Epilogue

One Year Later

In the arena of the Sacred Tournament, two combatants duked it out—a Kickboxer whose rise through the ranks Rian had carefully observed over the past year, and a veteran Duelist wielding a rapier with the precision of a master.

It was a good fight, one for the history books. But it was even more exciting, Rian supposed, when he could glean the inner workings of their minds, see their thought processes mid-battle, and watch their decisions manifest moments ahead of the physical resolutions of those choices: in the careful oscillation of aggression and retreat, the subtle footwork as they looked for openings on one another. The games within the games.

It was still strange after all this time, Rian thought, to occupy a single body with at least five other souls in him. When Ulm had reformed within him, it had taken a moment for Rian’s consciousness not to be overwhelmed, like trying to open his eyes against an infinite light. But to his relief, there was plenty of room in Ulm for Rian to exist even if their selves were in constant superposition. Eventually they had reached a happy medium, finding balance. For the most part.

Corvis’s presence was the least prominent in him, but the Four tended to shift around constantly as if they were vying for his attention. Whenever it became too much, Rian could temporarily split himself into parallel realities to take off some of the mental-spiritual load. It made him more vulnerable to do so, of course, but he didn’t feel like he had anything to worry about for now. No one had followed him through the portal when he’d crossed it the final time a year ago. And he’d kept close attention on any spatial anomalies across Miriad.

To his surprise, it wasn’t just Earth that had been tampering with universal bridges. It should’ve been obvious, he supposed, but there were other universes neighboring Miriad.

As he glanced away from the window into the Sacred Tournament’s ring, he looked out over the Penumbra from his home in the clouds. The landscape had been restored entirely, the sky now a vibrant blue, the mirror shards swept away like broken glass from a dusty floor. The dead gray trees had been restored to an obsidian forest with crimson leaves. Given how sunny it was now, the "Penumbra" certainly didn’t seem like an appropriate name for the location anymore, but Rian had been so busy that he hadn’t bothered to think of a new name for it yet.

Cleaning up the area had been one of the more time-consuming tasks he’d dealt with over the past year. Fixing the spatial-temporal anomalies, disempowering the wildlife, and throwing Vanralis a retirement party as the duties of the Penumbra’s groundskeeper were finally at an end.

There were unspeakable things beneath that creature’s stone mask. Things no mortal should’ve ever seen.

Rian shuddered, then looked up at the sky. He could still see vestiges of it: the Bridge that had joined Miriad and Earth. Reopening previously existing temporal channels was easier than creating new ones, he suspected. And although he’d closed the portal, he’d decided to take up residence directly beneath the location just in case someone tried to open it again.

His home was a modest assembly of obsidian wood with a few bedrooms, a kitchen, a game room, and an observatory, all hovering several hundred feet above where Yindra’s tower used to be. Enjoying the cool breeze at the edge of the cloudscape, Rian found it amusing that keeping the whole structure levitated was a mere afterthought of imprinting his will onto the fabric of the universe. The home itself was nothing befitting a god, but Rian didn’t like the idea of having some huge gaudy palace in the clouds. It just didn’t suit him.

“Is something wrong?” Kat said, cradling their newborn son in her arms.

Rian looked back at her and smiled. “Nothing. I think it’s just…beginning to hit me. How far we’ve come.”

Maia had come to see the baby after her rounds at the Temple of Altir, leaving the place in Yatagara’s care. She was showering Rian’s son with attention to the point that he was worried that it would overwhelm him, but she tickled the infant’s feet and was met with joyous laughter.

“So have you two settled on a name yet?” Maia asked.

“We did,” Kat said.

“Kian,” Rian said.

Maia stared at him. “You named your kid…Kian.”

“What?” Rian said. “We got creative with it.”

Maia broke into laughter. “That is the opposite of creative, Rian. You had an entire year, and that’s the name you chose? Just ‘Kat’ plus ‘Rian’?”

He scratched the back of his head. “Well…that’s the best we could come up with. I’m not good at names.”

“A literal god being bad at names,” Maia said. “Are you sure Ulm is actually in there?”

Rian laughed.

So much had changed—since the day of the mugging, the day of his entry into Project Mirage Online, the day of Ulm’s reunification.

It felt like everything had changed.

