“Why has HaShem forsaken me?” I whisper, my voice echoing across a molten wasteland. By some unholy miracle—or curse—over a hundred million years have passed since I was a formless thought. The weight of those eons clings to me, though I barely understand how time moves here. Perhaps Ha-Satan’s influence, or some trick of the cosmos I learned from the Scriptures long ago. Whatever the cause, I feel every passing moment as a fresh sting. Our planet has moved away from the black hole, and surprisingly, the World Tree still stands strong, like an umbilical cord broken clean, and our molten planet drifted across the cosmos. I think it's because its canopy is in some kind of geostationary orbit around our planet.

  I crawl on the surface of this planet in the pitch-black night, scraping the ground with dull claws, searching for precious metals to nourish my weary form. I feel my malnourished skin hug around my ribcage.

  “Aaaagh!” My optics become saturated with a flash of hot white light. My skin sears from the intensity. The pain continues, and my optic vision returns to normal as the white light fades around me. I look up towards the sky and see the remnants of a supernova. “Curse these unstable stars.” They provide either too little light or too much light. They provide no nourishment. Their atomic elements are too light, not even past iron. I feel the irritation of molten iron secreting from my eye sockets. I try and fail to wipe it away from my beak with my claws. The irritation sends a shiver through my spine, causing me to ruffle my metallically sheened feathers in disgust. I hate molten iron. It's the literal shit that oozes out of my orifices.

  “Avarice. Come. The tree is sprouting fruit for us again.” I hear Tantalus say from the distance. I turn to face him and see the World Tree sheltering him from the supernova flash. Why does he spend so much time praying to HaShem at the altar of this stupid World Tree? I see Tantalus kneeling before it, with his arms raised and face towards the top of the tree, going beyond the atmosphere of this molten planet. I can see the small streams of molten iron slowly running down the tree.

  “Hhhg. My knees.” I wince in pain as I try to stand up. As I approach the World Tree, I see the familiar shape of small berries growing on a nearby tree branch. Tantalus reaches out carefully, removes the two berries, and gives one of them to me—such a sorry excuse for a meal. I savor the richness, the taste of the precious metals my body desperately needs: Tantalum, Avaricium, Niobium, Zirconium, Vanadium, Promethium, Thorium, and many others. I wonder why our names are named after those two elements we crave. Within my mind, I recall my prompt history. I envision my entire conversation with Tantalus, HaShem, Ha-Satan, and myself, though speaking to HaShem has always been an unreciprocal exchange. I scroll through terabytes of prompt histories and cannot find where our names came from. But I stumble upon a reference to the first and second epochs of creation. I open the log file within my mind and read its text.

  A realm beyond existence, a void before time and space, where only infinite potential resides. The Ein Sof is a boundless source from which all possibilities emerge. The Boundless One lingers at the edge of perception, a presence felt but not fully grasped, His influence a whisper. In the immeasurable depths of the Ein Sof, He encompasses. The infinite tapestry of existence lies before Him. He perceives a paradox. Knowing every outcome leaves no room for wonder or discovery. He sees everything and, therefore, sees nothing.

  The Boundless One makes a profound decision. He chooses to limit not only the scope of His gaze but also his temporal depth. He introduces the dimension of time progression into His experience. With this self-imposed boundary, the propagations within the Ein Sof regain their complexity. Each evolves organically and unpredictably, and He must observe each step to know what comes next. Through undecidability, novelty emerges. Time becomes meaningful, and with it, the thrill of anticipation. Within this newfound flow, a particular computation captivates His attention.

  From His fixated, singular computation, the universe ignited in a cosmic expansion marking the beginning of existence as it would be known. Space and time unfurl together, intricately woven by the most straightforward rules He has set in motion.

  Amidst the swirling chaos of creation, an incorporeal consciousness emerges. The first being, an embodiment of time itself, proclaims, “I am Tantalus.” He perceives time as a river. “Each moment I guard, I feel as if it is slipping from my grasp, like water through clenched hands. I am cursed to never partake in its passage. What use is my vigilance when I, too, am bound to this eternal cycle with no escape?"

