10075/Path of Glory: I Will Fear No Evil

Path of Glory: I Will Fear No Evil
Date of Scene:	07 February 2022
Location:	The Astral Plane
Synopsis:	Jon spends 40 days walking the desert and encounters a pair of Egyptian gods for his trouble. For every great harrowing experience, great self-reflection is earned.
Cast of Characters:	Michael Demiurgos, Jonathan Sims
Tinyplot:	Path of Glory

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Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The desert sands whisper in the dry angry wind. It is a rarity for any wind to blow in this place--wherever it is. From the outside it can easily be mistaken as the Sahara: the vast expanse of golden dunes the yellow tinged sky with a massive orange ball hoving overhead. It -looks- like the Sahara, but Jon can feel the tinges of magic lingering in the air. Even if he can't touch the strands that allow him to conjure; knowing it is there is as much part of his torment as the heat.

    To there east there is a small outcropping of rocks that jut out from the sands. Perhaps shelter could be found; but it could just as well be a mirage, the sun--large and imposing over this desert--did appear larger and more powerful than any sun that spied upon the Earth.

    Michael's voice is ever present and potent as if he is part of the very air covering the land. "Why? I gave you everything you ever wanted? Your loved ones returned from the grave. Those harmed, restored to full. Given happiness. And yet, you turn away? I don't understand what you want? You relish in pain and torment for what? The freedom to feel abandoned and lost in the vastness of the universe? A speck in time that will crumble and fade as quickly as it was birthed from the ashes of dust?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon pulls himself up off the sands, wincing as he looks himself over. A brief touch on his back tells him that those wounds aren't healed, and there's probably sand in them; not ideal, but not much to be done for it out here in the open. No other breaks or scrapes, so he sighs and scans the horizon.

    Shelter. He needs to find shelter, first, or the sun will bake all the water right out of him.

    He wants, very badly, to cry, but he can't afford to waste the tears. Nor does he respond to Michael--talking will waste moisture. So he starts east, for the rocky outcropping. One foot in front of the other.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The rock outcropping doesn't appear to be getting closer, even as Jon makes his way to it... unil he is right upon it. Settled down in the rocks is a small opening, it will require him to get on his hands and knees to fit into it but there is a chill breeze coming from within and a sound, maybe the trickle of water.

    Michael continues. "What is it you truly want, Jonathan? Everything will perish in time? The death of your child was enough to prove that even those innocent in your world still suffer the greatest consequesnces." His words beat down like the heat of the sun itself. "And you want that to... continue? When I offer safety and comfort and peace under the guidance of a hand stronger than all but an absent Father?"

    Inside the cave, the change in temperature is immediate. It's comfortable, almost chilly even, within the darker confines. There is a small trickle of a stream cutting a ribbon down the far back wall and what may be some sort of edible mushroom growing along the cave floor beneath the ribbon of water. There is also a dim blue-green light coming from some sort of licken pocking the walls and floor of the cave: bioluminescent moss.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "Oh, bugger off," Jon mutters as he squirms his way into the cave. He takes a moment to pull a canteen from his tac vest and open it, places it under the trickle of the stream to collect and filter the water. Then he goes about collecting mushrooms and lichen, placing both into pouches on his tac vest. With that done, he drinks everything the canteen has filtered and then goes about refilling it while he splashes some of the stream water down his back to try, as well as he can, to wash out the wounds.

    "Fine," he says, picking another one of the mushrooms. "You want to know what I want? I want to be able to make my own bloody choices. I want to be able to fail, and screw up, and learn from that. And I want that for everyone else, too. But even if I wanted what you offer, it doesn't matter, because even your 'perfect' world will fall apart. You're not /listening/ to me. Resetting the universe isn't going to fix the problem."

    He sighs, shakes his head, mutters, "Don't know why I'm even bothering arguing with you." Then he goes ahead and eats the mushroom. If it's going to kill him, or cause hallucinations, best to know right off.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The mushrooms, while a little bitter in taste are nourishing and don't result in any toxic properties, at least not in the immediate. "Foolishness... all of it." He breathes out a sigh of disapproval and there is a lingering sense of departure from the Archangel.

    "Perhaps after some time lost among the sands, you will see reason. Farewell, Jonathan." A thunder rolls across the cloudless sky beyond the cave entrance, a notification of Michael's departure.