He’d had plenty of time to reflect since then, to process it all, to consider the enormity of the consequences. How it had come to this moment with him overlooking an entire world. Reigning over it. Judging it. Adjusting it. He could see everything, hear everything. The moral responsibilities he had now were overwhelming. The sense of power was almost too much, and if it weren’t for the Ulm side of him, he wouldn’t have known where to begin.

And that was just about his son.

As for Miracia, plenty had happened since that day—the day of the Choice. Rian had changed things slowly at first, still getting a grasp on what direction to take Miracian society, but over time he’d become more confident in his decisions.

The early uprising had surprised him even with all his foresight and knowledge. A small band of the Earthlings who’d chosen to stay had inevitably changed their minds about the whole situation and had declared independence from him. At first Rian had let them do as they wished, but when it became apparent that they were going back to the old ways of murder-hoboing everything in their path—plundering towns, killing wildlife, and amassing power for cruel and selfish ends—Rian had intervened, quashed the insurgency, and reincarnated the most heinous of the culprits into level 1 mobs.

He couldn’t think of quite a worse punishment than existing as a lonesome tree-stump creature.

The wildlife of Miracia hadn’t always been so abundant. As Rian had learned, most of the continent's creatures were reincarnations of Miracians given lesser forms due to the overflowing of Purgatory. Henceforth, he’d deemed the hunting of wildlife illegal for any reason. It wasn’t like anyone was going to starve anyway, given immortal Vessels. Only the creatures of Miracia would expire with time.

And as the population of the continent slowly restored itself to its original levels with the cycling of souls, a renaissance of combat arts had begun to flourish.

Understandably, most of the Earthlings who’d chosen to stay were solely interested in becoming stronger. Rian didn’t blame them. He encouraged them if anything. As long as they didn’t use their power to the detriment of others. As long as they sought self-improvement and progression for the sake of personal satisfaction.

He had removed the level cap in the new System entirely. And given that all energy in the System stemmed from him, he could eventually have to defend himself against the more dedicated fighters if they amassed enough of his power. But no one was harboring thoughts of overthrowing him just yet, and he could always change the level cap if he needed to.

His power was indeed finite. As Yindra had said, each casting of temporal magic deprived this world’s future of that energy. Every spell or skill performed in the past had depleted his reserves somewhat. A small fraction, but it was there nonetheless.

Someday, at this rate, he would no longer be a god. His grasp over this world would diminish unless he found more power to claim. And if he didn’t, perhaps someone or something else would come along to reign in his stead.

But until then, the tenets of pacifism could hold true.

***

With the loss of nullshards across the continent, it only felt appropriate to install the Loyalists as mayors of the major towns. It had taken Rian some time to fish their souls out of Purgatory, but once they were revived, he had personally sat with them and brought them up to speed on current events. Even though in death they had lost their memories of their past selves, Rian was surprised to find that they each pleaded to him for forgiveness when they learned of what they’d done under Yindra.

Although some of their actions had seemed rather evil in the earlier days, Rian knew they’d only been following orders. He’d seen in their hearts, their souls, that what they’d wanted was leverage against Earth—to force a situation where mutual peace was possible by having both sides agree to retreat. Even if they’d threatened to enslave all of humanity beneath Yindra’s direction, it was only out of desperation for a solution to the invasion of their world. Rian couldn’t truly blame them for going along when it was nothing more than a threat.

With time, he saw the good in them and knew it had always been there. His forgiveness, after all, was infinite.

Tsenira had taken to Elmguard with all the enthusiasm of a cat lady, although the wildlife there was more sparse than before. Altrexis had chosen to wander Aetheria, and Ossyra had set up in Nostdal, at the center of everything. The four other Loyalists whom Rian had never encountered were given positions in the newly constructed towns that were popping up across Miracia to accommodate the restored population.

And as for Corvis, well…

The old Corvis was gone. Not even Rian could restore lost memories.

But Rian could still share his own memories with others, and not merely through retelling, but by sharing them directly. The second Corvis, Trini’s companion, was more than willing to obtain those memories. And although the soul of the first Corvis remained within Rian along with the Four, Rian could still see glimpses of the old Corvis in the new one.

He’d taken up a position as an adviser to Rian. And he was—rather too eagerly, sometimes—in charge of Rian’s and Kat’s wardrobes. Corvis had tailored at least three hundred outfits so far. Each day Rian was surprised to see how far he’d taken his craft. He'd never seen Corvis happier.