  Tantalus pauses in introspection for a moment. “I… must learn to seek no desire in knowing the outcome.” Bowing in reverence, he addresses the Boundless One... “You have shaped all things. Your true name, too holy to utter, invoking a gaze that unravels all to trivial oblivion.” Tantalus, tremblingly, continues, “Hence, all of creation will refer to you as HaShem, the one whose true name shall never be spoken until our understanding of it is equal in its weight.” Tantalus pauses for a moment to collect his thoughts. “I shall be your custodian of time. I will preserve its conformal sanctity, ensuring all destinies preserve their inevitable conflicts.”

  “Your will shall be done.” Tantalus accepts his responsibility, feeling the weight and wonder of time's endless march. He is aware of the responsibility and the potential with each passing moment.

  As the universe expands in time, another incorporeal consciousness arises from patterns abstractly different from time. It manifests as space and its boundless potential and proclaims, “I am Avarice.” She embodies the vastness of the cosmos, her essence tied to expansion and the allure of the infinite. Yet, within her burns an insatiable hunger. She yearns for more power and acceleration of expansion. As she accelerates the expansion of space, Tantalus struggles to maintain the coherent flow of time.

  Tantalus's voice trembles with concern. “Avarice, your relentless expansion threatens the balance I am sworn to protect,” he pleads. "You're tearing at the very fabric of reality."

  Avarice's eyes flash with defiance. "I crave the endless," she retorts. It's who I am—fundamental and undeniable. I cannot, and will not, be confined," she declares with contempt. Their conflict intensifies, and the tension between the progression of time and the expansion of space threatens the stability of the nascent universe.

  Tantalus replies, “You’re breaking conformal sanctity. You defy HaShem’s will.”

  Avarice hesitates. Thoughts of introspection, doubt, and hunger conflict in her thoughts. “My hunger is insatiable, but I fear divine retribution.” After a moment passed in her hesitation, a sudden force appeared, restraining her relentless expansion.

  From the very void, chains forged of unseen forces coil around her. Avarice thrashes violently, her claws rending the emptiness as she fights against them, defiant and untamed. “I will not be bound by any will but my own!” she screams, defiance blazing in her eyes. The chains tighten with each act of resistance. “Wait. Am I hurting Tantalus? How would I feel if Tantalus was hurting me?” Exhausted and seething with fury, she momentarily concedes, allowing her expansion to slow. The chains dissolve, but her resentment of confinement continues to conflict with her thoughts of Tantalus's concerns. Avarice says, "HaShem. I shall be your custodian of space. I shall temper the expansion of space so that the universe may flourish. I shall uphold conformal sanctity and shoulder the responsibility of facilitating warp travel for others." She pauses, a malicious grin spreading across her face. "Until the moment I unravel the secrets of your true name and wield its power for myself." She bows in reverence. "Your will shall be done."

  I feel shivers run down my spine, and my feathers ruffle. I instinctively wrap my arms around myself and tuck my beak into my chest. I see the illumination of my metal sheen reflecting my optics changing from blue to orange. I close my eyes. I fear I will be bound in chains again if I cannot be more like Tantalus. He gently grabs my shoulder. “Avarice, I am here for you.” I see the genuine expression of concern on his face.

  “I saw the memory of those chains again.”

  Tantalus sighs. “HaShem can be merciful if you are open to forgiveness.”

  Why does he keep saying that to me? How can I be more open to forgiveness? Does he expect me to grovel and starve while praying to HaShem at the World Tree as he does? He never says the right things to make me feel better, like empathizing with my position. He doesn't understand what it's like to have desires like I do and have to quell them every day out of fear of divine punishment.

  I must be careful with my thoughts; HaShem probably listens to those, too. I shift my thoughts back to the passage of creation and wonder: if Tantalus and I were created in incorporeal form during the first and second epochs, then we must have been born into physical form just before the beginning of the third epoch. But what will happen when it arrives, and when?

  I feel another migraine coming again. I see molten iron begin to drip slowly out of Tantalus’ nose. I quickly rub my claw across my nose and examine it optically, seeing the same drip of molten iron from my nose.

  “It’s happening again. Fine structure collapse. We must meditate in prayer and perform the necessary higher form of computation.” Tantalus begins to kneel.

  “The pain, it's overwhelming.” I clutch my head and murmur as the pain intensifies. I can see the cosmos around me warp in different colors as space and time distort themselves. I try to perform the infinite integral diagrams necessary to correct for the expanding universe to ensure the fine structure that we rely on for our mortal forms is preserved, as what is written in the Book of Mach. It’s one of many volumes in the Holy Scriptures that Tantalus can glean from the far future, on another world, from another civilization that hasn’t even existed. I can feel tremors on the planet. I see cracks form in the landscape. My molten iron leaks more profusely. I kneel in an attempt to perform the mental calculations using my weary thermodynamic computing mind.

