The last fallen realm vo.., p.14
The Last Fallen Realm (Volume 3), page 14
The Lucha Libre man nods approvingly. “Must be a good friend to give you such a valuable gift.”
I look away and cough to clear my throat. “So, uh, random question. But what does a Moral Compass do, exactly?”
He laughs and slaps me on the shoulder, and it’s so forceful I almost do a full 360 twirl. I search my neck, worried for Taggy’s safety, but luckily they’re okay. They climb up higher on my neck, though, back toward the safe spot in my ear. Smart move.
When I don’t laugh back, the man raises his eyebrows. Well, at least his mask lifts where his eyebrows would be if I could see them. “You don’t know?” He sounds surprised. “It’s a compass that shows you your true north.”
When I continue to remain silent, he is decent enough to explain. “You know how people always say you should follow your gut? That’s great, but there’s so much noise in there, how do you actually know what it’s telling you?” He pats his latex-covered belly, as if to illustrate. “Or when people say that they have a sixth sense. That’s just another way of saying that they have a really loud gut voice. They can know things that others can’t.”
“Like having a really strong intuition?”
“Exactly. A Moral Compass calibrates to your internal true north, to give your gut a chance to speak. To help manifest your sixth sense in a way that’s immediately visible.”
“Wow.” I think back to how the compass helped us find the lab at the pharmaceutical company and then to locate our friends in the gummification room. I’d assumed the compass had some form of magic attached to it, but if this man is to be believed, it was just translating what my intuition already knew.
Unable to curb my curiosity, I flip the compass open right there in front of him.
This time, the slender gold pointer trembles before pointing in the direction of the ice-cream counter. There is a sign advertising their new seven-scoop waffle cone with avocado ice cream. Immediately, I think of my proud legacy of hole-in-one waffle cones at Zany Zoo Mini Golf.
“What’s it saying?” the man asks eagerly. “Any tips for the game?”
I smile. “It’s saying that for the first time in my life, I might just be confident about something, after all.”
I’m next up at the counter, and the attendee helps pick out a club that’s right for my height. I grab a bright yellow ball from the basket—the color of the sun—and I snap my compass shut.
You’ve got this, I coach myself. You’re just suffering from imposter syndrome. It’s a real thing. Emmett said so. You can win the tournament, and you can use Mago’s Fire to unlock your true potential. Then you and Dahl are going to save the world! Aja! Aja!
“Loyal and distinguished citizens of the soon-to-be MegaRealm, the tournament is about to commence,” a voice booms through the speaker system. “Contestants, please collect your clubs and balls from the counter and stand by for the formal proceedings to begin.”
“Oh, wow, there they are!” the tiger-tailed wrestler man exclaims. He points into the air above the golf course, where something shimmers like a star. “It’s really them!” He tilts his head and pinches at the air next to his temple, acting like whoever he’s seeing is an A-list celebrity.
I copy the motion to zoom into the sparkle floating in the air, only to realize it’s not a star at all. Zoomed in, it’s a chariot in the shape of a pear-shaped bottle gourd, cut right down the middle, with gigantic glittery wings. There are four figures sitting inside the hollow of the gourd, and immediately, Sahm’s feathers on my mask shiver, tugging at the chariot by an invisible cord.
It’ll feel like the pull of a magnet when you’re close, Sahm had said, and I get a rush of adrenaline. The fidget spinner and our Key must be in that gourd. I go to zoom in even closer, but the winged chariot keels to one side and glides across the expanse of the golf course. I chase the flying vehicle in my vision by pinching in and out, until eventually I get the full view of the passengers, each cloaked by a royal mantle.
A fox with gleaming eyes and a sharp chin, with nine perfectly bushy tails spread out like a fan behind her.
A sleek black crow with purple streaks running down her back, with three taloned feet underneath her plumage.
A rabbit with impossibly soft fur and ears pointing to the moon, carrying a pestle the size of a baseball bat in her hand.
And an orange-and-black-striped tiger, strong and majestic, with a muscular tail swishing menacingly behind her.
