??? POV

~50 Years Ago

I know I am looking at something. 

Is it a wall? Could it be the floor? Maybe something that is supposed to occupy my attention, like a painting?

It is probably just a wall. 

My vision is blurred and twisted to the point of being indecipherable. My hearing is similarly distorted, as the would-be silence of this room is drowned out by a constant, low-toned churning. The world seems further away than normal as I try to bring myself back from the other side. 

From outside our world, I can see the past and present as a perfect stream of events already recorded in the time we are confined to, but the future… The future has always been a muddled mess. Endless splits and twists and tracks which are all exceptionally unlikely to come to fruition given the sheer mass of possibilities present at any moment. All strands compete with one another in a cosmic lottery of opportunity and fate, until they reach the present and are united by what amounts to a massive pull tab on a cosmic zipper. As the world around us makes its choices, all possibilities either unite or die out, leaving only one version of events as a concrete past.

My job, as the God of Prophecy, is to scour every single thread, every division, every extant possibility, and to find patterns. Will a certain course of action affect the world in an irreparable way? Prevent it. Will one person’s choice potentially shift the world in a positive direction? Guide them to the proper path. Mine is an existence that requires a light touch and surgical precision, to slowly, gently adjust the current… without making myself the single most impactful being in the world.

But… How am I supposed to act in such a subdued manner in the face of calamity?

Screams, crying, suffering, endless cycles of pain and misery. Looping, again and again, from birth til death and over from the beginning. All of it is pain. Only pain. Then at the center of the spiraling nightmare, sitting right on the throne, the apex of this damnable fate, two faces: The Radiance and The Darkness.

My friends.

I feel ill, my vision returns to me, as do the rest of my senses. 

Huh, it is a wall.

For a moment, I consider trying to subtly pull the strings of fate as I always have, to reign in the potential threat by finding a solution that will bring the most good to the world. Yet, I feel my own friends deserve better than my manipulative modus operandi. They deserve the truth… or at least a fraction of it that will not hurt them too badly.

“Hey there, Miles,” Lianna’s chipper voice greets me on this least chipper of days as she finds me in our shared dining room. “Why so glum, chum?” It’s hard to imagine a woman so sweet staring with contempt at the writhing, shrieking mass of humanity cowering before her in my– “Hello? Miles? Seriously, are you feeling alright?”

Right… staring is not natural. If I truly mean to keep this to myself, I need to put up a much better facade. Act natural. “Yep. Right as rain. No pain no gain. The pain in Spain falls mainly on the, not here!” Nailed it.

Lianna looks at me with disbelief, somehow seeing through my incredible ruse. “Uh-huh… I guess this would have nothing to do with a vision of yours then?” How did she know!? “Look, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to… but you seem really shaken and I’d like to help, even if all I can do is listen and carry the burden with you.”

Why did it have to be her asking me? I am compelled to share what I know. I crave the release of unleashing my knowledge to anyone who will listen, essentially spoiling the book of life itself. My muscles tremble as I have to exert legitimate effort to hold back the information. She places a comforting hand on my shoulder and whatever resistance I futilely attempt to put on melts immediately.

I take a deep breath, the words I wish to speak, catching in my throat every time I try to power through unleashing them. “Lia…”

***

Selene’s POV

~Present Day


“Why are you still here!?” I groan as the professor’s lecture lets out and a familiar face remains seated, chewing away at another fresh bowl of cereal they’d poured for themselves during the lesson.

“I’m just, like, auditing the class. That’s allowed right?” He asks as he continues grazing away, like a cow at pasture, with the drained lack of Joie de Vivre to match.

“Sitting in on a class is allowed, but you’re not supposed to eat during a lecture. It’s disruptive…” I swing my attention around to face my boss, also halfway through her own bowl of cereal that she had requested when Gabe was giving himself his mid-class refill. “And you… you should absolutely know better! Giving the back half of your lecture between mouthfuls of cereal is totally unprofessional!”

Jane shrugs, a shit-eating grin on her face. “Since when have I ever acted like a professional? Besides, I got tenure now, I don’t give a fuck!”

I’d have continued to voice my grievances, but I’m pretty sure my boss feeds on criticism and it simply empowers her toward future mischief that I’ll have to deal with. “Whatever… but you!” I turn my focus once again toward the guy whose backpack I’m convinced is filled entirely with boxes of cereal and cartons of milk. “Seriously, what are you doing here? And if you say ‘auditing the class’ again I’ll start pouring salt in your bowl so help me god.”

The man, who might be wearing the exact same clothes I met him in around a week ago, unhinges his jaw and dumps the rest of his cereal down his gullet. He pours milk into his bowl first like a psychopath, then holds the box of cereal over the milk and closes his eyes. “What am I allowed to tell her?” After asking his breakfast this question, he pours a bit of cereal inside before nodding. “Just auditing the class.” I take two steps toward the man and he places his hands protectively over what I'm assuming to be his eighth serving of breakfast for the day. "Stay back! The cereal is innocent!"

My absolute jackass of a boss starts cackling behind me as I storm up to my future murder victim. “The hell are you even–” Looking into his bowl, I see the words ‘Just auditing the class’ floating around in the bowl, spelled out by Alpha-Bits cereal. “Alright… how the fuck?”

