Revaramek the Resplendent - Chapter One Hundred Thirty Two (Patreon)

Etchka wandered through the village, humming to himself and carrying an empty wooden jug. He passed homes of wattle and dub over wooden lattice or built from sunbaked clay bricks. Other homes were rounded yurts, with thick hides affixed to sturdy frameworks. Pups chased each other and play-fought on a dusty stretch of land where the sand was trampled and packed down into hard earth. Lines of rope stretched between hand fruit trees, with dozens of salted fish hanging from them to dry in the sun. Smoke drifted in lazy gray coils from the cookfires that dotted the village.

In the distance, across the oasis, a hearth blazed where a hotter fire was used to help smelt materials found in ruins. They could do it with shaping, but Etchka preferred they do it by hand. He allowed them to use their shaping to make the fire hot enough, but they had to do all the other work the hard way.

A group of urd’thin sat in the shade, stripping reeds down to their coarse fibers. It was tedious but important work, as the fibers were used for rope and cloth alike. Well outside the village, another cluster of urd’thin scoured hides in preparation for tanning. It was an unpleasant process with a variety of unpleasant smells, and so it was done beyond the village limits.

Food was being prepared at the communal plaza near the center of the village, along a shallow section of the oasis lake. The area served as gathering place. It was where they held group meals, and where Etchka spoke to the tribe. Today there was plenty of fresh hand fruit being peeled and prepared, along with meat from animals hunted that morning.

Etchka was there to fill his jug with hand fruit juice to take home to Rain. Three females were seated at a table, working through an absolute mountain of fruit. Some of it would be sliced up and eaten as it was. More of it was set aside for cooking. Soon, it would be wrapped in layers of wet fronds along with thick slabs of meat, then laid in a hole in the ground, covered with more wet fronds, and baked together beneath a layer of coals. One of the females was mashing up another portion of fruit, collecting all the juice and pulp. It could be served thick that way, or mixed with water to make it easier to drink. Yet more hand fruit was already set aside to be fermented with berries and honey and turned into kurat.

The workers accepted his jug, but told him it would take time to fill. In the meantime, they offered Etchka a cup of the fresh juice and pulp. While he waited for them to mash more fruit to his jug, he sipped from the cup. Sometimes he strained the juice through his sharp teeth, other times he chewed up a mouthful of sweet pulp. By the time his cup was empty, the jug was full.

A bird with bright crimson feathers swooped overhead, screeching. The tribe called them flame birds, and they were quite rare. Most flame birds stuck to a singular oasis their whole lives, and Etchka’s tribe had no local resident population. Etchka stared at the bird as it flitted about in the sky. The juice maker refilled his cup, and Etchka thanked her without looking away from the scarlet feathered visitor. Etchka hoped its rare appearance portended good things. When he finally lost sight of it, he tucked his jug under his arm, and headed home, sipping juice.

Along the way, he paused near the dusty tract of land between homes, where the rambunctious pups were playfighting. Soon, he thought, they’d have a pup of their own. He watched the youths to make sure they weren’t hurting each other. They laughed and giggled, wrestling across the ground and caking their fur and tails in sand. Etchka smiled, imagining Rain shaking her head as she had to tell their pup to go wash the sand from his fur for the third time in the same day.

Etchka froze. A sense of horrible recognition rippled through him. The fine, small details of the day, while so easily overlooked, suddenly seemed all too familiar.

A red bird in the sky.

Pups wrestling in the sand.

Rain ready to give birth, any day.

Etchka turned in place, gazing across the village. Everything seemed eerily recognizable. As if he had lived through this exact day before. He had, hadn’t he? But this felt different than all their other repeated days. This felt momentous. As if this day, of all days, was one he should have known was coming. And yet, it was as if he’d somehow forgotten it until the signs grew unmistakable. But why would he want to forget a specific day?

Unless…

Fear twisted Etchka’s belly into cold knots. Unless they knew something bad happened on this day. Something they feared Etchka might use his powers to avert. But what…

All at once, a terrifying memory clawed its way out of the hole Etchka cast it into, on the day they started over. He saw Rain, soaked in blood and surrounded by midwives. They had saved Rain, but the pup had not survived. Grief and anguish anew washed over Etchka. Their child died.

And today was the day he would die again.

“No!” Etchka snarled aloud, uncaring who heard him. “Our pup will live!”

Etchka knew in his heart, that if nothing changed, their child would die again. But he had promised Rain he would not use his shaping to assist her birth. What, then, could he do differently? Etchka made a snap decision to try and get Rain help earlier, this time. He turned and ran not for home, but to the house of the lead midwife, these days called the Life Chief.

