat has already told me about the Archbishop’s actions in regards to the footage inside Firegate Outpost. What can you tell me of events between now and when I passed out?”

Ginan naturally took the lead without any need for my guardians to confer. “After we recovered from seeing Ozul’s bastards fleeing instead of coming back, a couple things happened. The Deacon proclaimed that he knew you were special from the very first day, and that it was ‘divine providence’ that Hope returned under his care. Or some bull like that. Our mutual Matron ‘friend’ reverted back to her bitchy state and started ordering everyone around to prepare for an evac instead of trying to post videos on social media. For the most part, people listened to her. Us four stuck with you until the transport arrived. That’s when things got weird.”

“Weird how?” I asked.

“Well for one, the first hop we did was very brief,” said Verm, a weathered man in his late twenties with a long face. “Our ride took us straight to the nearest transport hub where they offloaded everyone but us. When we asked why and where they would be taken, our pilot simply said he ‘had orders from the Archbishop himself to carry us somewhere safer.’ We nearly grabbed you and left, but Ginan talked us down.”

I looked at Ginan, who shrugged in return. “At the time my thinking was the Church wanted to make sure you remained unharmed and in their care. They didn’t want to risk anyone getting a hold of you before they could properly debrief you. Sure, we could have left and taken you with us, but that would have just invited more problems. Wasn’t until we got you to bed here and started keeping watch that we noticed how strange everyone was acting. You’d think we’d brought in a plague carrier with how they purposefully avoided us and stopped talking whenever we grabbed food or hit the head. Only Vahdat seemed to care about and wanted to help you.”

This time Svit took up the reins. “Adding to that, we noticed something weird happening with our tablets. Every video and picture I’d taken of you when you ascended kept being erased from the intra-ring network nearly as soon as I posted it. Sister Vahdat overheard me grumbling about it and the rest you know. Now I’m just a soldier who likes food a little too much, but I don’t think you can go and completely erase an entire outpost from the net just willy nilly. I shudder to think what the Archbishop has done to the other survivors of Firegate if he’s capable of information control on this level.”

Frowning, I asked what was likely on everyone’s mind, “You don’t think he intends to lock me away or kill me, do you?”

“That’s exactly what he plans to do, or so I believe,” replied Ginan with conviction. “Think about it: Why would he allow a mutant (no offense Ishune) to become the head of the Church? The man speaks a big game about helping the poor, the elderly, and the mutated, but when was the last time he actually did anything about them? He’s more concerned with PR stunts and networking. Plus the fact the transport order came directly from him and not someone in government or the military? None of what’s happened since Firegate sits well with me.”

I closed my eyes. My gut told me that Ginan’s words had truth in them. But when I spoke I did so from the heart, “Kiara told me that her, er, our teachings have been perverted and that the masses’ hopes were being controlled. Hell, I can confirm from first-hand experience that mutants aren’t treated like scripture dictates, even in the Church sometimes. Both are things that the Archbishop would know about and have some measure of control over. But…”

I trailed off, then opened my eyes as I continued, “But we cannot condemn someone based on fear, paranoia, and speculation. You may be right, Ginan. He may try and dispose of me, of us. Yet I will maintain hope that the Archbishop has good intentions. I have to believe, and not just because I literally am Hope now.”

“No doubt there,” remarked Verm. “Your wings and lightshow are back.”

He pointed over my shoulder and my head swiveled to look. Sure enough, my wings had returned, though only as translucent, holographic representations rather than the actual flesh and blood. Additionally, my skin was surrounded by a faint aura of radiance.

“Huh, I didn’t mean to do that,” I said. “I wonder how long I can keep this effect going.”

[Statement: Holographic Projection has miniscule drain. Duration is near Indefinite] spoke my other-self in my mind. At least, I think it was my mind. The other four didn’t react to my godly voice being used by an unseen entity.

