The Sundered Sky
THE HEALING
The other gods watched in silence.
The wave of shadow, the whirlwind of dust and bone, the pool of darkness, the crack in the air, the presence, the weight — they had been ready to fight. But now they were ready to listen.
Lyra turned to them.
“You have a choice. You can leave. You can return to your sleep, your dreams, your forgetting. Or you can stay. You can help us heal the world. You can teach us. You can learn from us. You can remember.”
“And if we choose to stay?” the wave of shadow asked.
“Then we welcome you. The Choristers will sing for you. The people will pray to you. The world will heal with your help.”
“And if we choose to leave?”
“Then we will not chase you. We will not hunt you. We will not judge you. You are free.”
The gods looked at each other.
One by one, they made their choice.
The wave of shadow became a woman, dark and beautiful, with hair like night and eyes like stars. She stepped forward and knelt before Lyra.
“I will stay.”
The whirlwind of dust and bone became a man, old and weathered, with skin like cracked earth and eyes like deep water. He stepped forward and knelt.
“I will stay.”
The pool of darkness became a child, small and quiet, with skin like obsidian and eyes like mirrors. It stepped forward and knelt.
“I will stay.”
The crack in the air became a youth, tall and thin, with skin like parchment and eyes like empty sky. He stepped forward and knelt.
“I will stay.”
The presence, the weight — it became a woman, ageless and serene, with skin like pearl and eyes like the moon. She stepped forward and knelt.
“I will stay.”
Lyra looked at the six gods kneeling before her.
“Then rise. And let us begin.”