“Let’s see if I understand this right,” Peregrine said. “You can separate into three different versions of yourself? But when there’s three of you, you call yourselves sisters? And you are all named “The Morrigan?”

  The Morrigan simply stated, “Correct.”

  “I’m not gonna lie,” Peregrine started. “That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “Yes. Lower beings have a difficult time grasping this reality. Subtle slam. We are individuals, but also three different aspects of the same. I am based in fate, determining what happens. My sister, who you saw on Earth, is based in death, ushering others to a new existence. My other sister is based in war, and is causing complete destruction in the Irenic Realm. She is the reason I have brought you here.”

  “If she’s your sister, and also you, why don’t you stop her?” This seemed logical to Peregrine. The Morrigan was level 100, so she should be able to confront her sister, who was probably level 100 as well.

  The Morrigan wrung her hands, like she was squeezing out unpleasantness. “I would, but I can’t fight this aspect of myself. I lack the physical power needed to combat her. She has the will for fighting and killing. Therefore, I am forced to seek out heroic beings to confront the threat. And she is a threat, because she is me.” She paused for a bit, looking off to somewhere in the distance. “All three of us were together once—as one. We came from a lower dimension full of chaos, eventually finding our way to the Irenic Realm. We found it peaceful and … vulnerable. Once here, we separated. My sister chose to explore other realms to take new souls and bring them here. I helped the new souls decide what became of them once arriving. But my other sister, she hated the peace and chose to dispel it with violence and terror.”

  To Peregrine, this all sounded like a spat between god-like sisters. Or between The Morrigan and … herself. It seemed like they should be able to hash things out and repair the damage done. An idea crossed his mind. “Do you run everything here? In The Irenic Realm? Are you in charge of the realm?”

  “No,” The Morrigan answered, shaking her head. “The All is in charge of this realm. The All controls every realm.”

  “So why doesn’t The All stop your sister? He could mash you three back together. Or … however that works.” Peregrine did find it peculiar that The Morrigan was not in charge of the realm, considering what her and her sisters were doing, ushering in new souls and guiding them. With one sister potentially harming them.

  The Morrigan waved her hand and the sky filled with miniature galaxies, zooming in and out of individual stars and focusing for split seconds on planets and worlds of different shapes and sizes. Some looked like Earth, and some were exotic. The universe was vast and seeing it in this form felt like a fever dream. It was unclear as to why she was showing it, but it was amazing.

  After getting lost in the view, Peregrine reeled himself in and focused on The Morrigan. She told him, “That is not the role of The All. We are a creation of The All experiencing itself. It allows free choice and free will. Thus, what will happen, will happen. It allowed a piece of me to plunge this realm into despair. I decided to take a stand to return the Irenic Realm to a place of peace and harmony.”

  “Look,” Peregrine said. “I’m sorry your sister is an asshole. I really am. And that’s awesome that you’re actively trying to stop her. But I don’t see where someone like me comes into play. I don’t see how it’s my problem.” He inspected the quill and bracer on his arm, noting its simplicity, and doubting it would have any effect on an ethereal being. Especially with his inability to create the magic.

  “I’m afraid it is your problem. Now that you’re in the Irenic Realm, you are confined to it. There are only two ways to leave this place. If your soul reaches fulfillment, you may choose to leave and where to go next. The other method is dying by the hands of my sister and her minions. She is capturing souls and sending them to a realm of eternal torment. With those not sent off to be tortured, I fear she is doing something far worse. And with this realm being adjacent to Earth, what happens here affects your old world greatly. Right now this plane is being destroyed, and it will continue to disintegrate Earth with it. There’s a reason your former planet is slowly descending into madness.”

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  “Shit rolls downhill,” Peregrine stated, understanding what she was conveying to him. The world he had lived in grew more violent and callous the older he got. Maybe it also explained the sterilization of creativity that had taken over.

