Stigr sat studying the histories at the end of time. It wasn’t truly the end of time, there was no true end to time, but he called it the end of time because no sentient races were left on the surface of Nevre. Something had happened fast enough that it wasn’t recorded in the great hall of histories. The histories just stopped. He was too worried about what that might mean to go back to that time and see what had happened. In all of his visits, he had never once seen any of the other gods. Not even Gormaliev.
A tome was lying open with a single sentence on the right page and nothing on the left. There was a single sentence. “The Pathfinder, meet me at sundown on the seven-thousandth anniversary of The Fount of the Gods at The Fount.” Continue reading