    And then Jon is truly alone with his thoughts in the chill of the cavern.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon just shakes his head and goes on eating more of the mushrooms. He drinks the second refill of the canteen, too, then sets it up to refill again while he takes stock of what he has in his tac vest. An emergency blanket will do for covering his back against the elements. He's got materials for making a fire if anything needs cooking, the canteen, the mushrooms and lichen, a couple of energy bars, a multi-tool, a compass (that can't seem to decide where north actually is), Gaea's leaf.

    On a whim, he tries to conjure some of his healing water. Naturally, nothing happens.

    He sighs, and puts everything away, then wraps himself in the blanket and settles down to try to get some sleep. He'll have to sleep during the day and travel by night; fortunately, he was already up all night. All day? How long has he been gone?

    Probably best not to think about that too hard.

    He closes his eyes, and turns his mind to contemplating the statement from Michael. Still overwhelming, and he has to suppress a whimper at how... /big/ it all is. For a while, he tries focusing in on tiny parts of it, but even that just feels... big. So finally, as he falls asleep, he lets his mind drift, lets himself not focus on any of it all. Just... takes it in. The expanse, the vastness, of... /reality/.

    He doesn't dream. Or if he does, he doesn't remember.

    When he wakes, he gathers the last of the mushrooms and eats some, gathers more of the lichen, drinks the filtered canteen water and fills another canister. Drinks that too, fills it one last time, and then goes to leave the cave and check to see if there's a moon to light his way.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    It seems that for all that the stars appear different in the sky of this pocket of the spirit realm, the sun and moon are constant. The silver orb hangs large in the sky, its full face almost reavealed but a sliver still shrouded in the darkness of its shadow.

    The sky -does- look different. The stars are in places that they shouldn't be and keep shifting with each subsequent look at their dark plate. Still some internal knowledge tells Jon that he is continuing eastward as he sets off. The dunes seems to go on and on forever. It's terribly cold. The dangers of the desert reveal their two-faced nature as the baking heat of the sun shifts to sub-freezing levels in the day-star's absence.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    As Jon emerges from the cave he looks up at the moon, hanging gibbous in the sky. "Lord Khonshu," he murmurs, "protect this weary traveller on his journey. Guide me and light my path." The god of the moon watches over those who travel at night, after all.

    He sighs, and wraps the emergency blanket around himself to keep in his body heat, as he starts off eastward. He can only pray that this is leading him somewhere worthwhile, and not merely into a grand expanse of nothing.

    As he walks, he thinks, about the statement, about Michael. About the universe, and the multiverse, and the nature of the Presence. He's beginning to believe he was right to call the Presence Brahman; the unity behind all diversity, the unchanging, eternal truth that is the cause of all changes. Such a being /is/ reality, all of reality, so huge that every universe is but a cell in its body. And every soul is a piece of the larger whole, a tiny reflection of the larger Truth.

    It's a revelation, but not one that's new to the world; Jon's not going to be out preaching or writing a book or trying to convert anyone. A personal revelation, about the nature of things. He could say 'all is one, one is all.' He could recite sutras and vidas and scriptures. It all amounts to fumbling mortal attempts to describe something indescribable.

    How can one explain the Source of All Things? That brief glimpse of the wall that both surrounds that Source and yet also surrounds the multiverse? The briefest, /briefest/ glimpse /beyond/ that Wall? Knowing that it should have killed him, that glimpse. Knowing that he didn't actually see what he thinks he saw; he saw it filtered through Michael's awareness, and the safety of the statement, and so he didn't /really/ see the Source. And yet, whatever he did see changed him profoundly.

    Thou art God, claims Valentine Michael Smith. A profoundly radical thing to say, and yet not radical at all. We are all parts of the whole. The whole depends on the parts. We are God, and God is us.

    He's never going to put it into words. Scores of people throughout history before him have tried and failed.

    God is love. If we are God, then we are love. But what is love, then? Kindness, compassion, affection. Togetherness. Unity. Harmony.

    Harmony. Ah. /That/ word again. God is Harmony?

    That sounds closer.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Several days pass with little event. The dunes seem to go on forever, cresting one gives nothing to hope for but more expanse. Each evening closes with him finding some form of shelter against the blistering heat. Sometimes it's another cave, sometimes an simply a rocky outcropping to give him shade from the blistering sun that beats down. Some days he has food, many others he goes without.

