Mu'u Tou't stood at the edge of shadows, in the corridor, where he and Kanrel had many long conversations. And past the edge... this threshold, he learned the truth.
Or so he thought.
He had expected the end, with flames and the very ceiling above them collapsing onto them. With the Darshi being the very cause of it, for he had seen it; within the Globes, within the Veil... he had seen it in Kanrel, in the light that Kanrel had produced, that pushed the darkness away, that scorched the Veil...
But nothing happened after.
For a decade the Darshi lived here. A decade, and nothing. A decade, then he just... left.
To die?
Nothing happened.
"Are you all right?" asked Me'ur Au'ur, an Atheian scholar, a brilliant mind, famed for her breakthroughs in the nature of magic. Her voice was soft.
Mu'u Tou't blinked. He peered at her. Her gaze wasn't on his eyes but on his hand. He followed her gaze... his hand. He was gripping the crystal; he could feel the magic running within the gem.
He loosened his grip and met her gaze, "A memory of old, nothing more."
The woman peered back. They could both hear steps approaching. Her lips twitched a quick smile, "I suppose I don't have time to pry further."
Mu'u Tou't's brows slightly furrowed; the steps were getting closer, "I suppose you might pry at another time," he said, just before the next Atheian came to take his place at the edge of darkness...
He gave away the spare crystal in his pocket, then stepped past the person who replaced him. It didn't take long for him to return to his thoughts. The tunnel became just another walk to serve his thoughts; the lights around him weren't there, and that which was left behind him might as well never have existed. The physicality of things didn't matter; only that which happened had any meaning to it.
Mu'u Tou't believed that truth can be found from within—deep in the hearts of men. One just has to peel away and discard all the shit: the lies and presumptions, the things you aren't and only pretend to be. Layer after layer of what is believed to constitute the self, one can find its core—the thing you are, not what others made you to become; the being you were meant to be, led astray by the truths and morals of others.
He did not only believe that this truth could be found from within, but that he had almost reached it; that he had understood it; that he was only a few steps from perfecting himself, and denouncing all else except the core.
He stepped out of the tunnel, letting his feet lead him, only focusing on his thoughts. The crisis of faith that he had undergone. Had his belief been wrong since the beginning? Had he not found his core in oblivion? Had he not seen Kanrel burn the Veil away?
Forgotten. They wished to be forgotten, not forevermore trapped among the shadows, in a purgatory of eternal remembrance. Who would ever wish such a fate?
He halted. Standing just outside the Sanctuary, his eyes set on the darkness most physical. Something he had thought to give an ability to peer further within; to see past all the shit that had pushed itself to surround the core.
Had it, too, lied to him?
A useless question to ask, for like a sinner, he revered them. A feeling emerged from within as the Globes of Darkness tempted him to lock his gaze into them.
And he couldn't say 'no,' now could he? Is there a creature able to? So, he peered in, trying to look deeper than before, to see the reflection offered by the abyss...
It was... dark... a different world. A land without a ceiling above them; yet the Veil covered and became it. A light tried to pierce through, but it was not allowed... and there was this sound, it filled him, it filled the world around him, like... static, as tears fell down from the heavens... and with each drop, comes a memory; with each moment more torment, with each passing second... pain.
There is no oblivion. There is no freedom. There is nothing to set them free.
Why can't I forget?
What? Forget what?
Cold sweat ran down his back. Shivers forced themselves through his body, like searching for a place of warmth, of blissful amnesia, and Elysium.
He ripped his gaze apart. No more would he peer in. His heart beat like a miner trying to breach through bedrock. His body trembled with each strike to his core. Peeled away, layer by layer. Not much more to go.
With all his will, he pushed himself away from the Globes, away from outside, running inside, taking support from the walls of the first corridor; running past other Atheians deep in their own thoughts and studies; running past them as they looked at him; as they judged him; as they called for his name; as they knew not what he now knew.
He ran like there was someone right behind; someone that wanted to take him out, that wanted to take away the thoughts that he was about to reach; the core that was right there within him, just a few more layers to peel; then there would be the truth that he so yearned for. Somewhere in the abyss, he would find himself. Somewhere past oblivion, he would find meaning in whichever form it might present itself.
He burst through his door, into his own little room, the unadorned box of stone where he slept and wrote until his fingers would peel and bleed. He locked the door behind him, making sure that no one would enter. That no one would follow him; that no one was there to stop him from reaching in, and peeling away what tainted him; what obstructed the truth.
