Methuselah
Methuselah met Rafalia's gaze with his own, as if locked in an eternal stare. But suddenly, almost shockingly, the dark god snickered, trying to hold his face, keep his mouth shut, but sadly restraint was a poor skill of his, and before long he could hold back his laughter no longer.
His hilarity was not mocking, but one full of mirth, and eventually he managed to calm himself, looking back at the fae with a warm, accepting smile.
"Oh, that was rich Rafalia. Kill me? You cannot. Even if you break and sunder my body and soul a hundred times, that is a possibility that can never be realized, an impossible paradox. Trust me, I would know. But perhaps you can succeed in eradicating me from this plane, if killing the current me is your wish, but someday, perhaps in another world a few centuries from now, there will be another Methuselah to take my place."
There was no need for words to be spoken, his mind was clear of worry or doubt. She too would surely come to an understanding, there was no meaning in hiding it. Eventually this world will wither and perish, you with it, but I will always be.
Some say the dream ends when the dreamer awakens, but he was no dreamer. This world, shaped from hands unknown to all, decided it would wish for an architect, a ruler to represent its different facets. The guiding light, bringing those who yearn it closer to salvation or destruction. The flickering flame, breathing warmth and life with every breath, while devouring that very life without a warning.
There were many elements, many facets that defined the cosmos as a whole. He was nothing more than a fragment of the mother darkness, she who carried the genesis in her bountiful womb, and the one who was destined to engulf it once more. As gods, they were all powerful, metaphysical forces of creation and destruction, but the very humans that they created grew to define them, and in turn the world shifted.
In that case, was he the dreamer stuck in a world of his own making, or a mere figment of a sleeping world? That was yet another impossible paradox that defined his existence, but he did not trouble himself with such things any longer. He was Methuselah, even if his being was not real, his hopes, his feelings, his sensations, they all had meaning. There was no such thing as a real being, in a world made of ouroboric lies, to search for the truth was an exercise in futility.
Which was why he chose that if anyone should be real, it should be him.
But there was yet another detail, perhaps one he knowingly dismissed. If world peace truly was attained, if all could hold a little hopeful happiness in their hearts, there would be no room left for the darkness in one's heart. Would a dark being such as Methuselah have a place in such a world? No, of course not.
In the end, he didn't change much from back then. He closed his eyes, and in a motion full of candor, he pinched the faerie's cheek.
"Besides, it would break my heart to fight such a beautiful damsel as yourself, and what for? You are my friend, and I have chosen to trust you, so no matter what path you may take, I will always cherish your memory in my everlasting dreams."