The tiger’s red eyes are sharp and alarming, and as I try to calm my pounding heart, her gaze lowers until they’re staring directly at me.
“The goddesses,” I breathe as a shiver runs down my spine. “They’re here.”
LUCHA LIBRE DUDE BOWS DEEPLY to the four divine royals, until his forehead touches the ground. “The deliverers of the new MegaRealm,” he whispers reverently. “The new Mothers of our future.”
“Welcome to this marvelous day, great citizens of the soon-to-be MegaRealm!” a commanding female voice announces through the speaker system. “Welcome to history in the making!”
Lucha Libre man squeals. “Ahhh! It’s the Mountain Tiger Goddess!”
I’m still holding my breath as I stare frozen at the orange-and-black-striped goddess holding the mic from the flying chariot. But if she’s seen me, she hasn’t registered who I am. I touch my mask and moon rabbit ears with gratitude. Phew.
“My sisters and I are truly honored to host this momentous occasion, and we are so happy to see that we have received such a plentiful turnout. As you all know, we have invited you all here today, to this grand tournament, to publicly choose the prime minister of the MegaRealm.”
There is a roar of excited cheering and applause that spreads across the venue like a tidal wave.
The goddess clears her throat. “Now, before we get stuck into the tournament, my sisters and I have prepared a short video for your viewing pleasure. A lot of thought and care went into this, so we hope you enjoy.”
She clicks her fingers, and immediately, a virtual screen appears in my vision. On it, a video begins to play.
It’s all in black-and-white, with dramatic, sad violin music in the background. Divine citizens are at the supermarket, frowning at the empty aisles, their hungry children crying in the shopping carts. Cut to a scene of Godrealm residents trying to get money out of an ATM, only to find the bank no longer exists. Finally, a peaceful suburban neighborhood at night, until the houses suddenly disappear into thin air, leaving families exposed on the street with no roof over their heads.
“Are you tired of being beholden to the fickle loyalty of mortals?” asks the Nine-Tailed Fox goddess narrator from the screen, dressed like the woman with the caked-on makeup and fur coat at the Trevi Fountain. She puts on an exaggerated sad face. “Are you one of the hundreds and thousands of Godrealm citizens who have suffered from the plummeting faith of the Mortalrealm?”
The Lucha Libre man beside me exhales deeply, as if reliving some deep trauma.
“For much too long, we have held on to the old ways,” the Nine-Tailed Fox Goddess continues in a melodramatic manner. “We have desperately clung to the days when mortal prayers were plentiful, and legends of the divine were passed down from generation to generation like precious treasures. Those were the days when our realm prospered, our economy bolstered by mortal devotion. Those were the golden days when our banks were full of Prayer Dollars and our supermarkets were stocked to the brim of altar offerings. Those were the glory days when homes didn’t disappear over our sleeping children because mortals forgot we even existed!”
The crowd of divine citizens around me wails in grief.
“Well, loyal citizens of the Godrealm, our somber days are behind us!”
Suddenly, the screen comes alive in full Technicolor. The sad violin music is replaced with an epic movie-trailer soundtrack, and the scene explodes with rainbows and clouds and lots (and lots) of food. The Moon Rabbit Goddess replaces the Nine-Tailed Fox Goddess as the narrator on the screen, her plump form wearing a floral dress, her two long bunny ears braided with ribbon down to her belly button.
“We intend to start afresh!” she says in an overly chirpy voice. “In the new MegaRealm, we will no longer need to rely on the humans who have forgotten our legends, our myths, our stories. We will no longer suffer at the hands of humankind’s fickle disloyalty, because we will sever the link that binds us. We will give birth to a new world where we will be in control of our own futures. A safe, stable, and prosperous realm where we will finally be free!”
As scenes of happy moon rabbit children run and laugh through tulip-filled meadows in the background with their nine-tailed fox friends, a new goddess now appears on the screen. Unlike the Nine-Tailed Fox Goddess’s melodrama, or the Moon Rabbit Goddess’s overcheeriness, the Mountain Tiger Goddess is sober and pensive.
