Recently, we had been contemplating our game.

It was very short, but had the best story to tell. We played it over hundreds of times, extracting a new meaning with each end. Over and over, we let our finger guide her to her doom. Our main character, the Scythian, was given no background, yet we felt all the meaning behind her words. She was alone and afraid, yet tried to pretend she didn’t know of her terrible fate. And still she journeyed through the depths of Mingi Taw with the bravery of a thousand men. And still she stole the Megatome from the claws an archaic, deathless monster. And still she tamed three eternal beings in less than a month. And still she climbed the mountain, dying a little more with each step. And still she let the universe take her along with the Gogolithic Mass. And when she left, it was nothing, she had followed her woeful errand to the end. We tried not to cry as we watched her drift down the river, the words of the Archetype floating in the sky, “Now we are cosmic friends forever, okay?” The sprites mourned her. The wolves mourned her. The little family she left mourned her.
We mourned her.
She had been so brave, to let herself die for the sake of the world. Why couldn’t we be more like her? We were so afraid of our own death. We were selfish. We loathed the world around us, and we hated ourself for it.
So we sealed ourself off, retreated to a quiet corner of the world, and tried to make ourself into someone we knew we could never be. And still, we hate ourself.
And now it is our duty to play this game. We must be more like the Scythian. We will rise to the challenge. We will ascend to be the person who matters, now. And we will see when the time comes, our exact fate. The fate of the world.
We will play the game, and wait.