“That should make things easier with the Archbishop,” relented Ginan as she let her shoulders droop instead of holding them stiff. “However, I would like to have a contingency plan should things go south.”

My ears flicked as I tilted my head slightly. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well…”

***

The Archbishop’s arrival was trumpeted through the Church of the Second Sun as the main doors to the chapel swung open. I watched and waited from the crossing between the six transepts and beneath a dome bearing artwork of Kiara. The first in the Archbishop’s precession were two priests swinging golden incense burners, filling the nave with the scent of burning maple and cinnamon. Next came the gaggle of musicians and choir that filtered into the pews while still playing and singing the Hymn of Entrance. That hymn was supposed to be used whenever Hope entered a church, though I did not begrudge or fault the Archbishop for using it in this manner.

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Finally came the Archbishop himself. Flanked by six sharply-dressed security guards, the old man hobbled down the fire-tinted carpet with the assistance of a cane tipped by a six-winged pommel. He looked so small even when accounting for my larger size. Not Ginan levels of tiny, though something close to it. His eyes were sunken and his face both spotted and wrinkled. Despite all that, he plodded towards me with the conviction and determination of a stern father about to discipline their child. His security opened ranks as he got past the last set of pews, though they remained nearby squaring off against my security.

“This is a blessed day!” croaked the Archbishop as he stopped before me. His hands rested on his cane as he looked me up and down. “To think I would have the honor of greeting Hope herself! Such a thing hasn’t happened in many lifetimes.”

I offered him a slight bow of my head, returning, “Yes, well, I’m pleased you’ve gone to the trouble of coming to meet me rather than the other way around. Though I must admit I am curious what the Golden City is like.”

Still stoic, the Archbishop’s grin never faltered as he replied, “I thought it best to confer with you prior to your arrival to the Golden City. We do not want to cause alarm or false hope by letting your return be spoiled by intra-ring videos and hearsay.”

I did my best to mirror his countenance. “Alarm, you say? Why ever would people be alarmed by the return of Hope?”

That was when the Archbishop’s mask faltered. The opening lasted less than a second as his eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth drooped slightly. Then the mask returned as he said, “You have chosen a most… unusual form to return in, your Grace. Some on Erebus might not accept you for that reason.”

“I see.” Noticing that all present were being deathly quiet so as to hear our exchange, I leaned in slightly and whispered, “Do you count yourself among their number, Archbishop?”

He understood the gesture, also bowing and dropping his voice so only we two were privy to his words. “I won’t try to lie to you. I do. Mutation is a fundamental defilement and twisting of the human form. You should not be divine.”

My tail twitched and I had to catch myself from letting my own mask fall as I responded, “I appreciate your candor. How do you suggest we bridge this gap?”

“You need not return to the Golden City,” he answered. “The Church can simply say that Hope has returned and you now walk among the citizens of Erebus. That should be sufficient to calm the masses and prevent a schism from occurring.”

Sensing that this was more a statement than an actual offer I could refuse, I stood straight, smiled, offered out a hand, then said at a normal volume, “I’m sure we can work something out.”

The Archbishop returned the smile, despite his being one of practiced falsehood. He took my hand gingerly, as if he was having to touch something unpleasant. His mouth opened in reply, but that’s when something strange happened. The Church of the Second Sun was no longer around us.

Instead, both the Archbishop and I were standing in a grand courtyard between skyscrapers tipped with gold. The sky was dark and filled with smoke coming from multiple bonfires and the torches of a large crowd. They were bunched up against a set of gallows, shouting curses and other profanity at the mutants being led to their nooses. Trailing behind them was a much younger version of the Archbishop, fit in the robes of a common priest.

“What did you do?” the current version snarled.

“I’m going to go out on a limb and say we’re viewing a memory,” I replied. “Yours to be specific. That or we’ve actually traveled in time and are simply invisible to this mob.”

“Take us back,” he growled in return. “I have no wish to relive this moment.”