“The mortals killed our sister the Cave Bear Goddess. Then they took our Water Dragon Goddess sister hostage. Now the mortals have stolen our precious Mago’s Fire from Mount Baekdu and torn the fabric between the three realms, destroying everything the Mother created. It is our divine responsibility to put things right. We must rise above the insolence of mortalkind and restore the universe to the glory of Mago!”
The Mountain Tiger Goddess is joined by her three other sisters, and together they recite in unison to the camera, “Long live the MegaRealm!”
The video ends, and the divine audience roars with emotion, repeating the phrase Long live the MegaRealm over and over like a prayer.
“Which is why we’ve gathered you all here today,” the Mountain Tiger Goddess announces in the flesh from the winged gourd chariot. “To search for our first prime minister to rule our new MegaRealm. We will do away with the class divides that have plagued our realm with inequality and strife. This time, we will do it right. Together, openly and transparently, we will choose our new prime minister, and together, we will build a new realm of peace and prosperity. For all of us.”
Lucha Libre man’s shoulders shudder, and he wipes his eyes. “My gods, that was beautiful. Just absolutely inspiring, don’t you think?”
The goddess gives the floor to the Three-Legged Crow Goddess, who launches into some other big speech. But I find myself standing there in my own world, gripping tight to my golf club and ball, trying to digest what I just saw and heard.
The goddesses have definitely put spin on their message to sway their audience, like any good infomercial would do. I mean, we definitely didn’t take the Water Dragon Goddess hostage—she came to us. And it wasn’t us that stole Mago’s Fire from Mount Baekdu—it was their sister. But at the same time, I can’t help but feel a spark of sympathy for them in a way I never expected to feel. I didn’t realize the waning faith of mortals in the divine was directly affecting the Godrealm’s well-being. And while it doesn’t change all the terrible things they’ve done, and all the horrible things they’re continuing to do, I can see now that the goddesses think what they’re doing is right. They truly believe that the MegaRealm is what’s best for their divine citizens.
And it makes me wonder…. Is what they’re doing for their people any different than what I’m doing for mine? Am I so different from the goddesses?
“—so now that all the rules of the tournament have been squared away, I officially deem this tournament commenced!” I catch the Three-Legged Crow Goddess conclude.
“Wait, what?!”
Lost in my thoughts, I’d totally zoned out and missed the goddess’s speech, which now appears to have been the rules of the game.
Panicked, I turn to Lucha Libre man. “Wh-what did she say again?” I stammer. “Can you repeat what she said? Please?”
The man looks at me pityingly. “I’m a pretty competitive guy, and I wouldn’t normally do this. But you look like you’d hardly be a worthy competitor, so I’ll give you the summary.” He stands taller and grins. “Gosh, the goddess’s speech has really brought out the community in me.”
I nod gratefully. “Thank you, thank you!”
“So there’s a total of three rounds. The first is a qualifier, and only those who get a hole in one on their first go get through. Mini golf is the realm-favorite sport, after all. Anyone who can’t play a mean game doesn’t deserve to become prime minister.”
I grip my club even harder. A hole in one on the first try at an unfamiliar hole is tough, but not impossible.
“The next two rounds are Command and Commitment—both qualities the goddesses deem essential for the position.”
“How are they going to test those at mini golf?” I ask, suddenly confused.
“Who said the next two rounds would be golf?”
My heart starts to pound in my chest as it dawns on me what this means. “But you don’t understand. I’m only good at mini golf!”
He gives me another pitying look and points to the strip of green lights that have appeared to my left and right. They look like the lighting that flight attendants tell you to follow in the event of an emergency.
“Just follow the lights, kiddo, and do your best—it’s all any of us can do.” He turns to leave, but before he does, he points to my right ear. “And you might want to check that out. Looks infected or something.”
My hand shoots up to touch my long moon bunny ear, and luckily, it’s not infected. It’s just in the process of disappearing.
