O@O*($^&*#^R."
"What?" Amanises narrowed her gaze, her concealed ears twitching in confusion and mild irritation. It was late. She had spent the day traversing from one village to another on foot with Merlin, as well as working tirelessly alongside her followers in Tingen. Now, all she wanted was to lay in her bed and drift into dreams.
Even if she didn't require physical sleep, mental rest was another matter entirely. Maintaining her presence in two separate locations without overlap had begun to fray the edge of her psyche.
Even a Goddess deserves her beauty sleep… The thought echoed dryly through her mind.
"^Q*$(^*&Q^&$^."
She turned her head toward Klein, who stood just beside her. He did not miss the glint of irritation in her eyes hidden underneath her thin veil. With a subtle gesture, he raised his hand and flicked his wrist toward one of the floating cloaks.
The cloak jolted mid-air before settling once more. A ripple pulsed around it, barely visible. For a moment, Amanises caught sight of mysterious symbols flickering along the edge of Klein's irises. They shimmered, then vanished as if they'd never been.
Then suddenly, foreign information flooded her thoughts, clean and structured. She remained still for a moment before turning her head towards the previously, seemingly speaking cloak. This time the words came clearly.
"Are you the masters of this land?" Her gaze flickered back towards Klein. He stole the language comprehension from one of the cloaks then replicated it in his mind before returning the theft and then passed over that knowledge to me through our shared mental space.
Amanises turned her head back, her gaze sharp but concealed underneath her veil. Klein stepped forward slightly, his expression neutral, voice neither warm nor cold.
"You may refer to us as such," he said, firm but unthreatening. "But I wonder what purpose brings you here?"
The cloaks stirred. One floated forward, its dark fabric moving without wind. There was a pause. Then, it spoke.
"We come from the Divine Nation at the Centre. A nation formed in the land connecting the two landmasses sprawled in chaos."
Another cloak shifted behind the first, as if to affirm its words. The lead voice continued, unwavering:
"Our kingdom is forged upon Law. Upon Structure. Upon Clarity. Each role is known, each soul has purpose. There is no chaos, no deviation, no meaningless suffering."
"We have created what your kind dreams of unity, peace, permanence."
A second passed. Then the voice deepened in tone:
"And we offer you a place beside us. Join us, become part of the Divine Kingdom, or forge an alliance for mutual benefit. Your people, your power, your presence all be put to good use."
A long, heavy silence stretched between them. The mere audacity of the offer struck Amanises as if she were being mocked outright. Her brows twitched, lips tightening. It was almost laughable.
Beside her, Klein's fingers curled and then relaxed. He glanced toward her, catching the subtle irritation crossing her face the way her brow shifted, the faint tension at the corner of her mouth, and the stiffness in her body.
Klein sighed softly. This predicament was not something he had ever imagined. Not even in the farthest corners of his thoughts.
"Since you preach so much about Law and Order," Klein spoke, his tone laced with quiet amusement and a certain weariness, "I suppose you wouldn't mind giving us time to contemplate, would you?"
The cloaks offered no response. They remained still, unnervingly so. The flow of their fabric had ceased entirely, no longer swaying like wind. The atmosphere tightened. Both the King of Angels and the False Fool inwardly braced themselves for any possible escalations.
But it was for naught. One by one, the cloaks turned. No words. No gestures. Just silence, as each of them vanished into the darkness, dissolving like smoke into night.
Amanises and Klein stood there a while longer, watching, up until the final silhouette disappeared into nothingness. They lingered in the moment, their heads shifting slightly towards each other, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
Then, together, they turned around, slipping back into the inky darkness and the greyish-white fog.
…
Light is the meaning to everything.
The Father of life—nourisher, blessing, guide—it grants illumination so none may lose their way in the tangled hurdles of life, nor be consumed by the primal dark that cloaks the entire cosmos. It shines without falter, lending meaning to every word, every breath, and every step forward in existence.
It ignites the oceans, sparkling blue stretching endlessly. Gentle rays that slip through the cracks of heavy dark clouds, tracing the curve of the boundless sky, spilling over a solitary patch of green marooned amidst the sea. There, on that emerald isle, stood a lone figure.