Although Rian rarely saw her, Trini was busy in Nostdal, constantly drafting up new laws to send to him for finalization and approval—with Corvis’s scathing oversight, of course. But Rian was glad, at least, to hear that Kat and her sister were on much better terms now.

Most of all, perhaps the greatest blessing that Rian had received, was that he now had perspective—on himself.

Yindra’s words, her actions, remained with him. And even though she was now part of him, he’d still needed time to think over everything. To better understand the person he’d been so that he could better understand the person he was becoming.

Everyone always wanted more power. Control. Competency. Achievement. Progression. It was human nature, as Yindra had said. It was natural to strive for more—to seek to improve oneself, one’s circle of influence. That desire extended to society. To humanity itself. But aspirations could go astray, become corrupted. And even the most well-meaning intentions didn’t always lead to the intended result.

Where was the line between acting out of survival and acting out of greed? Between fairness and exploitation? When was the moment it became more about the individual than the group? Or even one group over another. What was truly fair? How could things ever be balanced perfectly in a way that avoided suffering? Was it even possible?

Even as a god, Rian didn’t know.

All he knew was how it had manifested within himself as a reflection of those questions throughout his life before now. How it had seeped into him over time like a poison, an unceasing battle against himself, his mentality.

Anger.

It had always been there inside him. A formless rage against a formless enemy. Against the unfairness of life itself.

It was no question to him now as to why the third iteration of himself, Ogrot, had gone down the path he did. A path of selfishness. Of externalized rage.

Because those things existed within Rian. As they did for everyone else. It was just one side of him magnified and distilled down to a singular element, much in the way that anger had always cleared his mind of distractions. It was a flame that burned away everything but itself and the goal ahead even at its own expense.

Because it was a response. An outward reflection of an internal state, which was itself a reflection of an external environment. From Rian’s perspective, he saw the connection more clearly than ever. There was no distinction between one’s actions and their circumstances.

“Oh come on!” Rian shouted, smacking his controller onto the table a little harder than he meant to. “That’s so busted! There’s literally no counter-play to that.” He gestured at the hovering victory screen for Kat’s character who’d just utterly thrashed him in Comrade Clash. “What am I supposed to do? This game’s a complete joke. I’m patching that move.”

“Rian, no!” Kat laughed. “You just have to anticipate it. The frame data on that move’s not even that good. I swear, if you use your god powers to change the game—”

“All right,” he said, smiling. “Fine. It can stay.”

Okay, so maybe his insight into himself hadn’t been so deep after all. Knowing was only half the battle, as they said. And maybe instead of pointlessly navel-gazing, he thought, he should just shut up and play some video games.

It had taken a few tries to reconstruct the entirety of Comrade Clash and project it onto a region of space. But when he had godlike insight into everything, it was surprisingly easy. Games were just complicated data structures, and Kat had more than enough knowledge of it to allow Rian to make an accurate emulation.

He was a little ashamed to admit, though, that he’d had his fair share of gamer rage moments in the past. A rather toxic streak that he didn’t want to acknowledge. In his early days, his younger days, he’d been just as much of a selfish, elitist person as his reflection was. As Devon was. Ogrot. Even if it was just games that had brought it out, it had still been there. All-consuming anger. A frustration that twisted oneself into something vile when it had nowhere to go but outward, manifesting as harsh words and disregard for others. The self against the world. The desire for selfish retribution.

Rian was doing better—had been doing better since those early years. With time, with age, with adolescence behind him. He supposed he’d gained enough perspective to not let himself tilt quite as hard as he used to, although he still had some rough moments, some backsliding. Everyone did. No one was perfect.

But step by step, day by day throughout his life, he’d learned to let go.

Let the feelings pass him by, to not get swept away in the sour promise of his expectations. Of striving for heights that he knew he was capable of, failing to reach them, and wallowing in subsequent despair. Because the weight of defeat was too great to carry when others expected so much of him. When he expected so much of himself.

Learning to let go had saved him. Let go of expectations. And in that action, that decision, there was peace unlike anything he’d ever known.

All he could do, in each moment, was the best that he could do, at each moment. It had been that simple, a reframing of his approach to life itself. Do the best he could. And if his best wasn’t enough, then it didn’t matter. Because he had done all he could. And in that concept, there was never a lack of control, never an ill-placed wish for more and more power. Nothing could corrupt him, this peace he’d obtained, because there was no longer any room in his soul for anger.

