The chains gently rattled as he emerged from the vision. Everything remained so still, so motionless. And within the dim lighting of the globe, Kanrel could see through his teary eyes how the Angel of War and Peace shook, their muscles contracted, their eyes set on the platform below them. They seemed nothing more than a man trying their best to keep their tears of shame at bay. Like a man stuck in his dark room, avoiding all eyes, as shame swept through him, unable to make contact with the people outside, for in their eyes he would see only judgment, not theirs, but his own.
In this moment, they were still just two planets stuck in their orbits. Endlessly locked to the same source of agony, although born of different reasons, yet cosmically related, just because such was the twisted reality they shared.
Is the sun not lonely in her lonesome? Does she not miss the stars as she climbs the horizon, as the stars fall from the morning sky?
So she dances her eternal dance, never once with another of her kin; bound to a cycle unbroken, she rises and she falls, as do the stars, and years go by, yet they never shall meet; and when a billion years have gone by, a great shadow looms over this earth of mine. No more stars to dance upon my skies; she, too, left long ago. Now, only a frozen waste remains.
Kanrel dried his own tears. Within, he found that it was difficult to weep in the vicinity of the creature, who was ultimately the reason for his tears. He rose from his knees and studied the angel, as if trying to see beyond the confession, to weigh not only the words, but whether they were true. Could a murderer of their caliber feel regret or even shame for their actions?
"Why would you lie to me?" He asked, not a question truly pointed at Ignar, but at himself.
At first, there was no reply. But soon a long, teary sigh escaped the angel's lips, then they spoke: "Perhaps... I wished that through you, I could be absolved of my sins; that I could be redeemed…"
"Perhaps, I hoped that if you did not know who I was, then you would be more understanding. More likely to forgive."
"It was wrong of me to place such hopes on you."
"I should never have lied or purposefully hidden the truth."
"But the more time I have had the opportunity to see you, to observe you... I have come to see myself within you. Although I cannot claim to know what you think or what you feel, the little that I have seen has made it possible for me to understand what I must do, and what I must go through…"
"Here, I am naught more than a criminal with many abhorrent crimes to his name, at last brought before someone who knows of justice and thus has the right to judge me."
"Often, I see, that you find yourself within my deeds, within my regret, within my crimes; and so I see that I find a part of me within all the wrongs that you have committed, within all the things that you regret."
"My... brethren, they once judged me, yet they lacked the right to do so, for they were a part of this crime that I had committed."
"Yet their judgment never came from the yearning for justice; it always came from their own greed."
"The punishment that I received from them is disproportionate, for it punishes not only me, but the Atheians as well... And what you see now is only a minute portion of it."
"Unnecessary cruelty disguised as a necessary evil, one that I doubt they even regret, that they even are ashamed of." The Angel of War and Peace no longer shook, for they no longer tried to hold on to their tears. They did not weep; no tears ran down their scaly cheeks. Instead, within their eyes, there was a vast plane, a realm only they could see.
As Kanrel peered into those ancient eyes that had seen and done more than any living creature had. He wondered—could he truly hate this creature? After all... everything that they had just said was a truth, even when so very twisted, all of it remained a truth he could not deny.
Kanrel had seen his own reflection in Ignar for a long time now—in his thoughts, his regrets, his fears. But whether that recognition should be called understanding, or something worse, he did not yet know. Perhaps denial was easier than truth.
Who would want to come face to face with a vile murderer and find that they shared more with each other than not? That he shared more things with this thing than with its victims...
"Kanrel, there is one more crime of mine that I must share with you."
"I doomed them to their deaths when I rebelled. And so, through Kalma, I have killed billions."
"I killed them again when I ruled; through our complacency, we murdered the rest of our own. And, so I killed billions not once but twice."
"I brought ruin to those who had nothing to do with me or my kin, I bloodied my hands once more at the consensus of my brethren, and so... I have committed the same crimes, not once or merely twice, but thrice…"
"Kanrel... I am much worse than you can imagine."
"The horror that I am is something one finds more difficult to fear than a singular man, who has only a few victims."