    On the fifth evening he crests a dune and finds something new. There between two of the larger dunes is a crystal clear pool of liquid, and severy large clumps of trees. The reflection of the moon overhead gives little question to what it could be.

    An oasis.

    There are ripples on the water. Perhaps fish? It seems that not all hope is lost in this desert abandonment. Jon can also see fruits hanging off in bunches at the tops of some of the trees, perhaps a variety of plantain or bannana. All he had to do was make it to the trees.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    As he walks, and sleeps, and finds just enough food and water to get by, Jon's thoughts keep whirling. He doesn't bother rationing the water--better that it's in his body than not--but the food he parcels out to try to be sure he has enough energy to keep moving.

    The question nags at him: why /did/ he turn away from Michael's 'perfect' world? Well, it was hardly 'perfect,' for one. Why would he want to be a /professor/? But that hardly matters; Lyra was alive, and his old friends, and probably his parents, too. What wouldn't he give up, just to see them one last time?

    Nothing, evidently. He'd turn away from all of that... and why? /Why/?

    Because it was a lie.

    That's the answer he keeps coming back to, as he makes his way east, forcing himself to continue on over the tops of the dunes, past outcroppings where he drapes his emergency blanket over the rocks to protect him from the sun. The words keep resonating in his mind as he curls up in caves and keeps eating mushrooms and bugs and the occassional lizard.

    Better a painful truth than a comfortable lie.

    The first oasis catches him off-guard, and he hesitates, staring down at that water, and those fruits. If this were a real desert he'd have no qualms, but this is the Astral Plane, and a place Michael either created or commandeered in order to torment him. But there's water down there, and food. He can't avoid it entirely.

    So he approaches cautiously, though part of his mind is debating whether he can catch fish with his bare hands. He could make a fire with the leaves and the fire starter in his tac vest, and have some hot food for once. Bananas and plantains both cook up nicely in their own skins, too.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The oasis proves to be safe and untouched for the most part. There are fish in the water, silverscaled fish that Jon's mind lets him know are tilapia and some predatory schools of catfish along the shores. There is also a number of branches that Jon easily fashions into spears with knowledge he dredges from the depths of the Archive.

    The breeze from the waters is chilly but not unwelcome even in the cool of the night air. The plantains (for that is what they are) prove to be a bit harder to acquire; but with enough trial and a bit of rope work, he manages to knock one of the bunches down from their high growth point before sliding back down to the sands below.

    That night he eats better than he has since arriving in this desert. He finishes his meal just as the sun's rays touch the top of the dune to the east of this small, secluded paradise.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon catches and cooks more fish than he could actually eat, and the entire bunch of the plantains, and wraps the extra food in plantain leaves that he then tucks away in a pocket. It'll be easy enough to eat over the course of the next few days, and help with the places he doesn't find food. It leaves him hopeful for finding his way out. Michael had promised to give him back, after all; he has to be able to find his way out eventually.

    He turns his attention to setting up shelter from the sun, securing the emergency blanket between two of the trees to keep the worst of the sun off of him as he sleeps. As he does so he considers staying here another day to catch more fish and knock down more plantains--but then he'd have to figure out how to carry the extra food. Could he fashion a sack from the plantain leaves, maybe...?

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The next evening Jon is woken by a sound. At first it sounds like shifting sand but it steadily grows closer to the oasis. There is a low rumble as well, almost like thunder but more gutteral and choppy, then something stirs at the banks of the lake of this oasis.

    Jon, is not completely alone.

    There at the edge of the water, lapping at the clear lake is a massive beast. The desert king is easily ten feet long from nose to tail tip, and likely weighs well over five hundred pounds. It's massive red-gold mane spreads out around it's head like a crow and cowl. After taking it's fill of the water the lion rises and sniffs at the air nbefore letting out a low throaty roar that echoes against the desert dunes. It's golden eyes scan the oasis and fall on the reflective surface of Jon's emergency blanket. Curious, as all cats tend to be, it starts for it to investigate this oddity in its environment.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Well... shit.

    Jon blinks awake at the roar and then freezes on realizing what's there. A lion. A male lion, and his rational brain tells him that males aren't the hunters, that they're lazy and tend to be scavengers when they're on their own. Scaring it off should be the way to go. Show it that he's not easy prey, and it will likely leave.

