| Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3 |
Echo and Clavia both teleport out of the water, leaving every molecule of it
behind, even the drops clinging to their skin, so they’re completely dry
now, on the ground. They also apport clothes around their bodies so they can
continue the conversation. “Aristotle Al-Amin,” Echo begins, “son of
Maqsud.”
“That’s right,” Aristotle says. He was leaning against a tree. He pops
himself off it, and saunters around, vaguely in their direction.
“You’re the one who made the Sixth Key?” Clavia asks.
“I didn’t make it,” he clarifies. “I did transport everyone
to it, though.”
“How did you do that?” Andrei asks, still piloting the original Clavia body.
“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Aristotle answers anticlimactically.
“That’s okay,” Echo decides. “The only question is, can you do it again?
Mostly the same people, and their descendants. Comparatively, the population
isn’t all that much higher, and they’re all in the same place now, going to
the same place. Here, actually. But. We also have to figure out who wants to
go, and who doesn’t. They’re getting a choice this time.”
Aristotle nods like he knows something they don’t, which he surely does. He
continues to pace around a little, admiring the peaceful surroundings. “I
should clarify, I didn’t do it alone. I had enormous help, from a god.”
“Some people call us gods,” Andrei says.
Aristotle’s eyes dart over to him, but he doesn’t move his head. “You may be
gods in this universe, but I spoke with those who live on a higher plane of
existence. Now, that doesn’t mean we need them this time. Maybe you could
supply the power instead. I don’t know who any of you are. All I know is
that I can’t do it at the scale you’re asking for without some serious
might.”
“Well, how did you contact these higher gods?” Clavia asks.
“A special term sequence that you input in a Nexus,” Aristotle answers.
“Can you remember the sequence?” Clavia presses.
Aristotle snorts as he laughs. “Yeah, I think I can recall.”
They stare at him blankly.
“It’s one glyph long,” he clarifies.
“Then why doesn’t everybody do it?” Andrei asks him.
“Because it’s only one glyph,” Aristotle reiterates. “Most people don’t
think to even try it, because most term sequences are longer. Besides, it
can only be used once at any given Nexus, and if you’ve ever done it before,
you can’t do it again. You can tag along, but you won’t get another wish. If
we go this route, I won’t be able to do it, because mine has already been
asked and answered.”
“A wish?” Clavia questions. “Are they gods, or genies?”
“Both, I guess. They don’t use either of those words. They just have names.”
Andrei looks around. “Does anyone know of a Nexus in the Sixth Key that
might be so rarely used that no one has tried this oddly simple single-glyph
term sequence? Can you even call it a sequence?”
Echo shakes his head as he’s beginning to walk away. “No need to find a
needle in a haystack. I’ll just conjure a new needle.” He waves his arms.
The trees before him sink into the ground as if it’s made of mud. Once the
clearing has formed, an artificial cube materializes atop it. It looks just
like any other Nexus, on the outside, and once they step inside, they find
it to be typical there as well.
Aristotle looks around. “Are you sure you need my help to do what you ask,
or the gods’ help? Might wanna save your wish if you can. As I said, you
only get one.”
“No, we know we can’t do it,” Clavia explains. “But that’s a good question.
Which one of us should go and ask?”
Aristotle shrugs. “We can all go. It’s one question each. The only thing is,
whoever literally inputs the sequence can’t ever do it again. Just like the
wish itself, I’m disqualified for that too.”
“I’ll handle it,” Echo volunteers. They all step down into the cavity.
“Which is it?”
“Zero-enter,” Aristotle replies. “We’re going to a place called Origin.”
Echo kicks the glyph that translates to zero, and then the
enter button. Technicolors rain down from the drum above, and spirit
them away.
They find themselves on a dock, floating on a dark and mysterious ocean.
It’s eerie, but beautiful. They feel safe here, like nothing can or will
hurt them. A rowboat approaches. A person steps out of it, and ties it on.
“Welcome to Origin. My name is Senona Riggur.” They turn their head to look
at Aristotle. “You’re back. You know the rules, though.”
“Of course,” Aristotle answers. “I’m just their guide.”
Senona turns back to address the other three, but ends up focusing on Andrei
in particular. “There are more here than there appears to be.”
Andrei is surprised. “Uh, yeah. We are six in one.”
Senona breathes deeply, and considers the situation. “Six consciousnesses,
one body. Six wishes.”
“We appreciate the accommodation,” Andrei says with a slight bow. “That’s
very magnanimous of you. A lesser god would not see it that way.”
Senona laughs. “We don’t use that term. Anyway, it’ll make it easier for us
to talk if I separate you out first.” They lift their hand, and wave it
towards the Clavia body. It disappears, only to be instantly replaced by
Ingrid Alvarado, Onyx Wembley, Killjlir Pike, Andrei Orlov, Ayata Seegers,
and Debra Lovelace. They’re all in their own bodies, just like they’ve
wanted for so long.
And they’re surprised too. They inspect their new substrates, confirming
with each other without speaking that they all look exactly as they’re meant
to. “Whose wish was that?” Ingrid asks.
Senona is taken aback. “That wasn’t a wish. That was just...maintenance. You
still have six.” They address the group as a whole. “To clarify, there are
eight qualifiers here. You get eight wishes. You don’t really have to decide
whose is whose. I’ve had people come here in groups who collectively all
want the same thing, so it’s been more collaborative than individual. It’s
all up to you. To further clarify, it’s not magic. What I just did for you,
I did with the aid of someone with the tools to make it happen. Just because
you can imagine it, doesn’t mean there is anyone in the bulkverse with the
requisite tools. If I cannot accomplish what you ask, we’ll work together,
and determine something that I can. You have all the time in the world to
come up with your ideas.”
“A benevolent god,” Clavia decides.
