The caravan of motely vehicles charges down the road at full tilt, heedless of the green fire falling from the sky. Most of the Starfall meteor's fragments had already made landfall through the course of the year, but there were several small chunks left in the atmosphere still in the process of being broken up. The emerald fire meant that a Starfall fragment had disintegrated completely, heralding an imminent radiation storm.

"Keep pressing forward." the elderly man in the lead vehicle, a battered sedan, instructs the driver while stroking his beard.

"We'll be caught up in the radiation blast." the driver objects, but keeps his foot to the pedal nonetheless, "Is this wise, Aga Khan?"

"The best of the poor hand dealt to us." the first of the Aga Khans sighs, "Divert from our route and the Sensorium's pursuers will catch up with us. We cannot afford that."

"I understand and obey, Aga Khan." the driver gulps hard, taking a glance at the rearview mirror. In addition to a few other cars, a pair of dusty buses completed the convoy. Buses filled with women and children, incapable of standing against the wrath of the Sensorium.

Aga Khan nods, stroking his beard to hide the terror mounting in his heart. Matters had escalated more quickly than he expected. And it was all because of what he had learned from the Holiest of Holies, the moment of insight granted when Aga Khan completed his grand ascension. Mere weeks ago, Aga Khan stood at the head of the Sensorium, none would dare raise their hands in anger against him. And now, no less than the triumvirate, the master monks directly under Aga Khan, were out for his blood.

"None of you needed to come with me." Aga Khan states mildly to the driver, "The Sensorium would have continued to shelter everyone regardless. The triumvirate are not cruel."

"They want to kill you, Aga Khan." the driver objects, "Over something written in their holy books?"

"Over the truth, wayfarer." Aga Khan sighs in resignation, "The Sensorium is committed to seeking Paradise. They cannot accept that their quest is nothing more than folly."

"Don't you want salvation as well?" the driver questions uncertainly, "From what I understand, an ascended's existence is, uh ...."

"Tenuous? Futile?" Aga Khan chuckles, "Indeed it is, wayfarer. But no more futile than any other life. Death is inevitable after all. The real test is in accepting the unchangeable."

The driver remains silent, eyes locked on to the cratered road ahead of him.

"Are you regretting the choice you made in supporting me against the triumvirate?" Aga Khan asks.

"No." the driver finally manages to respond, "You took us all in when the meteors fell. All of us would have died without your help, Aga Khan. Nothing will change that."

"I remember the triumvirate complaining when we drove back the bioforms attacking your town." Aga Khan laughs, "They said it was a lost opportunity to welcome more brothers into our family."

"That's why we're escaping with you, Aga Khan." the driver's mouth narrows into a severe line, "The other monks, they're no longer human. Who knows what they would do to us once you're gone?"

"Nothing malicious, of that I'm sure." Aga Khan shakes his head, "You distrust my brothers because you fear the unknown. To ascend is a blessing."

"When they tied my brother to that electric chair, did Ted think it was a blessing?" the driver demands. Aga Khan merely sighs again and lowers his head in shame.

"And after they fried Ted," the driver nearly sobs from emotion, "all they said was that he wasn't strong enough to ascend. His corpse was thrown out with the day's rubbish."

"Not everyone can heed the call." Aga Khan lamely answers.

"Call? What call?" the driver shouts, losing control of himself, "Ted never wanted to become ascended, or get powers. He just wanted to live his life. Like the rest of us. In this shitty world."

"I'm sorry." Aga Khan whispers.

"The triumvirate didn't give Ted a choice." the driver takes in a deep breath, "Just like they won't give the rest of us a choice. You said it yourself, ascension is a blessing. We have no reason not to undertake the lightning tribulation."

Aga Khan looks out the window, tears running from his eyes. He never approved of the forced ascensions, but to stop the triumvirate would be to make a mockery of their brotherhood. Ascension was a blessing. No one has a reason to refuse.

No one has the right to refuse.

"So we're with you till the end, Aga Khan." the driver continues, regaining his composure, "At least with you, there won't be any of that ascension business going on."

"I understand." Aga Khan solemnly answers, making a silent vow in his heart. To save another is to take responsibility for them. Aga Khan needed to see this responsibility through.

The harsh blare of a horn from one of the buses interrupts the conversation. Steam pours out of the bus's radiator grille as it begins to slow. The engine sputters for a few seconds and dies without any further ado. The convoy immediately comes to halt and Aga Khan and his driver disembark from the car to investigate.

"The bus with the wounded in it." Aga Khan curses. Fleeing the Sensorium was not an easy thing, but no one had died from the earlier clash. This was not as fortunate as it first seemed. Corpses could be dumped by the side of the road. Wounded were dead weight, making their escape more difficult.