Juice sloshed from Etchka’s jug as he sprinted through the village. It soaked his vest, and his fur. It splashed across the ground, flashing red in his vision, like splattered blood on golden sand. He burst through the Life Chief’s entry curtain so forcefully he pulled it from its mooring. Startled, she jumped up from her seating mat where she had been sorting medications.

“Chief Etchka!” The Life Chief, named Yivas, gave him a curt bow. “What is-”

“Rain!” Etchka set the half-empty jug onto a small table. Juice dribbled down the side of it. “She’s in trouble. Get all your things! Bring everyone!”

Etchka was back outside the Life Chief’s house before he’d even caught his breath. More fragmented memories cascaded through his mind. Whatever wall he’d built to block out the events of the day was falling apart. Perhaps, he thought, it was only ever meant to last until this day, to ensure they tried to have a child again. In the images, he saw himself running from house to house, asking all the midwives for help. It took him so long to get back to Rain.

But not this time.

Etchka gathered up his shaping, and bent the world to his will. The sandy earth rippled beneath him as he sprang into the air, propelled by impossible force. Cracked black glass littered the sand in his wake. Nearby urd’thin who witnessed his feat gasped and stumbled back. Another hurried forward to pick up a piece of black material and examine it.

As Etchka hurtled towards the sky, he flicked his fingers, and twisted reality just enough to ensure he landed in front of his house. The impact left waves washing across the ground like waves upon a pond. Their home shook, but Etchka steadied it with a simple thought.

“Rain!” Etchka hurried inside. “The midwives are on their way!” He rushed into their bedroom. “Have you started having any…” Etchka trailed off, then gave a horrified gasp when he saw Rain, already caked in blood. “No!”

Rain lay upon their bed, her face contorted in pain. Her ears were splayed, fangs bared in agonized grimace. Blood matted the fur of her thighs, and lingered in pools on their sleeping mats. Etchka scrambled to her side. He dropped to his knees and put her arm around her shoulders, hugging her. With his free hand, he reached down her body, intent on stopping the bleeding.

“You can’t!” Rain snatched his hand up in hers, pushing it away.

“But…” Etchka whimpered, struggling against the overwhelming urge to heal her. “This isn’t even supposed to be happening yet! I got here earlier, I…I don’t know why this is happening so soon!” He took a shuddering breath. “At least let me staunch-”

“No!” Rain snapped at him, her voice taut with pain. Fear and sorrow alike whirled in her eyes in horrifying dance. “You can’t, or he’ll die! Remember, you promised!”

“But Rain, if I don’t-”

“You promised, Etchka.” Rain lay her head against his, whimpering. “I’m sorry, but…this is how our star shines.”

“What?” Etchka sucked in a slow breath, eyes widening. He gazed down at her body, sickened and terrified by the sight of so much blood. “You…you knew this would happen?”

“The truth is, Etchka? When we started again, only you ever forgot. We decided together, that…” Rain cried out through grit teeth, her body shuddering, ears flattened back. “One of us had to remember how it ends, this time. Or you’d just do it again.”

“Do what?” Etchka squeezed her hand, terrified by the answer he already knew.

“Save me.”

“No!” The word came out as a plaintive howl. “I can’t lose you, Rain! You’re…you’re not going to-”

“It’s alright, Etchka, it’s alright.” Rain stared up at him, smiling. Somehow, despite the pain, and the fear, she found a way to smile. Her strength stunned him. Tears glimmered in Rain’s eyes, and streaked her dark gray fur. “I made peace with this, long ago. I’m sorry it has to be this way. But if you knew…”

“I’d never have fathered a child, if I knew it would cost you your life.” More memories flickered through his anguished mind. He saw himself and Rain, sitting alone in the desert, debating their memories. They decided together that Rain had to know, to guide their lives to the same point in time. To make him promise not to save her with his powers. “You…you knew I’d never break my word, to you. Even if you were dying…”

Rain took his hand, gently squeezing it. “We knew, Etchka. We decided we wanted our child to live. And that if you knew how our story ends? You’d just keep changing it. But then it wouldn’t be our story, anymore. Because this is always where our love leads us, Etchka.” She sniffled, more tears running down her cheeks. “This is where our story was meant to end, so that Vakaal’s story can begin.”

“No, Rain!” Etchka leaned over, kissing her muzzle. “I refuse to accept that!”

“You always do,” Rain said. “That’s why you told me to make you promise, this time. Or it’ll all just start over. An endless loop, hurtling towards the inevitable. A story that never gets to end.” Rain’s free hand drifted down towards her swollen belly. “A star who never gets to shine.” She took a shaking breath, grimacing. “Your story goes on, Etchka. With our son! But only if you let me go.”