With shaking hands, he opened a notebook, pulled out a pen, and began to write. What he had seen...
The land with no ceiling; the darkness that would arise and cover it; the tears that would fall, and the pain they would bring. It was no oblivion, but it was what would come.
Had the fires already happened? Had Kanrel burned them? Had he? Or was that just to come... something around the corner. He had seen it. He had seen his fire. Kanrel's fire; the fire of the Darshi. The demon from above, much like the Sharan, he would doom them; he would force them to leave behind yet another empire; yet another home they had built...
But it was better... like this. Right? To forget, to reach the enticing bliss of emptiness, of nothing, one must be ready to leave behind that which was. To forget, one must leave all behind.
Much like Kanrel had done... Had he not? Did the Darshi still remember the faces of those whom he so loved? The things that existed far above the lands of shadows below? Had he reached a point where memory had become just a faint thing that could not be quite touched, that would soon vanish, allowing oblivion to come?
He wrote. Mu'u Tou't wrote. He must be right. He knew the truth. Did he not? The Darshi, he was here not only to ruin them, not only to burn them, to burn away the Veil, but he was here to teach him; to show him the truth... The Darshi, he was not only a Sharan in disguise, a deviant, a nonbeliever amongst pure... He was here to corrupt them, and corrupt us he did... He had already devoured them. The moment he had gained entrance into the Sanctuary, it was already too late.
Kanrel, the Darshi, would lead them away. He would mark the destruction of the Atheian kingdom built beneath the shadow of the world above, surrounded by the shadows that screeched around them, reminding them of their destruction... not just theirs, but ours.
He kept writing. Each word he placed on paper became one with his truth. Each new realization cemented into him, peeling away the lies that had hidden away his core. And after each sentence given, paragraph at a time, a page, and soon the whole book, filled to the brim. It all revealed it. His core...
This is what he was. And this is who he is to become. The truth.
What truth? His truth. Their truth. The truth known only by him; one that must be shared with all, lest they aren't prepared for the end that is to come. Lest their empire, and their people, too, would die where they weren't supposed to die.
Even if oblivion is what he searched for, it must happen in a place that he had foreseen.
The land without a ceiling. That is where they will go. That is where their people will live. And die. Until all that is left is oblivion. Until they are forgotten. Until the world forgets that they ever were.
A knock at the door.
Who is it? Who is it? Who? No one? God?
His hands shook, and the pen dropped onto the open notebook now filled with truth.
What if... what if it was them? What if they were there to take him away? What if the Council had found out that he was so close to it? What if they wanted his words to be forgotten, that his truth is to be buried and slaughtered, transformed into something it never was... what if... today, he would die?
Would he want that? Should the truth die? Should he accept the sweet embrace of oblivion if it meant that all of them would die where they weren't meant to? Against destiny?
No.
He got up from his stone chair, which moved slightly, even when it weighed almost as much as he did.
Another knock.
He gritted his teeth and prepared himself. A step toward the door. He was ready for it. A step toward violence. He placed his hand on the lock. A step away from oblivion. He released the lock. And the door opened.
It was him. He stood there. Shorter than him. Dark hair and hazel eyes. Ugly beard that covered his jaw and his chin, the hair atop his lip. His large nose... his skinny stature. He smiled.
Demon. Darshi. Kanrel.
Mu'u Tou't pulled him into his room, he flung the human at the floor, he pulled the door shut, and he jumped on top of him, he curled his powerful hands around his fragile neck, and he squeezed. He would sever this life from existence. He would not have him, not yet. The Darshi was not allowed to murder him, not when Mu'u Tou't knew the truth.
His eyes once blue; now bloodshot. He huffed as he squeezed.
Suddenly, his fingers uncurled, as his body met magic—Darshi, he told himself—and suddenly, he didn't see him. He was flying toward the ceiling. Stuck against it, and a loud thump was all he could hear as he came into contact with the ground soon after. Pain struck through; it colored away all else. He could not breathe... How? Had the Darshi overpowered him... again?
The world spun, but even then, he prepared a spell. If not with his hands, then with his magics... the human would die. With all the physical strength that he had left, he managed to sit up. He saw not in one, but three; the figure stood looming, unknown for a moment. A woman?
Dark robes. Gray skin. Eyes piercing blue filled with curiosity, not malice. She massaged her throat, yet wore a grin on her face.
