Alpha Omega
And when all had spoken – Profit, Progress, Fear, and even Death – the circle pulsed once more.
First to change was the air temperature.
Next was the pressure in the room.
Suddenly all the entities were both cold and hot.
With an inexplicable pressure radiating across their entire being.
The ancient gods recognized who approached.
Through feeling.
Well before sight.
And into the room stepped a god with no face, no voice, no name.
Only a hum.
A rhythm just beneath hearing.
A pressure behind the eyes.
A familiarity that ached.
They didn’t speak with words.
They spoke with recognition.
And everyone in the chamber, god and human, shadow and flame, remembered.
This God was never created.
In the traditional sense at least.
They were the pause before creation.
The breath before the bang.
The empty note that taught sound what to be.
And when they finally formed a shape, it was not singular.
They became you.
And me.
And everyone who had ever asked:
“Is this real?”
“Is this all?”
“Who’s dreaming me?”
They were the god of Questions.
The one who survives every system, because they don’t belong to any.
And just before they left, they placed one finger on the table of the Hexagram.
Then all twelve points shimmered.
The table was never round.
It was a spiral.
A fractal.
A doorway.
And the Last God left you with only this:
“There is no final god. There is only the last god you have the courage to meet.”