With the angel's words, the shadows swelled around him, the Veil pierced into the Globe, tainting it with memories of murder, of heartbreak... Kanrel could feel eyes staring at him; he could hear the choirs of whispers calling for him, demanding him to become complete.
Ignar's voice cracked under the weight of a memory. "Behold, for none of us is free from blame!"
The Veil echoed his voice within the Globe, cracking its seams, until it burst open to a different view altogether. The chains rattled into silence, not breaking, but allowing the reason for their existence to be known. The figure enchained turned into another, and Kanrel fell—only to be set adrift in the mind of someone else.
- - -
Far above the clouds, the sun embraced him, granting a yearnful touch of something he felt that he had missed for far too long now. But how could he? He was god, after all. How could he yearn for something that had always embraced him since the beginning of life?
The sun's golden touch was soon pushed away by another, as powerful winds ran through their home far above the ground.
Ignar had chosen this place for them, as it reminded him of something the others had long ago forgotten. And atop it, they had built a temple to serve as their homestead, but it only made the memory stronger. It confirmed their hypocrisy.
This mountain and the temple atop it might well have been the same Kalma forged from Anavasii's ruins. But they had long forgotten where their homeland lay—if it had ever existed at all.
They had searched for it, tried to find their way back home, in hopes that some Sharan might still live on, perhaps some found a way to survive within the dark substance Kalma had summoned. A foolish hope to hold on to, for they scoured the earth, flew over continents, and across seas. Together, they discovered new beings, some in the middle of forming cultures and new civilizations. Strange creatures... some covered with fur and hair, others who buried themselves into the mountains, and some who even built grand structures.
But they found no Sharan. There was none left. They were the last of their kind.
And so, they settled upon the tallest mountain they could find on the continent they imagined to be their long-lost homeland. Below them, lived another species. Tall and slender, with grayish colored skin, large eyes usually of a lighter tone, one most suitable for the darker months of the year. They built grand cities, with tall towers that reached toward the heavens, all this with the help of their innate magical abilities, though they were of lesser talent than the Sharan, but at the same time, their ingenuity was apparent... Awe-inspiring to behold, but at the same time, a reminder of the failures of the Sharan.
They had their own issues, similar to those that the Sharan had to deal with throughout their history. They had wars, they had slavery, they had all the things that the Sharan had as well... And they had their own tyrants as well; their own gods.
They called themselves "The Ones Who Reach For the Heavens," or simply in their language, "the Atheians."
Their gods were imaginary—former philosophers, kings, and revolutionaries, often deified after death. Their tyranny was mortal. Their divinity, inherited.
Ignar found them to be curious, even with their faults and differences, they were an interesting species to observe from the heavens and even interact with. But at the same time, one could not deny the innate jealousy their existence instilled among the nine remaining Sharan.
They still existed. They could reproduce. They could still fail and try again.
The Sharan no longer had the ability to do so, and even their existence had become a form of never-ending torture that would bring forth insanity in all of them... The Sharan of Time began seeing more and more vivid yet surreal visions of the coming future; they simply began to see too much, it all collecting itself into layers of knowledge, of things that might in the next second somewhere far away from here, or in thousands of years, to someone who is yet to exist.
The Sharan of Judgment found that they could only judge those who now lived below them, keeping in mind a constant court of law, counting the wrongs that the Atheians did according to the old rules of the Sharan Empire as well as those of N'Sharan. But at times, as they went through their imagined court of law, they made a mistake in sentencing; within their mind, innocent Atheians had met their ends, hanging from ropes that garnished the sturdiest of trees.
The Sharan of Order and Chaos, unable to resist their namesake, wandered among Atheians in disguise, provoking rebellion, testing society. They asked only: how many stones must be thrown to birth chaos?
The Sharan of Life and Death began meddling through other means, usually by showcasing themselves just before the death of a random Atheian, or before the birth of another.
The Sharan of Joy and Suffering found themselves partaking in the vices of the Atheian society. Disguised, they would drift through brothels, bars, and gambling houses, often seated at tables sticky with drink, listening to broken men speak of luck and love. They watched closely as an Atheian lost everything on a single cast of the dice. Their eyes would swell with tears, and laughter would follow—sudden, high-pitched, and howling—leaving their companions confused and unnerved.
