CHAPTER 1
Red
light glowed in the world’s cenotaph, as a weapon forged to kill monsters
instead shattered the source of all hope and love. Light flared out in golden waves, fire veined
in lightning, from a now empty pedestal that had once held the numinous.
An old man lay on the ground, his neck
snapped, his heart stopped; yet his brain still futilely tried to send messages
down his broken spinal column even as he died.
On the other side of the vast underground chamber lay another, a young woman. She held close to her the weapon that had
dealt the deathblow to the world and she grieved. She grieved, not for the world, but for the
old man and for the future. She grieved
that all of her hopes had been destroyed, that the sweet joys and fierce
passions that she knew could have been hers’ forever had been sacrificed. She no longer knew for what her sacrificed
had been, when all around her was only loss.
She was alone and she grieved for that.
But most of all she grieved for the old man.
Wandering,
almost catatonic, was a man who was no man.
This one could not see, did not want to see, the old man that lay dying
at his feet. But he could smell the
death, the loosened bowels and relaxed bladder.
These were familiar scents to him, and the man who was no man knew
without knowing that he had killed once more.
Finally
there was a fourth, a young man who had but one eye. He was wounded both in body and heart. He too grieved for the old man. Yet he also grieved for the young woman, and
even for the old man’s killer. Though he
had only one eye, he saw the world and in seeing could have only compassion.
And so
life would have gone on in this dying world.
Without wonder in it, a malaise of the spirit would have descended upon
all peoples. Though world would spin,
and people would live on in it, no longer could it be said that they
lived. Instead of bringing in new life,
they bred. Instead of dining, they ate. Instead of dying, they stopped.
Meaning
had no more meaning left. For the four,
though, they did not know this. All they
knew was death and its consequences.
Yet
despite all wonder leaving this world, it did not go quietly. Nor did it leave all at once. Traces of the fire and lightning still
lingered in the underground chamber. The
red glow that illuminated the vast vault did not stop. Instead it grew brighter. And the fire and lightning swirled. Both these things happened so fast that none
of the four could tell that it was happening at all.
And
then the glow went out, and the fire and lightning died. And all was darkness.
And
then there was light.
Red
light glowed in the world’s cenotaph, as a weapon forged to kill monsters
instead shattered the source of all hope and love. Light flared out in golden waves, fire veined
in lightning, from a now empty pedestal that had once held the numinous.
An old man lay on the ground, his neck
snapped, his heart stopped; yet his brain still futilely tried to send messages
down his broken spinal column even as he died.
On the other side of the vast underground chamber lay another, a young woman. She held close to her the weapon that had
dealt the deathblow to the world and she grieved. She grieved, not for the world, but for the
old man and for the future. She grieved
that all of her hopes had been destroyed, that the sweet joys and fierce
passions that she knew could have been hers’ forever had been sacrificed. She no longer knew for what her sacrificed
had been, when all around her was only loss.
She was alone and she grieved for that.
But most of all she grieved for the old man.
Wandering,
almost catatonic, was a man who was no man.
This one could not see, did not want to see, the old man that lay dying
at his feet. But he could smell the
death, the loosened bowels and relaxed bladder.
These were familiar scents to him, and the man who was no man knew
without knowing that he had killed once more.
Finally
there was a fourth, a young man who had but one eye. He was wounded both in body and heart. He too grieved for the old man. Yet he also grieved for the young woman, and
even for the old man’s killer. Though he
had only one eye, he saw the world and in seeing could have only compassion.
And so
life would have gone on in this dying world.
Without wonder in it, a malaise of the spirit would have descended upon
all peoples. Though world would spin,
and people would live on in it, no longer could it be said that they
lived. Instead of bringing in new life,
they bred. Instead of dining, they ate. Instead of dying, they stopped.
Meaning
had no more meaning left. For the four,
though, they did not know this. All they
knew was death and its consequences.
Yet
despite all wonder leaving this world, it did not go quietly. Nor did it leave all at once. Traces of the fire and lightning still
lingered in the underground chamber. The
red glow that illuminated the vast vault did not stop. Instead it grew brighter. And the fire and lightning swirled. Both these things happened so fast that none
of the four could tell that it was happening at all.
And
then the glow went out, and the fire and lightning died. And all was darkness.
And
then there was light.