The Discord of Gods

“That does it. I’m going to hurt you now.”

And in the Raenora Velley, the final battle began.

So what did I do in response to being hit by a massive object moving that fast?

What anyone would have done.

I died.

“Power is a mountain, Senera. A mountain that humanity climbs to feel safe or give our lives meaning or, I don’t know, just bolster our self-esteem. People will never stop climbing, never stop trying to be the one who reaches the top. Never stop trying to make sure that no one else can climb up there and throw them rolling back down. And yet, someone always does. I’m not saying it’s wrong to fight them, but keep doing it the way you are, and the inevitable result is that you’re going to look down one day and realize the person at the top of the mountain is you. And then you’ll have to ask yourself if all the bodies you climbed over to get there were justified. If all the deaths were worth it. If the answer is yes, then you’ll have simply replaced what you were fighting. And if the answer is no, then what the hell were you even doing?”

He had always thought she was beautiful. From the moment he first saw her, paper white and dressed in silver, trying to embrace winter, ice, and unfeeling cold with all her might so she could deny all the colors that ran through her soul. Like trying to splash white paint over a complicated, brilliant portrait so she could draw something simpler and neater. Easier to recognize, but far less true.

And here we go.