Coda
A new god
stood on heaven's edge.
They called him Naj.
He slew the Gods.
He buried the Witch.
Aeons died.
Aeons born.
Behind him
burned the ruins of Skreiburg.
He stared
at what he had done.
Steps approached Naj.
Needlebones arrived.
A thousand cogs—
ancient clockworks,
all alive—
came to rest beside the God.
He waited, again.
Tick. Tock.
A child was born.
A second.
The mothers brought their children.
Son of a rebel.
Daughter of a rebel.
You have slain their father.
You have slain our husband.
Who was their father?
Dog-beast stared back from the children.
The stars mirrored themselves in the daughter's tears.
I return this child to her father.
The daughter understood and fled.
She took her rightful place:
next to the stars.
Her strength broke the endless night.
The son envied her and cried.
Naj drew Mutemaker.
He cut the night in two,
kissed the blade goodbye,
and threw it into the Gap.
I cannot kill one while the other lives.
The son understood and followed the exile.
His kingdom was far from hers.
Burning anger
flashed in mortal eyes.
Sun ruled the day.
Moon lit the night.
The children's rage
formed a battlefield
between summer and winter.
Many shadows woke
beneath melting ice
and burning sand.
Naj saw their cause.
He dropped to his knees.
I feel the weight of the throne I tried to burn.
Advise me.
Needlebones,
older than the gods,
grabbed the God
and threw him into the Gap.
With an aching sound,
rusty claws
built a gate of metal
from dead soldiers' armor
and sealed the Gap.
He broke a piece of his spine,
locked the gate,
and forced it back into his body.
It is shut.
I will not break my bones again.
Mortals feared.
Needlebone went far away,
seen by many,
survived by few,
but sensed by every mortal.
Nothing can be so Okkult.
Photography taken by Filip Kominik. Modified by Ashmore under the Unsplash license.
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