Forlattena Prison, Desmond, 10416 P.C.

"Condemned to die for their actions against the crown..."

Matthew stood amidst the trees, staring up at the fog drifting just feet above the treetops. The images from the screen flickered before his eyes, and he shook his head, trying to get rid of them. They infuriated him. Kids even younger than him executed before a crowd — and it was called justice. Stephanie hadn't turned his eyes away like she had Todd's. Matthew had watched the swords fall, watched the lives of innocents end in an instant. Oh, he had wanted to look away, but he hadn't been able to. The screen had shown it all, and Matthew wanted to throw up. His emotions had surged within him, and in one fierce mental wrench of his Warmth, the screen was ruined.

Away from it all, Matthew still couldn't breathe properly. The Athrii around him was expansive. The push of it was strong — he felt suffocated, desperate to squelch it all with his mental fist but unable to grasp a hold of it. When it was in tangible objects, like the screen, he could destroy it. The fog was a whole other story, and it was suffocating.

How could the Creator just stand around and watch all of this happen, not even lifting a finger to help? Matthew glared up at the trees, as if the Immortal One would suddenly appear in the sky above. "Where are You?" he whispered. Was it a dare? A challenge? He didn't know. All he could feel was suffocation and anger.

A distant memory returned with a jolt: "You're afraid, but you shouldn't be. The Immortal One hears us."

Kylie. So hard-headed, so strong in her belief that the Immortal One was going to save them. She had died all the same. No god had come to her rescue.

"The Immortal One hears us."

"Then where are You?" Matthew hadn't meant to yell it so loudly; birds scattered with frightened chirps as his voice carried through the forest. He flushed, hoping it hadn't carried back to the cabin. He didn't want the others out looking for him. He wasn't sure he could face them right now.

It was cold, but because of the Warmth in his chest, he barely noticed as he started walking again. The forest was beautiful, truly, in a mystical sort of way. The fog, blocking out much of the sunlight, shadowed the trees, and the trees, in turn, shadowed the ground. Matthew walked through the dim light, watching the way the swirling fog created intricate patterns on the forest floor. He fought to see the beauty in it. His mind replayed the executions over and over; first the executions in Zusia, and then the executions in the mines when the Overseer had killed Kylie and her friends. Then his mind recalled Oceania's death at the hand of her own father. The fog above could not hide the grief and the beauty of the forest could not mask the injustices in the world. The scars on the young prince's face screamed of injustice. The scars on Matthew's back burned with it. He thought and recalled and remembered every ache, every pain, every murder that had been committed before his eyes until all he could see was a blur and all could feel was hatred. Lily's and Jules' screams echoed in his mind. He clamped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Why?" he whispered.

Water lapped at his knees. Gasping, his eyes flew open as he stumbled, his feet sinking in wet sand and gentle waves nudging him off balance. He fell, the water splashing into his mouth and over his head. Saltwater stung his throat and burned his eyes and pain seared in his chest as he flailed and thrashed, struggling to get his head above the water. It was only knee-deep, but his panic was all-consuming. He choked and coughed, scrambling through the salty water to dry sand. He collapsed, gasping, struggling to get his bearings.

Obviously, he was no longer in the forest. The sun burned brightly overhead, glistening off the ocean and nearly blinding Matthew. He stared with an open mouth, scrambling to his feet. The sand clung to his wet skin, itchy and warm. He was on a beach. A wave lapped at his feet, and he scrambled back, catching his breath as he watched the water foam and froth. The air was hot and humid. He looked around in disbelief and confusion.

"Hello?" he called. It looked like he was on an island of some sort. There were several hundred yards of sand before the beach cut off into tree and rock. A cliff rose high into the sky, jagged and mountain-like. Moss and vines clung to it, the decor of an ancient kingdom, while palm trees stood tall like stoic guards. Matthew stared in awe. Somehow, he understood that he was standing on hallowed ground. The very air felt pure.

That's when he realized that the pulse of Athrii was gone. Like a constant ache had suddenly been lifted, he felt strangely light and empty — not a bad kind of emptiness, but a relieving kind that pulled a sigh from his lips. Running a hand over his wet hair, he looked around, struggling to figure out what had happened and where he was.

"You ask why because you lack understanding."

Matthew jumped at the sudden voice. Turning, he found a man standing just feet away, his back to the cliff as he surveyed the ocean. Matthew knew he hadn't been there a moment ago. The man wore weather-worn clothing — a sun-bleached shirt and pants ripped at the knees — and his dark hair was as long as Matthew's, his beard full and bushy. Matthew was sure he had never seen the man before in his life, but there was a familiarity about him that made him question his memory.

Most would have been frightened or defensive at the man's sudden appearance; however, Matthew was still, a sense of serenity washing over him. The Warmth seemed to expand at the mere sight of the man. This man wasn't Matthew's enemy — but then, that didn't make him his friend.

"Who are you?" Matthew asked softly. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You have many questions."

"You said I have no understanding."

"I said you lack it," the man replied, never once looking at Matthew. The ocean seemed to have entrapped his gaze. "There is much you can't and won't understand. For instance, you will never understand your Creator and His ways. He created your kind to lack the capacity for such understanding — what mortal being can inherit the mind of a god?" He turned his head to look at Matthew, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth as if he was inwardly laughing at Matthew's expense. "He did try to put His full heart of morality and goodness in your kind; however, the imbalanced nature was a probable error on His part."

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Matthew frowned. "What do you mean?"

