Seshat

Stolen from the Nightstand of a mighty man.

‘Where is it, where is it? Where could it possibly have gone??’ Seshat wondered standing over his nightstand that was opened. Inside was a lightbulb, a few strands of thread and some quills that spread no ink in its life. Seshat breathed, realising whatever was in the nightstand is now gone and that he would find it later. Though he did find a note that clued that someone owed him something, the initials ST scribbled poorly on the side. Seshat threw the note away, it dissipated back into the nightstand for the loop again later and he thought of his day.

It is the year 1565 on the ground and for him it was tuesday. Tomorrow would be another day and another time frame for the ground below. Though today he decided to look towards the ground to see how it was. That he found was a perfect game as he saw people do good and others bad, though some did worse than others. Some laughed it off, others pleaded for their imaginations for some sort of honor or forgiveness which Seshat gave and took as he pleased.

Seshat looked the other way to see that this critter had fended off others of his kind to protect his own for only a century. It watched as its land was stolen from him and replaced by buildings of loose cobble and even looser politics, where poor were not considered human and plague of rats brought death.

Seshat looked at what was in front of him and knew that his head was on that mantle for his body was crushed and the wagon's wheel held his orange fur for another mile till removed to the side. 

So Seshat did as he normally does and grabbed the fox before he crossed the street and let time take a moment's rest. Brought the fox up to stories past iterations of death's doorstep and sat him down in front of him. Taking the form of god or yule logs past because they looked similar.

The first issue Seshat found was that this beast couldn't speak any of the five hundred languages developed and taught. So Seshat decided to let this one speak its language and rewrote this one individual fox to have language to speak and a beanie to wear, a human face and two colored eyes. Of an old British boy and his obsession with others. He decided to name this boy.

“Rise to me Ōkami, the god of foxes. Do you know what you have done wrong?” Ōkami just stared and pondered but shook his head no. 

“You have stolen from a family of three, their shop needs that bread to survive or else it'll starve.” Ōkami started realizing his misdeeds asking me as if my name were god for forgiveness and that he had sinned. 

“Not at all my child” Seshat played along as he helped create, and currently was reading old scripture. 

“You did it for your family, who would starve in winter if not for that piece of bread, and many more for you to come along and steal.” Ōkami Bowed humming some prayer of thanking me and my son did have him sin though I had no son.

“So instead you shall write of me a scripture and story with details to spare. You shall…” Seshat looked towards the nearby robes men party and found them cutting open a goat around the Magen David.

“Sacrifice a goat in quilts around the Magen David and send with it a burning blase of incense and the story of my choosing” Seshat sensed confusion in his creation and decided it was what the story needed.

“Use that feeling Ōkami, and soon I will send by cart a story's description, do as I say and not as I do.” Then Seshat sent the fox back to the ground as he fell over barely missing the kart as the shopkeeper looked for a critter in orange.

Using an old story that Seshat found foolish and needed to depart, he broke it into parts of three. In this, he hoped to find inspiration using the ground he looked upon and saw the vast openness of beyond yet never a wall held the roof above. He sent the first part to Ōkami and it read as follows the first of three parts of the story originally prescribed.

“Tell the story of a boy going on an adventure to the top of a hill to place ashes of his dead pet dog. You can name the dog whatever you want you can name the boy whatever you want but here's the rules, it has to be in medieval times it must have a start and a end and you must meet at least 2 characters on your journey, you have the power to make the story a drama a horror you can kill said characters you can switch main characters you can do whatever you want as long as the character holding the urn of the pets ashes makes it to the top of the hill good luck God Ōkami”

It was a few centuries after the memo and the fox finally sent word back to Seshat. Inside was an inscription that stated that if it were to not be to his expectations he would understand but hopes he would enjoy. Seshat read the story aloud and these are the words it read.

Death. A simple concept, by definition it goes; a permanent cessation of all vitality, it’s the end of life, and you can never move forward. It has always existed and never will end, that’s how humans are, even to the most damned man to the innocence of a child. And that’s what I didn’t want to believe, I never did, I never could. I was never surrounded by death by the minimalist, that’s the hard truth. So you can imagine my reaction to the death of Zoe, a dog of mine and she was my best friend. 