His cloak fluttered in the wind as he looked upward, unblinking. White pigeons took flight. He watched as the birds flew far and beyond, casting shadows on the surging sea below, whose waves loudly crashed over and over upon the mantle. And then, the golden rays began to swell.
The gold poured down more fiercely now, like cascading rivers of fire from heaven. The sparkling blue of the ocean dimmed, the loud crashing of waves came to an abrupt halt. The heavy dark clouds scattered, fleeing like ash in a storm.
The pigeons blurred into the sky, their wings dissolved into the gradient yellow, white, and gold until they became one with the radiance. The figure did not move. His golden eyes shimmered like twin suns, sparkling with brilliance in their depths, taking the whole of the blinding light. His gaze did not flicker.
The Light pulsed.
It grew.
And grew.
It consumed the skies, devoured the sea, swallowed every shadow. There was no scream, no sound, only stillness.
The golden blaze reached its crescendo, and in its final breath—
the world turned white.
…
And then his eyes fluttered open.
Almost immediately, he shot up from his bed, his right hand flying to his chest as sharp, raspy breaths raked through him. It took him some moments to calm the storm dwelling inside him. He coughed, low and dry, rubbing his sternum as he dragged himself upright with the wall's support.
Again, that dream. A constant. Ever since that fateful day.
He further steadied his breathing, his blonde hair falling loose over his forehead, rising and falling with each breath. He cast his gaze across the modest room that belonged to him. White concrete walls, faintly polished floor, and an intricate chandelier suspended from above. Sparse in furniture, just a bed, a single table, and a small enclave at the far end set aside for prayer and meditation in solitude and privacy.
One window lit the room. Its curtains were drawn, but the light still filtered from the fabric. He stepped towards it, slow but steady, his fingers brushed the fabric aside, letting the morning sun spill into the cold stillness of his room. He did not spare a glance outside. Instead he turned, pivoting towards the door, and opened it with practised quiet.
He stepped into the vast cathedral halls.
His breath caught for a moment, but not from unease. The grandeur of the place always struck him. The towering pitch-dark stone columns looming like giants, and between them, the blinding white arches, their surface embedded with the bones of different races, humans, giants, sanguines, all equal in death beneath the grace of God.
As he walked, a few of the faithful moved past him, heads bowed, murmuring "His" name in quiet, not pausing in their work. Their voices were low, still the reverence of their devotion echoed in the vast halls of the cathedral.
Now and then, the arches revealed the view of the world outside. Lush greenery, beautiful blooming flowers, and streams of holy water weaving through the land like veins of light itself. All of it basked in the radiance of a dawn that felt eternal.
His gaze softened, taking the beauty of the scenery that appeared more like a dream than the cold reality. Eventually, he approached the heart of the cathedral: the praying hall.
His gaze immediately focused as he witnessed rows upon rows of devout followers seated with perfect discipline, bodies still, hands clasped together, their heads lowered. Their voices rose as one, a low chant humming like a beautiful choir, resonating with one another.
"The Lord that Created Everything,
"The Omnipotent and Omniscient, The Source of Everything Great, The Beginning and The End, The God of Gods,
"Ruler of the vast Astral World."
At the very center, towering over all, the gigantic cross.
It stood more than a hundred meters tall. Its presence was not just sacred, it was divine. Carved into its great length were silhouettes of countless souls, their faces not twisted in pain but suspended in eternal calm. Eternal salvation.
A monument of God's mercy, not "His" wrath.
It wasn't just holy. It was beyond holy. It was "His" shape. The very essence of God sculpted into a form the mortal eye could perceive.
The man took another step forward, and this time, he fell to his knees. He bowed his head, his golden eyes reflecting not the light, but the Cross itself. He clasped his hands together and muttered the Honorific name of God in complete reverence and devotion.
But as he prayed and prayed, seemingly losing himself in reverie, a hand gently settled upon his left shoulder.
He blinked. Slowly, he looked up and his yellowish-golden eyes met the void of a familiar pitch-black iris.
There, standing just behind him, was a tall figure cloaked in shadows. A dark robe enveloped his form, adorned with intricate silver threads that shimmered faintly, forming complex patterns like sigils only the divine could read on the fabric. "His" dark curly hair framed a pale face, and though much of it was hidden in shade, "His" presence alone was enough.
