Lucky stood before the Cosmos of myth now, and all the time-honored accolades that had fallen from his lips were exposed as pitiful inadequacies. Yet this was not his true form either, but just a proxy culled from a fraction of his essence; the essence that flowed through every indomitable star, every sturdy rock, and every striving, thriving living thing, all of which he had spawned. As the avatar strode towards him with the prowl of victorious athletes, the majesty of kings, the swagger of champion lovers, Lucky had no room for fear, because he was overwhelmed by a single sensation: simple awe.
–“Tying the Knot,” from Songs of the Metamythos
