It really is fitting that it should end this way, Peter thought, smiling a little.
My little brother, who is perhaps half a century younger than me, will record my entire life for the globe to criticize. My brother, who I banished to a world not his own, who I tortured incessantly as a child, who I more than once wanted to throw in a meat grinder—it is he that will write down my life for future generations.
It is my own brother, my own blood and flesh, that will determine how immortality treats me. He deserves this, Peter said silently. Justice may be slow in coming, but it always gets there, and to deter it is but an impossibility. I changed his fate once. I, in a way, created him. I spawned what he was to be, with my pain and with my carnage, I made him into the saviour of the world. He knows it, too. I, Peter, the monstrosity that blinded the sun of his younger days and made him scream with agony every waking moment; well, I made him great. What is gain if there is no pain? Perhaps I did not have an objective in mind those times I watched him struggle beneath my fist, but God has a sardonic sense of humor, and when I wanted to crush his potential out of his body, to watch it bleed onto the carpet, those times I caused him to grit his teeth for hours, well, that only helped him become what I could never be.
So come, Andrew, be thankful. Be grateful to your big brother, who made you into the god you are. For that is what people think of you. They believe you to be inhuman, a power so immense, it once whispered a few words and a world turned to nothingness, a race vanished in the dead of the night, and an invincible enemy was vanquished forever. You are the god of war, Andrew.
And, rather ironically, I am the god of peace.
What cruel tricks fate plays on us, my brother. How could we know what twists awaited us in the age of Locke and Ender?
So come, I will whisper and you will speak for me. When I'm gone, blown away like dust in the wind, when you are the only one alive who really knew me, then you can write down my essence. Turn my monstrosity and beauty into perfect letters and words and periods and commas. Change my soul into crinkled pages and transform my life into a few hours read.