And after his conversation with the driver, Aga Khan could not find it within himself to abandon the wounded to their fate.

People emerge from the other vehicles, nervously milling about. Aga Khan enters the damaged bus, the passengers obligingly standing aside for him. The wound loll about restlessly on the floor, a strong medicinal smell rising from the bandages applied to their injuries. As Aga Khan urgently scans the bus's status readout on the dashboard, his worst fears are confirmed.

"We can't get this bus moving again." the driver whispers to avoid starting a panic, "Not without heavy work on the engine."

"We have another bus still working. And a few cars." Aga Khan murmurs back, "We could load everyone on the other vehicles and continue our journey."

"Overloading." the driver bites his lip, "The other vehicles wouldn't be able to deal with the weight of all the extra people. The convoy's speed would slow. Badly."

Aga Khan strokes his beard, keeping a steely expression on his face. The people around him wait in expectation of his orders. But Aga Khan remains silent. Because he has no idea of what to say. The Sensorium catching up with them had become certainty. There was no way out.

"NO!" a young girl suddenly cries, jerking back abruptly.

"What's wrong, child?" Aga Khan queries kindly, happy for the distraction.

"I saw ... in the mirror ..." the girl cries, pointing at the bus's left wing mirror.

"There's nothing." the driver notes, examining the mirror.

"I saw fire! Like a dream," the girl sobs, "It was all around me, and I was being burned to death. Everyone else was there as well, but they all turned their backs!"

Aga Khan blinks in surprise. That was a vision. The girl experienced a vision of her fated end.

"Did you have any other dreams like this, child?" Aga Khan inquires urgently.

"No? I don't think so?" the girl scratches her head, embarrassed at all the attention she had drawn, "I dreamt that I was shot while we were escaping, so I kept my head down. There were many bullets flying everywhere when we escaped, but none of them hit me."

"An ascended!" the driver breathes, "She survived her own death!"

"Just so." Aga Khan nods, "Child, the vision you just saw, where did it take place?"

"I don't know?" the girl frowns, "It was far away from here, I think?"

"And everyone was with you in the vision?" Aga Khan presses.

"Yes, no wait, not everyone." the girl pipes up as she racks her head, "You weren't there Grandpa."

"I see." Aga Khan muses sadly, "So it has to be this way then."

"Sir?" the driver asks nervously, shaken by the shift in Aga Khan's mood.

"Child, the signifier has been given her sign." Aga Khan pronounces, removing his crimson robe of office, "I pass my name to you. From now on, you are the Aga Khan. Guide our people to safety. Keep them safe."

"Aga Khan! No!" the driver protests as the rest of the crowd joins in, "How is a girl going to keep us safe?"

"She is an ascended." Andrew answers, sweeping everyone with an imperious gaze, "Child, trust your heart. Let it lead you to where you must go. It will never lie to you."

"I'll try my best?" the girl shrinks back, unsure of what's going on. She reluctantly accepts the proffered red robe, gulping hard.

"And that will be enough." Andrew encourages before he leaves the bus, the driver in tow behind him.

"Aga Khan -" the driver mutters urgently at Andrew, tugging at his sleeve.

"Load the rest of the passengers on the other vehicles." Andrew instructs, "And flee this place. The new Aga Khan will guide you all to safety. It is her inescapable fate."

"What about you?" the driver looks off into the distance.

"We must part ways here." Andrew answers, "I'll hold the Sensorium back for as long as I can."

"I understand." the driver bows deeply.

"Take this. And hand it to the new Aga Khan when the time is right." Andrew pulls out a topaz gem from his pocket, a warm halo emerging from it before his eyes, "I can't teach my successor about her duties. So this is the next best thing. An inheritance, so to speak."

"This?" the driver frowns, turning the gem about. Nothing unusual about the gem, so why was Andrew making such a big deal about it?

"It only has value to an ascended." Andrew says, "When my successor sees it, she will know what needs to be done."

"Is this blood on the stone?" the driver questions, squinting at the topaz.

"Mine in fact." Andrew confirms, "A contingency I hoped to never use, but I'm grateful to have prepared. Goodbye, wayfarer."

"Goodbye, Aga Khan." the driver bows again, holding back his emotion, "And thank you."

........

The convoy had left, limping along to its destiny. Andrew leans on the abandoned bus, ruminating on what he had done. Throwing this much responsibility on an inexperienced ascended was deeply unfair, but the only solution he could come up with. The girl would keep the convoy safe, if only to fulfill her fated end. This was the best way to save everyone who could be saved.

