He fashioned an empire of sorts, bereft of cities yet plagued with the endless dramas of society, its pathetic victories and inevitable failures. The community of enslaved Mass thrived in this quagmire of pettiness. They even managed to convince themselves that they possessed freedom, a will of their own that could shape destiny. They elected champions. Furthermore, they tore down their champions once failure draped its shroud over them. Furthermore, they ran in endless circles and called it growth, emergence, knowledge. While over them all, a presence invisible to their eyes, Rest flexed his will. His greatest joy came when his slaves proclaimed him god – though they knew him not – and constructed temples to serve him and organized priesthoods whose activities mimicked Rest’s tyranny with such cosmic irony that the Jag hut could only shake his head.

Gardens of the Moon