Let me explain more to this, I am Amelia, and back when I was but a small girl, about seven years of age, I was raised as a maiden within the confines of a grand estate, for I was an orphan. And I was excited to be around the animals whenever I got the chance, for they were amazing, and kept me company. That I knew for sure, and I wanted friends, but they never did much in helping me at all, as these animals were either raised for slaughter or got put to work. That is the cold hard truth I had to face, and not only that, I had only simply wanted someone to play with. Everyone in my age group would only pray, fight, or work, and that’s it.

I wanted love, and nothing more, and eventually I was given it, by none other than Zoe! A Greyhound, for you see, as one fateful day, through a stroll in the estates gardens. I was there for a long while listening to the chirps of the birds until it started to rain, and how drenched I was that day, but nothing more than this dog I found shivering in this cold. With empathy, I decided to welcome her to our shelter, christening her Zoe. And our bond only bloomed even more from there, transcending to a wonderful friendship, and it was the happiest days of my life.

Zoe’s loyalty and spirit only merely gave me more joy through the bland and lonely walls of this estate. But she brightened it up, as she gave me a whole new perspective to see things, it made everything so much more joyful. Together, we explored the hidden corners of this place, finding only solace in each other's presence. The silent rooms were filled with only life and prosperity, and I thought it would never end. 

And I was wrong, for I did not know the age of the dog, or its lifespan but time slowly crept on her. It was so slow and steady to the point I wasn’t even noticing. I could only think of the positive things in our lives, and nothing more, and when I went to check on his room down in the small but cozy chambers. I could not find anything warm, but a shiver and a silence.

She departed from this world, my piece of my soul went with her. I could not process it, and I couldn’t even think about it. Confusion swirled within me as I knelt beside him, unsure of what had befallen my beloved companion. A profound sense of loss washed over me, accompanied by a disorienting mix of emotions I had never encountered before. And I was trying to wake her up, hoping for her jumpy spirit to keep filling my empty world, but nothing. And the realization slowly dawned on me that Zoe’s stillness wasn't a temporary state of slumber, as I had initially hoped, it was irreversible. Questions quickly surged through my mind such as; Can she ever wake up? Is she ok? Is it my fault that she isn’t waking up? Did she not love me? Did I truly love her enough? What can I do? I was trying to seek understanding in a moment that defied all logic and reason, it wasn’t and it shouldn’t be. But why isn’t she moving?

The tears flowed freely through my eyes, past my cheek and to the floor, born not just from grief, but from the confusion and the heartrending realization that life, with all its vibrancy, had suddenly been replaced so suddenly. And I hated it, and I wanted it to stop, and I wished one of my peers didn’t drag me away at that moment. I hate them. I hate myself. I hate this place. I hate this house. I hate life. 

After a few days, I finally grappled with the profoundness of mortality, struggling to comprehend the inexplicable death of Winston's departure. My hands trembled as I reached out to her, my only friend, seeking to touch her face one last time one last time, hoping against hope that she would maybe wake up. But her stillness remained, a silent testament to the enigmatic concept of an end, something I had never truly comprehended until that very moment, and that’s what death is.

Amelia could not fully comprehend anything really after that, she had nothing else in the world. And the ones who even dared tried could only be left with either a silence, or a giant outburst. She had room 3b, and that room was once filled with things only Zoe could love, but now it is only filled with a bed to the right, ragged due to the lack of care it once had. The uncleaned window in the middle filtering faint rays of sunlight that painted somber streaks across the floor. a desk, an urn, and a chair. That urn she tried to stay far away from it, and looked away, and could not even think about it. For it had the ashes of her beloved dog.

The urn she had is an artifact, it’s filled with intricate carvings and embellishments that spoke of its significance to Zoe’s life that the knower that which is known. Moments of playfulness with unwavering loyalty and strength. Gold filigree adorned the edges, adding only an air of reality that this vessel held. The center of the lid was held with her likeness, a faithful representation of her beloved food. The certain ruines ingrained on the side was to provide guidance and protection to the journey beyond mortal bounds. The lid itself was held with an intricate lock, fashioned to look like a keyhole, further solidifying the bond between Zoe and I. Its size was about that of a book, with dimensions measuring roughly ten inches in height, seven inches in width, and three inches in depth.

