‘This is Isene’ Zichu introduced. A god, humanoid in all but her height, towering well over all the rest in the room, though that wasn’t really saying much for Mejias and Zichu, who were both rather small. Orikka however looked up as if impressed. The new god was as pale as milk, with six long fingers and hair shaved down, revealing an elongated head underneath, sooty ash where hair might have grown, covering halfway down her face and emphasizing shining amber eyes. Jade jewelry clinked softly on her ankles and wrists, pierced through her nose and ears. ‘She is my demi-god child.’ Zichu looked terribly pleased, like the proud parent she was. ‘She is interested in passing through the gate, she says she is ready to reincarnate.’ Iseult marveled, that would mean this was the first god interested in fully dispersing. And the first demi-god to pass through. The god seemed shy, rounding her shoulders in an attempt to take up less space, her eyes barely visible behind her bangs, hiding behind as much of Zichu as the older god’s frame would allow. Zichu gently took her hand, leading her up the stairs to the rooftop deck, where the dinner table was set. Mejias had set out their fanciest pillows around the table, and decorated the space with many of the cherry blossom branches her devotees were still sending her, lanterns with animal cutouts taped with colored transparent paper that she had made back when she was young surrounded them, casting the colorful light of shadowy flames across the deck.

‘Like me, Isene also carries her godseed with her’ Zichu told them after their dessert, a delicate flan Mejias had spent an inordinate amount of time on, or so she had told Iseult, as Iseult had only seen the final cooled product. Isene silently produced a small carved harp, the fine threads stringing it a brilliant amber, fibers shaved of Zichu’s sunstone, lacing the instrument in a spiraling pattern much like that of a spider web, rather than the typical long strung pattern Iseult had seen on harps before. ‘Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that,’ Mejias admired. Isene smiled a tiny smile, ‘you can hold it if you’d like,’ she offered, her voice soft and lyrical, a deeper sound than Iseult had expected the reserved woman to make. Mejias took the instrument, her hand strumming across the strings gently, releasing a heavenly sound. She returned it to Isene, who then demonstrated how to play it, plucking out a complex melody requiring all six of her fingers, unable to be repeated by those with only five. The amber of the strings glittered in the air with each strum, almost visible reverberations, the silky burr of a hummingbird’s wings. Isene hummed softly, her voice a deep accompaniment, while her instrument was the melody, an unusual combination that Iseult hadn’t heard before, but greatly admired. She closed her eyes, a picture of a burning stone, transparent yet still white hot, crackles of trapped water sparking, painted itself across the backs of her eyelids as the music flowed through her. She wondered what the other saw, if the music showed them something similar. What did Zichu see, did the music compel her visions? It seemed possible, given the two gods' connection. Could this have been a vision as well? She leaned back on her pillow, letting herself be ensnared by the song.

‘What will happen to the godseed?’ Iseult asked after they had left, Zichu planning a small fanfare fitting for Isene’s final day as a living being before she released the entirety of her soul. Mejias paused from clearing the table, a pile of dishes in her hands, balanced carefully. ‘I’m not really sure. If it still exists after she goes I’m sure Zichu will reclaim it.’ She paused for a moment, mouth open as she struggled to put into words, ‘I, I’m not sure how I feel about someone using something I made to essentially kill themselves. I know I said gods shouldn’t exist, and, and I know I even killed Babkoche. But it still feels wrong, somehow. Like, I made it with the intention of freeing people from death and now these other beings are coming to it looking to die.’ She set the dishes back down on the table, pulling a pillow underneath her folded legs. She threaded her hands through her curls, pulling at the strands. ‘Everything is so hard. I thought that making a gate would just, I don’t know, fix things. But instead it made everything more complicated.’ Iseult ran a hand soothingly over Mejias’ hair, gently untangling her fingers from the locks. ‘I know it feels like a warping of your gift, but I think you have to let go, the use of the gift is for the user to decide. You can’t try to control how others choose to live, or how they die, that has to be up to them,’ she sat back in her own seat, laying her ghostly hands on top of Mejias’ living ones, ‘you have to trust that they’re making the best decisions they are able to make for themselves. And you have to respect those decisions, even if you don’t understand them. I think trying to exert control over their lives will only turn you into the sort of god you don’t want to be.’

It had been a while since Iseult had felt like she had been able to say the right thing, the comforting thing. She had been worried for so long about hurting Mejias after the betrayal of the gate and Hija’s death, that she had ended up saying nothing at all, letting silence fill up the space between them. She wasn’t sure she entirely believed what she had said now, but it didn’t feel like a lie when she said it, either. There were plenty of things she could think of that merited intervention rather than just a respectful observation. But Mejias could address them when they came up, for now, this seemed to be what she needed to hear. Just as with making the gate, the particularities of its use were out of her control.

It was getting harder to be there for her little sister, the things Mejias needed becoming beyond the bandaid and hug that would have sufficed for her troubles as a child. Mejias wasn’t quite so little any more, she was rapidly reaching Iseult’s own age of death. Would her problems outstrip what Iseult could offer her? She could feel the dynamic of their relationship changing and it scared her. Mejias was growing up, up and into something more than human, and it felt as if she was being left behind. Would there come a day when Mejias no longer needed her at all? What would her role be in Mejias’ life then? Who would she be if not Mejias’ guardian?