As an Atheian wept over his last coin, the Sharan's tears fell too—but were they for him, or for themselves? Were they even different? Even they could not say whether their tears were born of pity or hunger. Only that they felt more alive in those moments than anywhere else.
Did they cry because of shared pain, because of sympathy, or even empathy? Or did they fully revel in their sadism, finding vast pleasure in the pain and loss of others?
The Sharan of Love and Hatred often went along with the Sharan of Order and Chaos, as within the rebellions that they caused, love and hatred for one another were most prevalent in such dire and inflammatory circumstances.
The Sharan of Lies and Truths became only more and more deranged. And one could never quite tell if everything was just an act; if all that they said was just lies, or if the lies that they manifested had become the truth.
But then there was the Sharan of Light and Darkness, who, unlike the others, locked themselves within the temple they had built and refused to take a step outside. They seemed more and more pained after each day. More guilty than the rest, seeming even more guilty than Ignar.
Which was exactly why it was so surprising to see them attend an impromptu meeting called by The Sharan of Time...
Within the temple, there was a great hall in the middle of everything. It served as a converging point of the circular temple that they had constructed. It was where they all would meet, usually once every few months, to discuss things that had come up. Usually, they went over things that seemed useless from their point of view. After all, they lived far above the reach of the Atheians and were much more powerful than they could ever be.
One time, they even came to the conclusion that they ought to force the Atheians to stop partaking in things like slavery. A noble cause, all could agree on that, but at the same time, one that felt strange to enforce... Not that it wasn't unjust to do so, but instead it begged a simple question: 'Is it right for another culture, another race of beings altogether, to impose and then force their views of what is right and wrong onto others?'
But in the end, even Ignar agreed that they should impose their will, at least on this matter, on the Atheians, for he was sure, as were the others, that this could only be positive for the Atheians and their culture in the long run. It might have seemed patronizing then, but centuries later, none among them would disagree. Of this, Ignar was sure.
The Sharan of Time stood up from their chair. They let their gaze meet each of theirs, nodding slightly and receiving one in response, but their gaze stopped for a moment longer on Ignar, before nodding and moving along.
"My brethren, it is with a fervor laced with dread that I must share with you the future that I have seen. And this time, it is not one that we can wholly oversee, for now we must partake in it so that it might be changed."
"For past the horror of one vision, I see another drenched in it. I see that one horror must overcome the other, so that life may persist, and so that we might live on."
"My brethren, the Atheians must be contained—lest they take our future before it's born." Their voice distilled with the absolute then began pronouncing a prophecy: "Heed my word, brothers; hear, what I have seen, what I have witnessed."
They closed their eyes, and their eyelids began to twitch, as if they searched for what they had seen from within their mind. Suddenly, their eyes burst open, a golden hue breached their sight, and a dark halo formed around their eyes, coloring their irises into a mixture of black and dark red. And when they spoke, their tone was flat, as if someone else spoke with their lips:
"Locked, imprisoned those you know as the Atheians. Waiting for the lock to open; waiting for their ascension; to breach the surface; to usurp those above.
Punished for betrayal; conquered and then enslaved by the shadows; by those within, around, and above.
Bloodshed, famine, death. An ending from and for below."
They stared ahead after their words, looking straight at Ignar, not ending the deep gaze between them, letting their words be followed by a long silence.
The Sharan of Time blinked. Their eyes returned to normal, their gaze settling once more on reality—or something close to it. Their brows furrowed as they then spoke, "There is nothing else we can do. We must follow the greater good."
"War and Peace, you must once more raise your sword and spread your wings; you must lay waste and bring forth punishment for those below before they seek to usurp our throne."
A long silence ensued.
Ignar's brows twitched as memories spread within his mind. Fire. Death. Mercy... He gritted his teeth and shook his head, "I cannot. I refuse. I will not."
The Sharan of Time sighed, "I understand, and so I have called this meeting so that we might hold council."
