Luka pushed himself away from his not-daughter, his legs turning to jelly. He bumped into the park bench, collapsing onto his butt. His not-daughter loomed overhead as the nearby park guests went back to what they were doing. Franky was brushing himself off, and if anyone saw Mage Farr contort into a bean, no one seemed to care.

And when Eve walked over to her brother and helped dust him off, she too didn’t seem to care. In fact, no one seemed to care about Luka or the mage.

“Just a little mind magic, don’t mind them,” Not-Annie said, her voice fluctuating between terrible darkness and peppy glee. “We don’t want anyone interfering with our question, do we? I’d hate for them to interfere.”

Luka lurched at the statement. There was a malicious twinkle in his not-daughter’s eye, a spark that belonged to the unspeakable. It twisted into his guts and whispered I’ll kill them all if you try anything.

He licked his lips, the thin skin chapping. “I don’t know how to help you—”

“You do, and you don’t. Mortals are always like this, don’t you think? You think you understand the world, but in reality, you are starving rats or roaches just scuttling by.” Not-Annie held up her pointer finger, summoning forth a flicker of magic that struck through reality. Darkness poured from a laceration, chilling the air and killing the nearby grass. She then sighed, clenching her fist around the fissure like snuffing out a candle.

There were so many things floating around Luka’s mind, so many avenues of conversation. Could he lead her somewhere else? Could he duel her in philosophy and get her to leave satisfied? Could he fixate on her humanity and beg her to leave peacefully?

Not-Annie laughed, obviously reading his mind.

Luka muttered, “Tippy, Neb? Now would be the time to help.”

Her brown eyes turned into solid black orbs. She barreled down on Luka, crushing him with a multi-ton invisible weight. “Never speak your gods’ names in front of me.”

He choked on his inverted tongue but forced himself to nod. The pressure released, and Luka’s hand snapped to his throat, rubbing away the pain.

“Besides,” she continued, almost dejectedly, “they can’t help here.”

Luka glared at her—the being inhabiting his daughter’s skin—and swallowed his gut reaction to run. On Earth, he’d talked to crazed generals and world leaders. He’d shown his weapons to warlords and explained their value to crumbling nation-states while his bosses reaped the rewards. At any moment, they could have killed him. They had infinite power on Earth, and here in this world, this creature had just the same.

“I do,” Not-Annie growled.

Luka forced himself not to purse his lips. “If you’re going to read my mind, what point is this? You already know everything I’ve done, and you know my rationale for doing it, right?”

“I do.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I do not understand your rationale.”

“You are going to have to be more specific,” Luka said through gritted teeth.

Not-Annie tapped her chin with her finger. “I know, why don’t we play a game.” It wasn’t a question but a demand. “I’ll talk about my experiences, and you explain what you would have done.”

Luka forced himself to sit back on the bench. “What would I have done in your place or what I would have done as myself?”

Her smile split apart, revealing the twisted darkness underneath her skin. “Both. Remember, dear World Walker, we are the same person.”

He could only shake his head.

“You don’t agree?” she asked.

“I don’t. I’d never threaten to kill everyone, nor would I mind-magic them into forgetting about someone.”

Not-Annie thought about that for a moment. “Even if their interference would be annoying?”

“If you want a conversation to be private, then you go somewhere you can’t be overheard.” Luka sighed. “Or you put up an anti-sound magical shield or something. You don’t mess with people’s minds.”

“Why not?”

“B-because it’s wrong?”

Not-Annie grunted. “A mortal view.” She shook her head. “Let’s start the game. Once, when the universe was still in its infancy, I—”

“No, stop.”

Not-Annie blinked three times and tilted her head to the side, staring at him. “You dare interrupt?”

“I do.” Luka got to his feet and crossed his arms. “I think we have to have a longer conversation about ‘wrongness’ before we can move on. We have to be on the same page.”

“We are. You think like a mortal. Page completed.”

He shook his head. “Is it ‘mortal’ to feel empathy?”

“No, it’s human,” Not-Annie said, dripping with condescension. “Humanity is limited in their understanding. Soft, even. The universe doesn’t care about feelings. It simply is, meaning anything else that isn’t is useless.”

“Okay, fine. I agree.” Luka studied her reaction. There wasn’t one.

“You agree? Strange.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

“Is it? I’m not dumb. I know my actions and the actions of everyone else don’t matter. In the grand scheme of things we are like you said, ‘starving roaches.’”

“Then we are in accord. Mortal views and such.”

Luka held up a hand. “Maybe so. But I would never give up my mortality for whatever you have.”

“No?” She raised an eyebrow—a mortal, human expression, Luka noted.

“Not at all.” He slowly gestured around. “What do you see when you look at them?”

“Carbon.”

“I see families. I see memories. I see laughter, smiles, fun. I see parents who work all day to pay for their children’s food and shelter, and yet still find the time to take them all the way out here just to spend said pay on something not needed.”

“So what?” Not-Annie mimicked Luka’s crossed arms. She leaned back on her heels and subtly looked around, spotting everything he described. “Your examples do not matter.”

“But they do. If the universe doesn’t care, then who does? People like Mayor Tram or little Nicole.” Luka scoffed. “How is it a little girl understands life better than a god of gods?”

“Mock me again, and it will be your last.”

Luka didn’t so much as flinch at the threat, he’d expected it, welcomed it, even. “See, it’s that right there that makes us different. My whole first life I let people down. My inventions killed people, my lack of remorse killed more, and my indifference drove away the very person whose skin you’re wearing.”

“If she was my daughter, I’d have slaughtered her the moment she spoke ill about me.” Darkness dripped from Not-Annie’s mouth as she spoke, almost like a feral wolf’s froth.

Luka just shook his head. “Then I pity you.”