Sasrir. God's Left Hand. "His" First Angel.
"Come."
A single word, spoken with no urgency, no emotion. "His" voice was calm, calculated, steady, yet with an undercurrent of infinite stillness.
Aucuses did not speak. He did not question the word of God. He simply rose, bowed his head, and cast a final gaze to the towering Cross.
One last prayer whispered beneath his breath.
They begin to walk together, Aucuses following closely behind and shortly they walk out of the cathedral. No words passed between them. There was no need.
Aucuses tilted his head slightly, looking up at the clear blue sky. The sun above bathed the earth in the brilliance of life. And as they moved forward, their shadows stretched long behind them, creating dark streaks across the land.
Time passed or perhaps it did not. Eventually, they reached a vast, open plain of grass the landscaped seemingly stretched forever, soft wind rustling the gentle grass.
Aucuses' gaze immediately befell upon multiple figures. A middle-aged man. "His" deep blue hair framed a sharp face, and "His" thick beard appeared like waves in a storm. "His" eyes were the color of deep oceans, beautiful. "His" clergyman robes fluttered faintly in the breeze, marked with intricacies of lightning bolts and dark clouds, as if depicting a storm.
Beside "Him" stood a younger handsome man. "He" had long deep crimson red hair that reached all the way up to "His" hips, "His" black metallic armor dyed with veins of blood, striking with his red hair. "His" facial expression did not attempt to conceal "His" complete lack of interest and boredom.
And not far from them, another. A pale, tall figure draped in a pristine white robe that flowed with wind. His figure was slender, not overtly so, and his long silver hair cascaded beautifully with the sunlight. Aucuses instinctively slowed, his eyes narrowing, as he inspected the figures before him.
Some, Aucuses recognised instantly. The Red Angel, Medici. He had often seen " Him" at Sasrir's side, close yet unbothered. After all "He" was God's second Angel. The Wind Angel stood to "His" left, arms folded behind "His" back. Aucuses had only caught fleeting glimpses of "Him" before, mostly from afar, but that presence was unmistakable, oppressive, weighing upon all those that stood close to him.
But the one in the white robe… Nothing. A blank space in memory. Not even a name.
Behind them, the Cathedral of Corpses stood not far, its towering frame glowing faintly, even in daylight. Holy and majestic. Sasrir remained still, eyes drifting over the group before settling. Then "He" finally spoke.
"A new civilization has sprawled in the central continent."
The Wind Angel furrowed "His" brows, hand raised slightly, stroking through his thick beard. "Remnants of the Demonic Wolf? Or the Sanguines? Or perhaps a previously undiscovered human settlement?"
A pause. A small shake of Sasrir's head.
"None of that, no. It's something completely different." Sasrir muttered, shifting "His" gaze to the far stretched lands before "Him". "Its characteristics…" Sasrir's voice lingered, "His" eyes in the shadows did not fail to notice the contorted expression of everyone present with the exception of Medici. "Beyonder characteristics."
Beyonder. A term coined by God addressing all those that consumed the divine fruits, obtaining mystical abilities and a new chance in life.
Aucuses stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"You mean… a bunch of rogue Beyonder characteristics are making their—" His words were lost in their trail, as his head tilted slightly in confusion.
"Precise." Sasrir interrupted, tone level. "They even extended a… warm neighbouring gift to all the denizens across the Northern and Southern continents."
Medici tilted "His" head slightly, eyes glinting with faint amusement.
"Was that what the figureless cloaks were all about?" At this point, Medici finally decided to speak, voicing a question in nonchalance "He" fully knew the answer to. A small smirk etched on "His" face as if "He" was faintly trying to conceal "His" amusement.Yes. Those were actually characteristics." Sasrir answered, eyeing Medici closely, softly muttering something under "His" breath, quite enough so no one else will hear it. "He" then averted "His" gaze to the wind angel.
The Wind Angel, Leodero, folded "His" arms, breath caught somewhere in irritation. "He" had often heard about rouge characteristics acting on their own, but for them to act in coordination, set up a whole civilization of themselves without the awareness of any other race and possess enough intelligence to extend warm greetings to their neighbours was all a little hard to go around.