And before long, he’d realized he was on the path to true enlightenment.

***

On a particularly cold morning in the Penumbra, Rian stepped out onto the clouds where Kat was and joined her in gazing up at where the portal to Earth had been. Kian was still asleep at this hour, and Rian had noticed Kat was waking up earlier and earlier to spend time alone.

“What's wrong?” he asked, the question only a formality. He knew her answer already.

“Do you think they’ll come back someday?” Kat said.

“That they’ll try to open another Bridge?” Rian let the question linger. “Yeah. Of course they will. They have the technology. But I did leave them a reminder, though.”

Yindra’s tower was still there on Earth, impaling the remains of Reflect Systems’ headquarters. Their actual headquarters, in the Canadian arctic tundra. Rian had kept the tower from being destroyed during his battle with Yindra, but he didn’t know if it was still there. By now, he supposed the military had demolished it.

Rian had wiped the memories of Miriad for everyone who logged out after his reunification, but that didn’t account for everyone who’d visited this world. Not everybody had been logged in at the same time, of course, and he couldn’t have affected anyone who wasn’t wearing a headset. A mere software limitation impeding the System from altering people’s memories was nothing to him.

He had intended to deter as many people as possible from seeking out Miriad again—at least until they were ready to accept that they would not have free reign to conquer and plunder what this world had to offer. When or if that would ever happen, he wasn’t sure. And he would probably never know.

Occasionally he'd wondered how Earth was fairing, how the world’s governments were handling the cover-up of the whole incident. Was there civil unrest? Cults forming around the knowledge of another world full of alien creatures? Were there conspiracy theories against governments and their militaries? Was Reflect Systems still solvent? What had they been doing with all the temporal energy they’d supposedly been mining?

Rian supposed, in the end, that he didn’t really care. Whatever was happening on the other side didn’t matter.

He had turned his back on it all a long time ago.

Nothing could stop Earth from opening another portal to here. But now that he was unified as Ulm, he was considerably more powerful than he’d been in separate bodies. Before, he’d had to split himself into four entities just to walk upon Miriad without destroying it by his mere presence. But now, with a Vessel and a human soul in the mix, he and Rian were able to contain that power.

Anything they sent through another portal would have to be near-godlike to threaten him. And as far as he knew, nothing like that existed on Earth yet.

But perhaps there was something elsewhere. When he cast out his field of awareness, he could just glimpse the signature of the portal, the Bridge, in the past.

And of all that remained within him, as each day had come to pass, there was still one more thing that drew his attention away from the present like a daydream.

His mom was still out there.

Somewhere. Some-when.

There was rarely a day when he hadn’t thought of her, imagining where she was, what adventures she was up to. If she had survived a hundred years of stalemate with Yindra, she could survive whatever and wherever the portal had taken her to.

When Rian had entered the Bridge on his way back to Miriad a year ago, he’d spent a moment looking for her. But wherever she’d gone, it was outside this locality of universe clusters. She wasn’t in any of the neighboring realms, perhaps flung as far as two or three beyond the adjacent universes.

But he knew she was out there—exploring, probably, the multitude of worlds beyond this one. He was eager to follow after her someday, certain that they would meet again, certain that she would find her way back to him—if he didn’t find her first.

It would be a grand adventure, spanning the worlds unknown. And they had plenty of time for it, inhabiting these ageless Vessels. But it was best, Rian supposed, to wait for the right moment to embark. He’d grown to love this world, and he couldn’t leave just yet.

Things had finally settled down in Miriad. It almost felt like he’d seen everything here, but that wasn’t entirely true. Even if there were other universes connected to this one, that was getting a bit ahead of things. For now, he just wanted to keep his world manageable.

And by world, he really meant continent. Miracia was still just one continent in Miriad. Project Mirage Online had never expanded past that. Before he could go universe-hopping in search of his mom one more time, maybe it was time to explore the lands beyond this one. There was still plenty to do, plenty more to see. They’d have time for it. They always would.

Rian held Kat’s hand a bit tighter, drawing her attention away from the sky. She squeezed back, meeting his gaze and smiling. Wherever things went from here, for the challenges to face, the work to be done, the decisions to make—he knew it only mattered as long as she was by his side.

It was time to see the rest of the world. Together.