“A benevolent person,” Senona corrects, “with, as I said, a set of
tools. My tools are to find other people’s tools. I sense great power
in all of you. I ask, on the side, that you make yourselves available to
lend your talents to me in the pursuit of other people’s wishes. I don’t
demand it of you, but it would be appreciated.”
“Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be,” Echo whispers to Clavia.
“Maybe,” she whispers back.
“Can we ask questions without them being wishes?” Onyx pipes up.
“Sure!” Senona agrees.
“His wish.” Onyx jerks his head towards Aristotle. “How’d you do it? And can
you do it again?”
“Oh, that. I hooked him up with one of the most powerful entities in the
bulk. You call me a god...”
“You did?” Aristotle asks. “I don’t remember that.”
“You wouldn’t,” Senona contends. “You didn’t actually meet him. I more just
passed the message along.”
“Who was it?”
Senona smiles, but doesn’t answer.
“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Clavia guesses. She too doesn’t
say it out loud, though. It would explain everything. He has omnipotent
power over everything that happens in Salmonverse, all of its child
universes, and reportedly a number of other branes beyond those. It’s a bit
of a deus ex machina for him to exercise that control to the degree he
needed to in order to make the Reconvergence happen, and to rescue everyone
from four of the five original realities. So it’s unclear why he wouldn’t
simply make it a non-issue, but she can’t question his judgment, lest he use
his authority against her in some way.
It’s probably for the best that she not investigate further, the man
she’s talking about concurs from his bed on a Thursday night. The only
question now is whether he would be willing to do it again. Honestly, he’s
still debating it.
Okay, it’s been a few hours for him, and he’s ready with his decision, but
they’re not going to be happy about it. They’ll do it, though, because
that’s what it’s going to take to end the Reality Wars once and for all.
Senona receives his message telepathically, and they don’t like it either.
“That is not how it works here. It goes against the spirit of everything
that we’ve built.”
It’s a sacrifice.
“It’s unreasonable!” they shout back.
It’s too big for one wish.
“Someone once asked me for a sandwich!” Senona argues.
That one was too small for a wish. I can’t control their choices.
“You literally can!”
“Should we try to help?” Killjlir offers.
“Shh,” Ingrid warns. “It’s far too dangerous for us to get involved.”
“It’s not just about the number of wishes,” Senona goes on. “You’re asking
them to leave everything they’ve ever known behind. You’re asking them to
never see their loved ones again.”
They all hail from a universe where death is less profound, and more of a
joke. From my perspective, as much as I’ve put them through, they’ve had it
easy. Everyone I’ve ever known has either died for good, or will
relatively soon. I shed no tears for these people, and neither should you.
Are you going to do it, or make eight sandwiches instead?
Senona frowns with a level of rage that they have not felt in a long time.
“I’ve had enough of your editorializing. You can stop inserting yourself
into the story, thank you very much. I’ll talk to them myself.” They take a
breath, centering themselves. “Based on the half of the conversation that
you could hear, I’m sure that you can mostly guess what the stipulations are
for your wish. He’s turned me into a liar, because if you ask for the wish
that we’ve already discussed, you won’t get seven more. You won’t get
any more. This one wish counts for all eight.”
“We understand,” Echo says. “It’s up to the whole group, though. It must be
unanimous. Even Debra has to agree.”
“That’s not all,” Senona goes on. “You can’t live there, in your new
universe. You can’t live in Salmonverse either, or any of its other
offshoots, in fact. You’ll either be staying here, or going somewhere else.”
“Can we...stick together?” Ayata asks, glancing over at her love, Andrei.
“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Senona says. “I’ve become little more than a
mouthpiece. It’s all up to him this time. And he reserves the right to
change his mind at any time.”
“What a dick,” Debra muses.
“Debra! Jesus Christ!” Clavia shouts. “You’re gonna get us all killed!”
“He wouldn’t do that,” Debra dismisses it with a flick of her hair.
Senona clears their throat. “I’m receiving a new message. I’m told to ask if
any of you know someone by the name of Ezqava ‘Effigy’ Eodurus.”
No, they all answer in one way, or another.
“He says...exactly.” Senona finishes.
Echo literally shivers.
They’re all tired of arguing about this, so they put it to a vote. To
everyone’s surprise, what they figured would only be the first attempt turns
out to be unanimous. They all want to avert the Reality Wars, even if it
means not being around to witness the fruits of their labor. They have all
been working towards this end for so long, it’s absolutely worth it. It
would be selfish of them to try to find some kind of loophole. Debra doesn’t
really have this same sentimentality, but she goes along with the plan,
because she believes herself to be powerful enough to find a workaround
later. And the reality is that she might be right. That has not yet been
decided.
They don’t know where the others are gonna end up yet, but Echo and Clavia
are going to remain here at Origin. They can do a lot of good, fulfilling
visitors’ greatest desires, and making countless worlds better. It’s a great
use of their gifts now that their primary goal of saving the Sixth Key is
complete. They only asked for one thing in addition to the wish itself,
which is to be given some kind of proof that this hasn’t all been for
nothing, and that the wish will indeed be fulfilled. I can agree to that. I
don’t need any more pushback from any of them, and would like to remove
myself from the narrative. Clavia is right, that it’s a deus ex machina, and
while that’s a very useful trope in some cases, it’s not something that
should be overutilized, or the story essentially becomes meaningless, and a
waste of time.
The Reality Wars will be stopped, and everyone who wants to live in
the new universe will be automatically transported to it without fuss. All
year, I’ve been trying to figure out what its name should be, and I think
I’ve finally settled on the right one. In keeping with the motif of placing
them in numerical order, it must necessarily follow The Seventh Stage. The
result is unremarkable, and strangely simple. I’m calling it...The Eighth
Choice.
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