    Of course, there also shouldn't really be lions this deep in the desert at all. And this isn't the real world. So it's also entirely possible that this lion will not be easily frightened off.

    He doesn't really have time to think it through too much, though. He grabs up the stick he used to knock down the plantains the night before, takes a breath, and plunges out of his "tent," raising his arms up to make himself bigger and yelling at it loudly. "Go away!" he shouts firmly, making himself as big and threatening as possible.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The lion jerks at Jon's display of violence and sniffs at the air around him. He makes another low throaty roar and takes another step closer before turning and slinking away, up the dune to the west and out of sight over the rim.

    It seems Jon's paradise isn't as remote or safe as originally thought. It might be time to move on and hope for better luck at the next. The moon overhead is on it's reverse cycle toward rebirth, the waning gibbous face of the white orb shines plenty of light over the cool desert night.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes down his shelter and refills his canteen before reluctantly moving on. It's probably best to get out of here anyway. To get home to the people waiting for him.

    He keeps on thinking, as he moves, one foot in front of the other. The hot meal and more restful sleep, and the fish and plantains that he picks at bits of as he walks, fuel his thoughts. why he's become so insistent on Truth. Is it just to keep his heart unburdened? No, he realizes as he moves on. No, something is happening to him. Something has /been/ happening to him, for weeks. For months? Since he became Archivist? Even before?

    How long has he been walking this path he's only just begun to see?

    The journey begins feels like a metaphor, somehow. Michael might have tossed him into this desert, but he has the oddest feeling that it's not a place he really controls.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    More days pass as Jon walks. Eventually, the fish and plantains run out and he is back to the scraps of mushroom that he had before and living off the mineral laden water that he collects from pools and trickles of rock rivers in the caves he sleeps in during the day.

    Eventually, the oasis and the lion begin to feel like a dream instead of his reality. And then, cresting another dune during the night brings him to another.

    While the vegetation cover is not as plentiful this one's water source is much wider than the last. It stretches the length of the valley and provides a minature river spliting the desert sands. There are bushes with some sort of pear-like fruit growing off of them that could provide a decent enough shade if a tarp (or in Jon's case a blanket) were stretched over their tops.

    There are also heavy reeds and bamboo like stalks at the water's edge. Here, like the last one there are plenty of fish swimming up and down the psuedo-river and with enough work the reeds prove to be an adequate fit for a spear like the branches of the previous oasis.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon is both more and less wary as he makes his way down into this oasis. He doubts there will be much lurking, but there might be another animal encounter. So he crafts a spear, catches fish and grabs pears, places his blanket over the bushes and makes a fire. He eats more slowly than he did the last time he found fish, mindful of not overloading his stomach, but still eats his fill. The excess food goes into his pockets again, wrapped in the same plantain leaves as before. They won't last much longer, but he's been loathe to leave anything useful behind.

    He makes sure he's holding the spear when he curls up for the night under his makeshift tent, and that everything's packed and ready to go--besides the blanket--just in case whatever animal might show up in the evening is harder to scare off than a lion.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The evening of the next day comes and, sure enough, there is a visitor to Jon's camp. It crawls up out of the stream just as the sun dips behind the western dune. The reptile is long, longer than the lion was and crawls low to the ground on all fours. It's bronze coloring with black specks on its back and sides speak of maturity if its weight already isn't a give away.

    The crocodile is well fed; the fish of the stream proving to be adequate for it to sustain itself in this spiritual pocket. But the smell of the man tantalized its senses more than any fish could. It didn't like to venture from the safety of its stream, but curiosity is enough of a motivator that it slowly makes its way, hissing as it approaches to make itself known.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    A crocodile is not nearly so easy to scare away as lion. Jon climbs to his feet and eyes the thing warily, thinking fast. Fighting it is probably a bad idea. Running away would be better, but it might be best to slow the thing down first.

    Crocodiles' eyes are vulnerable. And relatively prominent.

    He throws the spear, aiming for the crocodile's right eye, then immediately turns, grabs the emergency blanket, and starts running. He hates having to run, it's tiring and sweat is a loss of moisture, but better that than getting attacked.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Jon's aim is true and the spear wedges itself in the crocodile's right eye. There is a hiss and the croc goes into a thrashing motion, trying to dislodge the weapon. It gives Jon enough time to escape without further pursuit.

