Chapter Text
King Joel of Mezalea had died of a broken heart.
That's the conclusion he came to, at least.
He had felt rage, at first, at the destruction of his palace. Months of work, ruined in a few minutes; he'd have to start all over again. He had stormed off to find Lizzie, or Jimmy, or anyone, really, willing to listen to him complain for a bit. But they had both vanished. Citizens of the codlands had mentioned seeing Jimmy run off into the distance, seemingly crying and refusing to speak with anyone; and the Ocean Empire had no citizens left, the shoreline having receded so far it left the aquatic city completely dry. No one had seen Lizzie anywhere, but he didn't give up on her. She has been able to live on land before, surely she would be alright...?
He did find her, days later, among a ragtag group of refugees; but she wasn't the same. She had become shorter than him again, there was no trace of her aquatic origin, and worst of all, she had no memory of him or anybody else. Joel had tried getting to know her again, but to no avail; she wasn't his Ocean Queen anymore, and eventually she simply faded into the crowds of foreigners flowing into Mezalea. After all, the mesa kingdom had fared far better than most others; although the matral palace was still in ruins. Joel knew he should have rebuilt it; but what was the point, with no wife to show it to, no best friend to visit and look around in awe?
And so King Joel stopped building; he stopped visiting other empires (what was the point? Everything has fallen into ruin), he stopped speaking with the populace, and eventually he stopped paying any attention to the world around him at all. The Mother Tree withered, smothered by the unchecked crowds, and one by one the Mezaleans born from it lost their life force. Mezalea became a place of broken towers and silent statues, slowly getting covered in sand by the winds.
There King Joel laid. His clay body needed no air; eventually his world was reduced to nothing but the sand covering his body and his own thoughts. He had never experienced death for long; there was always respawning, always another Mezalean body for his soul to enter. But now, laying immobile in the dunes of his former glory, his mind stayed, alone.
This must be what death is.
......
................
A bout of sharp pain struck his arm.
Joel felt as if he was waking up from a deep sleep. He hadn't felt anything but the sand against his body and the subtle vibrations of the earth for... years? Decades? He thought it must have been at least a decade. But now something had hit his arm, and the sand was shifting around him, and... did he hear muffled voices?
Suddenly the sand was removed from his face. He was blinded by sunlight, but when his eyes adjusted, the first thing he saw was a familiar face. He was getting excavated by none other than King Pixlriffs, who looked less like a king and more like a guy who explores ruins for fun. He was frantically writing notes in a book, muttering to himself while doing so;
“This is an incredible discovery. Seems like the god Joel was around even when ancient peoples lived here, and had enough influence to have statues made in his honor...”
So Pix still remembered his name, although he was talking about things that made no sense to Joel. He also didn't seem to realise Joel could hear him. He tried to sit up, but failed miserably; his lower body was still covered with sand, not to mention he hadn't moved in a century. Baby steps; maybe try talking first.
“...Pix?”