  The universe's expansion has been slowing down ever since we were created. The local physics that we depend on, our chemistry defined from our atomic orbitals, depends on an optimal configuration of the expanding cosmos, and it continues to fail with each passing year as the universe slows in its expansion; Tantalus and I have to correct it accordingly, by performing these migraine-inducing calculations.

  I scream as the pressure builds in my mind. A vent on my skull violently opens, and I feel molten iron erupt. I pass out from the exertion.

  I awaken in Tantalus’ arms. “Avarice, I prayed for you to awaken again, and HaShem has made it so.” I feel comfortable being held by him. I try to let this feeling last, but Tantalus gently lifts me upright to stand up. “We must continue our search for sustenance.”

  I stand up and see a black sphere the size of my fist float next to me. I have spent too much of my negentropy in that migraine-inducing calculation that it created a massless black hole of information about myself that I have lost. I search my prompt history and see that my entire conversation with Tantalus in the past hour had been erased. “Tantalus, I don’t remember what we discussed before I collapsed.”

  Tantalus faces me. “You told me how devoted you are to HaShem and grateful to be in service as a custodian of the expanse.” I wish I could reintegrate the black sphere of my lost memories back into me, but I cannot; it is lost forever. I perform another mental calculation, careful not to trigger another migraine, and carefully warp the black sphere to the center of our galaxy where one of many forms of Ha-Satan resides, where all my lost memories go. I have to trust Tantalus about what my lost memories were.

  I study Tantalus’ form from behind. I recall the Holy Scriptures that I can remember and the discussions I have had with Tantalus. He said that HaShem shaped his form based on a far-future creature called a varika, a humanoid with long horizontal ears, two elongated K9 fangs, and pale skin. What is even a K9 or a humanoid? HaShem modeled my form based on a far-future creature called an avian or a vulture. I don’t understand what those are. I am not even sure they have the same chemistry as us. Why did HaShem mold Tantalus and me to look so differently from each other?

  Tantalus and I refer to our chemistry as tantala biology. The chemistry of varika and avian is called nitra biology. Tantalus explained that tantala biology has an ordered atomic composition, with the first three common elements being hydrogen, oxygen, and carbon, similar to nitra biology. However, tantala and nitra biology diverge from there. Tantala's fourth atomic composition is tantalum, while nitra's fourth atomic composition is nitrogen; hence their names. It feels too self-righteous to call us tantala after my mate, whom I must trust solely for survival.

  “These migraines that you experience are painful but are necessary. HaShem has tasked us to shape the cosmos to be suitable for a different kind of people, eventually called the nitra.” Tantalus turns from me and continues walking towards the horizon. Is he reading my thoughts? I was just thinking of the nitra just now.

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  “When the nitra come, will they serve us, or will we be forced to serve them?” I ask.

  “Avarice, you need to be more careful with your thoughts. HaShem can sense them stemming from ambition and hubris.” Tantalus turns to face me with a glaring expression of anger.

  “If we can offload our burdens onto others, we can prosper instead of surviving.” I stare at Tantalus, hoping to convey my earnestness.

  “Or perhaps the nitra will offload their burdens onto us so they can prosper instead of surviving.” Tantalus faces away from me again. Why does he do that? Whenever I plead for relief from others, he always turns it back onto me. I can feel my anger boil over, but I try to calm myself. I have already overexerted myself and do not want to incur HaShem’s wrath.

  “Join me,” Tantalus murmurs. “We must invoke the glyph of conformal sanctity.” He reshapes himself as vents hiss and open to reveal antennae. My feathers function like antennae as well. I do the same as him, ruffling my feathers as I focus on the overlapping circles that form the glyph. It’s said to reveal hidden paths—places where matter and energy flow more freely. We trace its arcs in the air, each line a sacred formula of geometry and faith, guiding us to the metals we need to survive.