    He loses a lot of water having to run in the last light of the sun and hypothermia may be an issue if not for the blanket as the sweat flash freezes on his skin as darkness settles over the desert.

    He moves further east, always chasing the sun and another week passes without sign of another oasis. And then another. The fish and pears last, but even the plantain skins fall apart during this supply draught and Jon is back to moss, mushrooms, and insects.

    It's close to a third week when he comes across another. The pool in the center is deep, dark, and almost a perfect circle. There is likewise a ring of trees around the pool and more of the plantains hanging at the top in bunches, it would be safe to say that there are more of the same fish at this pool. But as the last two have held dangers, it's possible that this last one will also come with its own encounter in time.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    By the time he reaches the third pool, Jon has moved on from pondering great truth, and is considering his life, and what he wants to do with it. Does he want to be a therapist, still? To continue his work with SHIELD? To lead the Justice League Dark? Maybe, maybe, maybe. It depends, he finally decides. It depends on how things are, when he comes back. On who he is, going forward.

    Somewhere along the way, he stops being afraid of what happens if he changes. If the people who love him cannot handle him changing, then the love was not meant to last. And it will hurt--but so did walking away from Lyra. He cannot keep bending himself into something he isn't--no, wait. They cannot keep bending themself into something they aren't, to make the people around them happy.

    'They' works, some of the time, and makes Jon's heart sing, to use. He starts alternating the pronouns, within his own mind. It might take a while, to be confident enough to ask other people, but within their own heart they know who they are, now.

    The knot in his chest, the one that formed around his heart the first time he thought 'I'm not really a boy' and tightened with every passing year, finally comes entirely undone. It's such a relief he lets himself cry, just for a moment, curled up in a cave that night.

    They begin daydreaming about home, about seeing their friends and family. About what they'll do when they get back. As food becomes scarce, the daydreams turn almost entirely toward what he might eat when he gets home. Roasts and vegetables, donuts and hot dogs, curry and noodles. Pastries, chocolate, all sorts of baked goods. He spends several hours, one day, imagining eating his way through an entire wheel of cheddar cheese. He comes up with elaborate rituals for eating what little food he has.

    They're aware that this is starvation behavior, but there's not much they can do about it; it's not as if more food is forthcoming.

    Until suddenly it is--until there's an oasis, right there, and Jon doesn't bother to be careful this time. He runs down the slope toward the pool, clumsy in his eagerness to spear more fish and knock down more plantains. He catches /far/ more this time than before, knocks down three bunches, more than he can possibly eat or take with him.

    He doesn't care. He wraps it all up anyway, deciding he'll carry it in his hand or bundle it up in the emergency blanket if he has to.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Jon stays there and falls asleep under another tent made of his blanket and the shade of the trees. The next beast comes for him as the sun dips below the dune to the west. The smell of the creature hits Jon's nostrils before the sight of it comes into view.

    It's huge. More massive than either of his previous threats. The hippopatamus was close to six feet tall at the shoulder and closer to two tons in weight than it was to one. It approached from the opposite side of the large pool of the oasis, which might be the saving grace that Jon needs to survive the encounter.

    The great beast lumbers into the pond and starts to cross it, swimming with powerful strides that give evidence to its closest living relatives: whales. It seems intent on coming for Jon's hoard of food and perhaps the man himself if its aggressive nature is any indicator.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    A lion, a crocodile, a hippopotamus... Jon can do the math. This is Ammit, appearing to him as the individual creatures that make up her form. Does she know what he plans? Does she disapprove? Or is she providing the oases because she does approve and wants things fixed?

    Something to speculate on later. For now, he needs to get away from the hippopotamus.

    He only hesitates a moment before tossing two of the plantain-wrapped bundles toward the hippo. Hoping that will distract it long enough, he grabs the emergency blanket off of where it's strung between the trees, turns, and starts to run up out of the oasis and toward the east.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The hippo pursues for a bit before stopping and moving back down to the piles tossed at it. While attacking the human might give it some form of strange entertainment, food is ultimately its goal.

