Jonathan sat down on a rock—or whatever passed for a rock in this place. It shimmered with veins of glowing minerals and seemed half alive, humming quietly beneath him like it had its own heartbeat. Definitely some grand divine material. Blah blah.

  He barely noticed.

  His eyes were on the garden.

  Or what they called a garden.

  It stretched on forever. Literally. He could still see that damn planet floating in the rift below—and somehow, it didn’t even feel like it took up space. Trees taller than skyscrapers, vines like rivers, creatures glowing like constellations. The sky looked like it had folded over itself, bending around the roots of that massive, reality-breaking tree at the center.

  And the castle?

  Nowhere in sight. Which was insane, considering that castle was the size of two continents.

  But none of that was the part making his head spin.

  This place—this world—all of it… was his?

  Or not his.

  But… his?

  Kind of?

  He leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers steepled over his mouth. His thoughts swirled like a storm trapped in a snow globe.

  “I’m twenty-two,” he said under his breath. “I just got out of school. I was working part-time. Playing games. Messing around.”

  He closed his eyes.

  “I saved my sister. I don’t regret that. I’d do it again. A thousand times.”

  He looked up at the endless garden again.

  “But how the hell did I become a god?”

  A few feet away, Jafar stood still, arms behind his back, staring into the cosmic distance like he was watching the future unfold on the horizon. That ever-present grin tugged at the edge of his mouth—silent, amused.

  Jonathan glared at him, then looked away.

  This wasn’t the kind of divine revelation he’d imagined as a kid. No angelic trumpet. No beam of holy light. Just a giant tree, a floating planet, and the smug older version of himself watching it all like he owned it.

  Because apparently… he did.

  Kind of.

  “So what the hell, man?” Jonathan finally snapped, breaking the silence.

  Jafar slowly shifted his gaze toward him—and Jonathan immediately regretted making eye contact.

  His eyes weren’t normal. Not even close.

  They were red, deep as split rubies, but the pupils burned like orange suns. And inside those pupils—black sigils rotated slowly, constantly shifting, like a language that rewrote itself every second.

  It was beautiful.

  It was wrong.

  Jonathan looked away with a small shiver. “Cool. So I just stared into my own future soul or something.”

  He reminded himself again—this guy was him. Technically. A name he made up when he was fourteen, sitting on his bed with a soda and a strategy game.

  “Jafar.” He snorted. “I had no idea that stupid name would turn into this.”

  Jafar said nothing.

  For a few beats, it felt like he wouldn’t answer at all. Then he raised a hand—and the Tree responded.

  Its branches stirred, leaves rustling with the sound of distant windchimes in a language no one spoke. A single fruit dropped, glowing faintly like a star condensed into the shape of an apple.

  Jafar caught it with one hand and bit into it calmly.

  Jonathan blinked. “Wait. Are you aura farming?”

  Jafar chewed. Swallowed. Arched an eyebrow.

  “I can’t be hungry?” he replied coolly.

  “I mean—do gods even need to eat?”

  That earned a real chuckle from Jafar. Not thunderous. Not smug. Just a small, knowing laugh.

  Jonathan chuckled too, against his better judgment. “Alright. Maybe you’re not as alien as I thought.”

  He leaned back on his cosmic rock, exhaling.

  But even as he laughed, he couldn’t help but think:

  If he’s me… what the hell am I supposed to do?

  “So,” Jonathan said, stretching his legs out a bit on the divine rock, “are we answering questions now, or is that too much to ask?”

  Jafar raised an eyebrow, amused. “Bold, are we?”

  “I mean, you’re me,” Jonathan shrugged. “And not like I’m… an asshole or anything.”

  He paused.

  Looked at Jafar again.

  “…Wait. I’m not an asshole, right?”

  Jafar let the silence hang a moment too long.

  Jonathan squinted. “Okay. Rude.”

  Jafar finally spoke, eyes drifting back to the horizon. “A lot has happened for me to become the way I am. A long climb. Through blood. Through betrayal. Through enlightenment.”

  “Yeah, yeah. You told me. Seventy years to complete the secret world quest.”

  “That was merely the start,” Jafar said, the weight behind his voice deepening. “I lived another thirty-five years before that—wandering, learning, shaping small victories in a world that didn’t want me to exist. Then I ruled for over thirty thousand years. Reformed kingdoms. Crushed others. Watched the rise and fall of entire civilizations.”

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  He turned, finally facing Jonathan directly.

  “And then, when I returned to the past—I ruled again. Not as a man. Not even as a god. As law. For hundreds of thousands of years.”