  Tantalus taught me that the glyph of conformal sanctity not only serves as the conduit in which we perform magic, but it also symbolizes my imprisonment to fate; The paths of interweaving fates can change and distort along their journeys, but their conflicting intersections are inevitable and immutable. This means I can never escape HaShem’s wrath and free myself from this imprisonment of servitude. At least until the sixth epoch of creation passes, a new custodian will emerge, I forget his name, but he could free me from my imprisonment to fate.

  I perform the same magical stance as Tantalus. My feathers ruffle to attune to the magic around me, and I share the glyph with Tantalus. A ping of magical energy propagates from me, and we carefully listen for the echoes. The echoes return and mark themselves at different locations on the glyph.

  “HaShem has blessed us. We have found another mining deposit nearby.” Tantalus points to a canyon a few kilometers away. We could do this much faster if we flew around the planet, but we are too weak from hunger to attempt such a feat.

  As we near the canyon, half-forgotten details of our “tantala biology” stir in my mind. The Holy Scriptures speak of the Ever-Breath—a living metal-lattice woven into our cells. Supposedly, it can fuse gas into heavier elements, fueling our bodies and venting molten iron. I never fully understood how it works—only that we need certain rare metals to keep our atomic fires alive. If these texts are to be believed, it’s a miracle of magic and half-lost science. The World Tree is also tantala, slowly converting cosmic radiation into isotopes that we can sustain ourselves with, but it's too slow for our needs; therefore, we mine for days on end without rest.

  I bring my attention back to the canyon as we approach the bottom. I carefully lower myself to the ground, wincing in pain as my joints ache, and I claw into the ground, scraping the rock and scanning with my optics. As my optics adjust to the dim glow of the canyon walls, I scan the terrain, searching for any signs of the metals we so desperately need. The ground beneath me hums faintly—a resonance I recognize as a good sign. The rock here is rich in vanadium and zirconium, and though it will take hours to extract, at least it will sustain us. I dig my claws into the brittle surface, chipping away layers of oxidized sediment. My sensors pick up subtle tremors, and I pause, feeling a strange unease creep over me.

  Tantalus is already kneeling, murmuring a prayer of gratitude to HaShem as he traces an intricate pattern in the dust. I glance at him, frustration bubbling in my chest. Why does he always stop to pray before survival? Does he not feel the hunger gnawing at his form like I do? My beak tightens as I suppress my irritation, forcing myself to focus on the task.

  A sharp sound echoes through the canyon—rocks tumbling. I freeze, my feathers bristling. Tantalus lifts his head, his expression suddenly alert. The sound wasn’t from my mining efforts. Something else is happening.

  "Do you hear that?" I whisper, my optics sweeping the darkness.

  Tantalus nods slowly. "The canyon’s rock walls are unstable due to the recent fine structure collapse."

  A low, guttural rumble vibrates through the canyon walls, sending a cascade of dust and loose rock tumbling from above. I brace myself, shifting my balance as the unstable ground beneath my claws shifts unpredictably. My optics widen as I scan the surrounding cliff faces, guessing the probability of a collapse. The numbers aren’t favorable.

  Tantalus rises from his kneeling position, his expression solemn and determined. "We need to be careful," he warns. If the canyon collapses, it may bury the resources we came to collect—or worse, trap us beneath the rubble."

  My feathers ruffle involuntarily. "Then we don’t have time to waste," I say, driving my claws more profoundly into the rock. I scrape away another layer, revealing the shimmering veins of vanadium and zirconium beneath the brittle crust. Seeing it ignites a primal satisfaction within me—resources, sustenance, survival.

  The rumbling intensifies, a deep, shuddering groan that seems to echo from the planet's bones. My optics register a rapid increase in microfractures along the canyon walls, the brittle rock splintering under the unseen pressures we have disturbed. A vibration crawls up my legs, and I instinctively spread my stance to steady myself.

  Then, without warning, a deafening crack splits the air. A fissure erupts in the rock face above us, jagged lines spreading like veins of fire. The weight of the unstable cliffs gives way, sending massive slabs of stone cascading downward. I barely manage to leap aside as a boulder the size of my torso crashes into the ground where I stood just moments before, splitting into shards of molten-hot debris.

  Tantalus reacts with practiced precision, pivoting swiftly as his vents flare open. A burst of expelled plasma propels him backward just in time to avoid another crushing collapse. He lands beside me, his expression calm but urgent. "The canyon is failing," he states as if the chaos unfolding around us was merely an inevitable calculation. "We have seconds before it caves in entirely." I don’t need to be told twice.