She eventually started to think once more, before being engulfed in the dark pits of this room she called, “home.” Despite her reluctance, an unspoken determination swelled within Amelia. With a deep, quivering breath, she stood and went to reach for the urn. Her footsteps echoed softly as she moved past the single bed, her fingers trembling as they grazed its smooth surface. She clutched it close and held it tight, feeling the weight of Winston's presence as it mingled with the overwhelming sorrow that pierced her soul almost leading to tears.

Whispers Grew In For A Moment As She Held This Urn.

In silence, Amelia retreated from her room, it was night and her heart was heavy with the burden of the urn. She started to make her way to the Hill of Serenity. This place is a mystical and revered place steeped in folklore and legend within the realm. It's said to exist at the border between the mortal world and the realm beyond that which is comprehended, a place where the veil between life and death is at its thinnest. There you can see your beloved one, one more time, for at its summit, often obscured by swirling clouds and whispers that seem to carry the voices of departed souls of not only the one you lost, but of all who has been lost. This is a destination sought by those seeking closure or wishing to honor the memories of their loved ones. This place was only made for those who undertake the journey who are ready to confront their innermost fears, grapple with their deepest sorrows, and ultimately find peace or closure as they reach the summit.

And as she held this urn close to her heart, she made her way to the start of the hill, and started on her journey beyond what she called home.

The night was filled with a quiet melancholy, the sounds of silence. 

Step

The cold dirt, underfoot echoed her footsteps somehow, each step a somber reminder of the void inside her heart. 

Step

Flowers that filled the area seemed to droop and wilt. 

Step

By the first few minutes, which felt like an eternity, Amelia encountered the first person in the mere distance, a weary gardener tending to the neglected flowers. As she got closer, the clear vision turned to a blur, but from what she could see from the distance, a wrinkled face of the old man. The small eyes, it held a certain wisdom gained through years of endless work is shown bit by bit.

"Hi…" Amelia whispered, her voice barely audible in the quiet night. Confusion draws upon her as she turns her attention to the man standing before her, his figure barely illuminated by the soft glow of a lantern he holds. The groundskeeper, a figure of both weariness and wisdom, peered at Amelia with a gentle curiosity. "Where do you venture, young one?" he asked, his tone carrying a weathered warmth that hinted at a lifetime of stories buried within.

Amelia hesitated for a moment, she had almost forgotten, her eyes flickering to the urn that cradled in her hands. The moonlight caught the glint of tears in her eyes as she spoke. "To the top of the Hill of Serenity," she replied, her voice having a noticeable tremble.

"I must honor my loyal companion, Zoe, by placing her ashes at the summit."

The groundskeeper's nod held a knowing understanding, his eyes, like mirrors reflecting empathy, seemed to convey a conversation with himself between life and death. "Ah, the Hill of Serenity," the old man finally replies, his voice taking on a thoughtful tone. "It's a place where the veil between this world and the next is thin, and the spirits speak in whispers."

Amelia listened intently, curious to know more about this place, she had only merely read it in books. The groundskeeper continued, "I cannot say much, this will ruin what has been placed, however. Life is too short to be thinking of it like a burden, think of it like a puzzle. Sometimes the pieces fit perfectly, and other times they seem mismatched and confusing. But every piece, no matter how odd, plays a part in the grand design, and always fits in the end."

I took a moment to think about these words, what? What does he mean? I could not even get a chance to think. I couldn’t, all I could do is say my thanks.

She continued her pilgrimage, but as she got further and further away, leaving the groundskeeper to tend to the silent gardens, she could now see him more and more. 

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As Amelia ascended the hill, the path grew steeper and more treacherous. The stones beneath her feet were slick with moss, and the air grew colder with each step. And soon the path grew darker and more foreboding as Amelia pressed on. The trees seemed to close in around her, their branches clawing at her cloak. Eerie whispers filled the air, and shadows flitted just beyond her vision. She felt a chill run down her spine, but she pressed on, determined to reach the summit.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the darkness. It was a young girl, her eyes wide with fear. Her clothes were torn apart, but she couldn’t make out her face, only eyes that glow as bright as the sun. "Please, help me," she begged, her voice a whisper in the wind that grew louder. "I'm lost."

