1 The Birth of a God

At the end of it all, we ask ourselves once again: Was it worth it? Is it still worth it?

I want to believe that there is meaning in this struggle, and I refuse to let it all end with me. Of course, we all understand; we've made this same choice countless times in the past. And, once more. Even if nothing changes, I am content.

But, where to start? To tell my story would be to tell the story of an entire world, and all the mortals and gods that have shaped it.

I suppose I'll start in the middle.

No one likes beginnings. Beginnings are slow and hard and don't give anyone a sense for how things are like at all. If it were a simple story, then things may be simple, but this is a history of a world, many in fact. To start at the beginning makes no sense; there was scarcely anyone to make any sense of it.

Endings are just as bad. They are built upon everything that comes before. They can't be understood in their entirety alone. And, moreover, there's nothing after them: nothing and me.

Ah. But now, I'm just rambling. I better get on with it.

∞

Nothingness. Dark emptiness. But not really empty, for even here, outside any mortal realm, there is order; and a net. It is where lost minds sleep before discovering themselves, where gods are born.

Of the many lost minds drifting in the darkness, one started to gather. The first thought she had was one of recognition. "Yes, I exist. I am something separate from this nothingness," she seemed to reassure herself. At the same time, he recovered from the pain; its cause was long forgotten, but the sense of loss just wouldn't disappear.

Their mind slowly became sharper. The gears that turned hesitantly at first slowly picked up speed, and confidence. They became increasingly aware of a sensation of falling as if they were a speck of dust drifting with the flow; a long, slow fall.

And then, a flash of pain.

"Bad girl, Phi."

From the darkness, they thought they could make out two figures standing above them. Vague silhouettes in the surrounding darkness. One of the figures seemed to lean in towards them.

"Awake?"

They had no way to respond. They had no physical body. They were just a collection of minds falling through the darkness.

"Nope. Not quite there yet..."

The two figures faded and disappeared. They were left alone to ponder their situation. It must be difficult to imagine: A collection of vague feelings, the barest traces of a personality, no clear memories, all they knew was darkness. But, they could think, so they naturally started to question: Who am I? What am I? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do?

Without a world to distract, one quickly stumbles upon those fundamental questions.

She could not find the answers to such questions and so despaired. Despair and panic; the only fear that exists is that of the unknown. To fear, one must know of the unknown, refuse to process it, but still care.

So, he did not despair; he did not panic; he did not fear, for while he knew of the unknown, he tried to process it and did not care.

She fell, and he dove; either way, it's the same. They would both start to remember who they were. All versions of the self are ultimately bound to their true self; the only difference is the line of memories that lead them there. To them, it must have been like a thread of light, a hope so faint one could have tricked themselves into imagining it. They grabbed hold of that thread.

The appearance of the light brought her some comfort. She let go of her panic, and, after a moment of hesitation, also began following the thread. Anything to escape the empty darkness.

He was excited. The appearance of the light was reassuring. He firmly believed that nothing would change without reason. So, whatever he was doing, it was something. And, correct or not, that was an answer.

All they could do was follow the light, so that was what they did.

The light gradually grew brighter, from a thin thread to a solid rope to a wide path. The sensations that were too minute at first also grew more distinct.

A hazy image. Unknown faces. A feeling of warmth. She halted, and the images escaped her, sinking back into the empty blackness that surrounded her until only a sliver of feeling remained.

Continuation brought more images and feelings. Flowers. Sunshine. The feeling of fresh grass under her feet. Two distant figures watching over her in the background.

When one has nothing and gets something, it will take it as its own, without any rhyme or reason, because, of course, it has nothing, not even rhyme or reason. But no one truly has nothing, even if that is what they believe.

So, naturally, and not entirely wrong, she concluded that the images and feelings must have been hers. And she advanced, with a growing sense of comfort as she thought she discovered herself.

He experienced something similar as he continued down his path: images and feelings of a different time. A dark room. Stacks of papers. A glowing screen. Moments of excitement over a backdrop of chronic weariness. At regular intervals, there would be pain.

But he thought nothing of it. He would be objective. It was a story, but not his story; his story was happening and the images may become a part of it, but never all of it. So, he advanced, continuing his search.

Soon, he stumbled upon other paths of light. He tried reaching out to the other paths but soon realized that no matter what he tried, he could not reach them. Even when he tried stepping off his path, it would just shift itself to always stay under his feet. The other paths would always stay a set distance away, out of his reach. But, at the very least, he could tell, all the paths led to the same place. It was meaningful: he has found a destination.

Meanwhile, she struggled. Not all lives are filled with joy; most aren't and certainly not hers. Smoke. Blood. Screams. Fear. The cold burn of steel. Sharp pain. The smell of burning flesh. Searing pain. The clink of chains. Dull pain. Darkness, sweat, and exhaustion.

Her panic rose, seeping through the cracks, drowning out the light. It was inevitable, the approaching emptiness of death. And she was left stumbling in the darkness.

His path had ended. He stood before a wall of light, a star where all the paths converged. But that was it. He could go no further. The wall of light refused his entry. But, he could feel it, the next piece of the puzzle was beyond that wall. So, he struggled, pushing against the wall. He fought against the current of light that kept pushing him back.

All of a sudden, the paths of light began to fade. Thick liquid darkness had started to rise from the emptiness, slowly dissolving the light. He renewed his efforts, spurred on by the increased urgency of the situation.

All things being equal, the wall of light weakened with the encroaching darkness. So, overcoming the waning current, he entered the star.

There was nothing there for him. The darkness continued to eat away at everything. He pressed on. On the far side of the star, there was a single path, far removed from the others, that seemed to resist the darkness. He left the star and started down this path.

More images flooded his mind as he went: Scorching heat. A constant dull pain. The clink of chains and the occasional burn of a whip. It was a story played in reverse, and he held onto none of it.

After some time. He came upon a young girl, sitting on the path, crying. The darkness was growing stronger. After a brief period of analysis, he grabbed the girl by the hand and started dragging her towards the star.

When they got back to the wall of light, he gave her a small push. She went through easily. As he had thought, there was something special about her. The world was not made for him, so, despite all his efforts, he would not be able to change it. But maybe she would be able to.

She was pulled out of the darkness, out of her panic and despair, and dragged along the path to the star. She could feel the presence of some other consciousness, but it had no form. As she entered the star, she thought she could just barely make out the faint outline of his shadow, and then everything was engulfed with light.

Within the star, she discovered the foundation for her new sense of self, her name: Tau.