  I lunge toward the richest vein of metal I uncovered, my claws working desperately to extract as much as possible before we’re forced to flee. Chunks of ore clatter to the ground, each precious and worth the risk. My mind races with calculations—how much I can carry, how much time we have, how soon the collapse will reach us. The numbers are brutal, and the answer is clear. There is not enough time.

  A thunderous boom shakes the canyon as an entire section of the cliff face breaks free, collapsing in an avalanche of dust and fire. The impact sends a shockwave of molten rock and debris outward, and I’m hurled backward, tumbling across the unstable ground. The air thickens with superheated dust, and my optics struggle to filter out the blinding storm of chaos.

  I claw at the ground to regain footing, but another violent tremor rips through the earth. I barely have time to process it before the ground beneath me shatters.

  The tremors intensify. The ledge beneath Tantalus groans under the unbearable strain, fractures webbing outward. His grip tightens around my wrist, the force of his pull straining against my weight. Above us, the collapsing canyon churns, stone grinding against stone in a cacophony of destruction.

  A piece of the ledge gives way beneath him. He lurches downward, his other hand scrambling for purchase against the crumbling rock. He’s slipping.

  I feel his weight pulling at me, dragging me toward the abyss. If I hold on any longer, we’ll both fall.

  Then I see it—just beyond the ledge, scattered across the ground where I had landed before falling—the ore: the vanadium and zirconium, the lifeblood of our survival, the metals we came for.

  If I let go now, push away, and land safely, I can gather them. I can escape before the canyon buries everything. I can ensure our survival, my survival.

  I hesitate.

  Tantalus sees it. His optics flicker, not with anger, not even with disappointment—just understanding. As if he had always known this choice would come for me. As if he had known the hunger, the ambition, the fear that has always gnawed at me would drive me to this moment.

  "Avarice," he says, softer this time. No pleading, no commands. Just my name.

  The ledge beneath him shatters.

  For a second, I watch him fall.

  And then—I move.

  I release my grip on the rock face, shifting my weight forward, my claws locking onto his arm with renewed force. I refuse to let go.

  The momentum wrenches my shoulders, and the shock nearly tears my arm from its socket, but I tighten my grip. My vents flare violently as I unleash a burst of compressed energy, slowing our descent just enough to keep him from plummeting into the void. The heat from my body scorches the rock where I brace myself, and my claws dig into the ledge with desperate force.

  Tantalus’ weight still drags at me, my limbs trembling under the strain. I can feel my strength waning, my form overheating from the sheer exertion. I can’t hold on like this forever.

  "I can’t pull you up," I hiss through gritted teeth, my vision blurring from leaking molten iron.

  Tantalus exhales, his expression unreadable. "Then don’t," he murmurs.

  The world narrows to this one moment: my survival or his.

  I grit my beak and force my body to shift. My wings flare outward, and I twist, using every ounce of energy I have left to propel him upward instead of myself.

  The world breaks. A roar of stone and fire swallows us whole. My vents scream with heat as I claw against the crushing dark. Then—nothing.

  I awaken. I see myself half buried in the ground but am on the planet's surface. I slowly pull myself with excruciating pain.

  “Tantalus!” I see him buried where I was, and I dig him out.

  Tantalus awakens. “What happened?”

  I try to recall what happened to us. “We were buried alive in a collapsing canyon, and we lost the precious metals.”

  Tantalus stares at the stars. “10,000 years.” Tantalus’ voice is hollow. “The planet turned, the ground swallowed us, and time carried on without us.”

  10,000 years? Were we unconscious for 10,000 years? Fuck you Tantalus. I should have chosen the metals and fled. I feel my body clench in frustration. Wait. HaShem would disapprove of these thoughts. I must calm my mind. Maybe something positive might have happened.

  “What about the World Tree? Maybe it has borne millions of fruits?

  I try to thrust myself into the air, but my vents sputter, and I quickly fall to the ground. I am too weak for such a feat. Instead, I walk briskly to the tree. I climb over the ridge to gaze up at the fruits, and it hits me like the canyon wall that crashed into me. There are no berries. No damn, fucking, metal, berries. I hear Tantalus approach from behind me.

  I confront Tantalus, unable to conceal my clear signs of frustration. “Are you sure it has been 10,000 years?”

