Through the mirror, she arrived and took me by the hand. To an open square where death bells tolled. A man walked to the center and kneeled upon the ground.
He spoke but I could not hear. I was not allowed to hear. For hearing would stop the events. And the events needed to proceed. I saw no face or symbol upon him. Just shape and form a mouth moving without sound.
The last person to remember him had moved on from life. They had crossed the veil just a few days before. And so I asked for his name. And she said, "No, that information would prolong his time and he too was ready for it to end." And still, the death bells tolled
He continued to speak and she relayed not the exact details of what he said but the general nature of what was being said.
He spoke his story starting with who he was. Who he was when he first formed from the ether. He spoke the name of the one who had first named him. He recited the names of all those who had carried his name across time. He described the ways these people had changed him as they spoke of him. And still, the death bells tolled.
He spoke of the times he had grown in power. The times he was able to share that power with those who carried him. He lamented the times power had been taken from him and how he struggled to provide for those who carried him. And oh how the death bells tolled.
He chanted his duties to the people who carried him. He cried out of the corruption that these same people placed upon him. He sang of the ones who rebuked this corruption to heal his image. He laughed at those who found his name scrawled in pages hidden away. How new vigor burst forth from new people to carry him. Yet on and on the death bells tolled.
He spoke of battles. He spoke of the songs. He spoke of dancing and celebration. He spoke of sorrow and loss. He retold the story of his truth. Of all he had been, the good and the bad. The death bells tolled.
And the last he spoke was another name. The name of the final carrier. She had known him all her life. She played with him as a child. Her grandmother had spoken of him. But as she grew older she grew distant. The name, still remembered in her heart, as she passed from this world so did his name. The death bell tolled.
I looked at his feet and noticed what was missing. The shackles like so many of his kind wear did not appear. Nothing bound him to this existence. Nothing held him to this world. And she leaned down and explained, "When the last of generations to know us goes, so too does our imprisonment. They loosen the bindings so that we may be free to reflect and to remember." And yet the death bell tolled again.
And his last words poured forth with a final mighty breath. And a light erupted with that breath. A condensed crystal made of pure light. Its brilliance undimmed by any darkness and unchallenged by any other light. "His core," she said, " the essence of his being. The innocence with which he first found form." The bell tolled yet again.
And as it did, his core exploded. A radiant shower of light stretching further than can be known. Pure innocent energy returning to its home in the infinite sea of energy. The bell tolled louder and in a chorus this time.
With his burden relieved and his core returned, he laid upon the dirt. Eyes closed in peaceful slumber. His body began to sink into the earth as though Mother Earth herself were forming the perfect bed in which he could find his final rest. Vines grew and blanketed him. What energy remained of his final form recycling into the earth to go where it was needed. The death bell tolled once more and then chimes began to play.
The sky opened up and there I saw all. All of his kind of every walk. Of every faith. Rows and rows of them. The vast multitude of those we call gods and goddesses. They too had come to witness their comrades' final moments. They all looked at me.
The weight of their gazes was staggering. It felt as though every mountain of the earth had been placed upon me. There was no anger though. No expectation. Just the knowledge that I was seen and I was welcomed in this moment. I had been invited to witness the beautiful solemnity of the death of a god. Their gazes gave a feeling of assurance. They had all agreed to allow me to be present for this. She had brought me there, but they all had invited me.
I thanked them all, for the invitation, for the experience, and for their existence. And she walked me home. The funeral had concluded. And with one last bit of wisdom, should his name be ever found again, it will be him in name only that would be born. For new people, new generations will make him new with their own stories of who he is. The one who sleeps eternally will continue to sleep.
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