“In a time long before the eternals hoarded the necessities of existence from our world, there was an age of gods. Unimaginably powerful beings created out of the people of old’s perceptions and beliefs, who embodied as much as they represented their domains. Though it had its problems, as does every age, our world was something to behold, unlike now.” Sentence gestured at Elach, and he tried not to take offense.

“The gods took a very hands-on approach to their worshippers, striking down cults and churches that rose up and attempted to use the gods’ influence and power for personal reasons not specifically approved by the deities themselves. Sanctioned temples became the center of cities; a single temple per god, and those cities evolved around the ideal, phenomena, or physical entity the god of that temple embodied. In a way, the living cities are the closest living relatives to the gods of old. A manifestation of the power and ideals that the collective unconscious of all their residents hold, coming together to create a being that can pass on those ideals and powers to others. And as the living cities are beset by the tyrants, the gods were set upon by the eternals.”

Sentence sighed and traced a wide arc with an open palm, existence splitting open as he passed over it. A mess of colours lay behind, and those colours slowly formed into shapes. A person bursting out of a lake on a chariot of polished scales, water raining down wherever they went, rising towards a mass of twisting shadows that never held one form for longer than a moment. Just as the two were set to clash, Sentence wiped away the distortion and continued.

“They are Issi monstrosities born from the voids the gods left when they moved to reign their temple cities. Over untold centuries they devoured the gods’ power while openly opposing them. It was so long ago that I cannot remember a time before the eternals waged their open war with the gods, but I remember a time when all the gods stood tall against the endless siege from beyond.” Sentence caressed one hand with the other with a faraway look on his eyes. “What I tell you now I learned from my own wielder, a woman who has long since shrugged off her mortal coil and joined the gods in the realm that exists only in the memories of those strong enough to exist unaltered for untold millenia.”

Sentence took another mouthful of cookie and gestured at the air in front of him. “When I finally found myself creating my own memories, the gods were beginning to fall, the first of which was Y’talla, the god of cultivation. With their fall, our people could no longer grow their own food. They could no longer take in Issi to grow powerful. It was the first strike, weakening the gods’ armies by limiting them from ever growing again. Then it was simply a matter of time. The gods fell one by one, the victorious eternals donning a twisted version of the gods’ mantles for nobody’s sake but their own.”

“They now hoard what the gods once embodied, giving our people the absolute least they deem acceptable to survive and keep life going. That is why our population is divided down an invisible line,” Sentence ran a finger along his chair’s arm, a gleaming slash appearing between himself and Elach, “those who have bonded with a being strong enough to resist some of the eternals’ influence, and those who are not. You have lived on the side of the have-nots for the longest time, and now seek to join the ranks of the haves.”

Sentence sighed, stopping his rocking and sitting forward in his chair. “But even the haves have become complacent. They are content in their perceived superiority, creating a society among the fringes of the have-nots. They were once the crusaders for a better tomorrow, but time is not the lone demon that can end convictions and twist once shining causes to tarnished ideals. Perception is the devil they will never know, since even I myself have fallen victim to its world altering powers. The eternals can, and have, died, Elach.”

The significance of that was partially lost on Elach, but even that little bit he did get was immense. “What happens to the eternals’ hoards when they die?” He asked, and Sentence nodded as if that was the right question.

“Their hoards return to their rightful owners; nobody, and everybody. Our existence devours them utterly and completely, rewriting everything to be as if the eternal had never existed. Save for a single person, or group of people. Whoever kills an eternal is granted the blessing, or curse, of remembering the world that used to be before the eternal was killed. They join the society consisting of myself and a few dozen others who have memories of a world that no longer exists, having to go back to a family that remembers a completely different person than they are, and that is in the best case.” Sentence cracked his knuckles, a sound so loud that Elach half expected the man’s fingers to hang limp after the auditory assault. “Imagine what it would be like to live in a world without cultivation, a world where the power you are born with is exactly what you will have for the rest of your life. Where every bite of food must be hunted or foraged. Then you do what you know is best for everyone, killing the eternal who hoarded cultivation, and you come back to a society of absurdly powerful monsters that speak a language you cannot comprehend. You have no place in that world. And so you go into hiding, terrified of your own shadow, until you are captured and experimented on by the people you saved. It is a horrifying existence, Elach, and one that I refuse to force on another without letting them know the risks beforehand.”

Elach frowned. “What was the cultivation eternal’s name?” He asked. Something about Sentence’s story was missing a few pieces he couldn’t quite put together.

Sentence shook his head and sighed. “I don’t know. I did once, but no longer. When another eternal falls, the person who slew the one before it is no longer required to keep existence stabilized. So they are overwritten. And though I have perhaps the greatest resistance to their pull of anyone alive, their names and forms are the only things that even I find scoured from my mind. Now I only know they existed thanks to my memories of the world before the change, and the gods themselves. Y’talla was the god of cultivation, and I know they were killed. So there must have been an eternal who claimed their empty throne.”