Quickly, I grab another one of the poop-shaped gummies from my pocket and pop it into my mouth. Under my touch, the bunny ear solidifies again and stretches tall. Phew.
Areum is still not back from her flyby of the mini golf, and I decide to stay where I am in case she can’t find me. But when the speaker’s voice booms over the venue warning that the game will start in five minutes, I start to panic. Do I wait? Do I go? What do I do?
Eventually, I decide it’d be worse if I missed the game entirely. Then all of this would’ve been for nothing.
Grateful for something to focus on, I follow the green-lit path, until I find myself at hole 123, which is a par 3, and modeled off a cross-section of a boba tea that’s fallen on its side. The hole is at the top tip of the straw, and little chewy balls of tapioca have “spilled” across the path that the ball will have to navigate.
At first glance, it doesn’t seem like a difficult hole, and for a second, I feel preemptively triumphant. I’ll just need to get the ball through the bobas and use the walls as bounce-offs to make a clear shot for the hole. Easy!
But then I remember this isn’t a par 3. I need a hole in one.
I look closer and get a bout of hiccups.
Thanks to the rogue “bobas” spilled on the green, there is no clear straight path from the tee to the hole. There is no way I can make this hole-in-one shot. For the first time in my life, I have dark feelings toward boba tea.
What’s worse is that as I circle the hole to look at the curvatures in the green, I realize that there is an incline halfway up the green, which then tapers back down to the hole. This means I’ll need to get the power of the shot just right, or else I could overshoot the hole completely.
As the goddess’s voice announces over the speaker that there are two minutes remaining until tee-off, I drop my head in my hands.
Who am I kidding?
I’m no Hole-in-One Riley.
I am doomed!
“ALL RIGHT, CONTENDERS, we are about to start the clock,” the voice announces over the speaker system. “You will have ten minutes—and not a second over—within which to make your one and only shot. And remember, only those who get a hole in one will qualify for the next round. Good luck, everyone. May the best putters win!”
A big red number 3 flashes in the air in front of me, followed by a 2, then a 1. A loud foghorn sounds across the venue.
“Your time starts now!”
The numbers are replaced with a timer that counts down from ten minutes. A man wearing a dokkaebi mask (ugh) to my right starts hopping on his feet and making loud howling noises, as if he’s trying to rile himself up. The woman to my left with two fox tails is placing her club down horizontally from the tee to calculate the best angle to hit the ball.
Areum still isn’t here, and it suddenly hits me how much is riding on this one shot. If I don’t make this hole in one, all our plans to save the Mortalrealm will be dashed. I will have failed. Not just myself, but everyone.
My chest tightens. I try to take a breath, but it’s like my lungs are at capacity and can’t take in any more air. I start to see spots in my vision. My club and ball are squirming in my hands. Oh no, am I having another panic attack?
My wakerpillar tickles my skin.
“Taggy?” I gasp, feeling woozy.
They rub their head against my earlobe in a calm, soothing manner. Breathe, Riley, they seem to be saying to me. You can do this. And you’ve got time. Just take a deep breath.
I focus on the soft pattering of Taggy’s legs against my skin, and I put my club and ball down on the ground. Over my shoulder, I see one of those old-school photo booths where you sit inside and get a strip of photos taken. It looks unoccupied.
Hurrying inside, I swipe the curtain closed, grateful to have a moment to myself. I sit on the hard seat and stare blankly at the touch screen, trying to focus on my breathing. I manage one small inhale, and then another. And another. Eventually, I suck in a deep, sweet lungful of air, and the spots fade from my vision.
That’s when I realize there’s no camera in the photo booth. Instead, there is a big button on the touch screen that says, Push this button to receive a random selection of photos from people who are currently thinking about you.
Curious about this weird reverse photo booth, I push the button. Almost instantaneously, a new message pops up on the screen.
Your request has been processed! Please collect your photos from the collection slot outside the machine.
I slide the curtain to exit the booth, and there in the slot on its side is a strip of photos. I hold it up to see it clearer, and there are four tiny images.
