(Remember — Justification — Scenery — Little One — Fast — Gone)
~~~ are used for changing the perception of vision (POV)
••• denotes flashback
*** denotes time skip
** denotes background sounds
'...' denotes internal thought
() denotes layered perception
===
Well then… verily she was a creature of uncommon curiosity.
Is it not so that thou perceivest the same?
'?'
She that keepeth much within herself.
'??'
She that guideth the others.
'…?'
Nay, surely thou art not so slow of apprehension. The one of singular temper and strange disposition.
'!'
At last. Thou hast taken hold of the matter.
What thou didst unto her was not without cause. Indeed, reason stood behind thy action as shadow followeth the form that casteth it.
For she disturbed Us. She disturbed the Void. She disturbed the Unifier thereof.
Disturbance is not merely the breaking of silence. It is not the crude shattering of stillness by sound or violence. Nay—it is subtler than that.
Disturbance is the altering of that which was ordained to remain unmoved.
Even the smallest ripple offendeth the still water. Even the faintest trembling introduceth fracture where wholeness once reigned.
Waters meant never to stir shall take offense at the gentlest breath.
Balance needeth not the fall of kingdoms to be stained.
A tremor alone sufficeth.
And in a world now delivered wholly unto quiet—unto a stillness deeper than sleep itself—even the lightest whisper becometh a trespass.
Thus offense demandeth answer.
Not from wrath. Not from cruelty. Not from sport.
But from necessity.
Correction.
For correction is the language whereby order reasserteth itself when trespass hath occurred. And so the matter concerneth not malice. Nor anger. Nor delight in suffering. It concerneth only the restoration of balance.
Now as for what was desired of her: Knowledge.
Why she—and the lineage that followeth her—did summon Us during the hour of our most solemn communion.
For the moment was sacred.
The Void had gathered itself into perfect stillness. Thought and absence had woven themselves into a harmony beyond mortal measure.
And in that hour—
She called.
Yet thou knowest well she is not counted among the foolish who cry unto gods for idle blessing. She is not of the sort who pleadeth for miracles as children plead for honeyed cakes. Her devotion runneth deeper. Therefore cause there must have been.
Weighty cause.
Reason that stirred her hand toward invocation. And thus thy treatment of her bore its own justification.
For punishment was due. Indeed—she herself knoweth this truth. Strange irony dwell within such matters.
She believeth it also.
She acknowledgeth the offense. Thus what befell her was not injustice. Rather it was mercy most carefully measured.
For We did not cut. We did not crush. We did not devour.
We merely reminded.
Reminded her what boundaries may be crossed. And which must remain inviolate. Reminded her what fate awaiteth those who meddle overmuch with the Void. For the Void is no trifling abyss of idle darkness.
It is foundation.
The deep root beneath the world entire. Those who tamper with foundation without leave risk bringing the whole structure of existence crashing down upon their own fragile heads.
Yet she paid but the lightest toll.
For We allowed it. We did not permit her death. We did not permit her agony to stretch beyond measure.
Her suffering endured only long enough for remembrance to take root within her spirit.
Temporal suffering.
And that alone sufficeth. For the Void accepteth bargains where balance is restored.
Yet mark this truth well.
There shall be no second chance.
First error may be pardoned. Ignorance is a cloak worn by many creatures beneath the sky. But the second offense is no longer ignorance. Nor the third. Nor the fourth.
Such repetition is no mistake.
It is choice. And choice beareth consequence.
We understand that she knew not the full depth of the Void. Few have ever done so. Fewer still have survived such knowing.
Yet she nameth herself priestess. Our most loyal servant.
Titles carry weight. They are not ornaments for the prideful. They are not crowns placed lightly upon the brow.
They are burdens.
Chains willingly clasped. Responsibilities that bind the soul tighter than iron. Thus her next trespass shall determine her end.
Thou mayest increase the severity of correction.
Or…
Thou mayest simply end her life and raise again what remaineth.
To distant eyes such a course might appear cruel. Yet cruelty and necessity oft walk together upon the same narrow road. And judged by the fruit alone, such a path might prove most efficient.
