“What do you mean ‘dead?’” Luka asked God Neb. His hands were shaking, his stomach was doing backflips.

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” the memory of Luka’s daughter, Annie, said two decades before Luka’s death. “Mom’s not well, and you’re making things worse. You have to leave.”

Tears poured from Luka’s face as he remembered his response: “Drive me to the airport, then?”

He didn’t even try to defend himself—he was fine with leaving; his ex-wife and daughter didn’t want him… and it wasn’t like he wanted them either. The daughter he never wanted, the ex-wife he married because of the daughter… his family.

Tears turned to wailing when he remembered Annie’s reply: “I’m too busy.”

His own daughter wouldn’t even drive him to the airport after kicking him out—and Luka of the past still didn’t fight back. He didn’t put his foot down and demanded that they fix their relationship. He didn’t attempt to understand the issue. He didn’t care if his ex died in that hospital bed. He didn’t care if his estranged daughter hated him.

He didn’t care because he knew they were right—Luka, King of Bullets, savant of death. They knew his titles; they knew what he was. And at this point in his life, Luka agreed. His daughter and wife hated him… and he hated himself. There was no fixing his past; there was only means to forget. Bothering them any longer was only punishment. Alcohol at first, then pills. Homelessness came later.

Luka remembered the cold, snowy bench he died on. Alone and long gone.

“Annie died on Earth well after you did,” God Neb said. “Tippy didn’t reincarnate you that soon after your death—everyone you ever knew on Earth is dead. You have great-grandkids that are still alive, but you never met them, and they don’t know anything about you.”

Luka’s eyes looked and felt as if he’d been punched. They were swollen, puffy, and a shade of crimson that shined even in the moonlight. Tears leaked down his cheeks, and snot oozed from his mouth and nose. Leo licked and brushed against him, but even the white ball of fluff stayed out of the splash zone.

This time, Neb picked up a rock and threw it. But while Luka’s were pebbles that could fit in the palm of his hand, the god magically picked up a boulder and hurled it across the lake. The mortal in the group couldn’t see it splash, the darkness too thick.

“So, now you know,” Neb then said.

Goddess Tippy glared. “Is this conversation going as you envisioned?”

The old man shrugged. “He hasn’t thrown himself off the cliff yet, just rocks. So, yeah.”

Luka looked up and blinked away the tears. “Is that what you think I’m going to do? Throw myself off the cliff?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you think we’re here?”

He recoiled. “That thought never even crossed my mind.”

The gods looked at him as if they didn’t believe him… because, after all, they could read minds.

“Stop reading my mind,” Luka muttered with a tone so dark, both gods removed their magical probing. Their presence slipped away, disappearing with little more than a brush. His mind equated their magic as a blade of grass touching the sole of his foot—subtle, a feeling so minute that unless Luka actively felt for it, he would have never noticed. But now, now he knew what mind-reading magic felt like.

And from now on, he’d be on the lookout. The gods had screwed with his mind enough—he wouldn’t allow them to peer into his thoughts any longer.

“I like that look in your eyes,” Neb declared. “Your mood has changed from sadness to ire. And while I’d rather your ire be targeted at someone else, I will settle for this outcome.”

“You people are disgusting,” Luka slurred. “Treating us mortals like playthings—”

“Luka, no!” Tippy interrupted. “That’s not what we are doing at all! You, and all of the other World Walkers, are the only people keeping our world alive. Without you all, this world would have stagnated—even with us gods interfering.”

Neb reluctantly nodded. “It’s not something we like to advertise, but Tip’s right. The World Walker program is something we gods thought up in hopes of pulling this world out of this endless era. Think about Earth: how quick did humans go from cavemen to nuclear power? A few, a handful of myriads? Would you believe it’s taken this world nearly twice that to go from cavemen to what Earth would call ‘medieval?’”

“Then the World Walker ‘program’ failed,” Luka said.

“No—in fact, just the opposite. World Walkers are a relatively new idea for this world. We’ve only been doing it for a few centuries.”

“And look at what we’ve accomplished already.” Tippy was smiling, her lips made of fine rose petals. “Our world is more connected now than ever. The gnomes are creating cutting-edge mechanical inventions modeled with Earth’s motors. Very recently, we’ve redone our public education, and whatever child is guaranteed to have—”

“That’s not even accounting for World Walkers from worlds other than Earth,” Neb interrupted. “One recent milestone is how connected the elves are to the trees. It’s been a cultural marvel. And we can thank a World Walker from Grovin for that.”

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Luka hesitated, then asked, “Why me?”

Neb sealed his lips, allowing his younger coworker to answer.

Tippy took a long while to speak. And when she did, she spoke quietly. “My brother asked me the same question when I showed you to him. At first, he didn’t get it either—and maybe he still doesn’t. But my answer is the same to you as it was to him: because I’m scared.”

Luka stole a glance at Neb. Apparently, the god was just as confused as he was.

Tippy continued, “I worry that my time as a goddess has made me blind. You hit the nail on the head earlier, Luka. We are distant, we do manipulate to get what we want, and yes, sometimes the outcome causes pain because we can’t relate too.

“But don’t ever believe we don’t care. Immortality is a long and lonely road. And as narcissistic as it sounds, being a god is a selfless position. We don’t claim to be saints—well, most of us at least—but listening to all those prayers? All their problems? All their wants, needs, and feelings? It’s… hell. A hell that, if we were to quit, would destroy the world as we know it.

