“Hey,” a young man asks his rabbit-kin friend, “do you believe that league-of-nations meeting thing? The Mad-Hammer’s deadline is next week, if we are to believe him.”

Across the table, sipping on his coffee at the university’s café, the man’s friend narrows his eyes as he asks in return. “Which of my opinions do you want? Logical, personal, or familial?”

“What, your family has a collective opinion on this? That’s gotta be rare considering there’s what, 500 of you right?”

“Only if you include the third cousins down to my generation, but yes, we do. Family folklore as it were.”

“Alright, well what about you yourself?”

“Myself? I couldn’t care less, as I’m not planning on being the first to discover whether or not things will be changing. Pain is painful you know? Just because nobody’s dying now doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt the entire time.”

“And I assume your ‘logical’ opinion is that, ‘It’s one terrorist asking a government to execute another terrorist, leading to a moral conundrum with no correct answer.’ That sound about right?”

“No, but close enough.”

“Fine… What about this family business?”

“A long time back, our family head was a beastkin Jackalope,” he replies slowly while sipping on his coffee.

“And what does that have to do with-“

“The Tumblerun family has passed down a portrait, a wooden coin that hasn’t aged, and a single sentence, with a frankly abnormal amount of fear and awe. Have you guessed where this is going yet?”

“Don’t f*n tell me, that portrait is identical to the Mad Hammer isn’t it.”

Touching the side of his nose, the rabbit-kin continues.

“The sentence is the important bit though. ‘If he shows up, always believe him exactly as he says.’ Always was treated as some sort of ghost or ill omen, showing up every few centuries, always the same face, never given a name and only known by his weapon and deeds.”

“So the family boogey-man come to life?”

“I can’t say he isn’t being used to scare the children into eating their entire meal and going to bed early, so technically yes,” the antler-less Tumblerun says, waiting for his companion to take a drink of his lemonade. “Especially when you take into consideration that after somebody flipped the wooden coin in the air yesterday, the boogey-man showed up for dinner.”

With laugh and a wide smirk on his face, he veritably hops over to smack his coughing friend on the back a few times.

“‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘there’s always a way out of a disaster, and one of those places is at the bottom of the Great Dungeon, as it were,’” Tumblerun finishes.

“That should be the last of them Ms. Fyles,” a golem holding a wooden box says. “Assuming an entire box hasn’t gone missing over the millennia, this should be it.”

“I’m honestly surprised there weren’t more of them, or more things that your magic was used to create,” she replies, directing the latter at the only living being in the room.

“Small things that is, that can be walked off with,” the Other responds. “And the weapons that I’ve commissioned over the years have been retrieved or destroyed along the way. I personally destroyed the more problematic ones, the hammer in particular was difficult*…”

“Hey, boss-man, are you really going to leave this realm forever, just retire on a farm somewhere?” the former box-toting golem asks.

“Ha! Farming would be nice I suppose, but no, not forever, perhaps a thousand years or so if my expectations are betrayed yet again. Have you two though of my question?”

A hum of consternation emanates from the clipboard wielding Fyles while the other golem falls into a habit of the living, stroking where a beard would be.

“I must say,” Fyles’ companion begins, “acting as gods amongst men as we dole out rewards, skills, blessings, and curses through a system similar to the Great Dungeon is appealing. On the other hand, actually living in a new world would be amazing as well, regardless of the restrictions.”

“There’s a third option as well,” Fyles states flatly, staring at the Other. “Isn’t there?”

“Generally there is,” the Other states with a smile. “What are you thinking of though?”

“Just letting this be the end, break our crystal.”

“Technically speaking, that was always an option yes, from the time you were brought to this place. This does bring up a salient point though, which I had nearly forgotten… Did I ever mention that your memories after coming to this place are tied to a second soul crystal imbedded in your golems?”

Shock mixed with small but clearly present fury and astonishment, is seen in the two golems present. A lingering silence greets the Other at this revelation.

“Whoops…” the Other begins, just as Fyles begins chasing after him with her clipboard and yelling at him.

“Huh,” is the only reply of the remaining denizen of the storage closet, before they slowly walk out the door, closing it behind them.

In the auditorium

“So are we settled on this then? Everyone has their chalk and remembers where their stone is, correct? No regretting your choices tomorrow after all.”

A susurration passes through the assembled golems as the Other finishes speaking. As the bulk of the crowd disperses, two approach the Other.

“The’vrin, Graham, any final thoughts?”

“No, Ancient One, just that voting on our own fates seems rather novel to me.”

“And our own bodies as it were,” Graham continues. “Though what some of us are nervous about is the fact we’re all being disconnected from our bodies yet again.”

The Other waves off additional comments as he replies, “Just think of it as going to sleep for a bit, like you used to, though these aren’t really your bodies to begin with. And there is no sense in causing grief for those who wish to be released from their mortal coil into death or functional godhood after all. And Fyle’s idea of keeping everyone’s ‘vote’ to simply arrows was a stroke of genius.”

“Are you sure you aren’t just happy she reduced the amount of paperwork you’re going to have to do prior to packing up all of our soul crystals? She even had the forms made for you yesterday so you wouldn’t spend a millennia just working on-“

“Perhaps,” the Other says, cutting Graham off. “In any case though, you two need to get moving, the time is nigh. Regardless of your decision, I am grateful for your help these many years.”

Green lights begin to shine and flash slowly throughout the facility as the Other ushers the two golems out of the room.

Some-thirty minutes later, the lights begin to shine orange, blinking faster.

Ten minutes pass, and the lights turn red, speeding up yet again.

A minute passes. Darkness.

A light flashes, and the Other steps through a portal upon rocky ground. Looking around, he spots three bright orbs in the distance. Nodding to himself, he unfolds his magic around him and entirely envelops what he is standing on.

Another flash of light, and the Other is again standing on rocky ground some distance away as the process repeats.

A third flash of light, leaving the two meteors alone again, with no company apart from themselves and the orbs in the distance.

“Alright, 120 days,” the Other murmurs to himself forlornly, staring at the night sky from atop his lair. After spending an hour in the cold wind, he picks himself up and brushes off the snow that has accumulated on him. “I suppose I should visit some old friends in the meantime…”