The void had existed since before existence had a word for itself.
It had consumed stars. It had waited at the end of every possible timeline for everything to come home.
And now it was standing in a school bathroom, forgetting to breathe.
"Oh," said Aka. "Right. Lungs."
He inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again. The process was absurd—pulling the outside inside, on purpose, repeatedly, forever, or you died—but apparently this was the arrangement and he was committed to it.
He looked at his reflection.
Black hair. Lightless eyes. Too small.
He had been, moments ago, a concept so vast that the word "vast" was an embarrassing undersell. Now he was a teenager with a backpack.
The backpack had a small keychain on it. He had put it there because humans put things on their bags. He did not know where the keychain had come from. It was shaped like a star.
He decided not to think about the implications.
It felt like the kind of thought that would change things.
The bathroom door opened.
Saka walked in, had to duck immediately, hit the doorframe anyway, said something that was technically a sound but contained within it the specific frequency that had, in a prior era, caused three lesser realms to simply stop existing out of courtesy.
He was six foot eight.
"The door is the same size as last time," Aka said.
"I measured wrong."
"You're the avatar of heaven. You created measurement."
"I created measurement," Saka said with dignity, rubbing his head. "Application was outsourced."
The third stall door opened.
Faya emerged, phone already out, typing before she'd fully cleared the door:
I have been in this building for four minutes and seven people have stared at me.
"That's going to keep happening," Aka said.
I know. I'm documenting it.
"Why?"
Evidence. If I ever need to explain why I left.
They stood in a row in front of the bathroom mirror. Three consciousnesses that predated the concept of mirrors, looking at reflections.
The void. Heaven's will. The universe herself.
"Okay," Aka said. "High school."
"For self-discovery," Saka said. He had read about this. Extensively.
Rumored to be the haven of self-discovery even across the infinite realms, Faya typed.
"Exactly," Aka said.
A beat.
"Neither of us have selves yet," Saka pointed out.
"That's why we're here," Aka said.
The bell rang.
None of them moved.
Is that the bell? Faya typed.
"That's the bell," Aka confirmed.
What does it mean.
"It means," Aka said, shouldering his backpack—the one with the star keychain—"that we go find out."
He walked out.
Saka ducked through the door correctly this time.
Faya followed, phone in both hands, already taking notes on the quality of the hallway lighting.
The school began.