“How many eternals have died?” Elach asked, and though he feared the answer to his other question, he asked it anyway. But barely above a whisper. “And how long ago did the last one die?”

Sentence stared deep into the fire, his hands wrapped tightly around his mug. Yet they did not shake. “Eighty five of them have died, the most recent of which fell more than half a millennia ago, while one hundred and thirty seven continue their reigns. Far too many for any one person to feasibly slay in their lifetime. And with the added difficulty of losing yourself completely, changing into someone you never were and never would have been if someone else slays an eternal? There is a reason we have gone millenia under their absolute reign. And now that leaves you with a choice; do you go back to the bliss of unknowing, or take strides into the world where you will be at odds not only with reality, but with yourself?”

“I will never go back.” Elach said instantly. “I did and didn’t do a lot of things I regret. Things I would go back and change in a heartbeat. Things I will never do, or sit by and watch as they happen, again.”

Sentence nodded, but didn’t speak for a long while. As if he was giving Elach a chance to take back his words. Words Elach would never take back.

“If you had the chance to change the world, a chance to free just a little bit of it from the eternal’s grasp, what would you do?” Sentence asked, turning to look at Elach. Nothing had changed about the man, but Issi radiated off of him like a miniature sun. It was a quiet power, the kind that didn’t need to be flaunted to bring respect and fear. “The world could gain hatred. Or be plunged into a war that razes everything you knew to the ground. Would you take that chance?”

“The world might end up better, it might end up worse.” Elach slowly spoke, feeling oddly terrified and confident in his response at the same time. “But it would be different. And as someone who’s seen what’s on that side of the coin, different is all I want right now. Besides, if it sucks, I’ll have the power to change it again. Until everything is good enough.”

“Just good enough? Ha!” Sentence laughed, downing the last of his thick drink and slamming his cup down on the table. “Once you’ve tasted good enough, it won’t be enough for you. I can promise that. But for right now, I deem you… good enough.” Sentence grinned.” The bond is sealed.”

Elach blinked in surprise. He’d gone through an entire trial for Resthollow, who was apparently so much weaker than Sentence that they couldn’t exist on his side of the veil. And Sentence had completely forsaken that. He almost felt cheated. “What?”

“The bond is sealed.” Sentence repeated. “I’ve given you a spatial Issi seed. It won’t grow into another creature like Flow, so you don’t worry about that. But you have no idea what to do with it, do you? I know this is sudden, but you need to get back out there as soon as possible. Things are beginning to unfold you can’t stand to miss even a moment of, so you’ll have to get Prisoner to help you with your first focus and gathering Issi accelerants. You’ll have to learn quickly, as time is not on your side, but this old man still has a warning to give. A warning, and a gift.”

Sentence took off one of the iron rings and placed it in Elach’s palm. “You know what kind of weapon I am, correct? You saw me out there, stuck into the stump and keeping Prisoner chained to this spot until the chosen one comes and frees him?”

“Uh, I never heard anything about a chosen one. But I did recognize what kind of weapon you are.” Elach said, closing his hand around the iron ring. “An executioner’s axe.”

“Yes, an implement of death and control. Yet also of freedom and change.” Sentence said as he watched the crackling flames. A log popped at that moment, splitting perfectly down the middle. “A tool used by rulers to instill fear and obedience in their populace. The symbol of the utter end of kings and queens, the start of a new era of different struggles and problems. Or sometimes the exact same problems, trading one ruler for another. The death of a criminal, no matter how petty their crimes, from stealing bread to murdering a family. The axe is exactly as cruel as the regime that employs it. Some choose to never swing it, even for the worst of criminals, and some use it as others would a gavel. A single swing for each and every offender.” Sentence said all of this without so much as a shudder, and Elach had to wonder if this was all philosophical or if he spoke from experience.

“I have been the end of kings. Of queens. Of peasants, of children, of fathers, of mothers, of innocents, of the guilty. The end of a god. But that is not my legacy.” Sentence turned to Elach, his eyes tired yet full of the knowledge he could not yet rest. Could never rest. “My legacy is my sentence. When they were put directly under my care, their lives were decided by my decree alone. Sent out on impossible quests, put to the blade, jailed for eternity. I was the sentence they prayed never to receive. And I remember every decree I made.” Sentence gestured at the picture frames that filled the walls and continued down a hall Elach couldn’t see, each of a different person smiling. Happy. Some with family, some alone. Some children, some elders, some Issi beasts, some manifestations like Hollow or Gilt.

“That is what you must remember, Elach. The second you truly forget an existence you ended, you can no longer claim to be an instrument on the right side of life. When you hold someone’s future in your hands, you will know the weight I speak of.” Sentence put a hand on Elach’s shoulder and shook him. The look he wore carried the weight of untold milennia. “Even the eternals, Elach. That is my greatest regret. That I cannot remember the eternal who took Breva from me.”