"...I don't even have words." A string of words escaped "Him" as "He" took a step back looking elsewhere.
Aucuses glanced towards "Him" and then to the horizons briefly, thinking.
"If they extended a warm greeting to all settlements and kingdoms then…" He gently spoke, attracting everyone's attention… except Medici who had, at some point, decided to lay down on the grassy plane and munch on a fine red apple completely tuning the conversation out of "His" mind.
"It went about as good as you'd expect." Sasrir responded with a faint breath. "The Giants attacked them on sight. The Elves, too, initially but it didn't escalate much further. The Queen intervened before the situation got too troublesome. As for the underworld, I have no concrete words. But based on "His" foresight, they didn't touch the Abyss."
Then, a moment of silence stretched forth between them.
"They came to the Cathedral of Corpses as well," Sasrir continued.
"Greeted by God "Himself"" Accuses eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape. His eyes quickly darted around, catching a similar expression on the face of a wind angel and a somewhat mild confusion on the man in white robe. Based on that, neither of them seems to have been aware of this intrusion. But how? How could all of us have missed such an event?
""He" neither extended hospitality nor hostility. Only choose to observe."
A slight pause in Sasrir speech. "And so shall we."
The group nodded slightly in collective understanding. It made sense. These characteristics seemingly did not bear hostility, and in such a case, until any further deduction about them can be made, it was wise to tackle the matter with caution. Then Sasrir turned slightly, "His" gaze resting on the man in the white robe.
"Ouroboros."
The silver-haired figure, pale, silent all this time, lifting his head slightly.
"Go to Tingen." Sasrir's gaze slightly deflected for a moment. "God has spoken." Ouroboros didn't ask for elaboration. He simply nodded once, though he also titled his head in slight confusion as he was not quite so aware of where Tingen was.
"Leodero. Observe the seas. Do not engage with Elves." Leodero immediately nodded, bowing "His" head down. "Aucuses. Take some of your people to the southern continent. Avoid direct confrontations with Phoenixes."
"He" then turned towards the lazing Red Angel. "And you," Medici hummed in response. "He" could not be bothered to spare "Him" a glance. "You are coming with me. We shall seek the underworld." Now that caught "His" interest. Almost immediately, "He" shot back to "His" two legs, "His" smirk growing to an unbelievable degree.
As everything was settled and ready to put in effect, a question perked up Aucuses and he voiced out with slight hesitancy. "But then who shall take care of the kingdom in the centre?"
Sasrir turned towards him, locking the shadow of "His" iris with the golden sun in Aucuses eyes. "His" gaze then slowly shifted towards the looming corpse cathedral and then at the bright blazing sun. "That shall be God's will."
Aucuses followed his gaze thoroughly and sighed to himself, muttering under his breath. "God's will…"
…
God opened "His" eyes .
Around "Him" swirled the familiar greyish-white fog, thick and heavy, clouding "His" vision, dulling "His" foresight. The fog churned. Revealed before "Him" was an ancient long copper-mottled table.
Above, suspended from the towering ceilings of this vast palace seemingly carved for giants were countless radiant doorframes, casting illuminating down into the deathly still expanse of nothingness.
God turned "His" head.
Opposite "Him" sat a woman, thinly veiled, arms folded neatly in her lap.
Her eyes deep, dark, seemed to drown God's form within them, swallowing light around them, before they slowly shifted upward towards the far end of the table.
God followed her gaze.
There, seated calmly at the head, was a man clad in a long black coat, a crisp white shirt beneath, neatly pinned with a yellow tie. Atop his head rested an elegant tophat. In his hand, were long and rectangular glass cards, each etched with intricate patterns and marked by large Roman numerals.
He precisely shuffled the deck once more before flicking two cards outward. They sliced clean through the fog.
XVII – Star. It landed in front of the veiled woman.
XIX – Sun. It landed before God.
Then, without hesitation, the man drew a single card for himself.
The rest of the deck faded into the surging sea of greyish-white mist.
0 – False Fool.
A False Fool.
There was a pause. A silence that wasn't just absence of sound, but the moment before a clock's pendulum swings.
"Shall the meeting commence?"
Notes: