As I near the end of my review of the Godsrain Prophecies, I’m reaching the part of any research project that’s the most daunting—the conclusion. While it will of course be up to my Lady to decide what, if anything, to do with these prophecies, I plan to present her with the two or three reasons for their existence that I believe are the most plausible (other than them all being true, which I maintain is nearly impossible).
Unfortunately, this need for clarity means that I must dismiss (or at least deemphasize) one of the more exciting ideas I have come up with thus far: that these are a collection of the gods’ fears. I have noted throughout these pages that there are responses to the gods’ deaths in each of the prophecies that seem out of character, either for the other gods or their followers, but I don’t believe this lack of consistency is due to these being reflections of what a god would worry over. In truth, I am not sure that gods fear anything at all. Is fear not driven by a sense of mortality, or at least, the potential for one’s role in the world to change or end at a moment’s notice? I wonder if, instead, the “prophecies” are intended to help the gods develop fear, to remind them that they are not beyond the reach of death and give them a small taste of mortal terror. Though to what end, I do not know. Who would want to give a god a nightmare?
–Yivali, Apprentice Researcher for the Lady of Graves
The “Death” of Irori
Irori is not one for dying. Death is common. Death is normal. Death is there for mortals who have not yet mastered how to reach new levels of perfection, who have not willed themselves into attaining the divine. Death might take some weaker god if given the right circumstances, starting with those cheaters who let the Starstone grant them power, grabbing godhood like some prize for drunks and thieves and zealots. But for a god like him, who’d worked and willed himself to godhood? Death is something of the past and he is moving forward.
Irori’s never rested long, no matter his successes. There’s always some new path to take at any well-earned milestone, some new technique to master, some new knowledge to find. Yes, it was good to be a god, if for no other reason than to share new possibilities with those who’d turn their will toward doing better with their lives. But he is one of many gods—some virtuous, some indolent—and so there must be something more, some way that he can still evolve. Some new route toward perfection.
Irori works with diligence, the way that he has always done, reaching beyond the world he’s known to better what he has become. Until one day, he grasps it all—the spaces in the sum of things, the power in the truth of everything that was or will be. And though total enlightenment is only for a moment, slipping between his fingers like a cloud of windblown sand, he still can feel the barrier between himself and something more, as pliable and thin as what once kept him from divinity. While he has it in his reach, he passes through the boundary, as bracing and as easy as a step through falling water. Irori, once a mortal, is now much more than deity.
Irori savors everything, if only for a moment. He takes a breath in every plane, his heartbeat now a multiverse, and feels the coursing power as it crashes through his veins. But he has departed our reality, has left a tear along the border of the way of things, and everything, on every plane, begins to shift toward him, as if he were a beacon for something within the Great Beyond—a single life, a single god, become a singularity. Gruhastha is the first to fall, the Keeper’s arms stretched uselessly, hands grasping at the emptiness he finds beside Irori’s feet. He’s swallowed by a void that somehow still contains a multitude, his body torn asunder in a bright and blissful darkness, his lips mouthing his gratitude, his throat choking on screams.
Irori is a magnet now, pulling those closest to him; Chaldira’s luck lost in a cry while Magrim’s runes go tumbling, some force dragging them both to places even he can’t follow. All he can do is close the gap before it sunders everything, using the power that he holds, still far beyond what it once was, to fix whatever he has done (or is doing or one day will, time half-unraveling in his hands). As he repairs the barrier, still dripping with the power that he touched from passing through it, Zon-Kuthon comes to stand beside him, image of the blinding void reflected in his longing eyes, and Nethys tries to touch the power nestled just beneath his skin, hands clawing unknown patterns of magic in the air. Both soon become his shadows, hounding every move he tries to make, Zon-Kuthon chasing memories and Nethys seeking answers, with Torag always close behind, holding his brother Magrim’s blade with vengeance on his mind. Some of Irori’s followers also trail behind him; those who were deep in prayer at the moment that he moved beyond, unable to unsee the void, dedicate themselves to its return, doing whatever they can to hasten the end of all things.
But Irori has a new path now, divinity left far behind as he masters the power that’s now deep within his bones. He sees things now—beneath the ground, between the breaths, inside the skin—and knows that they will take him where Gruhastha and the rest have gone, that what tore them apart will help him make himself anew. If there are prayers for him to hear, he is no longer listening. If rakshasas take his guise and use his faith to build their power? If Urgathoa’s clerics tell his followers that next time he will end the world and they should eat and drink and die with no thought for tomorrow? How can he care when there’s a new path for him to gain perfection? And if the world unmakes itself, if he had to unmake the world, if that brings him enlightenment, then that’s what it must be.
What lies beyond divinity, and who better than Irori to first achieve such exquisite perfection that he leaves even other gods behind?
Well, that was certainly involved. Multiverses? Singularities? Bright voids? And yet, in all of that, I almost see a pattern. I have tried not to reference other prophecies in my notes here; if my Lady chooses to read them out of the original order that I chose, I would hate for her to learn a piece of information in these notes that would be better divulged by the original text. Still, I am reminded of the prophecy regarding Desna, which also mentions a void. And there are similarities between this prophecy and the one for Nethys, not only in their reciprocal mentions but in their fascination with the fundamental properties of our universe. Perhaps instead of looking at the prophecies individually, I should be looking for these types of commonalities—could things that are repeated be elements of some underlying message, or a hint as to what among these “prophecies” might be true amidst the overstatements and suppositions? If there was ever a time to make a chart, that time is upon us.
About the Author
Erin Roberts has been thrilled to be able to contribute a few small threads to the fabric of Golarion in the pages of books like Lost Omens Firebrands, Lost Omens Highhelm, and Lost Omens Travel Guide. In addition to her work for Paizo, she freelances across the TTRPG world (and was selected as a Diana Jones Award Emerging Designer Program Winner in 2023), has had fiction published in magazines including Asimov’s, Clarkesworld, and The Dark, and talks about writing every week on the Writing Excuses podcast. Catch up with her latest at linktr.ee/erinroberts.