I shrugged, replying, “I have no idea how I even did all this in the first place, much less how to take us back. We’ll just have to bank on us being returned when we see what we need to. What’s so special about this public execution?”

Still tense and rigid, the Archbishop hissed, “This is when I truly realized what was wrong with humanity.” He pointed to the ravenous mass calling for blood. “Executions like this used to be quite common, even in the Golden City.”

“Indeed, I narrowly escaped several growing up,” I admitted.

“At first I thought I was doing some good by giving the mutants their last rites, the last and possibly only act of kindness they could receive,” he explained. His doppleganger began walking down the line, signing and offering prayers on the mutants’ behalf. “I thought I was giving them hope that they weren’t being lynched for nothing. But that’s when she came up.”

The clunk of the gallows signaled the deadly drop as the first round of mutants were executed. Once all of their twisted bodies ceased moving, they were taken down and their corpses thrown unceremoniously into the back of a cart. The gallows were then reset and a new group of abnormals brought up. I could instantly tell what made this group different: a young girl, barely six, that had an extra left arm and saucer-like eyes. She was terrified, bawling for her mother as the executioner tried to figure out how to get her into the noose. All the while, the past-Archbishop remained frozen at the end of the line, his gaze never leaving the child.

“I realized at that moment that I wasn’t providing hope,” said the current-Archbishop. “If anything, I was making a mockery of it. This child had done nothing wrong, and yet the people demanded her destruction. Executions like these were just blood sport - A means to direct the hate and anger of the masses to prevent them from turning on their masters. Mutants were just a convenient scapegoat. Those in power could have just as easily pointed at a different group and the rage of the public would have transferred without issue.”

He turned away from the scene as the executioner finally figured out the noose situation and went to ready the drop lever. “I don’t hate you, your Grace. I hate what mutants represent and how easy it is to blame and fear those who are visibly different. Because I, a priest, was there blessing the entire event, the people felt their barbaric actions and feelings were justified. That was the ugly truth I learned that day: I was merely a cog in the machine used to contain and shepherd the population’s will down whatever path those above me chose. ”

The executioner pulled the lever. The memory froze, instantly dropping us into silence. I committed the scene to memory before meeting the Archbishop’s gaze and asking, “So why did you continue to stay with the Church and rise through the ranks? I know that eventually you helped put a stop to public executions once you had the power to do so, but why hold onto that hate? You can still do some good with the prestige and influence you possess. I don’t understand.”

The Archbishop sighed, “Because by that point I was no longer a man of the cloth. I was a charlatan that believed his own lies and the utter tripe I preached. Even now, I live in a world of self-delusion to prevent me from seeing the truth. The painful, horrid truth that I am no better than that rabid mob.”

He paused, blinked, shook his head, and wondered aloud, ”…Huh. Why am I telling you all this?”

I had no idea. Sure, I had been (and still was) hopeful that I could work things out with the Archbishop. But I was expecting some kind of resistance. I wasn’t expecting to gain this much ground, much less how rapidly.

I said the first thing that came to mind, in the process noting my “holy voice” returning, “You seek absolution from the only authority truly capable of granting it. You cling to the Hope that you can be forgiven from straying from the path.”

The Archbishop grimaced and hung his head. “You may be right. I am an old man seeking entrance to heaven, even when everything I’ve done demands I be tossed into Ozul’s darkest pit.”

I placed a hand on his shoulder as a fragment of Kiara’s wisdom passed from me, “Then use the time you have remaining to make things right.”

In the time it took to blink, the Archbishop and I returned to the present back in the Church of the Second Sun. Everything and everyone was as we had left it. My opposite focused on my face, his eyes darting, searching for a sign that what had just transpired actually took place. I nodded as subtly as I could, and he returned the gesture.

“Perhaps you are right,” proclaimed the Archbishop for all to hear. “Perhaps we should work to change the undue scorn that mutants face. To that end…” He turned to the congregation and held his arms wide. “Let it be known! Hope has returned!”