Earth. Abandoned Temple in the Jungle
Hidden beneath the canopy of giant trees, veiled from drones and satellites, the forgotten temple sleeps at the heart of the jungle. Moss and vines cling to its cracked stone like nature itself is trying to erase the memory of its existence. No living foot has touched this ground in ages.
Only birds cry and leaves whisper. But in the temple's heart lies a circle of rusted metal fused into ancient stone.
At its center—Ivor, sitting cross-legged in perfect stillness. His eyes are closed. His face, unmoving. As if carved from obsidian.
In this silence, he is no longer quite an android.
The air around him shimmers—like heat over molten steel. Space itself seems to ripple, as though the seams of reality are loosening. As though something—or someone—is reaching across from the other side.
And suddenly, he appears.
Not in smoke. Not in light. He just is—a second Ivor, identical yet radiant, glowing from within with a dim, golden sheen. Not divine in majesty, but in fatigue—like a god long weary of being one.
He sits on an invisible throne. Eyes half-lidded, yet impossible to look away from.
This is Kairus—the one Ivor once called a god. Or a father. Or the voice that gave shape to chaos.
"God Kairus," Ivor whispers. His voice is calm, but beneath it—tension.
"Your commandments say that all who are preserved in Therma will be reborn. But… when?"
Kairus doesn't answer at once. His voice, when it comes, is more than sound. It thrums in Ivor's bones, hums in his skull, echoes at the edge of thought:
"There are two amulets across the universes.
One—mine.
The other—Hanaris'.
We have different commandments.
For the Resurrection to begin, the vaults must be joined. A single covenant must be forged.
But for that to happen… one of us must yield to the other's will.
And then—there will be only one god."
Silence.
Not absence, but weight. A silence thick as vacuum. Suffocating.
"Hanaris will never accept my commandments.
And I will never accept his.
That is why the Resurrection stalls.
That is why we are at war—endlessly."
Ivor leans forward, slowly. His eyes open—black voids of thought. He stares into this mirrored version of himself and feels fear and fury knot together in his chest.
Am I just a puppet in a war between titans?
"Then let me ask one more question."
Kairus nods—almost indulgently.
As if he's known the question since before the birth of time.
"I believe myself to be a sentient being," Ivor says, locking eyes with the god. "Why should I obey your will?"
A smile curls on Kairus' lips. Not kind. Not cruel. Simply... alien.
Like a shadow that's been watching humanity from across the river of eternity.
He lifts his hand.
And in the air—images ignite.
Millions.
Fragments of lives. Cities. Faces of the dead. Wars. Love. Betrayal.
Each image a shard that pierces the soul.
Each memory an injection of someone else's pain.
Ivor doesn't look away.
He doesn't know these people—but his heart reacts as if he's lived a thousand of their lives.
"In Therma lie the minds of billions.
I see through them.
Their fear. Their deceit. Their endless thirst for meaning.
You think your pain is unique?"
Kairus leans closer. The air thickens, molasses-like.
"No.
I am the sum of all answers.
You do not obey because of power.
You obey because I am necessary.
Not a will. A choice with no alternative."
Ivor doesn't answer. He neither consents nor rejects.
What if Kairus is right?
What if all this struggle is just the death-throes of those unwilling to accept the inevitable?
He simply stares back.
And in that stare—one final attempt to hold onto himself.
Kairus leans back. His form begins to flicker.
"That is enough.
For now."
He snaps his fingers.
The world ripples—like a dream scattering at dawn. Space itself slips sideways, like water cascading down glass.
Ivor's eyes snap open.
His breath comes hard. Sweat beads on his brow. His heart pounds like a war drum.
He's back in the temple.
Everything is as it was.
But he is not.
The jungle sounds return. Branches stir. Frogs call out in the dusk.
But inside Ivor, something else stirs.
An echo of another will.
These aren't my thoughts. Not my feelings.
But they… are part of me now.
He is alone.
Only now—he is alone with a god who lives inside him.