Carver

The world had dawned and a curious god roamed through what would become the Zephyr Steppes. A beam of light caught in his eyes and streamed through his untouchable being, drawing out his desire to explore. Behind the hill, something massive had been placed, and he moved to investigate it.

It was a huge pearl, much larger than it had any right to be. The shining construct towered next to its creator, a diminutive Light dragon with trailing whiskers. As the deity drew closer to it, the pinkish stranger turned to face him.

“A godling strays this way,” the mortal stated. They were incredibly old, their voice little more than a rasp. Gone was the sight of normal creatures, replaced instead by the deep spiritual perception of the blind.

“Have you any business here, o mighty one?”

The god dipped his head, though the gesture was lost on his audience. “I was drawn here by the pearl. How did you end up with such a behemoth?” he asked.

“This was my fate,” the bright-scaled being replied. “I lived on and on and the pearl swelled beneath my talons. It became more than I had experienced, the record of an eternity. I know that it will be my legacy.”

“You speak about yourself with such finality. Why is that?”

“Well, my destiny is to carve this pearl. I will remake my memories into the finest bullhorn, something indestructible and beautiful. It will be a voice for the eons, and with its completion, my work will finally end.”

The tale was morbid, yet the carver had clearly made peace with it. They seemed satisfied with their impending death, almost expectant.

“How did it come to possess such power?” the young deity inquired.

“You see,” The pearl carver whispered, “it contains a dead god.”