"If there were a moment where you could become a god… would you take it?"
A young man stood before what looked to be a jester. They stood on a giant pedestal, kissed by the blistering sun. Water streamed from his feet constantly, running off the edges.
Short black hair, dull brown eyes—nothing about him stood out if you passed him on the street. He was small for his age, not short, but not tall either.
His build wasn't terrible; he had little muscle from half-hearted workouts born from boredom rather than discipline.
Overall he looked—painfully average.
"A god…" the boy repeated the jester's words.
"Yes. To be the ruler of your own kingdom—no, no, no! Way too small!"
The jester's voice was rather eccentric. He couldn't stand still, pacing back and forth, repeatedly. His jester's mask was wide—too wide for a knife to carve in a single arch. His tailcoat dragged behind him, the ends soaked in the constant stream beneath the two.
