Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

The silk robe sat in a heap in the far corner of the bedroom. It lay there like a discarded skin, pool-white and shimmering with a faint, dying luster that didn’t belong to the mud or the wood of the house.

​Alias stepped over the threshold into the main living room wearing a spare of the simple, sand-colored linen tunic he had worn for the past month.

The fabric was coarse against his skin, slightly scratchy, and wholly imperfect. He preferred it. It felt heavy. It felt like reality.

​The atmosphere in the house was dense, charged with a quiet, vibrating shock that hadn’t quite dissolved, even after the tears on the porch had dried.

​Theo sat at the heavy wooden table he had carved with his own hands, his massive frame hunched over a piece of dry timber he was mindlessly turning over and over.

His chest was bare, but just as Alias had made it, the skin where the jagged scimitar had torn him apart was perfectly smooth, radiating that strange, residual warmth.

Maya was by the fireplace, her hands gripping a wooden stirring spoon, her numbers and counting stones forgotten in a pile near the wall.

Kael sat quietly on a low stool by Theo’s knee, his small fingers securely hooked into the loop of his father’s belt, his blue eyes tracking Alias the moment he entered.

​Nobody spoke or asked questions, and it felt like they were just... waiting.

​They were trying to act as if the world hadn’t split open three hours ago. They were trying to accord him the space to be just ’Alias’, but the memory of his divine self and the yard reassembling itself with a snap of his fingers hung over the table like a dense mist.

They had accepted him, they had pulled him into the dirt and the sweat of their embrace, but the human mind required words to bridge gaps created. They needed an explanation but did not want to rush Alas. So, they were waiting.

​Alias stopped a few paces from the table, his fingers lightly brushing the hem of his linen tunic. He felt the awkwardness acutely, a sharp flutter in his chest that he was still learning to navigate.

​As an Architect, his purpose had always been structural. He was the one who had drawn the blueprints for the mountains, measured the density of the sand, and manufactured the rules of the world down below.

But life itself—the clay, the blood, the stubborn, fragile essence of humanity—that had been Norx’s domain.

Norx held the power to breathe life into the dirt, but even the gods were bound by the great cosmic scrolls; they were strictly forbidden from snuffing that life out with their own hands. They could only manipulate, test, and watch the bugs crawl by whatever device they came up with.

​Alias looked at Theo’s broad hands, then at Maya’s tense shoulders. He realized then that they weren’t waiting for a sermon. They were waiting to see if the person they loved had vanished behind the light.

​"The tunic is a bit tight under the arms," Alias said softly, his voice breaking the silence like a small pebble dropping into a deep well. "I think... I think I must have measured the fabric incorrectly when I wove it."

​The absurd simplicity of the statement hung in the air for a heartbeat.

​Then, Theo let out a sound—halfway between a pained groan and a rough, wet chuckle. He dropped the piece of timber onto the table with a dull thud and finally lifted his head, his blue eyes locking onto Alias with an intensity that made the silver-haired man’s breath hitch.

​"You built an entire sea under the sand, Alias," Theo rasped, his voice rough from the smoke and the shouting of the afternoon. "You knit my gut back together when I was already looking at the dark. I think we can forgive you for a bad seam."

​Maya let out a long, shuddering breath, her shoulders finally dropping as she set the wooden spoon down.

She walked over to the table, her eyes still rimmed with red, but the fear was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, protective reverence that remained fiercely stubborn.

​"You’re a god," she whispered, not as a prayer, but as a statement of fact, as if she were trying to settle the data in her own mind. "A real one. Not like the statues the priests in the Upper Ward sell for silver."

​"I am an Architect," Alias corrected gently, moving closer until his thighs brushed against the edge of the wooden bench. "I structure the things you touch. I call the water because I know where the earth hides it. But... I did not create your heart, Maya. I did not write the strength into Theo’s bones that allowed him to stand against those men."

​He looked down at Kael, who was watching him with that profound, unblinking gratitude.