Amelia hesitated, her heart torn. She wanted to help, but the urgency of her mission weighed heavily on her. "I can't stay long," she said gently. "But I'll help you find your way."

The girl led Amelia through the twisted trees, her movements quick and furtive. As they walked, Amelia couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The shadows seemed to move of their own accord, and the whispers grew louder.

Finally, they reached a clearing, and as Amelia turned around and just like that she was gone. "Thank you, but you must be careful. The spirits here are not what they seem." Was all she could hear in the whisper of the wind. She clutched the vial and the urn tighter, her resolve unwavering.

As Amelia neared the summit, the air grew colder, and the whispers more insistent. She could see the outline of the summit through the mist, and her heart quickened. She was almost there.

Amelia's heart pounded as she finally reached the summit. The mist that had veiled her path began to thin, revealing the breathtaking expanse of the landscape below. The air was still, charged with an almost sacred silence. She felt a profound sense of peace and purpose wash over her, knowing that she had nearly completed her arduous journey.

At the summit, she saw a stone altar, intricately carved with ancient runes and symbols of protection. It stood as a testament to countless others who had come before her, seeking closure and connection with their lost loved ones. As she approached the altar, Amelia could feel the weight of history pressing down upon her, the collective grief and hope of those who had made this pilgrimage. However, just as she was within sight of the altar, a chilling presence washed over her. The air grew colder, and the light dimmed. Dark shadows began to coalesce in front of her, forming into twisted, grotesque shapes. Demonic figures with glowing white eyes similar to the lost girl and snarling faces emerged from the darkness, blocking her path.

The creatures, clad in tattered medieval garb, wielded rusted weapons and bore the marks of ancient curses. Their bodies were misshapen, their forms a nightmarish blend of human and beast. Amelia's heart raced, and she instinctively reached for the vial the hermit had given her. The demons snarled and hissed, their energy far surpassed hers. She opened the vial and sprinkled a few drops of the shimmering liquid onto the ground. As the liquid touched the earth, it flared with a brilliant light, forcing the demons to recoil.

But the creatures were relentless, circling her and closing in. Amelia's mind raced as she tried to think of a way to drive them back. She remembered the old hermit's words: "Life is too short to be thinking of it like a burden, think of it like a puzzle. Sometimes the pieces fit perfectly, and other times they seem mismatched and confusing. But every piece, no matter how odd, plays a part in the grand design, and always fits in the end." After taking one breath, she gathered her courage, stood tall and addressed the demonic figures.

"I come in peace," she said, her voice steady despite her fear. "I seek to honor my companion, Zoe, and I will not be deterred."

The demons snarled, their eyes narrowing. One stepped forward, its voice a low, menacing growl. "Why should we allow you to pass, mortal? What makes your grief so special?"

Amelia took a deep breath, her resolve unwavering. "My grief is a testament to the love I shared with Zoe. She was my light in the darkest of times, my comfort and my joy. She deserves to rest in peace, love is stronger than hate, stronger than fear. It is the force that binds us all, even in death. I will honor Zoe's memory, and you will not stop me."

With a final, defiant gesture, she poured the remaining liquid from the vial onto the ground. The liquid flared with an intense light, creating a protective barrier around her. The demons howled in agony as the light pierced their dark forms, forcing them to retreat into the shadows in just a blink of an eye.

Breathing heavily, Amelia felt a surge of relief as the path to the altar cleared. The summit lay just ahead, and she knew that she had overcome the final obstacle. She approached the stone altar, the intricate carvings glowing softly in the moonlight. The sight of Zoe’s urn, now resting in a place of honor, brought a fresh wave of emotion. She traced her fingers over the engraved likeness of Zoe, feeling the cool, smooth surface beneath her touch. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she did not wipe them away. Instead, she let them fall, each tear a silent tribute to the love and bond she had shared with her loyal companion.

She felt Zoe's presence all around her, a loving and protective spirit that would always remain with her. Suddenly, the ground beneath her began to glow with an ethereal light. The runes on the altar illuminated one by one, casting a soft, golden glow that bathed Amelia in warmth. The air shimmered, and she felt a comforting presence beside her. Opening her eyes, she saw the faint, spectral image of Zoe standing next to her. The Greyhound's eyes were bright and filled with a love that transcended the boundaries of life and death.

