The world will burn. Eight deaths in eight seconds. A whirlwind of events. An unfortunate haze. A great feeling of euphoria. The obscurity of human connection.

First, we need to start at the beginning. Allow me to introduce you to the people known as the Enigmatic Eight. We’ll start with Castiel, the first among them, a name spoken with urgency and carried throughout the wind with mystery.

I'll tell you now that his name is not actually Castiel nor whatever else he tells you it is. The truth is that he has lied about his name for so long that he has forgotten it. He finds pleasure in lying to people about something as simple as his name.

It brings him joy amidst the burden placed upon him for eternity: the burden of both mortality and immortality.

The fact is, he is going to die.

The next fact is that it will be centuries before he does so.

A life spent with deceit and morbid self-attention. A death that will forever hang on walls in museums and be read in history books—one death out of eight.

I suppose I should introduce the next two people. Their names are Caelus and Clover. Indeed, these are their real names, but that does not make them any less of liars than Castiel. The two of them are not related, nor are they friends, but they are stuck together.

A silver bracelet of immortality slipped onto their wrists, binding them together for life. They both know that removing it means death, and with years passing, both of them have thought of it, but they have never thought of it at the same time. So they've lived on.

It is quite clear which direction this story is heading. I have outlined the lives of three members of the Enigmatic Eight, and now it's time to introduce the remaining five.

These five names are rarely spoken, as they lived in a world of silence and isolation. They were not aware of each other's existence, but their connection could not have been stronger: Cecilia, Charlie, Cairo, Casey, and Cassius.

Unlike Castiel, Caelus, and Clover, these five spent their lives hiding from the truth. Castiel, Caelus, and Clover gained notoriety as liars and thieves, stealing money, food, and various things in their pursuit of peace in an unjust world.

One could say that they all died the moment they surrendered to self-destruction, seeking solace in the numbers hanging above their heads—the years they have been alive. When you combine their ages, the total surpasses any number you've seen before.

Now that I've introduced our group of eight, let's turn to what truly matters: their impending demise.

I'll spare the details of their initial meetings, as they had encountered each other unknowingly on several occasions throughout their lives. However, it was when a letter materialized from the clouds in the sky, guiding them to a location near the mountains, that everything began to align.

The realization was painfully evident. Everything they had been searching for stood right before them. Death was in the palm of their hands, twisted around their fingers.

Yet, they still couldn’t understand. Why were they forced to live these wretched lives without end? Why did they cry out in agony during sleepless nights? Why were they brought together? All of this was merely the point.

It was all enigmatic. None of it really made that much sense.

I must inform you that they had been chosen. The letter stated as much. They were selected to save the world from imminent conflagration. Why? Because no one else would dare to risk their lives. After living for an extended time, they would be given the golden opportunity of death and the world would be saved.

A win-win situation, one might think. Surely, they believed so. It didn't take long for all of them to agree to give the rest of their lives for others, including Caelus and Clover, who finally came to an accord.

In the grand scheme of the world, the eight of them might have meant nothing, but when it came to its end, they meant everything. Their hands connected, eight final breaths would be taken, eight seconds would pass, and they would all perish.

Though I wish it were more complicated than that it wasn't. That marked the end of their lives, but it also signaled the beginning of countless others. You might not have known that without these eight enigmatic souls, the world would be ashes.

But they gave their lives for the greater good and their sacrifice became known as a beacon of hope. From the ashes of their existence, a new world would rise. From the flames of renewal and rebirth, the world will burn.

The world will burn The world will smoke and die And you, “citizen of the universe” Don’t have time for things like, Sunglasses and tear gas You’re building something new

The stars will burn The stars will always burn Every night your “vagabondage” Gathers with holy water and fireworks Like you mean something because your alive

We’re gonna burn It always ends like this We tore each other apart so our corpses could kiss We’re gonna flame It ends like this anyway But I still want to know your name So I can hold your hand while we die

The world will burn The fireworks your vagabondage stole Will light the sky far brighter than the flame And sunglasses will melt like butter And everybody has to see the ending Because that’s the most exciting part Where nothing matters anymore except The world is burning

(They told me I should cry and I responded “why?”)

