Godhood

Chance paused in the doorway of his library taking in the sight before him. The room, once a place of quiet contemplation, now thrummed with an eerie energy. Shelves of books stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, their contents shifting through the air as if caught in the current of an invisible river. And at its center—Ordazar.

The young god lay draped across the couch, utterly still save for the slow rise and fall of his chest. His open eyes glowed with that familiar, otherworldly green, unblinking as pages turned before him in a silent rhythm. One book finished, another took its place, gliding into position as though obeying an unseen command.

Chance had seen many strange things in his time, but this? This was something else.

He stepped closer, cautiously, watching as the glow intensified for a moment before settling back into its steady pulse. The books—history, magic, philosophy, sciences long forgotten—moved in an endless cycle.

“Ordazar,” Chance said, testing his voice against the unnatural stillness.

Nothing. No flinch, no flicker of recognition.

Chance frowned. He had seen the godling lost in thought before, had seen him drift in and out of awareness. But this wasn’t the quiet wonder of a child exploring the world. This was something deeper.

Something absolute.

He knelt beside the couch, glancing at the open books swirling above. If Ordazar’s trance lasted three days, what would he be when he woke?

“Jarvis,” I said, send word to the baroness that Ordazar is indisposed for a while and is not talking to anyone.”

After the books had long since settled, their pages still, their knowledge consumed. The library was quiet now. No more swirling tomes, no more glowing script—only Ordazar, lying motionless on the couch where Chance had last seen him.

But he was not the same.

Chance stepped forward carefully, the air thick with something he couldn’t name. It wasn’t just silence—it was expectation, like the world itself was waiting for something to happen.

Ordazar blinked.

A slow breath, and then he sat up. His movements were effortless, fluid, as if the weight of the world no longer touched him. The green glow in his eyes had changed—not brighter, not harsher, but deeper, endless, as though the universe itself now looked through him.

He turned to Chance and smiled.

“I see it now.”

His voice was neither loud nor soft, neither childlike nor adult. It simply was, resonating in a way that bypassed the air, slipping directly into Chance’s mind.

Chance swallowed. “See what?”

Ordazar tilted his head, considering. “Everything.”

He stood, but it was not the movement of a body lifting itself—it was more like he simply decided to be standing. His gaze flickered, and for the briefest moment, Chance saw others in him—faces shifting like reflections on water. A warrior gasping his last breath on a battlefield. A queen on her throne, lost in thought. A child laughing in a field of golden wheat. A thousand, a million lives, all flashing across his expression before settling back into the quiet smile of someone who had lived them all.

“I was afraid before,” Ordazar said. “Afraid of what I was. Afraid of what I would become. But now I know… I am not becoming. I am already here.”

Chance exhaled slowly. His hands fingers flexed at his sides. “And what does that mean?”

Ordazar looked around the library—the books, the walls, the air itself—then beyond it. Not just outside the room. Beyond everything.

“It means I can play the game now.”

Chance frowned. “What game?”

Ordazar met his eyes. And in that gaze, Chance saw time unfold. Every life, every choice, every mistake and every victory. He saw worlds rise and fall, the eternal turning of existence, and at the center of it all—Ordazar, watching, smiling, being.

“Life,” the godling said. “It has always been a game. And now I get to decide how to play.”

A pause. A silence as vast as eternity.

Then, just for a moment, Ordazar’s expression softened—not with power, not with knowing, but with something smaller. Something human.

“Thank you, Chance.”

And then, with a blink, he was gone.

The day had faded into a quiet dusk at my modest home—a haven of worn books, curious trinkets, and the gentle hum of magical energies. I was alone with my thoughts, still pondering the strange departure of Ordazar, when a soft knock at the door drew my attention.

Jarvis said, “The court magician Zapper.”

He was still clad in fine green robes that flowed like a zephyr through spring leaves, with silver-threaded runes catching the fading light at every step, he entered with calm precision. His eyes—sharp and inquisitive—were immediately drawn to the gauntlet on the desk, where tiny gem-crafted ants marched in a pattern.

I stepped aside and gestured to a chair in the small parlor. “Please, what have you made of this relic?”

Zapper settled into the offered seat, his gaze never leaving the gauntlet. He leaned forward, studying the map with the careful air of a scholar examining a delicate manuscript. “I’ve spent some time pondering it since our conversation at the tavern,” he began. “The patterns here—these tiny ant trails—mark more than mere geography. They’re a relic, yes, but one that might be expiring. Or perhaps it’s simply an ancient map, its magic waning with time.”