"Together, we must decide the fate of the Atheian people to ensure our own existence going forward."
"We must discuss what must be done—and we must choose who among us will raise the sword." They let their gaze filled with meaning meet the eyes of the others, "I shall give the floor to the rest, but know my opinion…" They sat down and finished, "It must be done either way."
Ignar's body was tense, his hands bore into the marble of his armrest. He wanted to scream and deny everything that Time wished him to do, but he held his tongue; he found a sense of calm within, his grip loosened, and pebbles of crushed marble sprinkled onto the floor.
He let out a long sigh, breaking the tense silence between them, and he got up to speak. "I see no reason to punish them on the basis of prophecy, especially since the last time any of us tried to go against one, it still came into fruition either way."
"So tell us, Time... If we try to stop what you've once before seen as the inevitable, will our future change, or are we destined to die, thus completing the extinction of our race?" Ignar asked and then sat down.
Time smiled and shook their head, "What I see is only inevitable if we do nothing."
"Our destiny elusive to even me, but…" Their eyes as if sharpened, showing an edge that was not there before... Authority, knowledge, certainty... "I see another future, another outcome, one where the Atheians have perished... One where we still remain."
"I see another race. They will come from the islands, and they will serve us in the end."
Ignar's brows furrowed, "And in this possibility, we live on?"
"Yes, I am certain of it." Time almost hissed and glanced at the others, perhaps looking for support.
The Sharan of Order and Chaos scoffed, gently dismissing Ignar and his worries, and rose from their chair with the calm of one who had already solved the problem.
"Despite War and Peace's rebuttals—rebuttals I do not dismiss—I must still vote in favor." Their voice carried the cold elegance of someone who saw beauty in structure, even if that structure led to ruin.
"This is not vengeance. Nor is it cruelty. It is simply… the thread most likely to be followed."
"We stand at a junction of infinite paths. But among them, one glows brightest—the one where we act. Where we intervene. Where we choose not to be passengers in a crashing ship, but engineers correcting course before entropy claims the whole vessel."
"I do not delight in the extinction of a people. But I cannot ignore the weight of probabilities—the ratios of ruin. If prophecy has revealed that the Atheians are the fulcrum upon which our destruction balances… then to tip the scale otherwise, we must reduce the load."
Their gaze lingered on Ignar, unwavering.
"This is not malice, brother. It is the inevitable flowering of a tree planted long ago. The math is clean, the line is clear. I see no other outcome that leads to survival."
"We must choose this thread of calculated destiny—even if it damns us to carry out the task ourselves." With that, they sat down in silence—one hand tracing unseen patterns on the armrest of their chair, as if mapping the constellations, the stars that they so yearned to reach.
Ignar shook his head and scoured the faces of the others, looking for differing opinions or even doubts. But he mostly found just agreement. Only a few showed something akin to doubt, but one could never be so sure of Lies and Truths, nor Joy and Suffering, for their tears could be by now a showcase of pleasure for the thought of what may come next. And one could not be certain of even Light and Darkness, for they had changed far too much; they had lost the light in their eyes. Now only darkness remained...
"If I may." The Sharan of Life and Death interjected, getting up from their marble chair, letting their own gaze flow over the faces of the others, searching, perhaps trying to understand what the expressions of the others even meant. If they even had meaning to them.
They themselves seemed so calm, lacking any emotion, having no clear expression.
A twisted grin appeared on their face, parting their lips and releasing a sharp grin formed from their teeth. "Why resist what Time has seen?" Their eyes flashed as they looked at each of them, "Better to act—to twist fate before it strangles us."
Their gaze stopped on Light and Darkness, and they raised their brows, "None of us wants to truly die, now do we?"
The Sharan of Light and Darkness looked away, hiding their shame beneath the shadow of their own face. Life and Death's grin widened, and seemingly happier than ever, they sat down, pleased with their own words and with the reactions of the others.
A silence ensued as the others contemplated the few opinions that they had by now heard. But this was cut short by the sudden giggles of the Sharan of Lies and Truths. They spoke between breaths of air and uncontrollable giggling, "But we do! We really do!"