“The world will burn,” she said, staring lazily out the window. Gladys talked as if the apocalypse was boring to her. Which I guess in some sense it was. You live through enough of them and they start to feel routine. I, on the other hand, was still awed by the majesty of it all. My people inhabited the last age so I was still very new to this “the experiment didn’t work try again” concept.

Gladys tucked her head down onto the green velvet couch. “How sad to think this all will go,” she murmured, petting the cushion. Her office was tidy but full. Bookshelves stretched floor to ceiling along the north wall full of works I recognized and many I didn’t; published in a range of ways: scrolls browned with age, bound tomes that were the literature of my era, little cubes that I had seen her touch to bring up lights that turned into words. Every age she went and collected all that she could find from the previous ones. It was a futile task, shrinking information every epoch that she tried. Enough to fill a bookshelf but the only remaining legacy from a whole world? Just for it to disappear at the end?

I was sitting on a jaunty wooden chair. One of Gladys’ life philosophies was “never get too comfortable.” And I can assure you I wasn’t. When I came under her tutelage I was apprenticed to a baker, a man in my village who woke up at 5 am every day to knead, and sweat, and feed people. I was used to dedicating my life to hard work. But I had no understanding of just how hard it would get. Once Gladys officially took me on and I started taking the medication, I realized how much of life passes you by while you’re stuck in your devotion to something.

A knock sounded at the door, “Chancellor, they’re ready for you,” Garbo announced from the other side. Gladys sighed and began to stand up. I helped her off the couch and tucked her arm in mine as we crossed the room. She patted my hand, “No crying this time perhaps,” she said. “I make no promises,” I answered.

We opened the door and exited to the exterior hallway. Grass waved from off the path. Gladys liked to be outside as much as possible given how much time we had to shelter after the apocalypse happens. We slowly moved from her rooms down the heathered hill and into the valley. The beacons were already lit as we descended. The advisors were already sitting hidden in the grass, their antlers visible in the fading sunlight. I guess you live through enough apocalypses and you get to show up right when everything starts. Garbo took Gladys’ arm from me and helped her into her cape.

I walked my way around the circle to the smooth round stone set for me. Gladys stood in the center and reached her hands to the sky.

“Oh Ancient Ones,” she began, “We beseech you, help us in our time of need.” The thunder started rolling, and the sky began to split. As a bolt of lightning shot down, Garbo leaned over from his smooth stone to me with tears rolling down my cheeks and said, “let the games begin.”

The world will burn With anger Hate We will wage war

Plastic will fill the sea Toxins the air We suffocate With earth

Kids will cry Knife cuts Hidden Not an accident

We will burn And burn And burn

With broken Dreams Forgotten Promises

But a fire Stronger Will arise Phoenix from ashes

The world will burn With hope And love With connection

We fuse Pressure Remodelling us From mundane to art

The world will burn And it will be The most beautiful thing That has ever been

The world will burn.

They sent a raging fire across the country. No one knows where it came from, only that it kills everything it touches.

I ran with my family, out of our village to the next one over. We barely escaped, most of our belonging were burned as we fled. I watched my friends die, I watched my house burn, and I watched everything I loved disappear.

As we drove off, I could see the fire following up, like a serpent stalking its prey.

We drove faster and faster, not seeming to loose the trail of fire.

Then, it caught up.

The fire reached our car and set everything aflame. All our possessions gone. The only thing we had left was each other. We all raced out of the car and started to run. The fire kept on running with us.

It caught up to my dad first. We heard his screams but we had to keep on running. Then it got my sister. She was crying and yelling, but we couldn’t stop. Not for anyone. Next it grabbed my mom. She screamed so loud and so much. Lastly, it caught up to my brother. My most trusted family and bestest friend. He tried to out run it, but he was too slow. The fire ate him whole. He was gone

I stopped in my tracks, not caring if I was ravaged by the raging fire.