I frowned, shifting the map in the lamplight. “Expiring? You mean the enchantments built into it might be running out?”

Zapper nodded slowly. “Precisely. When we spoke in the tavern, I noted the hints of energy fluctuations—a cadence that might suggest the relic is nearing the end of its active life. Alternatively, it could be that this old map, worn by the ages, is merely chronicling a history that is no longer its own to command.”

I considered his words, my eyes following the ant-like symbols on the cuff. “If it is expiring, then the supply network the diamond mine, the mithral mine, the gold mine, and even those yielding rare potion components or exotic spices—could soon vanish into oblivion.”

“Or,” Zapper countered, “if it’s not expiring at all, it might simply be an artifact of an era when magic was methodically channeled like a machine. Its antiquity would then render it a static record of bygone possibilities, rather than a living conduit to untold riches.”

A silence fell between us, charged with the weight of potential futures. Outside, the wind whispered against the windowpanes as if echoing our unspoken questions.

I broke the silence with a measured tone, “So what do you desire, Zapper? I’m a simple man who investigates these oddities. If the map still holds life, it could be the key to unlocking a network of ancient supply lines. But if it’s on its last legs, then we have but a narrow window to learn its secrets.”

Zapper’s gaze met mine, earnest and resolute. “I represent interests at court who are deeply intrigued by such relics. Knowledge and power are at stake, Chance. I wish to uncover every secret this ant map may hold—before its magic fades, or before its secrets are lost forever.”

I flexed my fingers around the gauntlet, feeling the subtle pulse of its enchantment. “Then we must decide soon. Whether it bears expiring or is simply an old map, our next move will change the balance of power among those who covet ancient magic.”

He offered a wry smile, as if the future were an elaborate game waiting to be played. “Indeed, Chance. Let us begin our study—while the magic still whispers in these tiny trails.”

And so, beneath the soft glow of my lanterns, we set about our work, two figures united by curiosity and ambition, on the cusp of unlocking secrets from a past that might soon fade into legend. We agreed to set a expectation of the map. We gathered supplies and in a few days left to see what the map held.

A few days later, at the break of dawn, the weight of our decision pressed upon me as I prepared to leave. My home, a haven of worn books and quiet magic, now seemed to recede into the background as the call of ancient secrets grew ever louder.

I stood in my study, the ant map on my gauntlet pulsing gently—a living testament to forgotten possibilities. Outside, supplies we had gathered lay in neat order: my staff of wonder and my enchanted back pack along with carefully rolled scrolls, vials of enchanted liquids, a few talismans of protection, and tools for deciphering old magics. Each item, chosen with care by Zapper and me, hinted at the treasures—and dangers—that awaited.

At the door, Zapper awaited me. Clad in his signature fine green robes, which caught the morning light as if woven from living leaves, he nodded once, his expression both solemn and curious. “Ready, Chance?” he asked, his voice low and steady.

I flexed my fingers around the gauntlet, feeling the subtle thrum of its enchantment. “As ready as I’ll ever be. The map’s whispers have grown too insistent to ignore.”

Together, we stepped out into the crisp morning air. The world beyond my home felt hushed, as if nature itself was holding its breath in anticipation. The path ahead—winding through dew-laden undergrowth and ancient trees—seemed to beckon us toward an unknown frontier.

As we walked, the gem-crafted ants on the gauntlet danced along their invisible route. Their ever-shifting trails now pointed more clearly toward a distant ridge, a node among many: a diamond mine, a mithral vein, even caches of rare potion components, special woods, and exotic spices whispered of in half-remembered legends.

“Every step,” Zapper murmured as we reached a clearing, “brings us closer to the heart of this ancient supply line. But we must tread carefully; the relics of old are as fickle as they are powerful.”

I glanced down at the gauntlet. “The map… it’s either fading away or still pulsing with life. And if it’s the latter, then our window to unlock its secrets is narrow.”

Zapper’s eyes shone with a mix of resolve and anticipation. “Then let us not waste a moment. The balance of power among those who covet ancient magic hangs in the balance.”

In that charged silence—between the murmur of the forest and the pulse of old magic on my wrist—we took our first steps on the path laid out by the ant map. The unknown beckoned, and with every measured stride, the promise of untold wonders and forgotten history drew us deeper into a fate that neither of us could yet foresee.