“So yeah, I’m scared. I’m scared for the world, for my people, for you, for my brother, and the other gods. I’m scared for the future—a future I can read, mind you—and I’m still scared…”

“But how does that relate to me?” Luka asked in the lull.

Tippy looked up, locking her eyes with his. “Because you’re scared too. I searched Earth and all the other worlds we reincarnate from to find someone who was scared like me. I searched for someone who could feel mortal pain but also was pragmatic enough to understand immortal anguish. I looked for someone desperate for a second chance in life, no matter how much they told themselves they didn’t.”

“I searched for you, Luka.”

He pressed his teeth together, halting his voice. He mulled over his word choice before finally saying, “I don’t think you have the right guy.”

“Really?” Tippy asked before jutting a thumb back toward the park. “How do you explain that, then?”

“Anyone could build an amusement park.”

Neb chuckled, shaking his head. “That’s not what she’s pointing at, kid. Here, let me help…” Magic flared from the man’s tired hands. A shimmering vortex appeared like a hazy early morning. Swirls of color magnified the park, producing a remote image of a pair of orcish siblings and their crazy aunt. Eve and Franky sat on the bench, looking in Luka and the gods’ general direction.

Eve chewed her nails raw; Franky absentmindedly scratched a gash into the metal and wood seat—both lost in thought. Sol sat cross-legged, eyeing a piece of paper filled with illusionary glyphs.

“Sol’s been working on a solution to illusion nausea,” Neb said. “And while she hasn’t been successful, I’m sure a few… divine insights would fix the problem.”

Luka found himself nodding along with the god’s words. But then his mind caught up. He slowly faced the old man. “See, that’s the problem right there. You—a god to these people—have a solution to fix illusion nausea. But you don’t tell anyone.”

“They have to figure it out themselves—”

“Why? What’s the point in being gods if you can’t help keep kids and apprentices from being sick while dealing with illusions? What kind of sadistic god sees sick kids and refuses to simply tell them how to fix it?”

“Luka,” Tippy calmly said, “telling the people the solution to their every problem is exactly what got us into this problem and is exactly the reason why we created the World Walkers. Magic and us gods are the reason the world has stagnated.”

“Then you should all stop being gods.”

“We’ve talked about it,” Neb said, “and decided that we are too influential. Think of it as the sunken cost fallacy. If we simply stop being gods, then everyone who looks to us will fall into despair. And since that’s most of the world, well, you can see where I’m going, right?”

“You two always seem to have the perfect answer,” Luka darkly said.

“We do. But sometimes our definition of perfect isn’t the same as yours.”

Luka pointed at the vortex mirror showing off his friends and their aunt. “How long have they been sitting there?”

“Since ten minutes after you stormed off. They told Tram first.”

“What about their shifts?”

Tippy answered, “They asked another few villagers to cover. It wasn’t a problem.”

Luka bit his lip. “I’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“And they’ve been worried for hours.” Neb theatrically sighed. “You got upset that Eve was hurt. They got upset because you were upset. You all are upset because you all care for one another and don’t want to see each other hurt. So—while you’ve been out here kicking yourself, they’ve been over there kicking themselves. You blame your past, they blame themselves.”

Neb destroyed the magical mirror, turned, and locked eyes with Luka. “And yet, the sun will rise tomorrow, the park will open again, and people will continue to create memories riding your creations.”

“Am I wrong for feeling the way I do?” Luka asked.

“No,” Tippy answered before Neb could. “But you are wrong for letting the way you feel dictate what you do. When you’re emotional, you don’t always see the whole picture—you don’t always see the future will be okay.”

He looked at her. “That’s rich coming from the scared goddess.”

“It is, isn’t it? Neb already told you we aren’t perfect. That must be one of my flaws.”

Luka nodded at that. It made sense, and honestly made him feel a little better. He turned to Neb. “What’s Sol doing wrong?”

The god didn’t keep the answer secret. “She’s not considering the basic illusionary glyph is wrong. Tell her to look at the power functionality of the scripting. It’s too high and is causing ill feedback in the minds of confused people.”

“The basic glyph is wrong?”

“Yes… which is one of the reasons we didn’t want to tell people how to fix illusion nausea. Once the glyph is fixed and the problem is solved, people will start looking for new illusion magic. There’s going to be a gold rush, and when the dust clears, people will start looking for other basic glyphs to ‘fix.’ Magic as we know it will evolve, all because of a simple momentary nausea.”

“But that’s fine, right?” Luka asked. “Sure, you tell them how to fix one issue, but after they fix it, they’ll be the ones innovating on all magic. I don’t see how that is stagnation. Seems like progression to me.”

“Maybe it is,” Tippy said. “Maybe it’s not. Either way, the future’s going to change.”

“For the good?”

She hesitated. “Too early to tell.”

“Speaking of ‘early,’” Neb said, changing subjects. “I’ve procured the payment for my rollercoaster.”

Luka raised an eyebrow. “Which was…?”

“The required materials, remember?”

Vaguely, he did. He, Eve, and Neb were talking about log flumes and star-themed rollercoasters. Did he make a deal with the god?

“You don’t remember? Maybe we didn’t, then.” Neb asked. “My mistake.” He paused long enough that even Tippy lurched forward in anticipation. “Guess I’ll just leave all this metal here, then. I’ve got no need for it. You take it.”

Suddenly, a mountain of steel appeared beside Neb.

Luka gawked, slowly closing his mouth. “Thanks,” he said.