  Jonathan exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. “So we’re just showing off now?”

  Jafar’s smirk was cool. “Perspective.”

  “Right. Well, I’m still not sure how I fit in this. You’re not absorbing me, and thanks for that, I guess, but…” He shrugged. “What now?”

  Jafar tossed the fruit aside. It dissolved into starlight before it touched the ground.

  Then he spoke.

  “When I rose to power, I did it because no one else could. I crushed tyrants. Dismantled gods. Sacrificed friendships, family, even fragments of my soul. I destroyed everything that stood in the way of progress, evolution, and survival.”

  His voice didn’t waver. Not once.

  “Requiem remembers me as a savior. And as a butcher. I left cities in ash, sculpted laws from the bones of kings, and rewrote the rules of existence in blood and glory.”

  Jonathan sat quietly, the weight of it all settling in his chest.

  “You… get to choose,” Jafar said, turning his gaze to him again. “I spared you not as a mercy, but as a necessity. I have a task—one only you can do.”

  Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Why me?”

  “Because I’ve become too much. I have changed too far from what we once were. I no longer understand mortality. Not truly.

  “So you don’t understand mortality?” Jonathan asked, narrowing his eyes. “Is that… a bad thing?”

  Jafar chuckled, low and deep. “Ever since I defeated Fate itself, I’ve often wondered if I was fated to do so. If my path was inevitable. If I could replicate my ascent from nothing… or if I was a singular anomaly.”

  He turned his gaze toward the stars peeking through the sky canopy above.

  “But I’ve passed the threshold. I no longer age. I no longer hunger for power. I am power. And the distance between who I was and what I am… is too great to measure.”

  He looked at Jonathan.

  “I can no longer go back. Not even conceptually.”

  Jonathan frowned. “Wait. Hold up. Time out. You want me to become a god?”

  He pointed between them.

  “Like how you… we… did?”

  Jafar smirked, that damned amused gleam in his eye again. “I care little for the title of divinity. There are gods aplenty in my empire. Most of them kneel. Some of them hide. A few still dare to challenge.”

  He stepped closer, voice quieter but more intense.

  “I want to know if you can survive even a fraction of what I endured. If Jonathan North was always destined to become a king—or if I was a mistake. An outlier. A fluke.”

  Jonathan scoffed. “Aren’t you all-powerful or something? Can’t you just… look it up?”

  Jafar chuckled again. “There are four others in the realms who rival me. Not everything is beneath me.”

  He raised a hand, letting light dance between his fingers like liquid thought.

  “I am not omnipotent. Nor omnipresent. I graze those concepts. I can extend across planes, pull data from probability layers, and manipulate threads of existence—yes. But I do not know all things. I choose not to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because mystery keeps me entertained. And hope… makes you dangerous.”

  Jonathan stared. “You realize everything you just said sounds wildly dangerous, right?”

  Jafar nodded without hesitation. “Correct. You can die.”

  Jonathan blinked. “And that won’t… mess you up? I mean, aren’t I your anchor?”

  Jafar laughed—really laughed this time, sharp and cold.

  “Of course not. I’m you. But you are not me. Not yet. Possibly not ever.”

  He leaned in just slightly.

  “That’s also what I’m trying to see.”

  Jonathan dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Of course. My future god-self is a total lunatic.”

  “Insanity,” Jafar said, “is often just a different lens of vision. Yours is still adjusting.”

  Jonathan took a long breath, trying to center himself against the endless swirl of divine nonsense and existential dread.

  “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re not absorbing me. But whatever you’ve got planned might kill me. What happens if I die again?”

  Jafar gave a slow shrug.

  Jonathan stared. “You can’t just shrug at that!”

  “I’ve never died,” Jafar replied calmly. “So I can’t say.”

  Jonathan squinted. “…That’s actually kinda fair.”

  He chuckled despite himself. Then something tugged at his thoughts. A quieter worry.

  “Oh—uh, X said Elena was okay. After… you know. After I pushed her.”

  His voice dipped at the end, a crack of uncertainty surfacing for the first time in a while.

  “She said Elena would live a full life. Is that true?”

  Jafar nodded once. Then waved a hand.

  The air shimmered, rippled—like memory made visual. Before Jonathan appeared a flickering image: his own funeral. Small, heartfelt. Elena crying. The family fractured but surviving.

  Then Jafar made a gesture, and time accelerated.

  He watched Elena grow. Graduate. Travel. Laugh. Fall in love. Build a family. Make mistakes. Find purpose. Heal.

