He'd been handed over to a sibling, raised as their child, for most of his life. He was told about Mother the whole time, they never kept that secret. The whole nation was her children, all toiling away in their brief lives, working to keep each other safe from the outside world.

He had been one of the few men born, a one in a hundred chance, and had always been treated well. His education had suffered for the spoiling, but it was also fact that he would not work, he would not leave his home, and he would not live near as long as them. He, like every male, would be sacrificed, a price for the wonder that was Mother.

For a time, a brief moment, maybe he had considered another life, perhaps an escape from the Golden halls of the palace, but he knew it would still be death. A death without purpose. And isn't that even more terrifying? He was only 32, so young to his sisters(some lived past 200), yet so old to his brothers, but he felt he lacked the wisdom to really answer that. Even his sisters never questioned it. It was the will of mother, and estimates said she was over 1000, so who could be wiser?

Today, he made his pilgrimage, his final journey. He world be useful, for the first and last time in his life. He world see Mother for the second and last time in his life. And he would die when she was done with him.

But, unlike his sisters, who were useful their whole lives and perished, childless, he would continue in his children, his countless daughters. And, though he didn't know it, but Mother was not quite immortal, was even dying as he saw her, glorious and gluttonous. One of his own daughters would be treated, transformed, made into a new Mother. She would lead their nation for generations to come, and have sons and daughters.

She would never know her father. His purpose complete, his wings torn off, he would be cast from the hive well before she hatched. Such is the life of a bee.

"What does it feel to say goodbye?" asked John as he gasped for a shallow breath.

"You get used to it, darling," Jackie responded after a good few seconds. "There's an end to everything."

"Have you ever wondered what it's like to leave everything behind? Bringing nothing with you at the very end?"

"I sure did. But I stopped asking myself that," Jackie answered. "There's no use for such questions."

"Why?"

"You get used to it."

"It's funny how you always say that," responded John with a meek smile.

"Because that's the truth. Things come and go, and no matter how hard I tried there are simply things I cannot change."

"So why bother?" she continued. "Enjoy the present. Accept the things they are ... Remember that time when I bought you your first guitar?"

"Sure. I gave it to Tommy. Funny how time just flies by and before you know it, he's a grown man and he grew up just like me."

"But do you remember that one time you brought Tommy to Disneyland for his eighth birthday?"

"Sure."

"And I remember that guitar, and the first song I played for you," said Jackie. "And how happy you were. I tend not to ask too many questions and focus on the good things. Things that matter."

"But surely it's difficult to say goodbye to people you care about? What about dad?"

"Of course I miss him dearly. I still do. But I know that he left peacefully — and happily, knowing that he lived a life well-lived."

"Focus on the good things, yea?"

"Yes, darling. Remember the things that brought you joy, things that gave you purpose. Don't think about things you couldn't change. You know I am always proud of you." said Jackie as she placed her hands on John's, now weak and trembling.

John gave out a weak smile.

"I know that you will always be with me, and you know that I will always love you dearly," continued Jackie, a tear slowly making its way down her cheek. "It's always difficult to say goodbye, but we find reassurance in moments we shared."

"I am afraid," said John after a long pause. "I am afraid there's nothing on the other side."

"Don't be, darling," Jackie held John in her arms, "this is not the end; there's Tommy, and he has Delphine ... things will go on, whether we are here or not. But the times we had for each other — the moments we shared — will live on."

John went on smiling, slowly closing his eyes.

"Puff the magic dragon, lived by the sea ..." Jackie began humming softly and gently, stroking John on the head, his hair white and few, as he fell asleep one last time.

She floated into the room and bade the attendants leave. The black-cloaked figures bowed and scurried away, and the last one pulled the ornate doors shut as they left.

Warren smiled at her from the bed. She was still no more than thirty, her hair long and lush, skin supple and glowing.

“I feel like a dog,” he croaked.

She chuckled. “Now why would you say such a thing?” She asked warmly. She sat on the edge of the bed.

“I heard once that, to a dog, man is like an immortal. Watching us die is something very few dogs do.”

“Ah,” She said. “Man is an elf, and dogs are humans.”

Warren laughed, but couldn’t keep it from devolving into a coughing fit. His mother wrung out a washcloth and wiped his wrinkled face with it. “You’re no elf,” He croaked.

“I was once.”

“Once…” he considered. “Ah. I remember that story. Damn, that was a long time ago. I was still sitting on your knee.”

“Your memory is almost as good as Mímir’s.” She set the rag down and took his hand.

“What’s it like, dying?” Warren asked.

She pondered this for a moment. “Well, leading up to it sucks. The illness or injury… But the process itself is only briefly unpleasant.” She stroked his face.

“Is it painful?”

“No. But you know, you’ve met him before.”

Warren’s brow furrowed. “Who?”

“Death.” She smiled. “You’ve seen me walk with him before, when we visited the beach… and in conferences here at the palace…”

The old man nodded. “Mm. You mean Thanatos… or whatever he goes by these days.”

“Yes.”

Warren harrumphed. “Seems like a sweetheart. You always had a soft spot for Underworld gods.”

His mother laughed. “That hasn’t always worked out in my favor.”

The old man raised his eyes to her. “Mummy?”

“Yes, dear?”

“I used to ask you when I was young… will I come back as a baby when I die?”

She smiled. “I think by now you’re old enough to make that decision on your own.”

He laughed under his breath. “I see now why you’re not scared of it. He’s your friend.”

“That wasn’t always so, love. There were days when I was terrified of dying… But that wasn’t Thanatos’ fault.”

Warren paused. “You were scared of dying… but not of death?”

She nodded. “I was scared of not mattering. And for a time, I saw death as the end of all that mattered. But… every time I look at you, right up until the moment you die, I realize that I have made a difference. I have mattered.”

“So death was never really the end of that, after all,” he concluded with a soft smile.

His mother stroked his white hair with a slender, youthful hand. “I’m so proud of you, honey.” She bent and kissed his forehead one last time.

When she sat up, there was a figure behind her. A black-clad man with long, dark waves, carrying a scythe.

She turned to see the visitor, and his brown eyes crinkled into a smile as she craned to kiss his cheek.

He looked at Warren. “You ready to go, Rabbit?”

The old man barked a laugh at the old nickname and slid from the bed with ease. “You kidding, Jackal? I’ll race you to the scales!” His legs felt strong again.

“A moment,” said Death. He gestured back over his shoulder.

Warren looked back. His youthful mother sat at the bedside of a body he barely recognized. She didn’t weep; after all, this was part of her eons-long existence. But she petted his hand and turned to look at Thanatos.

“I’ll take good care of him, Hope,” said Death.

“I know you will.”

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