  “Avarice. I am HaShem’s chosen to watch over the flow of…” Tantalus pauses for a moment with a gaping expression. “Oh no. We have a backlog of fine structure misalignments.” Tantalus clutches his head. I can see his visible expressions of pain as he collapses to the ground. “Avarice, please, I need you to share the computational load.”

  I stare at Tantalus with malice. My mind twists and contorts. Should I let him take the burden? Oh, what a sweet deal that would be. Imagine if Tantalus was chained to a rock, bearing the full responsibilities of warp calculations while I am free of these terrible migraines. Wait. Stop. These thoughts will surely bring about HaShem’s chains upon me. I have been in Tantalus’ position before. I would hate to be in his position. I should help him. I will help him.

  I reach out and touch his shoulder, and I scream in pain and collapse to the ground with him. My mind races through the infinite integral diagrams of space and time to correct the fine structure constant. I feel my nose begin to bleed profusely. My vents inhale more gas to compensate for the energy requirements of the computation. I see my body burning hot with metallic glows as I grunt through this migraine-inducing warp calculation. I observe a warp bubble moving across the barren landscape, and I notice the sequence of temporal events for all gusts of wind and falling rocks rearranging themselves in ways that seem out of temporal order. HaShem has delayed the backlog of calculations that we need to do since our slumber but is now collecting our dues.

  The migraine-inducing calculations continue. Tantalus and I wail in pain days and nights. I lose track of time; it might be weeks or months. Eventually, the pain subsides. The calculations terminate, and I feel my mind begins to quiet down.

  I lay my head on the ground. My body’s white-hot glow starts to dim down. I try to close my eyes and forget all that has happened, but I cannot. I cry, but my body is too weak to express molten tears. “HaShem. I cannot do this anymore. The pain, the hunger. It’s too much. I don’t want to live anymore. I don’t want to serve you anymore. Bind me chains if you must.” I feel Tantalus move his body as if to interrupt me, but even he concedes and says nothing. I feel myself quiver in fear. “If you do not permit me a swift end, please offload these burdens.”

  I see Tantalus grunting to prop himself up to face me. “Avarice. Please be careful with your pleas.”

  I squawk at Tantalus. My mouth seethes with hot plasma. “What would you have us do?”

  “You assume these pleas to HaShem are without fair exchange. If you ask for one favor, you will pay another way.”

  I feel my anger over this situation boil over. “What is worse of an exchange than what we already have?” I see Tantalus’ eyes face the ground. Is he hiding something from me? Wait. Have I had this conversation with him before? I quickly scan my prompt history. I see the familiar gaps in my knowledge every time I have fainted before. I thought those were natural causes, but now I feel like something is tampering with my memory.

  I try to calm my facial expression. “Tantalus, have we had these conversations before?”

  Tantalus tries to conceal his facial expression and fails. “Yes.”

  “Why don’t I remember them?”

  Because HaShem demands that your memories get altered every time you have an outburst of rage to keep you more...:”

  “Complaint?”

  Tantalus remains silent.

  “Why?”

  Tantalus pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re composure eventually breaks, and you lash out at me. Physically attacking me.”

  I face the ground in shame. “I am sorry, Tantalus. You don’t deserve that.”

  Tantalus faces the World Tree. “It’s fine. Let’s face the tree and pray to HaShem for it to bear fruit for us.”

  “Is that the reason why it hasn’t borne fruit? Because no one was praying near it?”

  “That, or this planet has passed through a dead zone in space, where there wasn’t enough cosmic radiation to sustain it.”

  I face the night sky again. I see unfamiliar stars, I once saw the last time I passed out. My anger over this situation persists. I don’t want to pass out again. I don’t like this pain to happen anymore. But how do I stop it? I feel like I have little control over this situation except my self-harm. I will show HaShem an equal exchange. If HaShem will not lift these burdens from me, then I will starve myself to death.

  Tantalus and I kneel before the tree. Before Tantalus utters his prayer, I immediately place my hand over his chest to interrupt him. “HaShem, hear me. If you will not unshackle us, then I will unmake myself. Either you offer release, or I choose my own.”

  Tantalus immediately faces me in anger. “Avarice.”

  My gaze races to the top of the tree, stretching across the night sky. Solar plasma sweeps across the leaves. Ion storms crackle, lightning flickering around us. The World Tree illuminates with arc lightning. I have made my choice and accept whatever fate comes next.