And Andrew had entrusted the key to his successor. The unending eternal fire, which would ultimately bring not just the ascended, but the world, to salvation.

"Aga Khan." a voice rasps as a jeep pulls to a stop in front of the bus, the passengers disembarking, "Where's your robe?"

"I'm no longer Aga Khan." Andrew replies, opening his eyes. Three men stand in front of him, dressed in rough cassocks.

"Just as well." the raspy voice grunts, "We decided that the Sensorium no longer needed an Aga Khan anyway. Brothers should all be equal, with no single person leading us into blasphemy."

"Repent while there's still time, brother." Andrew admonishes, "We may have been made in the image of god, but that doesn't mean we have the right to stand beside him as equals."

"Garbage." the second man snaps, "We've all seen Paradise in our visions. The land where death holds no sway over us."

"No man can open the gates of Paradise." Andrew shakes his head, "It is part of our mortal condition. To reach Paradise, we must cease to be human."

"More heresy." the second man snorts, "Did you ever tell that to the people you deceived?"

"No. That's the irony." Andrew laughs bitterly, "They helped me escape because they thought I was more human than the three of you."

"Where are your followers now?" the third man demands.

"Far away." Andrew strokes his beard, "You won't be able to catch up with them. And I left my legacy with my successor, so the great work will continue."

"The great perversion." the third man growls, "The destruction of what makes us human."

"To ascend, water must become steam." Andrew's eyes become flinty, "If that is destruction, then so be it."

"Surrender." the first man speaks up again, "And we will be merciful."

"You intend to condemn me to death." Andrew observes wryly.

"A quick and painless one." the second man points out, "Far better than the alternative."

"Thank you for the consideration." Andrew rolls his sleeves up, revealing a pair of parched but wiry arms, "But I would rather take my chances."

"So be it." the first man says.

Casting foci hang from the necks of the triumvirate, glinting with tightly bottled energy. Each man simultaneously draws the longsword kept at his waist, while the other hand reaches into the cassock and pulls out a handgun. The triumvirate begin their slow and cautious advance, wary for the tricks of their former leader.

"Scared of a weaponless man?" Andrew taunts.

"Weaponless does not mean helpless." the third man scoffs.

"True enough." Andrew agrees, clasping both hands together, "Now, let us pray."

Andrew's heart opens, its voice welling up within him. All ascended could hear the voices of their hearts. And from that voice, they gained the power to bend reality to their will. The louder the voice, the stronger an ascended was.

"DIE!"

The triumvirate howls as one, Andrew's heart uttering an undeniable command, demanding the unthinkable from them. Each man stands rooted to the spot, foaming in the mouth, struggling to fight off the malicious order placed upon themselves.

"My heart -"

"- can't hear it -"

"- too much, too much -"

The air shimmers, as reality begins to remake itself at Andrew's order. Halos explode outward from the triumvirate, fending off the encroaching reconciliation.

"Fight back! We must fight -"

"- my power, its dissipating -"

"How is this happening -"

The tidal wave of encroaching reality batter the halos, shaving them away bit by bit. Andrew steadies himself, the effort of imposing his will on the triumvirate rapidly depleting his strength.

"Help"

"Help!"

"HELP!"

Its almost over. Andrew just needed to give one more push.

"BLIND YOURSELVES! NOW!"

The triumvirate shout, their eyes bulging from their sockets. There's a series of explosive pops, leaving the triumvirate with a pair of bloody craters on each of their faces.

"I can't sense the cosmos anymore. Not all of it." the first whispers, letting his gun and casting focus drop to the floor.

"But we can no longer perceive our deaths." the second exults, brandishing his gun, the rest of the weapons abandoned.

"That which cannot be seen cannot be reconciled." the third grins past the bloody tears, twirling his casting focus about.

Warrior. Gunslinger. Sorcerer.

Andrew coughs up hot blood, the coppery taste filling his mouth. His trump card had been denied. Perception creates reality. And if the triumvirate had blinded themselves to his reality, nothing he could do would make them perceive it.

"All of you just have a third of your original strength remaining." Andrew pulls himself up to full height, "I would say that I'm still ahead."

"Ahead?" the Warrior barks, "We'll see, old man."

"Your well has run dry." the Gunslinger sneers, "All of us can tell. It doesn't matter how strong you are."

"No one can escape their fated end." the Sorcerer smiles, "So die here, or prove yourself to be the Rightly Guided. We win either way."

A thunderclap shakes the heavens as both sides clash, the shockwaves upending the abandoned bus.

Washing everything away.