  The Morrigan stepped closer and placed a comforting hand on Peregrine’s shoulder. He felt the immense power in her grip, reminding him of where he ranked in her presence. “Indeed, it does,” she said. “My sister has washed away a beacon of hope. She is fascinated by the lore of supernatural and mythical creatures of Earth. So much so, that she is animating them in the Irenic Realm and using them to destroy it. Even I have no answer for how she is capable of bringing these monsters to life. No one living in this plane is meant for fighting. They are peaceful souls, preparing to ascend to the next stage. That’s why I have pulled two others, and you, to fight as a group.”

  Peregrine pulled away and regarded the two empty graves that looked like they’d recently been unearthed. “Is that who was buried here? Did they go through the same thing I did?”

  The Morrigan followed and put her hand on his shoulder again. “That’s right, Peregrine.” Her voice sounded soft and full of love. “Their names are Alissa and Wendell. You were all fighters in your own rights on Earth. The other two are meant for physical and defensive roles, while you are the creative one. They lack magic wielding abilities, and will need you. You will all need to rely on each other’s strengths to survive.”

  A drop of sweat rolled down Peregrine’s temple. His heart raced, and his body felt cold and shaky. He was no fighter, and he was deathly afraid of dying. Yes, he knew he’d recently died. But he hadn’t known it was coming. Had he not watched the video in the sky, he wouldn’t have understood that it happened. This situation was different because it would be a planned death. He’d be trying to avoid getting killed, while knowing at any given moment he might draw his last breath. The thought of it made him want to curl up in a ball. Learning there was an afterlife was reassuring. Still, knowing if he died violently at the hands of The Morrigan, that he’d be sent to eternal torment, sort of offset the joy and wonder of living forever.

  “I-I don’t think I’m built for this,” Peregrine stammered. “You’d be better off sticking with the other two people, and finding someone to replace me. I couldn’t muster the magic to topple a zombie. What good will I do for those relying on it as my strength? I’d just get them killed.”

  “Nonsene,” The Morrigan said, sternly. “You are special. I took the most time to find your class. I waited, and waited, for the perfect soul. When my sister found you, we both agreed that you were the one. You had such a burning desire to be creative and you wanted to share that rare gift to the world. Now you can. You can save this realm. With time, and practice, your skills will flourish and you will exemplify greatness.”

  Wandering to the edge of the two empty graves, Peregrine peered inside. Were these two OK with what happened to them? Were they prepared to put their lives on the line to save a world they knew nothing about? He didn’t feel like he was. Responsibility was something he famously shirked away from. Being a deciding factor on whether people lived or died? No, thanks.

  “This is your new home, Peregrine. You are here no matter what choices you make. Those choices can result in a far better experience … or damnation. Before you prematurely decide your path, I want you to see what you’re fighting for.” The Morrigan pointed at a cobblestone trail that he hadn’t noticed before. “Follw this road and it will lead you to a village known as Fiddler’s Green. Talk to the townspeople. Meet Wendell and Alyssa. And then decide what is best. I trust those things will guide you in the appropriate direction. I will convene with you again, once you understand the gravity of this situation.”

  The Morrigan twirled until she became a black blur and faded out of existence, leaving Peregrine standing alone in the silent graveyard. He looked up at the purple sky, with its electric blue clouds, taking it all in.

  “Bitch!” he shouted. He’d been holding that in since before the zombie fight. He let out a deep breath, feeling like he’d just untied a cinder block from his ankles and floated to the surface. She hadn’t given him time to process anything. And for someone who didn’t deal well with change, this was overwhelming.

  It only felt like minutes ago that he was sitting on his balcony doing the prep work for what might—this time—become his breakthrough book. If you had asked him up until that night if he believed in the afterlife, he would’ve given you a noncommittal “maybe.” Now he was dead, risen, and on the verge of being dead again. Seemingly with a permanent bad ending that was scarier than the lights just turning off and nothing following. To top it off, zombies, and other paranormal things, were thrown into the mix for shits and giggles, apparently. All these racing thoughts made his muscles tense. He felt like he had reattached that cinder block and jumped back into the water.

  The next thing he knew, he was shaking the ick from his body and walking down the gray-bricked road, ready to meet with people who weren’t a level 100 deity, and ask them normal-people questions. Like how to get back to Earth.