The man leans in close to his bowl and whispers “We’ve been made, what now?” The pieces of cereal currently floating on the gentle pond of milk sink into the depth of the bowl, only to be replaced by new letters spelling out ‘Tell her.’

"Do what the cereal says, Gabe..." I warn, putting on my best scary face. It's super effective as the man gulps with a mouth void of his sugary fix.

"Fine! I'm working for someone who's trying to save the world. I'm supposed to keep an eye on you while my brother watches your friend." Gabe tries to sneak a bite between sentences until I glare at him. He sighs and continues, "Apparently you, and the other one, are in a uniquely advantageous position to change the world for the better."

Still staring down the man, I nearly growl as I ask, "And what exactly do you expect me and Mel to do?"

"No! Not that friend... your other friend."

"She doesn't have any other Friends." "I don't have any other friends." Jane and I reply in tandem and my shithead of a boss starts howling with laughter again. This goddamn Master's Degree better be worth it...

"Yeah, you do... I think their name is Estella?" I freeze at the mention of this name.

"How did you... who are you working for?"

Once more, the cereal in the milk shifts. This time spelling out 'Room 1204.' Wait… since when did Alpha-bits have numbers?

“Oh, sweet, big boss wants to see ya. It’s about time. You can ask them all these questions that I really don't feel qualified to answer.” Gabe stands up, swings his backpack over his shoulder, and grabs his ever-present bowl. “Hey, Professor, do you mind if I take your assistant with me?” Jane, still eating her cereal shrugs. “Cool, I’ll bring her back in a bit.”

Glaring over at the woman who has her feet kicked up on her own desk, I grimace. “Really? Some weird dude wants to take me away and you’re just okay with that?” Not that I'm not raring to go and ask this mystery boss about the love of my life... but a little concern would be nice.

“You’re right, I can’t just let you leave like this.” Thank goodness, at least in times like these my boss can display the least bit of sense and rea– “Hey, Gabe, buddy, can I get a refill?” I fucking hate it here.

As Gabe skips over to Professor Garcia to give her the promised refill, she grabs his collar and pulls him close for a few seconds. When she lets go, Gabe is white as a sheet and in the most clear and direct communication I’ve ever received from him says, “Come on, we gotta go, we only have fifteen minutes. We can’t be late getting back.”

***

Room 1204 is in the humanities building, the same as Professor Garcia’s class. It’s one of the larger lecture halls, with a ginormous blackboard that you need a ladder to reach the top of and more seating than some small sports venues. The walls are adorned with framed paintings of famous historical scenes, or at least convincing enough photo prints, and in the front of the class there are a few podiums with stone busts of famous figures from yesteryear.

“Hey, Miles, I brought the person! Also, if we could bring them back to Professor Garcia’s room quickly, that'd be great for my continued well-being.” Seated behind a wooden desk, in a plush leather chair, is a person of slight build with short greying hair styled into a less grown-out version of a pixie cut, and thick, coke-bottle glasses. They regard Gabe with a slight nod before turning their attention to me.

“Hi, I’m–”

“Miss Himmel, I am aware. I am Milicent, God of prophecy. Today, you may call me Miles.” The… hold on a second… God?

“You really expect me to believe that there’s a God spending their days teaching remedial history?” I ask, not fully skeptical but exasperated enough to act like I am. Gabe laughs at my outburst while Miles shakes their head.

The supposed God stands up and walks closer to me, never looking away for a moment. “Excuse me, young lady, but I summoned you here by way of cereal bowl. What more should I do to prove my pedigree to you? Shall I have my paintings sing you a musical number? You insolent whelp!”

Must… not… be… an irreverent jackass. “Think they can sing Les Mis? I haven’t heard a good rendition in years and I bet Napoleean could play a mean Javert.” The God’s cheeks puff up and I swear I can see them get red with just a sprinkle of unbridled rage. “Kidding… sheesh, I thought you’d be a lot more lax with a follower like Gabe.”

Miles pinches the bridge of their nose, battling back the agony of a spontaneous headache. “Please, do not ever assume Gabe and I are alike. Please.” Taking off their glasses to clean them, the God continues, “And you want to know what I’m doing here? Call it damage control and reconnaissance.”

Curiosity piqued, I can’t help but ask, “What kind of damage would a god need to control?”

“A long time ago–”

“In a galaxy far far away!” Interjects Gabe with a wide smile.

Staring in slack-jawed disbelief for a moment, wearing an expression that can only be described as losing all faith in mankind for the millionth time, Miles sighs. “No, Gabe, in this galaxy.” The God looks at me, the light having left their eyes, “Anyway… A long time ago, I fucked up, and I sort of ruined the world.”

I wait for them to continue, but they seem to have stalled on that bombshell. “Umm, are you pausing for dramatic effect? How did you ruin the world?”

“Oh… that was the end of my story. I thought it was compelling and concise.” The God looks at me for a moment before tilting their head slightly. “Do you require elaboration?” Giving Miles the same look they gave Gabe moments before seems to spur them to action. "Fine..."