“I can’t, Rain!” Etchka’s whole body shuddered with a sudden, wracking sob. “I can’t lose you!”

“Etchka, my great love.” Rain clutched his hand to her chest, smiling at him again. “If you want to live like we do, then you have to live as we do. Only living the life you’re given, for better, or for ill. Once, a long time ago, that was all you wanted. To know love, and life, as mortals know it.”

Etchka stared at her in silence. “How…how do you know that?”

“The dreams, Etchka.” Rain sniffed, and cried out against him when another wave of pain wracked her. Her words shuddered. “The dreams! It wasn’t just our son I met, there. It was you! Your memories, the lives you once lived. And I saw you as you once, were. A lonely, wandering star, who wanted only to experience love, to know family. And now? Now you have! I love you, Etchka, more than you’ll ever know. And…” She lifted a blood-stained hand, gently cradling his head beneath one of his horns. “I’ll always be with you, in your memories and in your dreams. But now? This is how it has to be. You have to let me go.

Sorrow and frustration alike welled up inside Etchka. “Stop saying that! I can save you both, I can-”

“Etchka!” Rain’s voice was a knife, slicing through everything he knew. It plunged into his heart, and silenced him completely. “You can’t.” She took a shaking breath, fighting through the pain. “If you try, this will allhappen again. You’ve wreathed yourself in our story, and you’re telling it, over and over again, because you don’t want it to end this way. But this ishow it ends. And that’s alright! If I can make peace with it, so can you. We cannot know love, without also knowing loss. Only by letting go, can you finally move forward. Only then can our son’s story begin.”

“But…I don’t understand why…”

“Some things not even you were meant to comprehend.” Rain took a few breaths, trying to steady her voice. “You know what I believe, Etchka. That we are all born again, someday. So…you’re not truly losing me. Just…letting me go, for a while.”

“Rain, I can’t-”

“Etchka, how far along is she?” The Life Chief pushed through the entryway, and bright sunlight spilled through the room as she held the hide curtains aside for the other midwives.

“I…I don’t know, she’s bleeding.” Etchka glanced towards them as they hurried into the room, and unrolled bundles of supplies.

“I see that.” The Life Chief set her things down, and came to his side, grasping his arm. “Have you considered using your powers?”

“She won’t let me. She’s afraid for the child.”

“I understand.” The Life Chief gently tugged his arm. “Come outside a moment, catch your breath. Let us work.”

“I don’t wanna leave her!”

Rain lay her head back against the pillows, weakly squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry, Etchka. Someday, a new story will be told for us. Oh! The Stars! Etchka…”

Another midwife went around other side of the bed mats, crouching down next to Rain. She touched her pads to the inside of Rain’s ears. “She’s feverish. She may be having delusions.”

Rain gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “I must tell you something important, Etchka. Come close…”

Etchka knelt alongside the bed, leaning in. “What is it?”

“The stars…” Rain pushed her muzzle against his ear. “Sing our fates.”

Something cracked deep in Etchka’s consciousness. Etchka blinked, his vision swimming. His whole head roiled, and the fissure widened. Strange song permeated his consciousness. “What did you do?”

“You’ll know, soon enough.” Rain squeezed his hand, her breath coming in shallow, trembling pants. “I love you, Etchka. I’ll always love you. But only you decide when this ends.”

“I love you too, Rain!” Tears spilled down Etchka’s muzzle. Sobs threatened to overwhelm him. Whatever her strange words meant mattered little, when measured against the weight of her life. “I love you so very much!”

“Come on.” Life Chief Yivas gently circled her arm around Etchka. She pulled him away from the bed, as the other midwives examined Rain. “Let’s go outside for a moment. You need some air, and they need room to work.”

Etchka stared at Rain, even as he stumbled towards the exit. Somehow, weak and bloodied, Rain still managed to smile at him. The Life Chief took his hand, and guided him out into the warm sunshine. She took him around the side of his house, and bade him to kneel in the sand. Then she poured cool, fresh water over his face. It flattened down his fur, and its chill helped Etchka refocus on the moment.

The Life Chief took a deep breath, rinsing the blood from Etchka’s hands. “Tell me, my Chief. Do you want me to be blunt, or do you want-”

“Just tell me.” Etchka put a hand on hers. He already knew the answer, anyway.

“Rain may not survive.” The Life Chief put her other hand on his shoulder, squeezing. Her voice trembled. “She’s lost a lot of blood, Etchka. And I don’t know if we can stop it.” She leaned against him, and suddenly Etchka was suddenly unsure who most needed the support. “If the mother dies, with the pup still inside her, the pup will…”

“I…I understand.” Etchka’s breath came in fearful pants. Cold, clawing terror crawled up from his belly towards his heart.

