“What affairs would great gods need to take care of?” Gemini asked, directing his questions to the great gods that were emptying the plates voraciously. “Succession? General management of your Divine Kingdoms?”

“For Liamar and Thasvia,” said Hereward, “that is indeed the case. Their Divine Kingdoms are kingdoms in every sense of the word; there’s a divine ruler and a governing apparatus meant to limit any expenditure of their strength. There is a reason why they rarely move on their own, unless forced to a brink.”

“But you’re different, right?”

“Correct. Within me are two sources of divinity; one from the true Orb, and one from the false Orb. The latter is a fixed source, a Bounded Presence. However, the former is a renewable source, and that’s how I get to exert some influence on the world without killing myself or over-producing divinity,” Hereward replied. “I still have my limits, though, as do the others.”

“Which is why I’m pretty much the main fighter here, right?” Gemini sighed. “Lila’s going to scold me when I tell her about that.”

“Suck it up.”

“That’s the least helpful piece of advice I’ve received in a decade or two,” Gemini replied. “And to think it came from Orb’s God of Creation, of all people. Shame on you.”

“I spent a great deal of my years thinking and sleeping,” Hereward replied. “It’s not my fault if I can’t suitably impress ye of little faith.”

“You can blame my sophisticated background for that,” Gemini replied. “Probably, anyway. I’ve forgotten just about everything related to my past on Earth. Even my name.”

“Forgotten?” Hereward snorted. “You locked them away, rather. Sealed them up nice and tight, protecting them from yourself and the things you did back then.”

“…I see no difference.”

“If that’s what you think, then.” The Sentinel of Space eyed the empty plates, before turning to the other great gods. “Brothers, sister, you three should set your affairs in order as soon as possible. Despite what we said earlier, the chances of us returning alive or well is not going to be optimistic, by any stretch of the imagination.”

“How about you?” Gemini asked. “You don’t have anything to really handle, right? What are you going to do next?”

“Ponder on the nature of eternity until the Five Lands begin their assault?”

“Basically nothing, then.” Gemini held his chin. “Why not come with us? We’re going to pay a visit to Ark City while we still can, and you did say something about trying out the street fare there. With me and the others around, we can definitely get you as much food as you like.”

The other great gods turned to look at Gemini with interest in their eyes.

“Little brother, how about me?” Thasvia asked. “Can I join in this trip too?”

Liamar let out a roar, protesting the unfair treatment Gemini extended to Hereward, while promulgating his desire to partake of the vast delicacies of the world outside. It would seem that the great gods were very limited in their actions, since they couldn’t quite ask their believers to guide them around cities to try out food without diminishing their own stature.

Whether that was true or not was another question, though.

“What am I, a babysitter?” Gemini muttered. “Fine. I’ll take Hereward with me first, and then you guys send him a message once you all are done with whatever you’re up to. The food streets of Ark City were vast and varied; I am sure that the new Ark City would just improve on this aspect by an order of magnitude.”

After sending the two elemental great gods away, Gemini cleared up the plates by returning them into the energy he’d used to create them, before burning the leftovers into ashes.

“We can leave the table here,” said Hereward. “If we all die, this place might just survive whatever comes next. If life ever reappears on this planet again, this table might just become an ancient relic or something. Isn’t that thought interesting?”

“…why would you want to do such a thing?” Gemini shook his head. “Fine. Anyway, we might come back here or something, and I’m too lazy to think about things.”

“That’s the mark of a great god, if you ask me,” Hereward replied. “To us, the world is like a pile of shifting sand. Regimes change over time, people come and go, the only constant is change…and yet, beneath it all, is the imperfection of a mortal mindset. Those petty things rarely interest us great gods, and if they do, it’s rarely for a good reason.”

“Even if these petty things happen to be weapons capable of killing gods?” Gemini asked, curious.

“That’s when we pay attention,” Hereward replied. “As a rule of thumb, unless something threatens our interests heavily, or our lives itself, we are unlikely to act in person. Familiar spirits may take action, and we may contact our own believers, but we are more than content to put it out of our mind and slumber in peace.”

“Can’t say I got that impression from the Human God, though.”

“He’s different,” Hereward replied. “Of all the great gods, he was the only one who felt that there was a need to curtail their growth and to control them. I can’t say that his argument was without any merits, since there are some very nasty wars that did happen in the past hundred thousand years—”

“Of which the worst of all was done under his command,” Gemini replied. “Not a very convincing argument.”

“I would argue the opposite, actually,” Hereward replied. “His actions prove that overwhelming individual strength can decide the fate of an entire race and nation, without the need to think about morality and other mortal concerns. If anything, Anren is a very good reason why there must be a limit on strength. The mortals call the strong their guardians, but they don’t know the Crying Abyss is the only thing guarding against those guardians.”

“Guardians…huh.”

“Yeah. There’s yet another reason the Abyss Sovereign’s efforts, if safe, are probably the best for the world…”

“That’s debatable,” Gemini replied. “But before we engage in a week-long debate, I suggest that we head over to my place and prepare for what might be our last vacation.”

“Point taken. Shall we?”