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It was finally time. The calamity began to manifest before the God of Truth’s practically omnipresent eyes, the Subtle Web informing it of the happening as it began. It had not expected to simply fade away into uncertainty, severed from that which it was sworn to protect, but as it witnessed the disintegration of its connection to Galbar and the very same phenomenon happening to all of the other gods, its thoughts only turned to its dear twin. Perhaps, alone, Aicheil might [i]feel[/i] the impact of this strange phenomenon. Perhaps he could process what it was like to no longer be as one once was--perhaps he would experience rage, or terror, or sorrow. Perhaps it would be like a sudden, tragic accident as so often occurred with mortals, or perhaps it would be a serene moment of acceptance and understanding. There was no way for the God of Truth to know, for whatever strange cataclysm was befalling the Gods had stripped them of their divine unity in that moment. It was the first time that Fìrinn had ever felt truly [i]alone[/i], but it felt only an empty reflection where there should have been terror or serenity.

Its gaze focused intently on the holy Tairseach before it, gazing not into its eternal store of reflected images and thoughts but simply into its reflection. The images seemed to fade into the background and slip away beneath that silvery veil. Each element of the web that it could call upon dissolved into an opalescent mist, dissipating just as quickly as it had formed. Every image shattered itself into nonexistence, and every thought flowed through the god into its embrace as if they did not exist. Very soon, Fìrinn began ceasing to exist themselves, its lustre and sheen sloughing from its body and its colours dripping into the reflecting pool below. Very soon Fìrinn could no longer keep itself aloft, and its true feet rested steadily upon the serenely still waters, and then began to disappear themselves, leaving behind only a reflection of what was.

Fìrinn’s true hand reached out to caress the holy mirror, finding purchase only for a moment. Then, like its feet, its hand simply ceased being able to interact with the mirror before disappearing too. The God stared at the reflection of its former hand before nodding into the mirror and simply walking forward through that glassy surface and leaving its corporeal form behind. It did not try to hold on to what was or to what might have been, simply accepting its departure as a Truth of the universe, or perhaps the lifeblood, or perhaps even a reflection of its own ideas and desires--it simply acquiesced with what was being asked of it knowing that, on some level, what was happening here was right.

It did not know what it expected as it passed beyond the glassy pale, but it did not expect an ocean of never-ending blackness. It attempted to cast its senses into the Great Weave, to see the comings and goings of mortalkind, but found only a distant haze through which it could not perceive. It attempted to touch the mind of one yet living, and was rebuffed by the echoing of an infinite and empty void. Finally it called for its twin, speaking that one anchoring word which had always brought them to one another, and was answered only by the finality of its fate. 

Fìrinn pressed its senses against the barrier keeping it from Galbar, never attempting to penetrate the inescapable prison in which it was entombed but rather listening for the reverberations that must surely exist beyond its prison. To its surprise it could still hear the invocations of its name in the very background of infinity--those mortals who had found their way to the deepest recesses of the dream, and the cries of the Night Elves who had so long ago listened to its words and changed their ways. They still called out to the Two-as-One, and with that tenuous connection to what once was Fìrinn could still influence the mortal plane, watching and guiding as it had before. And so it focused upon those threads of creation, pulling them taut and instructing the mortals it had helped to spread the word of Fìrinn and Truth to all that would listen. Time passed by in uncountable and unknowable eons, each new thread piercing the blackness of Fìrinn’s new demesne like an argent spear. Soon, if it focused, Fìrinn learned that it could mould those spears--and, indeed, access the full extent of its deific prowess as it had when it walked Galbar. For each person helped, for each prayer answered, for each Truth aligned with Galbar’s reality a new mirror appeared before the God of Truth, filled with playful lights and images of that mortal’s life. Each a small anchor to what was and a connection to its beloved Tairseach.

It took somewhere in the region of seven hundred mortal years for Fìrinn to be able to access the extent of what it had once done previously on Galbar--access all of mortal perception and experience. It had reconnected itself with the reflections within the Tairseach, though could extend its senses no further than that--it could look through the mirror the opposite way, peering at Tír na Íomhá from a perspective it never thought possible. Soon, the Buaileagan Aimsireil flourished in full force and what had once been an inescapable prison of endless nothing was alive, a tapestry of what could be stretching into endlessness.

Fìrinn traced its entire realm nigh endlessly, gazing into those reflections it captured and aligning what was with what should be. At some point along its infinite journey through infinite reflections, it noticed a mirror that it had never seen before. It peered through the glassy depths studiously, attempting to divine which thread this mirror connected to, before noticing its divine kith from afar. There was yet hope for it to reconnect with its twin, then, it seemed--and with nary a thought it stepped through that divine portal and into Antiquity.
 
[hider=Summary]Firinn contemplates eternity and goes about doing their job when they realise they still can. They eventually wind up in antiquity.[/hider]