I fell to my knees, sobbing and traumatized. Everyone is dead.

The fire caught up to me, and right as I thought I was going to get eaten, it started circling around me. Sparks flew up from the fiery serpent in every direction. The fire circled faster and faster until everything in my sight was an orange blur.

The fire started to close in around me. I was shaking and scared and crying. I wanted someone, anyone to get me out of here.

The fire closed in. I was alive.

I looked down and everything was ok. The grass was green, and the trees were blossoming. But something was off.

I touched the ground and it was scorching hot. Everything I touched felt like it was burning.

I looked down at my hands. They were on fire. The fire looked exactly like the one that was consuming everything.

Intense flashbacks of my town, my family, and the fire swarmed in my mind.

I knew what I had to do.

The world will burn.

The world will burn If we keep our heads turned It will let itself go in a blink of an eye Leaving us no time to cry It will lose its beauty and wonder Leaving us all asunder Some will help fight to keep it alive While others will do nothing but try to survive If we do nothing now it will be our turn To watch the world burn

The world will burn. Or so my mother says. She's always been a bit... what's the kindest way to phrase this? Off her rocker? This is a woman who sneers down her nose when other families don't contribute cakes to our church's monthly bake sale, and snarls at children when they try and swipe more than a drop of communion wine. She's... difficult.

So when she came home last night, clutching a bunch of those preaching pamphlets she collects like stickers, raving about some new preacher, I thought she'd finally lost it.

Don't get me wrong, she's always been a bit nutty when it comes to all that religious stuff, and growing up under the same roof I learned pretty quickly how to nod a passive agreement. But she's never once talked about another preacher than our brittle Rev. Phelps, who looks like he's held together by spit and spite. So when she slipped off her modest heels and hung her coat up on the rack, chatting non-stop about this new fella, the words just tumbled out of me.

'Have you gone mad?'

'I have not, thank you, Lucile,' she said sharply, nostrils flaring, 'I've been enlightened.'

Uh-oh, I thought, that's one of her buzzwords. She loves throwing words like that about, trying to trump whatever kernel of truth you're clutching and smite it with as much religious fervour as she can muster.

'But,' I said, 'Reverend Phelps-'

'Is a fool,' she said brusquely, 'you saw him last Sunday, he was practically falling asleep at the pulpit. No, it's time this town had some fresh blood.'

I turned my attention back to my dreary cereal, letting her words settle over me like a threadbare blanket. 'Do you even know this new preacher?' I pressed.

'Of course, I do,' my mother snapped, 'and let me tell you, he's a far better conversationalist than you'll ever be, my girl.'

'Didn't mean nothing by it.' I hunch my shoulders, shrinking into the table.

My mother sighs. 'I know you didn't. That's your problem, you know. You never think enough.'

She leaves me with a self-satisfied snort and the creeping realisation that my mother's not right about everything.

I think plenty. Maybe in slower ways than most. But people always underestimate you when you think slow.

This world will burn, my mother says and she's right.

This world will burn because I'm the one who's gonna burn it.

The world will burn. At least that’s what I thought When you left It felt as if the world would fall In ash and rubble at my feet But not at yours. Because you were fine You didn’t miss me Not like I missed you anyways You had them But just as always if they ever hurt you The world will burn.

The world will burn And everything with it Blackened memories Scorched losses

My brain continues to fry Hiding the hopes Burying the dreams Scurrying away the childish things

I fight it and recover Taking back my losses My memories and hopes Holding tight to the things I loved

I am stronger now Able to protect myself I will keep my dreams Fight for what I lost

Cling to those I love Let go of those I don't And in my wake The world will burn

The world Will burn And There is Nothing We can do.

The world Will burn And You will Too.

The world Will burn. With You Gone.

And I Couldn’t Ever Let you Burn Alone

I will Burn With you.

Together.

We will burn.