The man arched an eyebrow. "Are you surprised that I would suggest that your Creator made a mistake? Was it a mistake, or rather just a relative hiccup He had conceived for His godly plans? Who can know the mind of a god? Many a man has fallen and He has not lifted a finger to mend what was broken. You ask why He has not acted. You, a mortal, demand an answer from the immortal."

Matthew couldn't read this man. He seemed talkative, leading Matthew on as if he had some sort of answer for the Creator in some way. Perhaps, maybe, he did. "People are dying, and He's done nothing."

"Why should He?" The man gestured out to the ocean with a sun-kissed hand. "They despise Him. They want nothing to do with Him. They cursed Him in their hearts even while He was with them, and because of their rebellion, He gave them up. He let them be taken captive, even though the very thought of it broke His heart in ways no mortal could understand. He has not moved, because they themselves stay His hand."

"That's not true. I've spent years in the mines, sir, and the people cried out to Him over and over."

"He heard them and released them — some through the mercy of death's door, and others through you."

Matthew stared at the ocean's waves, watching them bubble against the sand. He understood how death could be a mercy, but it was a twisted one. Death was the end of life. What did the man mean, through him? "I don't understand."

"I did not expect you to. Your mind has been limited by the Human barriers and unbelief you gave it."

"Now I really don't understand."

The man turned to look at him. Matthew was struck by the intensity of his gaze. "You have convinced yourself that you are ordinary, that the abilities you have are merely coincidental gifts instead of being a part of who and what you are. Every fibre of your being was designed by the Immortal One, and you discredit Him by discrediting yourself."

"Are you saying I'm not Human?"

The man smiled briefly. "It was no accident that you came to be with the Deliverer and his companions. Without you, their cause is forfeit. Your role in this was decided before you were even born. Every twist and turn in your life, every decision you've made, everything that has happened to you has been preparing you and leading you right up to this moment." The man sighed, looking back out at the ocean. "Peaceful, isn't it?"

Somehow, Matthew knew he was talking about the lack of Athriian pulses in his mind. "Yeah." His thoughts stuttered over what the man was saying.

"You do have a choice," the man continued. "Your gifts are a part of who and what you are, yet you still have your mother's blood in your veins. Many of your kind chose to escape their burden and become mere men, shunning their gifts and losing them forever."

At those words, Matthew could feel the Warmth begin to fade. It was as if it was slipping away from him, piece by tiny piece, disappearing into the ocean air. It was a startling sensation, one that panicked him. "Wait, I can lose it?" He didn't even know what it was, but the thought of losing it was frightening. He had already almost lost it before. The Warmth was comforting, always offering a sense of peace and calm, and he didn't want to lose that. He didn't understand half of what the man was saying, but this... this he understood. Clearly.

"If you choose to. The choice is solely yours. The magic within you and the abilities that come with it stem from the Creator Himself, and when you cut off belief in Him, you cut ties with the gifts He's granted you. It is a fail-safe design."

"You're telling me to trust the Immortal One," Matthew concluded, all too aware of how his Warmth still faded. It made him anxious, as if a ticking time bomb was about to detonate in his chest and take the Warmth away forever.

"You must if you are to succeed." The man gazed at Matthew with dark eyes. "You were destined for this moment, but you are the one who chooses who you become. I can only guide you in hopes that you will trust My plan." A little smile played on the man's lips as the truth of his wording dawned on Matthew. "We cannot choose our gifts, Matthew. Only what we do with them. So... do you trust Me?"

Matthew opened his eyes. The forest surrounded him. Fog dimmed the air. The sand was gone, and he wasn't even wet anymore. For a moment, he stood quietly, a bit stunned. Then he let out a shuddering breath, putting his hand to his forehead. "Bloody hell," he mumbled to himself. Naturally, he had met a god and had looked like a complete idiot.

He looked at his hands. The Warmth was still fading.

"Your mind has been limited by the Human barriers and unbelief you gave it."

"Alright," he whispered in a challenge. "Then let me see."

What happened next he would never find himself capable of properly describing in words. One moment, he was standing among the trees; the next, he was flying through the air, in the sky. The world was below him, the ground thousands of feet away and the ocean just as far. He was among the stars, god himself, staring down at the world before him. A world of corruption, a world of sorrows, a once-perfect world he had created and designed with his own fingertips, with all of his heart — and yet they hated him. He heard hearts break. He heard laughter. He heard sobs. Whispered words of praise tingled in his ears. Curses burned them. Gratitude. Joys. Fears.

Hope.

Among the stars and clouds, for just a moment, he saw all, felt all, knew all. That moment was enough.

The next, Matthew was slammed back to earth, into his body, his flesh, a man once more and yet not fully Human — he never had been. Matthew gasped for breath, staggering to his hands and knees, filled to the brim with more Warmth than he had ever experienced. His eyes saw more than they ever had, a power within him he couldn't fully grasp. The pulses of Athrii echoed in his mind like drums, yet they weren't as overwhelming as they had been before. In fact, he sensed its weakness. The amount of Athrii in the fog above him, which had once felt so suffocating, was now fleeting compared to the amount of Warmth in his chest. For the first time, Matthew could finally see in himself what those around him had seen all along: hope.

Shaking and trembling on the forest floor, Matthew laughed. It was a giddy laugh, one full of adrenaline and relief and — as it felt — insanity. He didn't have answers. He didn't even know what he was if he wasn't fully Human. But he knew what he had, and he knew what it meant. It meant that he, too, was destined for something greater than himself. It meant that he had hope. It meant he had to trust, no matter what.

He would never challenge god again.