Amelia reached out, her hand passing through the spectral form, yet feeling a warmth that was undeniably real but almost peaceful. "Thank you, Zoe for," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "Everything."

The spectral form began to fade, the golden light dimming, but Amelia felt a sense of completion. She knew that Zoe was at peace and that their connection would never truly be broken. Rising to her feet, Amelia took a deep breath, feeling lighter than she had in years. She looked out over the landscape, the moon casting a silver light over the rolling hills and forests below. The Hill of Serenity had fulfilled its promise, offering her closure and a renewed sense of purpose.

She stood there for a moment longer, taking in the tranquility of the summit. The stars above seemed to shine brighter, the air filled with a serene stillness that spoke of endless possibilities. With one final look at the altar, Amelia turned and began her descent.

Step

The path down seemed less daunting, the shadows less menacing.

Step

She felt a newfound strength within her, a resilience forged through her journey.

Step

Each step was lighter, each breath filled with a sense of hope and renewal.

Step

As she stepped back into the estate and her room, she felt a profound sense of peace. And now she rests, but something about this felt more different than before, cause now she thinks about life.

Life: A complicated concept that is defined by the profound bonds and relationships we form. Life is depicted as fleeting and fragile, marked by the inevitable end of death. Life is a journey filled with challenges, growth, and transformation. A never ending legacy, and closure.

Seshat found this story to be one of beauty and death. He looked towards Ōkami in his final moments wondering if it would be the last of him he would see, and if his children held his thankfulness for the life that Seshat's story gave. But all stories end and so did Ōkami the god of foxes. 

Seshat looked lower than the ground after the last, seeing if the stories bottomless suspense of life and death had any newly formed actions. Though nothing ever changed and anger and fury was always found he did see something out of the ordinary and new. It was one of the demons of purple rank, yellow tail and white bottomless eyes, helping some of those who have been on the ground, up from their fallen state and up again.

Seshat never did take mind to these things but if one part of the story were to have horrid grammar then what stopped the rest of the demons to do the same? Seshat in turn, brought the demon up to him and found a similar problem to Ōkami. This time however was how the communication was permitted. When Seshat ordered the Demon to stand he was given the third finger, not of marriage and not of pulling triggers. This communication came down to if the recipient wanted to speak or not, Seshat gave the demon some paper explaining what it had to do and in its anger was teleported away and back to helping the soul of the ground,

For this anger and new Perspective Seshat found that a simple and not so troubling story may convey a new found sense of death and dread on what was Ōkamis peaceful and beautiful end. In this second or third torn page it read that Kishi must.

“Tell the story of a person going on an adventure to getting to the bottom of a hill to give back a urn to your family.here's the rules, it has to be in medieval times it must have a start and a end and you must meet at least 2 characters on your journey, you have the power to make the story a drama a horror you can kill said characters you can switch main characters you can do whatever you want as long as the character holding the urn makes it to the bottom of the hill good luck mr demon”

In response to the directions given Kishin went against all the rules and started, but never finished. a story about some boy going on a date wearing nothing but an obscene jacket with pictures of girls from animated tv shows opening their mouths for supper or is that exposed to be? Seshat looked away, true he was the god of books but even he had standards. With this understanding that the demon is incompetent and should’ve never been actually trusted with this assignment in the first place Seshat let them pass because even though the demon never listened it wasn't exposed to, it did show proper grammar and spelling which is what Seshat would later show in his next few stories.

When the clock almost striked the next day of the new millennium Seshat almost closed his eyes to be awaken by some new trivial ideas and philosophies to study all at once but suddenly a new type of disater took hold on the ground. All at once many of the lights that filled the grounds roads and lives were all quickly taken by rising smoke and flames. The ground was hot to the touch and stood as tall as the next days towers of glass. Throughout all of it Seshat tried to look around and see what storys he could mend or at least save before they were ended and a cliffhanger was projected. 

Seshat hated cliffhangers. There lazy writing that writers use to continue a story at a later point, leaving the reader at a edge that they dont even know exists. If Seshat had his way he would shun those who did that, and shun whoever cut the grounds story into a cliffhanger that is to never be written in again. About, maybe, but the storys never feel the same.