“We may need to free the pup before her end, Etchka. But if we do, whatever chance for survival she had…” Yivas took another shuddering breath. “If we cut the child free, she is not likely to survive. If she births the pup, her chances of survival are higher, but the pup…”

Etchka stared at the blood still caking his fur here and there. “Only one of them ever survives. It…” The crack in his head widened. Beyond it churned an angry storm. “It’s not fair.”

“The gods’ choices are rarely fair, Etchka…” The Life Chief sniffled, leaning forward to rest her muzzle against his head.

“If only you knew.” Etchka searched Yivas’ face. Anguish was writ across her scrunched muzzle, her splayed ears, and her tearful eyes. “What if I heal her, after you’ve cut the pup out?”

The Life Chief’s ears dropped further. Her eyes drifted away from his. “I don’t think she will live that long.”

Etchka whimpered, his heart slowly sinking into an pit of frigid despair. “Perhaps if I kept her alive myself, then…” Then he’d breaking his promise, and… “But then the pup would die.”

Yivas rubbed his shoulder. “Truthfully, Chief, we don’t know what would happen then. Healing such injuries, as they’re inflicted, who knows what such forces might do to an unborn child?”

“Rain made me promise. She’s worried that…” Etchka trailed off, unable to bring himself to say it aloud.

“I know, my chief.” Yivas hugged Etchka tightly. “I know. I wish I had something better to tell you, Etchka. And I wish you had more time to make peace with this. But, the truth is, not even you are meant to be able to save everyone. In the end, only the gods decide who lives, and who dies. Now…” She stepped back, squeezing his shoulders. “I need to get back to her.”

Etchka nodded, solemn. “Save my child. Please.”

“We’ll do everything we can.” Yivas offered him a pained smile, then turned away and hurried back inside.

When she was gone, Etchka stared at his own hands. Most of Rain’s blood was rinsed away, but splotches of crimson remained. “Only the gods decide…”

The Stars sing our fates.

The strange phrase Rain spoke to him echoed through his head. This time, the words were in his own voice, rooted in a far older memory. Etchka reached for the memory with his shaping, drawing it forth. He saw himself seated by the Oasis with Rain, on the day they started over again. When they decided that Rain had to remember everything, this time. In the memory, Etchka was telling her that he’d discovered something, last time. Something he learned too late.

When the time comes, Rain, and the end is at hand, remind me. The Stars sing our fates.

The storm inside his head grew angrier still. It thrashed at the crack in his barrier between mortality, and godhood, splitting it further asunder. All at once Etchka understood that the words were a key that once spoken, unlocked everything he had hidden away. Etchka did not fight it. He took a slow, deep breath, and willed his shaping to tear down the walls in his head. One by one, they fell away, until the crack became a chasm.

And from the chasm crept godhood.

Once more, Etchka perceivedexistence.

A swirl of memories filled his mind. He had done this countless times, and they always lost the pup. Sometimes, he lost Rain, too. It was only ever in the moments and days beyond that great loss, when grief and madness brought about his godhood, that he truly recognized what he was. Yet each time he forced himself to forget the trauma and start over, in hopes of one day getting it right. But the outcome never changed, and as a mortal, he never understood why.

So this time, Rain offered to remember for him. The words were a failsafe, designed to bring out the god in time to finally save their pup. But Etchka was certain they were more than that. They were both a clue, and a warning, and the truth of their meaning still eluded him. Last time, he must have figured it out, long after Vakaal was dead. But this time…

This time, Etchka willed himself to perceive existence at its all.

The world crystalized around him. Everything felt different. It was as though he was no longer part of reality, but merely gazing upon some representation of it. Etchka may as well have been looking at images of his life painted across existence. He walked towards the entry to his home, and the whole world shuddered around him. Suddenly, reality itself was something he felt, a puzzle assembled from nigh-infinite pieces. With a thought, he could take it all apart, and put it back together again. Yet, no matter how many times he had done just that, it always led him here.

To this moment.

To life, and death.

A story’s beginning, from a story’s end.

Just as Etchka rounded his house, he sighted a half-grown, gray furred pup walking up the path. In a flicker, the pup was grown, older even than Etchka. Another heartbeat, and he was a pup again. Just as swiftly, he vanished through the entryway into Etchka’s home.

Etchka froze, his breath caught. Was he seeing things again? It would not be the first time that the mental clash between god and mortal brought about glimpses of Etchka’s son in his waking hours. Once, he thought it a symptom of some grief-induced madness, but now he knew better. He had commanded his perception to show him everything, and so it was. Yet it remained bound by the limits of his vessel’s mortal brain. Memories of past lives, and the possibilities of future existences filtered back to him, impossibly entwined.

