Gychwyn arrived at the gates of God with nothing. Nothing from his life could he bring with him. Not even the body or face that he had carried with him for so long. Only the memory of who he had been, what he had done, and the things the he had believed. He didn't even know if it was accurate to call himself a "he" anymore, but with no other obvious choices to make, he decided to continue doing so.
He waited for a long time at the gates, expecting an angel to come and greet him and welcome him in, but no such person came. He couldn't say how long it was before he reached forward and pushed the gates open on his own. The other side was surprisingly barren. There were no choirs of angels to sing the Lord's grace. No millions of righteous and chosen souls to celebrate together for eternity.
But it was difficult not to call what he saw beautiful.
Inside of heaven was an expanse of beautiful creations of a countless varieties, made of materials Gychwyn had never seen before, or had ever imagined could exist. Buildings, gardens, statues, all created as though they themselves held a soul inside of them, giving them an inexplicable aura of vibrant colors and lights.
"Greetings, Gychwyn," came a voice. Gychwyn turned quickly to see a massive figure towering behind him. He didn't know where this person had come from. "It appears you have reached my home." The man was dirty and sweaty, as though he had spent longs hours working on some sort of project. His clothes were those of a workman, old and raggedy, and his hair and beard were unkempt. "Many pass through here. Few choose to stay. They are often... disappointed."
"Disappointed?" Gychwyn asked. It was the first time he had spoken since he had died. It felt strange. He wasn't sure where his voice was even coming from. "But... You're God."
The man shook his head, and dirt crackled and fell from his beard. "I am who you think is God," he said, "but I am not God as you think of him. It would be more accurate to describe me as Creator."
"But is not God the Creator?"
"Aye, this is true. At least, as you think. But I did not breath life into the universe. I did not create everything from nothing. I am merely a craftsman, taking what is there and using it to create something new."
Gychwyn looked once more at the landscape of heaven, covered in creations of a beauty that his living mind could have never fathomed.
"That's right, Gychwyn," the Creator said. "These are my creations. My creations which, having been given new life, formed a new world all of its own that you called home."
As Gychwyn watched, the lights and colors of the various creations seemed to dance, and trails of them mixed together and floated up into the air before falling gently down, and passing through the ground to an Earth far below.
"It is hard for me to describe why this happens," the Creator explained. "But it does. And so with time I have come to treasure this second world as much as I treasure my creations themselves, and so I continue to make them and care for them, so that their world may continue to thrive. In this way, I am your God. But I do not think to call me that would be accurate."
There was a long moment of silence between them as Gychwyn thought, letting these learnings sink in. "What am I?" he finally asked.
The Creator smiled. "It would be easier to show you," he said, and walked away.
Gychwyn followed him, lead away from the beautiful expanses of architecture and art, to an area of heaven that was characterized by large structures of barren walls, broken supplies, and work benches. Upon closer inspection, he realized that for the Creator, these were small structures, ones he had just enough room to work in.
The Creator knelt down and lifted a broken sword from the ground and presented it to Gychwyn. The sword had once been beautiful, masterfully crafted and well kept. But it had shattered into a dozen pieces, which had begun to rust. "This was you, Gychwyn. Strong and graceful. A sharp edge to cut your enemies down, with gentle curves to embrace your family. Like many souls, yours spoke to me long ago, and asked me to forge you this way."
Gychwyn wasn't sure what to say. He could only look down on the remains of his life. They lacked the aura of life that so many other things he had seen shined brightly with.
"When you died, this sword shattered, because you were separated from it. I can not rebuild it without you."
Gychwyn looked up at the Creator. He opened his mouth to speak, but a thought came to him. He became concerned and confused for a moment before speaking. "Did I not have a sheath?" he asked.
For the first time since Gychwyn's arrival, the Creator smiled. "You were forged on my anvil together. You were the sword. And she was the sheath."
Though he had no face, Gychwyn could feel a smile spread across him, a warmth that he had not felt since his life, long ago.
The Creator chuckled. "You always said you were created for each other, eh? You didn't know how right you were."
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