  The image stopped when she was in her forties—standing on a balcony, smiling to herself as the wind played with her hair.

  Jonathan had tears in his eyes before he realized it.

  “You watched thirty-four years of her life,” Jafar said softly.

  Jonathan blinked, then swallowed. “That’s… that’s wild. I mean, can we go back?”

  Jafar’s head tilted slightly, and his tone returned to its usual gravity. “Once here, there is no going back. That is a law older than Requiem. The Vantis is beyond me. What he binds, even I cannot undo.”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “Cool. So he’s like the guy who breaks all the rules and then makes the rules.”

  “Exactly.”

  Then—

  “Huh?”

  Jonathan blinked.

  They were back in the throne room.

  Just there, like someone had turned a page in reality.

  The dragons still slumbered, curled like mountains, their breathing low and resonant.

  Jonathan stumbled forward slightly. “Okay. Next time, warn someone. Geez, man.”

  Jafar chuckled lightly as he reclined back into his throne, the black and gold coils of divine armor settling across his frame like a crown made of war.

  “We don’t have much time,” he said. “Before the Event.”

  Jonathan’s brow furrowed. “The what now?”

  “I’ll give you a brief course,” Jafar continued, ignoring the question. “And then you’ll head over.”

  “Head over where?”

  That’s when Jafar smiled.

  Not kindly.

  Not warmly.

  A slow, wicked smile curled across his face—like a storm had just remembered it had thunder.

  Jonathan took a step back.

  “Oh,” he muttered. “I don’t like that look.”

  Jafar rose from his throne and motioned with two fingers. A ripple passed through the air—subtle, almost musical. The space around them shifted, and suddenly, Jonathan felt something pressing on his skin. Not wind. Not pressure.

  Energy.

  Alive. Primal.

  “Breathe it in,” Jafar said. “Focus. You’ve already felt it before—when you stood before me, when the fog touched you. That weight? That hum beneath your bones?”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “That’s aura, right?”

  “Good. Now use it.”

  Jonathan blinked. “How?! There’s no instruction manual for—”

  Before he could finish, Jafar raised a hand and thrust a sliver of energy toward him. It didn’t hit—it just passed by.

  And it was terrifying.

  Jonathan stumbled backward, hands raised instinctively. The sensation lingered in the air, curling around him. Cold heat. A static roar behind the silence. It gathered near his chest, tugging at his spine.

  He concentrated.

  And without knowing how, he responded.

  A flicker of light pulsed around his fingers—thin, unstable, but real. A raw ripple of aura coiled around his hand like a ghost unsure if it wanted to be flame or lightning.

  Jafar nodded, approving. “You touched it. Crude… but honest.”

  Jonathan stared at his hand. “I felt like I punched a hurricane.”

  “That,” Jafar said, “is Ryun.”

  Jonathan tilted his head. “Ryun?”

  “The power that mortals use to activate abilities. Ryun is the channeling of the dead gods. When the Vantis slew them, he bound their final echoes into the foundation of Requiem. The blood, the power, the last cries of their existence—he wove it into the air, the ground, the sky. A permanent energy field, everywhere.”

  Jonathan’s eyebrows rose. “So you’re telling me… I’m breathing god-juice?”

  Jafar gave a faint smile. “Crude… but honest.”

  “Man, that’s becoming a theme.”

  “The Vantis was inspired by the End Beast’s formation,” Jafar continued. “So he condensed divine energy into an ever-present medium. Ryun now exists like air. It can be refined for healing, for combat, for construction—anything. What you do with it defines you.”

  Jonathan nodded slowly. “Alright. That’s kinda metal.”

  “And,” Jafar added, “you—being from another world—are classified as an Outlander. You have the capacity for magic as well. But that you’ll have to figure out on your own.”

  Jonathan’s head snapped up. “Wait, what?! You’re not gonna teach me?”

  “I wasn’t taught either,” Jafar replied calmly. “I adapted. I evolved. And so must you. The point of this experiment isn’t to hand you power… it’s to see if you deserve it.”

  Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Yeah. You’re definitely a Malefic God. That’s not even up for debate.”

  Jafar smirked, something dangerous glittering in his gaze. “I’ve been called worse. Usually right before the screaming starts.”

  Jonathan groaned, rubbing his temples. “Great. I’m being tested by my god-sociopath future self.”

  “You’re being given the chance to prove,” Jafar said, stepping close now, “whether Jonathan North… was always meant to become me.”