Inside the house, the midwives were frantic. They swarmed around Rain, wiping blood, examining her, preparing her, whispering amongst themselves. One rushed past him with an armful of blood-soaked cloth. Another took her place. Pots, jars and bags filled with myriad herbs were scattered everywhere. Their medicinal scent took the edge off the blood-tainted air’s coppery stink. A mug sat near Rain’s head, already emptied of whatever herbal teas they might have given her. The Life Chief knelt alongside Rain’s hips, with collection of edged tools and other implements for the worst kind of emergency.

Etchka closed his eyes. He knew, in his heart, that if he saved, their child would die again. Rain made him promise not to save her for just that reason. He whimpered, struggling against the urge to make her whole then, and there. It would be soeasy to save her. But then Vakaal would die, and all he could do was start again. Etchka clenched his fists, and grit his teeth. He was a god, he should not have to make sacrifices like this. And yet, was that not why he was here? To live not as a god, but as a mortal?

Just then, another old memory surfaced, from a time before he even had a name. When he called himself the first, and he spoke to Mica on her final day.

It has been a great pleasure to see your children grow. I think the only ones happier for them were you, and Nemil. I should like to know that happiness, someday.

Then know it. Make yourself one of us, and live a life. Your life. Not for us, but for yourself. Know love, as we know it.

Then, in the memory, Mica looked him, smiled, and spoke in Rain’s voice. “We cannot know love, without also knowing loss.”

Etchka whined, his arms going limp. Though he knew his memories were clashing, he also knew Rain was right. He could never truly know life and love as mortals did if he would not allow himself to suffer their pain, their trauma, their grief. To truly love her, was to let her die. To truly live, was to lose her.

The midwives voices swirled around him, each another wound upon his anguished soul.

“We should give her more Ember Bark.”

“It hasn’t helped.”

“Nothing has. Perhaps if we combine it with Star’s Blessing, we can sustain her long enough to finish the birth.”

“We haven’t the time. We must free the pup now.”

“Etchka.” The Life Chief spoke, and the others went quiet. He opened his eyes, and looked at Yivas. She tilted her head towards Rain. “We’ve given her all we can, and more. She’s still here, but…she’s sunk into delusions, I think. It is for the best. She may not notice you, but…you should say your goodbyes, just the same.”

Tears brimmed in Etchka’s eyes. Cold fingers squeezed his heart. He took a few slow, wobbling steps towards his mate, then fell to his knees alongside their body. For all the unfathomable strength at his fingertips, helpless smothered him. He reached out, gently stroking her fur. Rain’s head was turned away, her eyes fixed on something on the other side of their bed mats. One arm was stretched towards whatever hallucination had wreathed her. Rain’s fingers twitched, and her mouth moved. When Etchka smoothed back her ears, she turned her head towards him, her eyes half-focused.

“Etchka…” Her words were a little slurred, but her smile was unmistakable. “Our son…”

“I know, Rain.” Etchka leaned in, kissing her nose. “I’m keeping my promise. Our son will live. And I love you, Rain.” Etchka hugged her head, his tears spilling into her fur, his voice a strangled croak. “I love you so much. You alone have made this mortal life worth living. I will never, never forget you, my beautiful love.”

“I love you too.” Rain’s head lolled away, and she once more stared at something he could not see. “Look, Etchka. Our son. He’s grown so handsome.”

Etchka looked, and this time, he saw what Rain saw. Their son knelt across from him, holding Rain’s hand. He was grown now, and he looked so much like his father. For a moment, he half thought that Rain, in her dying delusions, had somehow shaped an image of their child into being. But when their son stroked Rain’s ears, they moved under his touch. Rain spoke to him. Her words were lost to the ether, a private moment between mother and son, never destined to know one another in anything but dreams and dying visions.

Etchka glanced back at the midwives, to see if they saw him, too. They weren’t even looking in that direction. Instead, they were focused on freeing the unborn pup from its dying mother. Etchka looked away just as quickly. He did not want to remember Rain like that. Etchka expected his child to have vanished, but instead, he was still there, still holding Rain’s hand.

“Vakaal…” Etchka spoke the name he’d chosen for their son, long ago. He hadn’t meant to speak, hadn’t mean to interrupt whatever might be happening. But it dripped from his tongue before he could quell it.

Vakaal looked up at Etchka, pain shining in his eyes, as though the name hurt him somehow. Etchka blinked, and the urd’thin across from him was a pup again, barely half grown. With his other hand, he gestured at Etchka, then looked at Rain.

