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God hadn’t always lived in Maytown.
For thousands of years, Maytown was a desolate, dark, dangerous place ravaged by eternal, dreamless night. The townspeople lived in fear, swirled up in the storm of shadow puppets who laid waste to the once prosperous city. The people were defenceless in the face of unkillable creatures of the night. For thousands of years, Maytown lived in terrified servitude to The Red X, Stratosfear. A mindless beast with a red cross for a face and flesh of shadow. Stratosfear had frozen the Earth in orbit and turned the stars to smoke. She bent the world to her whim… until the people of Maytown were blessed with a miracle.
A six-pointed star shot through the sky, the first glimmer of light in centuries -- The North Star, the God, Cyalm. He brought the people of Maytown light, warmth, and a gift: The South Star, the mortal warrior, Solstays. She was the human who stripped The Red X from the sky and banished her beneath the earth, spinning the world into motion again. The two were hailed as heroes, and Cyalm was worshipped by all Maytown.
But what happens when a good story ends? You tell it again.
Solstays laid still in her lavish bed, crimson pillows cradling her curly, black hair. She traced the pointed scar branded on her face. There was weight next to her, a girl, Mayor Maynot. The two had fallen in love during Sol’s adventure, and she had the purest soul that Solstays had ever known. It had been a day since Stratosfear’s defeat, and Sol had been reassured countless times that they were safe now. Even so, the warrior wasn’t accustomed to something so comforting.
The air was warm and light, gentle night-time rain fell on the stone of the Maynot Manor like relieved tears. Sol should’ve been perfectly content, but her body was stiff, and her eyes were wide with defensiveness. She knew what part of the story she was at.
A soft blue glow emanated from the crack in the door, growing brighter and brighter until it illuminated the whole room. Sol’s breath hitched, nimbly rising from her bed so not to disturb her love. She stood guard at the door tensely, fingers itching for the sword which lay at her bedside table. Then she felt her stomach drop.
“What a shame,” his voice pierced her like an army of icicles.
Sol snatched her star-shaped blade with feverish dread, pointing it at the door in a panic. The royal red of the room was clouded with a wisp of white, circling Sol and snapping at her with vulturous fury. The rest of the room was practically invisible.
“We almost got the ending right this time.”
Sol heard his low sigh bounce around the room like a beam of light in a house of mirrors. It seemed to come from every corner. Sol jabbed and swung her sword wildly.
“You’re sick,” she spat through sharp teeth, “I saved the world for you, Cyalm, and you’re telling me I didn’t get it right?! People were DYING.”
“Yes, yes, you did very well, a tear-jerking emotional climax, truly. But that isn’t my criticism.” An echo of the God’s shadow appeared beside her, cycling his wrist boredly. It vanished into the aether when Sol stabbed it.
“There was one fatal flaw in your character. The pacing!” Cyalm clapped his hands thunderously. “You gave the twist away to a background character? Unbelievable. Going crying to the mayor about time loops and puppets and blah, blah, blah. You’ve muddled the whole story up. I’m ashamed.”
Slowly, the mist cleared, and Sol felt the God lurking behind her, towering over her like a glowing panopticon. “And, in doing so…” he continued, “you’ve gotten her involved.”
Sol was perfectly still.
“But it gave me an idea--!”
In a flash, she shot around and ran her sword through the body behind her.
And in a flash, her blade clattered to the floor.
There stood the ethereal form of Cyalm. The cyan six-pointed star on his face jutted out like spears. Before him hung the body of the girl who was sleeping beside Sol moments ago. A sickly red bursted from the star shaped puncture in her face.
“Why not make her a protagonist?”
Sol dropped to the ground breathlessly.
“While the brave warrior fights for her life against herself, the mayor transforms into her saviour. And then, hundreds of years into the future, she’s the one to snap her out of the battle in her mind! Isn’t that the perfect ending?”
“I killed her.”
“You killed who she used to be! See the shape of that wound? A symbol. Just like the one on your face. Her death will make her a god just like how yours makes you Stratosfear.”
Sol saw the mayor’s wound begin to glow as Cyalm cast her body to his feet. Then he cupped Sol’s face with one hand.
“Close your eyes, Sol,” he mused, “the story is about to begin.”