It wasn't the Darshi. It wasn't Kanrel... It was the woman he had spoken with earlier...
"Forgive me, Me'ur... I've made a terrible mistake," he managed to mutter between long breaths.
She let out a thin laugh, "Another memory of old?" Her smile was sweet as she stared at him, but that lasted only a moment, for her curious eyes already searched the room. All the things that there were, and how they differed from her own room.
In the end, her gaze was set on the notebook... at that moment, Mu'u Tou't got up and went between her and his notes. Their gazes met, one of surprise mixed with curiosity, and the other filled with only suspicion.
She tilted her head, "Important notes, I suppose?"
He only stared at her; measured her. Would she understand? Would she... get the truth?
His hairless brows furrowed as he peered at her, "What do you see within the darkness?" he suddenly asked, "Within the Globes?"
Her smile faded. She had seemed relaxed just a moment ago, even when his hands had been around her neck. Why had she been so calm? And why was she so... tense, all of a sudden?
"The rain," she whispered.
"The rain?"
She nodded, "It is something I read about once... the Darshi, Kanrel, I read about it in one of his books…"
"Describe it to me," he demanded.
"It is... water that falls from the heavens, like tears... and its sound is like a slow hiss."
He nodded, "Yes," a mutter escaped his lips, "Like rain, a slow hiss—like tears and static…"
"You have seen what I have seen, not quite but almost…" Mu'u Tou't said, then explained what he had seen, and what he had seen long before, and how it all had connected to the Darshi.
"Me'ur... you must read what I have written," he concluded, "You must come to understand the truth, for what you have seen is what will happen to us. Not you and me, but all of us."
"Me'ur, we must warn our people of a doom that is to come. We must warn them, before it is too late," he almost begged.
She stared at him; it was her turn to measure the person before them. She wasn't convinced, not entirely. But it did not matter, for she stepped past him and sat down on the stone chair; she shifted through the pages, reaching the first one.
She began to read.
- - -
What is insanity? And whatever it might be, could it then also be this? Gor wondered as he read through the notes he had written based on Kanrel's writings.
These mentions that there were things that weren't real, per se. A creature sitting upon a throne, looking down at Kanrel, smiling; then came the darkness that swallowed all else.
Mentions of a god, walking down a ruined city, and a butterfly soon scorched by it.
A figure with a strange symbol on their back, soon revealed to be Vaur'Kou'n on the day of Y'Kraun's wedding... Who were they, those symbol-bearers? No explanation. Nothing in the later journals.
Then there was the profound emptiness present on each page. Not as blank space on the page, but in the sentences themselves; in what forced the Darshi to write.
A mention of a great discovery; something not known by the Darshi or Atheians, but something that was once known by the Sharan... The very nature of magic, in the form of light most holy.
There was no mention of what exactly it was, or what code he chose to use; for the pages that probably had mentioned such things simply weren't there. Someone had removed them, possibly destroyed them. Ragged threads and half-torn pages serve as proof of it.
But, there remained a mention of its properties... what it did:
"Blue sparkles that emerge and then merge into one. Flashing like the first rays of the morning sun. Somehow holy, yet so evil. Purer than all else, yet corrupt to its very core...
When met with the smoldering darkness, it would push against it, and the Veil dared not bear witness to it; not able to withstand before it. And as I launched into the awaiting darkness, it scorched it, and the Veil screeched in reply. It burned, it killed, it made them forget... The Veil is afraid of it, as much as I am afraid of what there is to be seen when in touch with it. It took a while before it refilled itself, and hid away the scar that I had opened.
Soon after I fainted and was thrust into a dream, no, a vision…
I saw meadows as they withered, and I stood silent and bore witness. And when the fields bloomed, I waited. And as it died, I searched for a new meaning…
There was no life left to love. And that valley, and its field, had filled with the dead; and I wished to be part of it. I wished to be among them.
And when the first flower bloomed, I was there, already waiting for its death. They all wither in the end, and so I bore witness. I spoke not a word, for we all die. And when they were but carcasses, fallen wretches, it would be my time to leave and find another meadow. Time for the same cycle to begin anew…
And as my tears nourish this new meadow, I see a flower in bloom. There is only one, but soon there will be two. When these flowers meet, the beginning of the end will commence. When these flowers meet, everything that could ever matter will finally come to pass.
With the first flower's bloom, death had already begun. With the second flower's bloom, life would continue, if only for a moment longer.