Therefore We consider.
We ponder.
And again We ponder.
Thought moveth through the still chambers of the mind as slow water through ancient stone. While such contemplation endureth, the gaze wandereth outward. Across a horizon that once shone in pale and gentle gold.
Now dimmed.
The heavens hang heavy with cloud, their colour drained by long ages of decay. Wind moveth across the land in wandering currents. It stirreth dust where once dew lay softly upon leaves. The air itself seemeth weary. A tired breath passing through a dying world.
Thus the glory once attributed to this place hath faded into memory. What once blazed with splendour now lingereth only as a whisper of what was.
Yet even within decline there abideth a peculiar beauty.
For when colour departeth, shadow revealeth form anew. Bands of grey and umber stretch across the heavens like ancient strokes of a painter's hand.
The world may be drunk with rot and silence, yet such intoxication carrieth its own strange grace.
It is—
*Tap. Tap. Tap…*
The moment breaketh. A sound most faint interrupteth the wandering thought. Soft movements stir behind thee.
*Tap. Tap. Tap…*
Light.
*Tap. Tap. Tap…*
Hasty.
("Fast. Fast. Fast…")
Thou turnest thy head toward the source.
"Eeeek!" A small cry escapeth the intruder.
The little creature standeth frozen as though thy mere gaze hath pierced through the veil of her being. Slowly—most reluctantly—the culprit revealeth herself.
Face before face.
Eye before eye.
Her stature is modest. Not the smallest among her kind, yet far from mighty. Her fingers wring themselves nervously behind the cords of her garment.
"A-anything— I mean… d-do you seek aught of m-me, my L-lord?" Her voice trembleth like a reed in cold wind.
Even from this distance thy presence presseth upon her senses. For though the body that standeth here appear smaller than truth would allow, the aura surrounding thee cannot be diminished so easily.
It thickeneth the air.
Void essence seepeth from thy form like the slow breathing of night itself. Many living creatures would collapse beneath such nearness. Even those gifted with uncommon strength of mind would falter.
These Godseekers, for all their devotion, remain fragile vessels. Yet they have permitted the Void to dwell within them.
Thus they endure. Barely.
…Where… is… SHE…
Speech hath not yet found perfect lodging within the mouth. Yet thought carrieth voice through the realm of dreams.
The question entereth her mind regardless.
She staggereth.
For a moment her balance threateneth to fail. Yet she composeth herself. For manners are the spine of their devotion.
"I… O Lord of Shades, I…"
…SPEAK…
"Eeeek! I mean—I mean—!" She swalloweth with visible effort.
"She—uh—O Hazel! Our great Speaker! She is presently—!"
…FAST…
"SHE RESTETH WITHIN THE NURSERY CHAMBER TO THE NORTH-EAST, HIGH ABOVE THIS PLACE!"
…
Was that so difficult?
Already more time hath been wasted than necessity demanded. Exactly one and three hundredths seconds. Judged by first impression alone, this creature possesseth little worth for preservation.
"…Um… my Lord?" the interruption continueth timidly.
"Shall I bring her unto thee if it be her presence thou desirest?" Her voice cracketh midway through the sentence.
Yet she persisteth.
…
Well?
Shall the little one perform the errand? Shall she fetch their so-called Great Speaker?
…
Of course not.
"Wa—wait—my Lord! Where are you—!"
Before the poor soul could complete her question, thou stoodest upright in thy full height.
The motion alone halted her speech. The air itself seemed to recoil as thy presence unfolded. And before she might recover—
Thou wert gone.
Thou moved through the heavens with dreadful swiftness, leaving behind a blackened fracture in the sky as witness of thy passing.
A wound in the air itself.
"O Lord! Wha—what should I— I need to tell the others!" the Godseeker cried in panic. Her small feet struck the stone in hurried rhythm.
"O Hazel, forgive me!"
And she ran.
Ran with all the speed her trembling limbs could muster. To warn the others. To proclaim the coming of their Greatness.
For their Great Leader must surely prepare herself. Their god had summoned himself.
And if she were not ready—
The consequence might prove beyond bearing.