Seshat grabbed all he could and found that they didnt speak or better words didnt want to, the storys all lost there meaning, the writers all lost the will to write. No beginnings to storys and no ends to show. So Seshat let them go back and let the cliffhangers surround him once again. 

Though at the edge of the heated ground was a little girl, one whose arm was charcoal compared to the rest of her body. She had given up her home to strangers who stole and beat her. She signed up for things noone asked of her, not even her parents who left her down the road about seventeen years ago. No matter, in this instance she gave herself to the heated ground as the village she gave flowers, clean roads, and bright smiles to burned around her. 

Seshat grabbed her as she smiled and a beam of a nearby home fell atop her. Not wanting to tell her that she didnt receive a gravestone as to not upset her. 

Seshat met the girl and found she was shy, she didnt speak a word except her name which was Dementer, she considered herself one with nature which Seshat agreed as many of the flowers she grew havent yet been found to be safe to keep around. 

Seshat told her of her fate and she accepted it with glee. To Seshat's dismay because her story was rich with life and creativity. Though, every outcome of her story told found her alone and dead, tortured by her decisions of kindness. He told her to send her back the same script with only her name and he would accept her life as one needing saving and sent her away.

The third part of the final draft given is “Tell the story of a person traveling home after they completed a job revolving climbing up and down the mountain to spread a shop owner they met as pets ashes. The story is of them going home to their family but there are rules. The person has to get a pet on the way home of any kind. Has to be medieval themed. You must name the pet. You can add anything you want but not remove and as long as the family pet gets home to the family is all that matters. Good luck Miss Demeter”

A few Generations later a owl with a small passage of hemp paper came to Seshat's door and held with it a new story. With it came the passing of Dementer who died pushing a child out of the way of a moving cart. This in turn got her a seat beside Seshat before she had to go and her story ended. As Well as a statue in the town square she resides.  Seshat looked at the pages and reviewed the contents that Demeter wrote and began to read it aloud.

“Alright.” William thought to himself. “This is the last of it.” He grabs the last jar of ashes from his bag and creates a trail connecting to the last trail he created when he climbed up the mountain. He clasps his hands together of accomplishment, stuffed his jaw back into his bag and followed the trail leading to the bottom of the mountain.

The young boy’s legs were sore after his trip up the mountain, his back ached from carrying his bag of jars of ashes from the pets of a local shop owner he met along the way home. “I should’ve asked the man what was the point of the ashes. Curious that he couldn’t have done it himself.” But he didn’t mind the work. He enjoyed helping out people in need. He was kind of used to it in fact. He’s the only man in the house, so all of the work is put on him. His mother stayed home to clean the house and cook the chicken, while his sister, Isabel, mainly runs their farm that only has a few chickens and one goat. His father was a knight, who fought to protect his country.

Nearly halfway down, he began to slow. He began to stop and looked for the nearest place to rest. He sat by a barrel sized rock and set his bag next to it. He never felt more relaxed when he relieved a sigh that loosened all of his pain in his body.

Behind him, he heard a rustle in the bushes not too far from him. He tried to make it out of what it could be, but the sun had set. The rustling gets louder. He had nothing on him to protect himself. His mind was filled with the possibilities of this situation. He could stay, but he could possibly get kidnapped or eaten. He could run, but there’s a possibility of him tripping over something and falling off the mountain. 

Once the rustling began to grow and intensively shake, a figure appeared from it. All went silent when they stared into each other's eyes. This beast wasn’t anything he had seen before. It was small, but it did look fierce. The little beast wriggled around in the bush, struggling to get its stubby foot out of something. Startled, William stood and watched the beast struggle. He slowly backed away, not knowing what to do. He doesn’t even know what kind of creature he is facing. 

As he backed away, the beast began to cry. His whimpers sounded like he was in pain. He turned back to investigate how he could help. The beast snarled at the boy, but it didn’t scare him. William stook his hand out for the beast to sniff, to trust him. As planned, the beast sniffed away. William used his other hand to figure out what is causing the beast pain. A rope leading from a trap was wrapped around the beast's ankle. Slowly and carefully, he unraveled the rope and backed away from the beast.

