Death Of A Legend

An old man sat on the ground, his back against his favorite rock, and looked down from the edge of a high plateau. From his favorite seat, he could see two similar towers in the near distance. Beyond them, one range of mountains stood in the east and another to the far, far west. The land between the two great ranges was once a desert, all red earth and sand. But it had changed during his decades in this world. It had turned to grassland, brown and hot during half the year, lushly green in the other half. An occasional tree dotted the landscape, giant trunks rising hundreds of feet above the ground to spread thin canopies between sun and grass.

When he was first summoned into Tenobre, the world was slipping into disaster. Year by year, the sun spewed mana into the atmosphere. The monsters grew larger while the people grew fewer. He attempted to help them by combining scientific knowledge with a new system of magic and teaching it to anyone willing to learn. The social fallout led to wars, revolutions, and a religious schism, which elevated him to lead the world's dominant church for a decade.

Decades later, with the help of the denomination he founded, Tenobre was saved. Perhaps. The population was up, the ever-larger monsters were kept under control, and mana storms were harnessed for their power. The next generation lived in a world entirely different from the one he was summoned to. Sometimes, it didn't seem like the same world at all.

It was in their hands now. He was done.

He had lived many lives in many worlds. Most of them were short and brutal. Sometimes, he died after several weeks. More often, he'd live a few years and then get himself killed. A few times, he lived long enough to be summoned by a different world, and then quickly died. He did his best to collect new skills and knowledge along the way, and had learned from many masters. And yet, he still managed to get himself killed.

Tenobre was different. Here, he'd grown strong enough to fight off the occasional summons. He had protections and countermeasures, even going so far as to bind his soul to the world so he could return if his other protections failed him. The reward for his obstinacy was a good, long life with a wife, children, and grandchildren around him. He had time to hone his skills and seek out new teachers.

If he had a regret, it was that he would have liked to wander more. He had been everywhere, but he was almost always on a mission. He should have traveled more, just for the sake of traveling. Dahabia, his wife, deserved a few more vacations than she had. His fondest memories were of the rare aimless week abroad …

There was no sense in looking back. With Dahabia gone into her next life before him, there wasn't as much reason to stick around. Everything was in younger hands. He had unbound his soul from this world so he could be reborn wherever chance or God decided for him.

"I finally did it. I'm dying of old age. I've seen a lot, but I never lived this long before. It was nice. The end's a little rough, though. I had to let go of so many loved ones. But I feel ready to start over."

One of his many, many great-grandchildren dutifully wrote down his words. They were all around him, in a riot of human forms graced with beastly ears, tails, teeth, snouts, claws, fur, and even a few smooth-skins. They had come to say goodbye. A typical man in his position would have to worry about greedy relatives fighting over his estate or trying to curry favor. He solved that problem by only leaving them intangibles. The offices he held could not be inherited, and his vast fortune was already dispersed. Values, knowledge, and love were his legacies. His descendants would probably find reasons to fight anyway. That was human nature.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"How much longer are we going to be here?" whispered one of the boys. He wanted to be a hunter, and would rather be far afield in the grasslands, hunting increasingly common monsters. He chaffed at sitting still for the old man.

"Seriously?" A church-bound girl chided him. "After all the history he made? This might be the last time we see him!"

"You mean like the other last time? And the time before that? We should have at least brought snacks."

"Shhhh!" hissed the girl who wanted to be a scholar.

"Oh, shush yourself! He's not dying! Look at him. He's fine. He just likes the attention."

The old man had been waiting for someone to say that. Or anything like it. With his final breath, he laughed aloud and let his soul slip away from his body.

Interview

"Our souls are eternal. We fall like meteors into our new lives, touching thousands when we enter their atmosphere." It wasn't Taylor's most famous quote, but it was his personal favorite. People said it all the time at funerals, to remind themselves they needn't feel too sad for the departed. Taylor could speak as an authority on the topic, having died many times and lived many lives.

The funny thing was, he never remembered the in-between times. He was dead, and then he wasn't. He had a sense that something happened between the two events, but he could never say what it was. So, he was surprised to find himself standing in a void facing a pantheon of gods he didn't recognize. But, their natures were as easy to read as colors. Life, Death, Order, Strife, Magic, Craft, and Nature were all represented. They carried minor deities by the dozen under their mantles, peeking out at Taylor from between the folds. Commerce, Wrath, Lust, Trials, Balance, Games, and a host of godlings of niche pursuits.

"This is interesting. Or, it will be if I remember it. Are you all separate deities, or are you aspects of a singular deity?"

"I could ask the same of you," Magic said, her hair encircled by moons in different phases. "Are you only yourself, or are you part of something greater?"

A priest for many decades, he replied automatically. "Souls are sparks from the divine fire. We are all the same in that respect, but also separate."

"And some of us are quite large, while others are very, very small." Death was not unkind, but Taylor took her words as a sign of impatience. She had souls in her care, too many millions of them to count, burdening her posture.

"You took your sweet time getting here," complained Order.

"Don't be too hard on the little one. Life is for living, and he lived it thoroughly. If we wanted death-seekers, there were plenty of others to choose from." Life smelled round and ripe, begging to be eaten.

Strife licked his lips.

Nature plucked questions from Taylor's mind before he could fully think them. "We won't tell you why we chose you, or what we hope you'll do here. That would defeat the purpose. Just be yourself, and everything should turn out fine. We wanted to have a look at our transient soul before sending him down. You can remember us if you like, or even come here again to visit. But we hardly ever answer questions or give advice."

It was an annoying way to have a conversation, and a little unsatisfying, but it was very efficient.

"Isn't it, though?" said Nature.

Life and Death held hands. "Let's begin!"

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