Etchka took Rain’s other hand, and an entire lifetime of memories flooded him. He saw himself and Rain, raising their pup. Teaching him all about the world. How to hunt and fish, how to run and climb, to shape the sand. Always, Rain was smiling, and laughing, and hugging her son. Vakaal grew and grew, and soon he was an adult. He took a mate, and they threw him a celebration. Before long, Etchka and Rain were grandparents, and they celebrated anew. Vakaal and his family journeyed across the desert, with the other wandering tribes. While he was away, Rain and Etchka grew old together, a happy couple who shared many joys. One day, Vakaal came home, his own tribe in tow. They were great grandparents now, and though they were old and growing brittle, they played each day with their great grandchildren. When death came for them, each was ready, and thankful to have lived such a fulfilling life, to have known such a fulfilling relationship with their family. With their son.

Tears poured down Etchka’s face when the visions ended. A whole lifetime, lived in moments. His head spun, and he half expected to find himself old, and frail. But only breaths had passed, and the midwives were only just freeing his pup from his dying mother.

“A whole life, lived in her dreams.” The pup’s voice was as lost and heartbroken as Etchka felt. Yet, somewhere beyond the pain, there was hope, and happiness. A distant light, to guide him through the darkness. “That was what you gave her. As you say goodbye, know that she’s already lived a full life. Even now, she’s not in pain. She’s…” The pup managed a smile. “Dreaming of her happiest moments.”

Etchka slumped against Rain, sobbing into her fur. “You…you did this, for her?”

Vakaal shook his head. “Youdid. You did all this. We’re just…gazing at each other, from different points in existence. You’ve…opened the door, and until you close it again?” He gestured at the world around them, and images of Etchka appeared everywhere, each from another life. “You’re living in every moment, all at once. Even if you can’t comprehend it. You’re in your own memories, in your future, in every existence. You haven’t really met me yet, but you’re about to.”

Etchka lifted his head, struggling to blink away his tears, to speak through his anguish. “I…I don’t…understand…”

“You will.” The pup smiled, tears glittering in his dark, inky eyes. He held out his tiny hand towards his father. “But the stars can only shine if you give them the chance. For now, you have a life to live, and a story to tell.”

Etchka reached for the pup’s hand. As their pads touched, light and understanding filled him. He gasped, and for a few wonderful, terrifying moments, he understood everything. The story, the spiral, the cycle, and his place in it. Theirplace in it. Two parts of one great whole. He saw himself, somewhere in time, standing beneath the cosmos. Infinite spirals of spheres and stars stretched out above him. He was speaking to his son, grown now.

Let me show you what we really are.

Suddenly, Etchka was unsure if this was even now. Was he truly here with Rain, in her last moments? Or was he simply lost inside a memory, shared with his son? Just as quickly as it came, the greatest of his understanding was gone. The details vanished, hidden behind the smile of a pup, and replaced with an overwhelming feeling of peace, and of great, undying love.

“Don’t worry.” The pup squeezed Etchka’s hand, then let go. Vakaal hugged Rain’s head. “I’ll take care of her.”

Thank you. That was what Etchka wanted to say. But the pup was already gone. Rain turned her head, smiling at Etchka. She lifted her hand towards his face. Etchka pressed his muzzle into her touch, then lowered it to kiss her. Rain’s breath rattled.

“My chief…” One of the midwives spoke, but Etchka ignored her.

“I love you, Rain.” Etchka sobbed against her fur, cradling her head, murmuring into her ears. “I love you so much. Wherever you’re going, you’ll be happy. You’ll see our son. I don’t know how, but-”

“Etchka!” The midwife called for him again, but still he paid no heed.

Rain tried to reply, but Etchka could make not out her words. Her breath ruffled his fur, slow and drawn out. Her hand slipped away from him. She did not draw another breath.

Etchka’s sobs grew harder. “Rain! Oh, Rain, I’m sorry, I should have…I…I-”

“Etchka!” This time, Yivas screamed his name to get his attention.

Etchka turned his head, snarling. “Not now!”

“He needs your help…”

The Life Chief held his pup in her arms, the cord cut and tied, his tiny form matted with blood and other materials. He looked too small, too fragile. The tiny pup twitched, his tail flicked, a leg kicked, and a hand grasped at nothing. But the pup did not cry. Did not squeal.

Did not draw breath.

“No…” Etchka shot to his feet. “It isn’t supposed to be this way!”

“We don’t know what’s wrong.” The Life Chief glanced at Rain, then back at Etchka. “I would never tear you from her, but this may be your only chance to hold him. His heart beats, but we cannot get him to breathe.”

When the Life Chief held the child out, Etchka took him. The pup twitched and kicked, opened and closed his tiny muzzle, but made no sound, did not breathe. “He’s so small.”

Yivas nodded, sniffling. “We fear he may have been brought into the world too soon. His lungs may not be developed, yet. I’m so sorry, my chief.”