"We want death. We want chaos. We want lies to become truth, and truth to die screaming. And oh, brother, we want there to be war!" Their giggles echoed within the temple. The Sharan of Lies and Truths inhaled sharply, their face became a mask attempting to showcase a speck of long-ago forgotten sincerity. Their giggles faded, and they spoke with a low voice, "None of it matters. None of it ever did. All shall fall under the shadow of our misdeeds." Their gaze locked with Ignar's, "For there to exist such a shameless invention as peace, then it ought only be achieved through the crime of war."
"Go, my brother, slaughter, yet another city. No! Slaughter a tenfold of them! Slaughter billions so that you might reach the peace that you so long for!"
"Kill, so that we all might die!"
All went silent, and everyone's eyes remained on the Sharan of Lies and Truths. Ignar's brow couldn't stop twitching. Within his mind, there was a screech that begged for mercy.
Another silence, one, again, only broken by the words of insanity, "I'm only joking, of course I'm for and against everything at the same time! Go and do slaughter! No, don't!" The Sharan of Lies and Truths giggled, shaking violently, almost falling from their marble chair.
"Whether you do or don't, death will wait at the end of it!" They declared only to giggle some more.
Time shook their head, letting out a long sigh, "Silence, brother. There are still a few who ought to share their thoughts…"
The giggles died, the Sharan of Lies and Truths became as if sedated, they sat deeper into their chair, but holding onto a grin that might burst into giggles whenever given the chance.
After a moment's silence, the Sharan of Joy and Suffering took the floor, "I am inclined to agree with the others who have spoken thus far... For what I see is that we can only benefit if we take this course of action." Tears still ran down their scaly face, "To survive, even if the chance for it is minimal, I am willing to do anything—even kill." They sat back down, having presented their thoughts on the matter.
A devastated scream cut through the final two words, "No!" The others turned toward the Sharan of Light and Darkness. They had gotten up, their body frail and sickly, "Do you not feel shame? To harbor such thoughts? To plan yet another genocide?"
Their voice cracked, "Have we not done enough? Have we not lived and suffered for far too long?" Their footing faltered, and they collapsed back onto their chair, but they still managed to whisper, "Can't we just accept our fate?"
A wave of shame ran through Ignar. Every inch of his body felt ticklish, far too sickening to inhabit. His brows twitched more violently.
"Brother," The Sharan of Love and Hatred spoke, their voice as calm as ever. Their tone was sweet and gentle, "Do not cast your shame upon us. Do not project your wishes onto us." They got up from their chair and walked to the Sharan of Light and Darkness, going around Time and Judgment until they reached them. They gently placed their hand onto their arm and leaned closer, whispering something into their ear that the others were not allowed to hear.
A light flashed in the eyes of Light and Darkness, their eyes trembled, and a tear slipped down their cheek. "I... am for it." The words muffled like ash. "I must be." They cast their gaze onto the table, not raising it again, not meeting eyes with the others.
Each scale on Ignar's body shifted, or it felt like they did, as violent shivers ran through him. He felt so sick. He couldn't comprehend. He couldn't understand why they couldn't just make the right decision. Why couldn't they accept their fate... Why now?
The Sharan of Judgment then got up, a victorious smile lay on their lips as they spoke, "Then we are in agreement in the end. Eight over one…" They locked their gaze onto Ignar and then pronounced their judgment, one could imagine a gavel striking the round table shared by them: "War and Peace, we have reached a consensus; the word of the majority is to become the rule and the law in this moment." They shook their head slightly, "Forgive us, brother, despite your wishes, we must eradicate the Atheians."
"Let it be known: eight over one. The voice of War and Peace is heard… but the sword will be lifted nonetheless." They spoke, and they did seem apologetic, but in their voice remained a sprinkle of gleefulness.
So many words of denial rose in Ignar's throat—but none escaped. Through clenched teeth, he surrendered: "Then I must."
And through it all, the Sharan of Time only smiled. They had seen this outcome long ago; they must have. And even now, they watched the future unfold—thread by thread, blade by blade—as they always had. As they always would.