“You pity me? A mortal pities a god?” The sky turned dark; the park guests disappeared with a puff of haze. Hatred rolled along the ground, vile, vile hatred. “I’ve seen universes get swallowed by the void! I’ve seen worlds fracture under the weight of their sins! I’ve seen countless creatures perish because of sickness and starvation!”

Luka yelled, “And I’ve seen nations fall! People blown to bits in the street! Families sundered and separated! Forests burnt at the roots, and greed corrupt the best of men!”

Not-Annie went to speak, but Luka spoke right over her. “But I’ve also seen orphaned children run around and play! I’ve seen a god protect a spy and another pull the stars closer to make the night slightly more magical for everyone! I’ve listened to villagers complain that the prices in the park were too high and plead to lower them! I’ve seen guests demand I give a girl a birthday present for little more reason than her dad couldn’t be there that day!”

Tears welled in Luka’s eyes, but he didn’t cry. He forced himself to speak calmly. “I’ve seen death. I’ve experienced it, even. I drank my life away once I realized the horrors I’d created—and I was content with doing that again in this life. But four people stopped me, four people I can’t ever thank enough. Tippy, Leo, Franky, and Eve!”

Darkness snapped around Luka’s throat. Not-Annie slurred, “I told you never to speak a god’s name in my—"

“I forgive you!” Luka sighed, the words quieter than a whisper.

But Not-Annie heard. Her grip loosened ever so slightly before tightening like a vise. “You know nothing of me.”

Consciousness faded from Luka as his lungs fought for air. “B-but we’re t-the same, remember?”

She squeezed harder.

“I—I forgive you!”

She let go. Luka panted but forced the words out. “Tippy, Leo, Franky, and Eve all know my past. They know what I did, who I was. But they gave me a chance, a home, a family. They forgave me for everything I ever did and held me up when I wouldn’t forgive myself.”

Not-Annie’s internal darkness bulged at her seams and leaked from her eyes and ears. “You forgive nothing.”

“I forgive everything. Everything you’ve ever done wrong,” Luka looked up, right into her eyes. “Everyone deserves a second chance at life—and more importantly, the people to call you out when you start to fall. Eve’s done it for me, and I’ll do it for you.”

“You’re just a mortal.”

“A mortal you came to get answers from. A mortal you thought could help.”

“Preposterous.”

“If I’m wrong, why come here?” Luka’s heart was beating faster than it ever had before, and yet he felt calmer than when Tippy showed him his new home all that time ago. “We never got to play your game, but take it from someone who made all the wrong decisions in my first life: the past doesn’t matter, only the present and future do.”

She scoffed. “The universe doesn’t care—”

“But you care. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.” Luka reached out and touched his daughter’s face. “Tell me I’m wrong, and you don’t want to change.”

When Not-Annie failed to respond right away, Luka whispered, “I wanted to change as well, but drinking myself to death was easier. If killing all life in the universe is easier for you, just do it already. But don’t come complaining to me when you realize you messed up. Trust me, the guilt will eat you alive.”

The darkness in Not-Annie’s eyes shivered. “It already does.”

Luka hugged her, and for a moment, forgot he wasn’t actually talking to his daughter. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have all the answers, but I’ll help you find them.”

Not-Annie collapsed, turning limp in his arms.

“Annie!” Luka screeched, guiding her to the ground. The hazy dark realm was gone, returned to daylight and grass. The park’s hustle and bustle sounded around him, but he didn’t care. “Annie, talk to me!”

“Luka?”

He recognized Eve’s voice but ignored her. Instead, he pulled at Annie’s eyelids, finding the darkness draining away from her irises. Her pupils were dilated, and her head rolled around like a weight attached to a rope.

“Tippy! Neb!” Luka yelled. “Help!”

Both gods, and a few he’d never met, arrived beside him. Tippy and Neb crouched beside him, each touching Annie with physical fingers and magical probes. They shared a glance before addressing Luka.

Neb said, “The being has left her.” His eyes darted around from shadow to shadow, tracing a path no mortal could see. “I’ve lost its trail.”

“As have I,” Tippy muttered. She patted Luka on the back. “Good work. The future is… stable, for now.”

“Where were you two?” Luka seethed.

“Watching,” Neb answered. “We couldn’t interfere. That path was yours and yours alone. Well, yours and the entirety of the world. You’ve done well, World Walker. I think a reward for saving the world is in order, don’t you think, Tip?”

“I’ll fund a ride or two, I don’t care.” Tippy gestured at the unconscious Annie. “We need to discuss her.”

“What about her?” Luka asked, leaning over her slightly and pushing the gods away.

“For one, she’s real. That thing reincarnated her to mess with you. And now that it has left, Annie has ‘arrived.’ And that’ll have consequences for you and the world as a whole. A second World Walker this soon after the other? Unheard of.”

Neb adopted a smile. “I, for one, don’t mind. If Luka wants to keep her, so be—”

“Keep her?” Luka slurred. “She’s a person! Not some stray cat!”

The god leaned back. “Yes, of course. But as I remember, you didn’t want to reincarnate her yourself.”

“That ship has sailed, don’t you think, Neb?” He said the god’s name with more than a bit of ire.

Neb held up his hands, surrendering. “An Ill-timed joke, nothing more. I am sorry.” He glanced around at the other gods. “All the action is over. Hopefully, that creature is gone. When I look into the future, I don’t see it. So, good work again, Luka. We owe a debt.” And like that, the gods disappeared. Tippy remained the longest but, like her divine brethren, left the mortal world.

As Luka cradled his unconscious daughter in his arms, the tears he’d been holding back finally fell. And when he looked around, he spotted Eve, Franky, and a fully sized Leo staring down at him.

“Guys,” he sobbed, “I need some help.”