Sleeping Deities

Chapter 6

He awoke to the sounds of the ocean crashing against itself, the salt water dampening his hair, the sand sticking to his clothes and his skin, sunlight streaming bright through eyes that have not seen the light in millennia and a few minutes all at once.

"Does it always take this long, for you to wake up?" Curiosity laced the rhythm of sound, as Phil sat up with a groan, memories flashing through his head, the pain lingering in his nerves like a distant dream.

Scratches and bites. Growls and hisses and everything in between.

He lifted a sore and tired arm over his face to shield his eyes from the sun as he peeled his eyelids apart, the way they shone in them reminding him too much of the streak of gold that ran at him with an unnatural speed and ferocity, one that no creature should ever possess; especially not one that small.

Perhaps he should have heeded the advice of the twins, of the divinities who knew better than he ever could.

"I'm not sure." Phil replied, taking the hand that Techno offered him and pulling himself up as every muscle screamed and ached with the ghost of the injuries he never had. "I've never had others to greet me when I wake."

"Well then perhaps..." Techno began, speaking of plans and preparation, of strategy moving forward, of ideas and visions and projects that could benefit the man in the long run, in this next life of his, in this new universe made just for him.

And as Wilbur chimed in with his input of prettying and beautifying the area, Phil's mind began to reflect on the world that had died with him as his gaze landed on the ever-expanding expanse of desert leading into the horizon. On the work he had put into that life, the lives that would continue or cease without him, the wind that would freeze in place or continue to rustle the grass he would never see again, brushing the tops of the wheat that would forever lay unharvested, preserved in a frozen moment or rotting into nothing with the rest of the things he once loved and cared for and nurtured.

For a moment, his mind contemplated the temporary nature of all he worked for. The point of it all, of restarting from a place of nothing, growing and changing, only for everything to be pulled out from underneath him once more.

They were thoughts that passed through him as the months passed. Months where the world experienced its first rainfall, first sunshine, first lightning strikes, floods, spilt blood. First temperature drop, first frost, sweat and tears, the stress of it all enough to bury the man in despair if he let it.

But — as he's learned countless times before — no two worlds he woke into were ever the same, each with their own set of rules, different from the last. And with the twin gods by his side, he'd found this world to be no exception.

Though their visits became less frequent in their worries and fears for his safety from ambition's rage, they still came to visit like clockwork, telling him tales of their work with the excitement of small children, of the battles conquered and the love left adrift in the wind. They would bring him small souvenirs; from forigein coins belonging to lands he couldn't imagine to strange trinkets he could never understand.

However, sometimes they brought him other objects, such as the amulet made from the brightest of emeralds that they gave him — eagerly showed him the ones they wore to match — or the cat they found while exploring the mountains of his world — the poor midnight creature dragged from their home in a distant village to Phil's unfinished campsite, shell-shocked and dazed in Wilbur's arms as they presented the animal to him as a gift to keep him company while they were away.

Whenever they came to visit, they taught him as he had taught them; Techno showing him the maps written in the stars, pointing to the shapes that could bring him anywhere he wished, and could tell him wherever he was so that he would never get lost, while Wilbur taught him to touch the minds of the strangers, the secrets of thoughts and emotions, to haggle and manipulate until their wavelengths matched and they could finally agree.

And when they caught Phil as he finished his activities, the three would find ways to spend time together, whether it be through sparring with the god of war or crafting melodies with the god of music, finding various ways to entertain themselves and each other in a universe full of possibility, the way forward yet to be discovered, the path behind just another blip in the past.

His time with them — though fleeting in the eyes of time, in the hands of fate, and everything in between — he found he relished absolutely. Every hello chased even the darkest of clouds from his mind, and with every farewell he was left hollow hearted, though forever anticipating their next appearance, the next time they materialized from nothing but air and water and earth to surprise him, and to bring him nothing but hours of laughter that he'd lost so long ago.

And on the rare occasions when they stayed past nightfall, when they would keep him company until his eyelids grew heavy with the intoxicating lull of sleep, The god of the roads would tell him his own tales of adventures he'd had in his own long journey of life as the god of music plucked the softest sounds from the air — enough to lower the guard of even the toughest of knights — of the lessons he'd learned and the people the brothers had met, the outlandish stories that were wholly real like the man was was, with hands stained with the blood of immortals and wings as dark as the sky that lay just outside.

Those were the days where the Godslayer felt the safest as he allowed himself the comfort of a deep sleep, of nothing but the warm abyss to embrace him.

Knowing, that in a godless world such as his, that despite his pasts and his actions, his choices and mistakes, that there at least were two deities who still watched over him.

Kept him safe.

And allowed him to keep them safe in turn.