The beast was confused, but noticed his leg was free. He stepped out of the push and stood on all fours. William gasped in shock at what he saw. “You’re…you’re a dragon.” More amazed than scared, he slowly reached his hand out to the dragon. The dragon stood there and tilted his head. He clearly doesn’t want to attack William, but he still held his guard. He stretched his neck out to sniff the hand, and before William knew, the dragon gained his trust. William began to stroke the dragon’s head, which made the dragon really happy.

“You’re not so scary when you’re not growling at me.” 

The dragon purred as William continued to stroke his spiny back. After a while, William realized he had to get back home. He stood up and said, “It was nice to meet you. But I have to go home now.” He took a step away, but the dragon whimpered and caught up with William. “No, you can’t come. You stay here where you belong.” William walked away again with the dragon beside his feet. “No! Stay here!” No matter how many times William shooed away the dragon, the little red beast stayed close by. Sooner or later William gave up and sighed, “Alright, fine. You can come home. I’m not sure how my mother would react if I brought a real-life dragon home.”

William and the dragon walked down the mountain together, side by side. Both, in a cheerful mood they had never felt before. “Since you’re probably going to be staying with me, I should give you a name. Something…unique.” William thought for a moment. The dragon, not paying attention to William, approached his foot and aimed for a small bite. “What are you doing? That’s my shoe.” It wasn’t painful, but the dragon still gnawed on the shoe. “Huh, you seem in a playful mood. And you like to bite stuff. I say Fang would be a great name for you.” Fang leaped up in excitement and ran down the path. William followed.

Who knows what would happen when William gets home with his new friend, Fang. He might eat the chickens. He might burn the house down. He might always be by William’s side when he goes up and down the mountain. Whatever would happen, William made a new friend, and that’s what matters.

Seshat looked at Demetter as he read it aloud to her, she slept beside him for the last of her godly moments, it took all of Seshat's power not to send her back but decided to respect her wishes and send her to the end of beyond with a hole in the ground.

These stories, Seshat realises, makes him want to create a new story of his own. As he first planned, these have given him ample motivation to write for the ones of earth who seek his knowledge. 

‘But what to write’ Seshat wondered, his mind rejuvenated after so long of not writing. 

‘Ooohhhh Maybe a story about a little man or heck, many little men who journey to destroy a ring atop a volcano.’ Just like Demeter wrote about Williams journey, making friend and losing some along the way just for the heck of it. He sent these ideas down to the human world and found it to be a hit so Seshat wrote again.

‘Maybe the next should tell the stories of people in a shortened text, giving the people free range to write as they please.’ Seshat pondered again, around the 20th century with the invention of computers and electricity he sent down such ideas to many and few, young and old, pretentious and kind, pure and lewd. As the demon king Kishin something to look forward to as well as Seshat took no sides.

Seshat sat in his chair, millennium after millennium passing, new technologies, travesties and ideas sprouting from all, young, old, newly born, and born again. He realized that the world has no need for him any longer. Stories of his brothers and sisters, fathers and mothers that surround him at the table of nox all being shared throughout the world but none of him. His worthiness as a god being a paperweight to those of human consideration, Jesus a man who could turn water to wine and save those who did or didn't know they needed saving. Zeus, a man of electricity who bred with anything of life giving consent and created his own kingdom and world above the clouds. 

Seshat read more and more, with new names and silly traditions that followed them, if only the people of the world knew it was Seshat who sent them these ideals millennia past. If only they knew that they were all gods of worlds that they choose to create, to turn whatever into wine besides the basics of water. Or having a world of characters who all can make bread with anyone else or not. For all writers down there, the ones Seshat sees are all creators, all gods, Seshat was simply the god of this one. This time, this page, this 6665th word in a story.

So, he decided one thing today, Seshat didn't need inspiration or anything else, for that only brought anger and confusion of his own mere existence being written down somewhere and into existence. So he decided to end this cycle of stories and writers and wrote his own story and kept it to himself. He would keep it in his nightstand and guard it from anyone who dares to learn its prophecy or truth of the world. He would name it like many diaries and stories of long gone past and new beginnings. He would name it Seshat.