    As it eats, Jon flees. The sun is slowly drifting beneath the horizon to his back, dropping the desert back into the cool of night. There were so many questions to ponder during his stay here in the desert. Was it Michael's realm? If not, who did it belong to? If it was Ammit's roaming grounds, did she approve of his actions and the actions to come? These questions flit in the air as he travels, hounding his brain and giving him plenty to focus on aside from the ache in his limbs and the pain that has become a constant background noise for him.

    He makes good time, and doesn't lose as much water as he might've on the first day, as he settles into another cave to escape the deadly rays of the sun for the day. One last question lingers: if Ammit is his driving force along this desert wasteland, how much longer did he have to wait to be free of it now that he's met her three faces?

    Another week passes and his rationing of the food runs dry towards the end of it. He goes hungry the three nights after and his caves are little refuge aside from the worst of the sun's rays. As he crests up another, larger dune he sees possible salvation. A river, and his mind soars with the knowledge of the river. Even if he can't place it by sight, his genes and the memory of the Archive knows it by instinct: the birthplace of civilization, the Nile.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Thoughts of gods and whether or not they approve of Jon's plans fade away as their food runs out again, and they go back to daydreaming about scones and clotted cream, piles of sweets, shawarma, kebab...

    Cresting the dune to see the river below is such a relief that he laughs aloud, the first sound he's made in weeks. He /runs/ down the slope toward the water, and throws himself prone on its banks, entirely foregoing the canteen to drink directly from the river's flow. There's a mystical component to that--some part of him feels the need to drink directly from the source, without filters and modern technology.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "It's unsurprising that you would want to give in to the purest form of things, given your ordeal" says a soft, feminine voice from just behind Jon. The woman standing there is not unknown to him. And the voice is the same voice that has been speaking in his mind for longer than a month now.

    She is tall, for a human--but the power radiating from her dispels all thought of that being her origin. Her bronze skin, heavily colored eyes, and plaited, jet black hair are typical of the royalty of ancient Egypt. She wears a simple linen sheath dress and a circlet at her brow is prominent with a large ostrich feather.

    The most vibrant feature of her attire is the cape of multi-colored feathers draping down her back and attached to rings at her hands.

    "You have travelled far to get here, Jonathan" she says softly. "But now that you are here, know that you are safe from all threats beyond."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon can't quite cry; he's too weak to really make tears. But he's incredibly relieved, and the voice just adds to the relief. Once he's drunk his fill, he pulls himself to a sitting position, smiling up at the goddess before him.

    "I made it?" He coughs, voice weak and rusty from disuse, and then laughs. "I made it. Thank the..." Another laugh. "Thank the gods." He peers up at her, just sort of... basking in her presence.

    "Am I dead?" he asks after a moment. "The last time I saw you, I was close to dying."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Ma'at shakes her head. "Not dead. No. Not yet" she replies and offers her hand to him. "Come with me, standing in the presence of Ra is spiritually enlightening for most, but for you--at this point--is dangerous. There is shade nearby. We can talk more there."

    Once he is on his feet they walk a ways downriver. There is a large tree resting there at the edge of the Nile, with plenty of shade offered to weary travellers. She leads him and lets him settle there under the cool shade offered. "You are very near our place of residence. A surprise for us all to be quite honest."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon glances toward the east, where the sun is rising, and follows along after Ma'at. "The light's begun to hurt my eyes," he admits. "I figured that was just all the time I've spent traveling by night."

    He sits down beneath the tree and takes a deep breath, finding the shade and presence of the thing oddly restful. "I'm near Heliopolis?" he murmurs. "Strange. Why would Michael have done that, I wonder? Did he know?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Ma'at stands over Jon, her cape of feathers settling and giving a soft counterpoint to the slow murmur of the river behind him. "He did. I imagine the Revalator wanted to be rid of you and needed a symbolic representation for your perceived path." She looks out to the West over the vast dunes. "Given your attachement to us... this was likely the most suitable and inhospitable environment for his intentions. Their kind is not the most inventive sort, despite their wisdom."

    She reaches a hand up and produces a small fruit, a pear similar to those Jon had found at his second oasis. "But now you are here and we can discuss something I have been meaning to discuss with you for some time," she says offering the fruit to him with a soft, kind smile.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon reaches out to take the fruit with a slight frown. "Spiritual torture, then? Leave me alone and bereft, abandoned?" He sighs. "It's not been easy, but I think it was a mistake, on his part. It's given me time to think, and adjust. Or perhaps that was part of the point, after all? Letting me have the chance to... go on a spiritual quest, of sorts?"