Etchka cradled the pup to his chest, horror gripping his heart. He could not lose them both. Rain gave herself up that his pup might live, and now….

No.

Etchka refused.

“No.” Etchka’s voice was a feral, defiant rasp. He would not let his son die, again.

You have a story to tell…

Etchka gathered up his shaping, and poured it into his child like lifeblood. Through his powers, he saw into the tiny child’s body. Yivas was right, Vakaal’s lungs were malformed and underdeveloped. He would not have survived, no matter when he was born. Just like every other time. But things were meant to be different this time. Rain gave her life that Vakaal may live. Why, then, did he still seem destined to die? It was as if the very cosmos itself was…was…

All at once, it clicked.

The Stars sing our fates.

Memories flooded him. Memories from a time in which he was but formless light and understanding. From a time when he called himself The First. The stars, distant and unknowable, had sensed his great loneliness and sang to him to ease his pain. So gave himself a voice, to sing their songs back to them. Through that song, he shaped an entire world into existence.

That very same song now permeated everything around him. Etchka felt it as much as heard it. Long, long ago, hearing the stars sing to him was a balm upon his youthful, lonely soul. Now, though, there was something deeply ominous about it. Why would they sing to him again now, of all times? Or had the stars alwaysbeen singing to him, and he simply could not perceive it when bound by mortal limits?

Etchka was bound no longer.

“Perceive the song.” He spoke aloud, willing his shaping to show him the truth.

In a horrifying instant, the world was bathed in shimmering golden light. It wavered and coiled, twisted and rippled, snaking through reality. Its every moment was in perfect time with the strange music. The song grew deeper, more ominous, sounding like less a voice, and more like a pulsing, reverberation spanning across the universe. And somehow…all of it was focused upon his child. A great spiral of golden light swirled around Vakaal, coiling around him like a smothering serpent. Etchka understood.Even if he healed Vakaal’s lungs, the song would suffocate him just the same.

Vakaal was destined to die.

“No.” Etchka snarled to himself.

He had to know why this was happening, if he hoped to stop it. Calling upon his greater powers, Etchka sent his shaping out into the world, to slow the passage of time. Seconds turned to hours, hours into days. Then he poured more shaping into his body, willing it to live even without his presence. When that was completed, he took a deep breath, readying himself.

Then, for the first time in countless years, Etchka separated himself from his mortal vessel, returning to light, and understanding. After so many years bound by mortal form, the experience was stunning. Suddenly, the entire world was but a tiny dot amidst an infinite ocean of darkness and stars. Understanding on a cosmic scale flooded him. True knowledge of everything he had done, and all the worlds he had created prickled at the edge of his perception. But in that moment, Etchka did not care what he had done. He did not care about the worlds he left in his wake each time he started over.

All he cared about was saving Vakaal.

Perceive, and understand, the Stars that Sing.

Freed from mortal constraints, Etchka’s consciousness hurtled across the universe in an instant. It bound through countless existences, through time and space, until at last he brushed the very same island upon which he once dwelled. From there, the song was omnipresent, sung by dozens upon dozens of still distance stars.

And for the first time, Etchka understood the song.

It was guidance.

The First was born for a purpose, and the song was meant to help him find that purpose. The First existed to continue life throughout the universe. To build new worlds, to seed new life, and to bring rebirth to those that had faded. He existed to serve an endless cycle of creation, and recreation. Thus, would the universe continue. Thus, would life continue.

The Song held within it, instructions. In learning to sing it back to them, he had forged a livable world from cosmic ruin and barren rock. That same song was what first drew the humans to him. Later, fear of what those humans had done with his gifts drove him away. In time, he started his own world, for urd’thin. All, it seemed, was as the stars’ song wished it. They sang to him, he sang back, and everything was set in motion as they desired.

But the song was everywhere. They sang, not just to him, but to everyone. To guide lives as they saw fit, in order to maintain balance throughout the universe. Throughout all existences. But then…it wasn’t just guidance, was it.

It was control.

Etchka, as a deity, had always sought to allow his urd’thin free will. He wondered, then, if the stars that sing had been interfering with that all along. Or had his power simply overrode their own? Or was that part of their plan, too? For now, such concerns did not matter.

Only Vakaal mattered.

Etchka pushed his shaping deeper into the stars, and the song they sung.

Why does Vakaal always die?

A ripple echoed through the song, altering the notes into something sour. Though the discordance lasted only a moment, Etchka knew what that meant. He was not meant to know the answer. But Etchka was tired of not knowing. He gathered his shaping, his great understanding,and he sent it screaming across the cosmos like a weapon, cutting through the song that was smothering Vakaal.

Tell! Me! Why!

