i am the vanguard of your destruction

It was almost like they knew something was up—that something was going to happen. They followed the celestial pull, mortal bodies swarming to a land of gods, torn from their usual habits and ruts into the vastness of the southern sea. Why? The warm waters parted easily for Mauja's white figure, clear salt water lapping against his spotted flanks. What had them so connected with their Gods that they knew to come from any corner of the world, and join in this madness?

And on the subject of that, why was he there? He—the one who had grown so angry with this whole stupid expansion crusade, the one who had nearly lost a part of his soul to the first vengeful god, and then, lost parts of his future.

What morbid curiosity, what masochism drove him to follow the tug in his soul? The owls flew above, untouchable, invincible, and as he peered at their shapes silhouetted against the bright sky all he could see were flames, and their blackened forms crumbling.

This world was too dangerous. Everything in it was too dangerous. Anything could hurt them. Take them from him.

His heart tightened, caught in the grip of the dark and cold. Pulse racing. No—

He had come so close to losing her once. He had lived without her, once. And now.. as he watched the familiar play of light along the edges of her feathers, caught the glint of metallic blue from time to time.. he knew that he could never, ever live without her.

Perhaps his heart would not shatter in his breast, perhaps his lungs would not crumble, and his blood turn to dust in his veins—perhaps his body would survive, but without her, he would be nothing. Without her, he would not be.

They would live and die as one.

Don't think about it, Irma chided him gently; the currents in her soul ran strong with her deep, dark love, and the uncomfortable notion of death forced upon a creature who normally would not consider her own.

Relax, Diego's soul echoed, easy arrogance masking his unease.

I'm sorry.

And then he was up on a beach, walking into greenery he had never before seen, to the ass-end of a gathering staring at Father Earth and a handful of poor newcomers. His black-rimmed ears flicked, eyes touching upon familiar faces as he slowly made his way around its outer rim. Finally he settled, a dread weight in his chest. The owls came down upon his back—Irma taking her usual perch on his withers, Diego sitting on his haunches.

"Who will die today?" he asks, tiredly, of the God—of the world.

[ Mauja is being grumpy. ]