The world shattered.
The instant the ichor touched Era's tongue, the shadowy room tore into a rush of light and pressure.
Shimmering rays of tuscan yellow, boysenberry purple, vermillion red and jade green exploded through the seams. The colours danced and spun before melting into black.
No ground. No ceiling.Just free-fall.
Era felt a tug. A giant, breathless pull as if she'd been caught in the lungs of the universe.
Then, stillness. The world stitched itself together.
Era was sat, her position unchanged but her surroundings utterly transformed.
Beneath her, the molten gold ground rippled softly, maintaining its shape even as it moved, liquid and solid in perfect contradiction. Faint flickers of light shimmered across its surface, like a million tiny suns trapped beneath glass.
Above her, a living tapestry: stars burned through the sky, leaving in their wake, smouldering amber tears that bled through the shadow. The constellations were in competition, threading over one another. Their celestial skirmishes left scars of icy blue and bruised violet, like drunken brushstrokes across the heavens.
And through it all, the sky pulsed-steady, slow, and endless-like the thrum of a heartbeat or the beat of a drum.
Era's hands trembled- in awe or terror, she couldn't tell. She stood slowly, shakily, her body feeling distant and weightless.
Beyond her were gilded gates. They rose from the golden ground like the spine of some divine beast, impossibly tall, etched with symbols that glowed faintly in time with her pulse.
"You took the leap, mortal."
Era whipped around.
A cloaked figure stood a few metres away. Tall. Still. Wrapped in shadow.
Their face was obscured, their form nearly featureless beneath folds of a robe that drank in the starlight. Yet the weight of their gaze was unmistakable like an avalanche fell onto Era's shoulders.
"The gods have been watching," the figure breathed, voice like stone cracking under pressure. "Some will be pleased with your decision."
Era's thoughts stumbled over themselves.
'Who was this person? How did they know she was coming? How long had they been watching? Who would be pleased-and who wouldn't?'
A hundred questions fought for space in her throat. But only one emerged.
"Are you a god?" she blubbered.
"No," the figure responded swiftly. "I am the Cailleach. Gatekeeper to the realm of Gods."
Era frowned. "Is that your name?"
A pause. Then, a slight shift in tone-still detached, but warmer.
"You may call me Beira, realm-walker."
Era looked past Beira to the gates again. They loomed like a prophecy made solid, one she was meant to fulfil or be crushed beneath.
'Now was the time to plan', Era thought. To strategise. 'How did one approach gods? With reverence? With wit?' Her thoughts scrabbled for a foothold. But each logical thread unravelled the moment she touched it.
'How could you prepare for the unknowable? A couple of hours ago, Era had been oblivious to their existence, and now she would have to persuade them to have faith in hers.'
Eventually, she gave up the act of thinking entirely.
"Are you going to guide me through?" Era asked finally, her voice a thin thread stretched across the starlit void.
Beira's hood dipped, slow and deliberate. "I am here only to open the gates. The path beyond is not mine to walk."
Era frowned. "Alright then. Open them. Please."
She was already bracing herself to wing it-to rely on instinct, bluff, or sheer nerve once she crossed through. But Beira didn't move.
"There is a toll," the gatekeeper said.
Era blinked. "A toll? I don't-" She patted her sides, even though she already knew. "I have nothing. Not even a breath mint."
Beira's voice remained flat, devoid of judgment. "Then I cannot open them."
It wasn't cruel. It wasn't kind. It was simply truth.
Era stared at her, incredulous.
'Really? Mira gave her an essay on divine law but forgot to mention she needed a fee?'
'If no one else was going to open them, she would have to.' Era turned back to the gates .
She stepped forward, standing beneath the archway and it's shifting symbols. The gates hummed-not like machinery, but like breath being held.
She pressed her hands to the gilded surface and pushed.
Nothing.
She leaned harder. Her shoulder burned.
Still nothing. No resistance. Just the vast, silent refusal of eternity.
"This is getting embarrassing," she muttered, wincing, and avoiding Beira's gaze.
She dropped her forehead to the metal, exhaling slowly. Her breath came back warm and useless.
Then her knees gave out.
She collapsed to the golden ground. Heat pulsed beneath her palms-no comfort at all.
The gates loomed, indifferent.
So much for fate. So much for being chosen.
Destiny hadn't even left the door unlocked.
-----------------------------
She looked back at Beira. The gatekeeper hadn't moved. Still watching. Still waiting. Era stood, trembling. It made sense now-why a toll was required.
'Opening those gates felt like torture'
She glanced at Beira's outstretched palm.
'What did she even have to give? What offering could satisfy an ancient rite at the threshold of divinity? What could a mortal offer the eternal? She certainly didn't have anything physical to give.
'The only thing she had to give, was herself. A toll. But not an object... A choice?'
Era stepped forward. 'What did she have to loose?' she bargained.
"Part of me is glad."
The words slipped out, quiet and clear.
"I know it's wrong to be. I'm only here because an innocent man died. Because I killed," her voice dropped to a whisper, "But I can't help clinging onto the hope that it is true. That I've inherited his prophecy."
Era looked into Beira's eyes, and confessed before the stars:
"Not so the world can be saved, but so I can be."
Silence stretched between them.
Then, Beira's hand curled into a fist and dropped to her side. Behind her the gates groaned open.
A lonely tear slipped down Era's cheek which she wiped away as fast as it fell.
"Figures," she muttered under her breath. "Could've probably gotten away with something smaller, like admitting I'm still afraid of the dark."
"Truth given freely is the heaviest toll," Beira answered, with the solemnity of someone quoting scripture.
Era nodded faintly. "Well. I hope it buys me something good."
She took a breath, bracing herself. Shoulders squared. Head up. A performance of courage. Her mind already flickering to the next task.
Something cold slid against her arm, breaking her trance. Fingers like frost, wrapping gently but firm around her wrist.
Era turned sharply.
Beira's hand had changed. Gone was the vague suggestion of shadow and myth. In its place was a human hand-young, precise, and terribly real.
"You gave more than was asked," Beira said, her voice low, unreadable.
"Two truths. One toll."
She paused. The stars behind her seemed to hold their breath.
"I owe you change. And I offer you this, realm-walker,"
The gods, they bless with drifting hands,
But seldom where devotion stands.
Their gifts are mist, not mercy sewn-
Each thread is tugged to serve their own.
What is this gift, like sudden rain,
That finds the ones who fall in pain?
In trials crossed by stars and breath,
The hoarder's eye will bargain death.
The runner's grin will mark your shame,
The soldier's wrath will have you maimed.
And Chaos-oh, with burning grace-
Will fold you back in time's embrace.
Four relics lie where truths decay-
A jester's crown, a warrior's blade,
A beggar's oath, a king obeyed.
To touch them is to court the flame,
For even gods can burn from blame.
And when the thread begins to fray,
A final choice will block your way.
To sign with one the stars don't show,
Whose will moves quiet, deep below.
Or fail, and let your future fall.
The path you choose will shape it all.
So heed this warning-weak but true:
The gods will watch and laugh at you.
But choose your path with heart and mind,
For what's ahead, you can't unwind."
The final line echoed like a warning etched into bone. Beira released her grip and in the blink of an eye, the Gate-keeper was gone.
The golden ground hummed beneath Era's feet, the starlit sky above suddenly feeling heavier, the air thinner. The gates yawned open ahead, vast and waiting.