He hung between heaven and earth. Hands and feet nailed, his breath came shallow and ragged. Above him, faded under the darkening sky, the letters INRI were carved into the wood like splinters: Iesus Nazarenus Rex Iudaeorum. 

The weight of the world pressed down on his chest.

Infinity spanned every heartbeat. Heavy beneath their lids, his eyes blinked slowly, finding comfort in the sight of two figures beneath. His mother leaned against John, shrunken. Her tears were long since spent.

Most in the crowd below jeered in the gathering twilight. Jesus stirred, raising his bloodied head to catch the last light of Golgotha. INRI mocked him from above, and he smiled. He knew what it would become. He knew what he would become.

In his final, steady breath, the world shifted.