The garden is withering, the one I watch and guard from the shadows."
Something in this "holy yet evil light" causes such a reaction. It burns the Veil, yet it takes its toll on the person who uses it... Causing one to faint, to see things that aren't real; things that feel like madness...
Strange, it was. But that is all that there was of it. The journals filled during his time at the Sanctuary seemed to be useless. They didn't tell the exact truth; they only meandered around it. They mentioned people and what they did, but not by name, not even giving a description of what they might've looked like. But what was made known was regret for even entering the damn place. Regret for wasting years instead of just doing what he had planned to do for a while.
Worries of forgetting who you once knew to love. Forgetting what things like rain might feel like, or what trees might look like. The faces of the people he had loved.
It made Gor understand him a little more, at least. Maybe his desire to leave them behind wasn't so... cruel as he had put it. The only issue, perhaps, was the fact that he did so behind his and Y'Kraun's backs. It made him also realize that maybe, just maybe, it was cruel of Gor to expect and wish for Kanrel to stay with them for such a long time.
Up there, above these lands of shadows below, there must be people who knew Kanrel, who loved him, who have now accepted that he is dead, even when he lived almost 15 years just under them. Did they still remember what he looked like? Was there still someone who hoped to find him, or his body? Or had they just... given up?
Gor's brows furrowed. It must be difficult, and it must've been even more difficult for Kanrel.
Giving up... Did Kanrel hope that the people who loved him, his friends and his family, did he hope that they would not give up? That they would wait for him, and look for him, even if it meant that they found nothing?
Surely not. Having such hope in itself can be so painful. To always expect to find something, a mark or a writing that might give an idea where he might be, or what might have happened to him, but in the end, not finding anything at all.
Wouldn't one almost want to be then forgotten, so that the lack of uncertainty wouldn't again and again break the hearts of those he clearly still loved?
But at the same time... Kanrel himself wouldn't want to forget them. He wouldn't want to give up and not try his utmost to find some way back home.
It is paradoxical. It is selfish: to claim for himself the right not to give up, and not to forget. To carry, alone, two heavy, heartbreaking weights that drag him down with every moment alive.
Surely, Gor could give up, to give a peace of mind for Kanrel, but even then, the Darshi wouldn't know for a fact that he was forgotten, or that no one did anything to try to find him. The worry itself was useless to have, for one wouldn't be able to know without contact if they did or did not think or worry or seek him.
Like a thought in superposition. A state of mind that had no proof to it, for he himself wasn't there to see the mind of someone else. He himself wasn't there to see what actions were taken with him in mind. He himself wasn't there to hear their cries, their protests, or their stories of him that by now were more like eulogies.
Gor couldn't help but snort. All that he had done, the other might never know of, but he might've expected or foreseen the possibility of.
This thing that he had started, to mostly give himself meaning; to give himself solace from the possibility of losing someone dear to him for all eternity.
Giving up wasn't an option. It really wasn't anymore. Not when the conclusion that he had come to was so simple: He didn't know if Kanrel was alive or dead, so he should make sure he was. To either find him well and alive, or to find his rotting corpse and bring it back here. To give himself and Y'Kraun, and U'Ran'Ui and L'ek'ral, and L'enu'n the peace of mind that they deserved.
Kanrel's potential worries and his right to do whatever the hell he wanted to do shouldn't trump Gor's or Y'Kraun's or anybody else's right to do the exact same thing, even if it was something that fed into Kanrel's worries or fears.
Everything had been done so recklessly either way. It made no sense to do things in any other way. If his friend had been reckless, then Gor would be as well.
Surely it is. This is insanity. To read on. To refuse the mercy of forgetting. To make a problem where there might only be a wound. So be it. And if it were so, then he shall indulge in it; he shall go all the way, without giving up, even if it was insane not to. He had the right to be as foolish as Kanrel.
At least, he had something to go off of. Singular mention: "Everything I knew, of all its properties, I placed into it." Whatever that means, Gor would figure out. To hell with how much time it would take. It didn't matter. Why would he give up if Kanrel hadn't given up after 15 fucking years?
Gor simply got to it. What else would he do?
He opened up a new page and began writing: "What does he mean by 'everything' or 'its properties?' What is 'it'?"
This room, he would not leave it before he understood it, and perhaps even mastered it. This room would become his cave.
To hell with the world outside. Whatever happened there barely even mattered.
He would master it, if it didn't unmake him first.