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As their age gap closed and their emotional maturity aligned, their interactions became more similar to Iseult’s relationship with her twin Mnomo, something closer to siblings. Gentle guidance became playful teasing and comradery. It was nice, even, to have someone more adult to talk to again. But also confusing. Mejias was a huge part of her life, she talked to her almost every day, spent almost all her time with the other girl. Mejias was her most important person. Discomfort sparked. Mnomo used to be her most important person. Was she replacing Mnomo’s place in her heart with her pseudo-sister? The pain of loss twisted in her heart, it would be like losing him all over again, to replace him with Mejias.

Isene’s final day was a giant festival at the gate square, requiring all the gods attending to dress up. Zichu was decked in her typical ornate robes, even more flamboyant than before to celebrate her daughter’s deathday, followed by her many acolytes in similar garb. Even Orikka participated, wearing a pale gossamer dress supplied by Zichu, the whirling galaxies within their form still visible underneath. Obviously Mejias abstained, stubbornly wearing her street clothes, something that greatly appealed to the younger demographic of her devotees. Many of them surrounded her, proudly wearing their red fists. She seemed a little overwhelmed by the experience.

The shy Isene was seated slightly separate from the masses, in the place of honor on a raised dais at the head of a long table, freely available fruit and pastries, and dangling flower arrangements decking it. Large candles burned in the center of the table, thick and pearly white with wax dripping down them to pool at their bases, the heady scent of them permeating the air, floral as the flowers themselves. A large cage of song birds trilled from behind her, their golden cage similar in resemblance to Isene’s harp. They would be entering the gate with her, to be symbolically or even perhaps literally absorbing her soul as it diffused. The birds would be given to the people as gifts after the procession, as a way to commune with the departing god.

Looking at the festival, with its music and games, Iseult much preferred the way Sonsoliel celebrated the passing of its citizens then the somber affair from her old city, which was only celebrated after the passing, if you could even call it celebration. In her old city, everyone wore black, and people stood up to share stories about the departed, which were usually both equal parts fond comical remembrances and sad anecdotes of loss. This way Isene’s life was being celebrated instead of her death. It was a much better way to preserve someone’s memory, in Iseult’s opinion, and a much better relationship with death in general. Though usually the person in question was dead after rather than before. Mejias hadn’t seemed to find resolution on the use of her gate for self-annihilation, but after seeing the festival and Isene’s faint smile Iseult wondered if she would change her mind. It seemed that Isene was very at peace with her soon demise, happy even. She had shared the other night that her life after godhood was very painful for her, she couldn’t bear the weight of her transformation. She hadn’t shared how that had come to pass and none of them had asked. The pain of it seemed too personal for her to share.

They hadn’t actually celebrated Hiju and his mother after their passing, Iseult suddenly remembered. With all the deaths from the plaque it seemed in bad taste to hold a celebration every day. Perhaps she would bring up holding a small party for him when they got home. She did miss the boy, and worried about how Mejias would act without her best friend to keep her grounded from her newfound godhood. But then, she supposed she would always be around. Or maybe not. It was something she had been thinking about more lately. How much longer she wanted to exist on this plane, how much more time she wanted to stay coherent rather than diffusing and reincarnating. She did want to continue on in the natural cycle of things at some point. And her goal with Orikka had been met. There was nothing really keeping her here, besides Mejias. The girl had already lost Hiju, and Orikka had never really been around to begin with. Would she mentally survive the loss of herself? Well, she didn’t have to pass anytime soon, and there was still more to know about the gate.

The crowd quieted as Isene stood up, pushing out her gilded chair and stepping away from the table. She picked up her golden harp, strumming it with her long fingered hands, a soft melody emerging as she accompanied it with her deep vocals. The birds behind her began to sing along, a slightly chaotic choir. She paused for a moment with her playing, the music seeming to hang heavy in the air while she was opening the gate for the birds. They alighted on her shoulders and hair, fluttering around her and perching on the arc of her harp, following in a flock behind her. She continued on with her strumming, walking steadily towards the gate, her hips swinging hypnotically as she walked, a swaying sort of dance in time with her music. She stepped into the arch of the gate as her song crescendoed. A brilliant light filled the square, to the murmurs of the city folk. Isene was becoming opaque, her form fading away as more and more souls emerged from her, pure and freed. Soon something cracked, and Iseult realized it was the sharp drop of Isene’s harp, the godseed instrument, broken apart as Isene finally disappeared, dispersing entirely. As Zichu approached to collect her daughter’s harp, the song birds quickly dispersed, chaos ensuing as people chased after them, eager to bring a bit of the god home.

‘I didn’t expect it to hurt so much.’ Zichu said to the near empty square, Mejias, Iseult, and Orikka left by the gate, only stragglers lingering over the food left nearby. Orikka reached out to the god, a hand on the shoulder of their daughter. ‘I thought that fulfilling her would make me happy, that I would feel peaceful at her demise because it was what she wanted. But instead I just feel lost. She is gone now. And what is left for me?’ She picked up the harp, cradling the broken pieces, as if they were her daughter, and in a way they were, as she left with her attendants.