Alias reached out, his hand hesitating for a fraction of a second before he allowed his cool fingers to rest on the boy’s head, smoothing down the dusty, wild curls. Kael didn’t flinch. He leaned into the touch, his small mouth curving into a tiny, silent line of comfort.

​"Norx, my partner up in the heavens, creates life." Alias began. "But to him, all life down here are nothing but bugs," he continued, his silver eyes flashing with a brief, cold remnant of his heavenly wrath before softening as he looked back at Theo. "He has been watching us and is not very pleased that I spent my time down here with the mortals. He sent those men to prove that when you are pressed, you will only save your own skin. He thought the lie you told would make me leave you. He thought the child would be a stain that turned our home into a gutter."

​Theo’s fist clenched against the tabletop, the veins on his thick forearm cording. "He doesn’t know anything about us."

​"No," Alias agreed, a genuine, watery smile breaking through his features as he slid onto the bench beside Theo, his shoulder pressing flush against the man’s massive, warm side. "He doesn’t. He doesn’t understand why the mud matters. He doesn’t understand that the music of life is sweeter than the noise of struggle."

​Theo didn’t care that the skin touching his belonged to a being who measured constellations. He reached out, as always, his massive, calloused hand covering Alias’s smaller one on the table, his fingers locking between Alias’s with a desperate, unyielding grip.

​"I don’t care what they call you up there," Theo whispered, his blue eyes burning with that fierce, human devotion that no god could ever manufacture. "In this house, you’re the one who cleans the mats. You’re the one who teaches my son how to shape clay. You’re mine, Alias. If the heavens want to take you back, they’re going to have to tear this oasis down to the bedrock."

​Alias let his head fall against Theo’s bare shoulder, his silver hair mingling with the dark hair of the mortal’s chest.

Norx could do just that to prove a point, but then again, he didn’t do it, so that meant he didn’t fully disregard Alias creation.

Norx created humans, and implanted all sorts of feelings into them. Love, lust, greed, envy, sadness, happiness, selfishness, generosity, kindness, hatred and endurance.

And yet, even as he engineered these feelings, he has no idea how his creations evolve and measure them from the very clay they were formed, bypassing how those feelings evolve with time.

The air in the room was no longer charged with shock; it was warm, thick with the scent of jasmine and the grounding reality of a home that had survived its first storm.

​They knew what Alias was, and they loved him anyway. He revealed himself as a god, but he remained no more than a companion to them.

As the night deepened and the small family began to settle into the quiet rhythm of their sanctuary, high above the desert ridge, the stars began to flicker with a strange, unnatural dark.

The void was shifting, and the first screams of the things Norx was shaping in the abysses were already beginning to echo through the empty spaces between the worlds.

Later at night, Kael lay safely tucked between his father’s massive arm and the wall, his tiny chest rising and falling in deep, uninterrupted exhaustion.

Theo’s arm was heavy and protective, draped over the boy as if assuring him that none of the bad guys were going to have him. He was safe.

Beside them, the space where Alias was supposed to be sleeping was empty, the sheets slightly crumpled, but still empty.

​Outside, the oasis was painted in shades of deep indigo and liquid silver. The water of the lake was a dark mirror, reflecting a sky that felt too close, too heavy.

​Alias sat at the very edge of the bank, his knees pulled up to his chest, his hands loosely clasped around his ankles.

The sand-colored linen of his tunic was cool against his skin, dampened slightly by the rising night mist. He didn’t look at the water. His silver eyes were fixed on the deep space between the constellations, tracking the subtle, rhythmic distortion of the light up above.

The stars were stuttering. He could feel a void he had not felt this entire time and it was thickening with a heavy, chaotic mass that was so hard to explain.

Was this Norx’s doing? What was he up to now? Why was Norx going this far and trying to alter the world when it was going just fine?

Though he was absent minded, he heard a faint rustle from behind him, accompanied by a soft voice. ​"Can’t sleep?"