This time, the answers came rushing back as his powers tore through impossible ribbons of light. There, hidden away in the music, he perceived the truth for the first time. That there were rules even gods were meant to obey. He was the current Creator Deity, and he was meant to be the only Creator Deity. More than one being with such fathomless power could throw existence out of balance. And so, in a time beyond time, a rule was created by those that were once gods, like him.

Only one Creator may exist at a time.

As he once suspected, he was not truly The First. Now, through his understanding, he perceived that those once like him who yet lingered served a new role. They became as stars, using their song to guide the next Creator, and their powers to enforce their cold, unfeeling rules upon the universe. The terrible truth was that Etchka was not meant to have a family. Vakaal was always going to die, simply because The Stars That Sing would not allow their universal Creator to have a child.

As soon as his understandingmade that clear, nothing else mattered to Etchka. He had, at his grasp, all the infinite knowledge of the universe, and yet, he wanted none of it. All he wanted was his son. In that single moment, Etchka decided that he would neverbow to the Stars That Sing. He would never accept control.

And he would neverlet them take Vakaal from him again.

This time, he sent his own song to the stars, a great roar of defiance that overrode their golden ribbons with furious, red waves. My son will live! And you will leave us be. Try to harm my son again, and I will obliterate you.

With his message sent, Etchka sent his consciousness hurtling back towards his vessel. Already, he knew some of his newfound knowledge would be better off forgotten. In time, he would rebuild a few select barriers, to allow him to maintain a mortal life while raising his son. But for now, saving Vakaal was his only priority. In moments, he was sinking back into his own body. Returning to it felt familiar, and comforting. Some of his understanding faded, once more constrained by the limits of mortal consciousness.

Etchka was still cradling his pup. He dared not look at Rain, cut open like that. For a moment, a selfish moment, he thought about trying to bring her back. But he had promised to let her go, and he would not go back on his word. Besides, bringing back the dead was something even he did not seem able to do. Whenever he’d tried to resurrect Vakaal, he’d only succeeded on ending the world, and starting it anew. Perhaps, he thought, that was another rule written into the cosmos.

What was done, could not be undone. What existed, could not un-exist. It could only be started anew.

Besides, the vision of the older Vakaal made it seem as if Rain was part of some greater plan he could not conceive. What if there truly was some great, peaceful afterlife, and Vakaal’s soul had already ushered her there? What good would it do to rip her from that tranquility, and return her to this painful existence?

No, Etchka thought. He would abide his word, and let Rain go.

Etchka turned his attention to Vakaal. The tiny pup remained nearly frozen in time. Etchka dared not wind time forward again until he had healed his son. He poured his shaping into Vakaal, gathering it around his lungs. They grew and developed, growing strong and healthy. Yet Etchka knew that alone would not be enough. The song still swirled around Vakaal. But Etchka refused to allow his son to be subject to the whims of something that wanted him dead.

“I will protect you, my beautiful son, whatever the cost.” Etchka stroked the pup’s ears, smiling at him. “You mother always said, I had to let my beautiful star shine. I know what that means, now. I know what I have to do, to save you.”

Etchka took a slow breath in, until his lungs were full. Then he summoned all his unfathomable power, and bent existence to his will. But this time, he cast all that power not outward, but deep, deep inside himself. To the very core of his being, to his very essence. Etchka wreathed his great power around his light, and his understanding.

And then he tore part of himself away.

It hurt in a way Etchka could not measure. As though the cosmos itself was being torn, and every inch of that infinite tear was felt deep inside him. He would have screamed himself raw if he had a voice, but in that frozen, unending moment, there was no sound, no movement. Only thought, and pain. When the pain faded, a portion of his light existed beyond himself, a newborn star. Etchka settled the star inside his pup, and its light filled him.

Its light made him whole.

“For you, my beloved son, I give my godhood, and with it, life.”

Time wound forward.

The pup squealed, a long, ragged cry. Etchka had never heard a sweeter sound. The midwives huddled around him, wanting to examine the pup, to clean him, wash him, but Etchka pulled away. He needed a moment with his son, first. On trembling legs, he returned to Rain, and sank down next to her. Though she could no longer hear him, he nuzzled at her soft ears, speaking in a broken whisper.

“Our son is here, Rain. He’s beautiful. I suppose you’re with him, now, in your own way.” Etchka swallowed back a fresh sob, smiling through his pain. “You were right. I had to let him shine. I had to make him a star. He’ll shine forever, now.”

Etchka cradled his son against his chest. “Welcome to the world, Vakaal, my beautiful parable.” Unable to hold back his tears any longer, Etchka cried with his newborn child. “This new story begins with you, and now? It will always be yours to tell.”