    He shakes his head and then bites into the pear, chewing slowly. He /wants/ to just gobble it down, but he knows that's probably a bad idea. "What is it you need to discuss with me, then?" A pause. "I've been trying to... lighten my heart. Be more truthful, be more in balance. I don't know how well I've done."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "Perhaps so. As I said, they are powerful in their own right, but their rigidity incapacitates them in the end." Ma'at sighs and shakes her head. "It is good that you've had time to think. To come to terms with aspects of yourself you had buried for far too long." She smiles a knowing smile.

    At the mention of his quest to be in line with her mandate she nods. "Better than my wildest hopes, Jonathan" she replies. "But I need to ask you a favor." She abruptly snorts. "To be fair, I say 'ask' as a courtesy. What is happeing is bound to happen whether you will it or not. But" A pause. "I need you to be my agent in the mortal realm." She fixes him with a dark-eyed gaze. Her meaning in clear in the weight of the words here on this spiritual plane. She means it as more of a personal fixture rather than the facilitator as the Archivist.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon frowns at Ma'at for a moment as they slowly finish off the pear. "Your agent?" they say finally, tilting their head. "You mean like Moon Knight, or Tara, or Agnes? An avatar? Why? You haven't... have you /ever/ had an avatar?" Long ago, the Archive provides, but /very/ long ago, long enough that all that remains in the Archive is a story already old when it was entered into their records.

    "...Why now? Has the world not needed truth and justice and... balance, before this? Or was balance impossible, given the flaw in the universe?"

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Ma'at nods at Jon's second guess. "Wisdom has always been a strong suit of yours, Jonathan," she says with a smile. "What you plan to do -will- fix the problem, but the universe has been imbalanced for so long... it will need a guide to help facilitate that shift to equilibrium."

    "I see no better candidate to help with that than the exector of the maintenance, do you?" she asks, conjuring another pear for the man to eat and offering it.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon shakes his head. "Wisdom? I... would very much argue against that. I am not wise." He sighs, and takes the pear, considering it for a long moment.

    "Do you know what will... happen to me? How I will change?" He's not considering refusing her, evidently, so that's something. He might have, not all that long ago.

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    "You are already changing, child" Ma'at replies considerately. "I cannot say for certain what aspects of my overlay will arise and which will not beyond the obvious ones, of course. Truth. Balance. Understanding. These are things that are essential to being my agent. How they manifest depends on the character of the one who is chosen."

    She regards him for a moment. "As you say, it has been quite some time since I had such an agent in this world. I expect we will discover the extent of our unity together." She smiles. "This is a joyous time, Jonathan, even if the circumstance of its occurance are less than ideal."

    She looks at the sky for a moment. "It is almost time for you to return. Are you ready?" she asks softly.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon takes a few moments to eat the second pear, and then sighs and leans back against the tree. "No. Not really. But if it's time... then it's time. I do miss everyone. I'll be glad to see them. But..."

    He sighs, and curls in on himself. "I'm tired," he murmurs. "I'm /so/ tired. I'm not looking forward to being... poked and prodded, or people being upset about what's happened to me or... or any of it. I just want things to be /quiet/. It's been so blissfully quiet, these past few weeks."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    Ma'at gives Jon a sympathetic look. "Life is rarely ever quiet for those who are intended for greatness." She kneels down and shakes her feather cape out. "What is important is that you treasure the moments of quiet and hold them close to your heart for when you need them."

    She reaches a hand up to smooth back some of his hair. "I have nothing but faith in your ability to perform at anything you set your mind to, Jonathan. Know that even when you cannot see me in this way... I am ever with you." She extends her arms and the feather cape becomes a pair of great multi-hued wings spread out to either side of her form.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "I didn't want to be intended for greatness," Jon murmurs, eyes slowly blinking closed. "Just want to help people. Live with my family. Be happy, where I can."

    He sighs, and curls up beneath the tree, pulling the emergency blanket around him. "Thank you, though," he manages. "I'll... try to keep that in mind."

Michael Demiurgos has posed:
    The great wings envelope Jon, shielding him from the sun completely and Ma'at gives a final message in a whispered voice. "It is those who do not ask for it, who deserve it the most, my child." And then everything fades to black.