" The mind finds truth in what is seen but true chaos hides in what is not "
[ many souls wander in the illusions of existence, mistaking reflections and shadows for reality. They pry at the veil in order to understand the dream, yet fall deeper into a depraved nightmare. A hungry chaos. In a world where the lowest of fish could become the mightiest of dragons, by simply accepting the ruptures that bridge stillness faster than thought. This is the nature of chaos, a catalyst for a horrifying change,
Order resists this for a reason, it cradles hope, cultivates an illusionary peace. Chaos does not pause, it does not console and it certainly does not create, it is the storm that changes the time, the force that moves the clock, it is the simplest of understandings that only in chaos, only in the cruel embrace of ruin and despair can there be transformation ]
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The mountain wound upward like the spine of an ancient creature, black rock wet from the pouring rain as flickers of the souls of the forsaken clung tightly near the earth. The sky was dark enough that it devoured thought, expanding as far as the eye could see. A purplish thunder pulsed now and then as it's glow revealed the impossible shapes of creatures writhing abnormally within them, shadows of forgotten gods, fossils long lost once feared.
The wind carried a low hum, almost like a voice to Hera as she ascended the mountain with her sisters,
The women moved in silence but for the steady rhythm of their breaths The two behind Hera bore torches that burned green, their light unnatural and ghostly dancing across their hoods and the uneven stone stairs. Hera gazed at her black cloak, its gold accents shifting as the cloak hung loosely on her body, as She moved forward as though on instinct, led by something she couldn't understand, not that she would ever want to.
The 3 finally reached the summit and stopped as they observed the plateau. It opened into a narrow ledge that ended at a jagged cliff. At its heart an altar stood — a spiral of bones fused together by centuries of wind. The rain fell heavier as the air filled with the scent of metal and storm and something that seemed sweetly rotten.
With a glance form here the 2 followers behind her steeped forward, their hoods shifted as they shared a silent glance — no hesitation, no fear. They let their torches fall, the green flames hissing against the wet rock, scattering sparks then in one motion both drew knives from their sleeves and slit their throats in a clean. The sound was soft almost courteous as the air left their pipes
Their bodies dropped. Blood spilled thick and dark spreading upon the ground and in that instance the world stilled, thunder streaked the skies as the shadows above stopped to watch.
Hera walked forward her cloak moving through the puddles on the ground as she approached the altar, she knelt forward head bowed low as words rung in her head, words in a language she couldn't ever know yet somehow understood, in a trembling voice she spoke to the ears of the storm;
" The midnight giant that lifts the crimson,
The dweller of the indigo well,
The eyes of the titans of void…
Come Arkata'altuza — the fog of the fallen "
Her words didn't echo. They stayed, suspended in the air, vibrating like a pulse. Then slowly the corpses that lay behind her rose. Limbs dangling, eyes open but unseeing? Blood lifted from their wounds drawn by invincible strings, coiling in the air — a slow spiral of red mist. It streamed into the altar, then a soft hum followed with a bright glow from within, bones creaked as they moved rearranging themselves in patterns that hurt to look at.
The mountain trembled as time continued, a low guttural moan came from the cliffs edge and then the earth tore open.
A pillar of pure black erupted upwards, threads of purple light coiling like streaks of lighting, the clouds above convulsed and through brief illumination, something enormous swirled — a silhouette with far too many limbs, and far more eyes than it should
Hera looked up at her lord, arms open and drenched in wind, rain and blood light. The others hung motionless mid air, their bodies swaying like marionettes in prayer as screams of the damned began to echo from the skies
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The rain was endless, but it wasn't water. It was light — dim, red and thick as oil — dripping from a wounded sky
Above, where heaven should lay, hung a single, colossal eye in a world of red. Its iris churned like molten glass, and from its corners streamed rivers of blood, falling upwards and downwards at once. Each pulse of its pupils rippled the air as though reality in its entirety stretched thin under its gaze.
And beneath the chaos of this world was a single cemetery, quiet asides from the futile hiss of the rain. Every gravestone leaned, half-swallowed by mud that smelled faintly of iron. At the heart of the cemetery stood a lone figure.
White robes, pristine and dry even in the rain clung to his frame. Skin grey as cooled ash, gold ran along his wrists like veins drawn by a trembling hand, curling and shifting, almost alive. From his joints jutted gold lines, faintly pulsing with inner light. Behind his head floated a halo — bright as a golden sun, uneven yet perfect in its entirety, rays cutting outward like spokes of a wheel that refused to turn.
His golden eyes seemed lifeless yet brimming with the essences of the whole world, he was beautiful in a way that hurt one's eyes to look at. Like a the loveliest melody woven into flesh.
He stared down at the nameless grave laying at his feet. The letters on the stone blurred and bled, refusing to stay. The expression on his face wasn't grief — it as vacancy. The kind of emptiness that comes after the last year has forgotten what it meant to fall.
Then another voice came — soft, almost too soft for a place that shouldn't exist.
" you always return to the end ", it said.
The man turned slightly. A stranger stood behind him — a human, or something close enough. No light bent around him, no mark of the corrupted or light of the divine, no shadow that lingered too long. He was plain — so ordinary it hurt the eyes to focus. All he could tell was the unremarkable black hair that seemed freshly trimmed?
The stranger looked at the tombstone, then up at the bleeding sky. " it's waking again ", he murmured. " you can feel it, can't you? The ache of repetition. "
The grey man said nothing. The rain hissed softly at it slid of his robes unable to soak in.
" You've spent eons asking the same question, " the stranger continued, his voice almost kind. " why does knowledge taste like ash. Why can't omniscience grasp the strings that hold it. "
The grey man's eyes lifted, hollow and slow. " You speak as though you remember. "
A small smile emerged on the stranger " I never forget ", he took a step forward, his shape wavering his face blurring continuously under the guise of normalcy. " But you — you dear Adam have forgotten the cost of remembering "
Lightning screamed across the red sky, the eye crying a great amount of blood as veins bulge on its surface, sounds that followed could only be referred to as the last vestige of a dying god breathing through glass
Adam closed his eyes, his name resounding as he finally realised, he had forgotten so much. " Then tell me. What do I do "
The stranger tilted his head as though studying him, " you always ask that as though there's a different path to walk on "
" How many times has this happened ", Adam asked his voice hollow
" There's no count worth keeping, time has never been a circle, it's never the same, it's a beast constantly changing and evolving like a dream with no understanding of its conclusion "
Adam's halo flickered, it's rays bending inward like wilted spears. The ground trembled as graves began to sink. The blood rain poured even harder with a guttural roar echoing in agony?
" Then why am I here? ", Adam asked his voice breaking.
The blur smiled wider, teeth too straight, too white, his only aspect that didn't seem so mundane, " Because someone must dream us all, you're merely a cog in the wheel of a great machine "
The eye above began to move — it's pupils darting, searching in a panicked frenzy. The world around them screamed, a sound that carried every tongue and none
" This time " the stranger said softly, eyes lifting towards the sky, " it's searching for me "
Adam frowned. " For you? "
"Yes." The blur pulsed, flickering in and out of form. "And when it sees me… it ends you."
Adam's voice trembled. "Who are you?"
The stranger's smile widened, and for a heartbeat, the warmth in it twisted—became something ancient, obscene, and joyous, "I am the part HE forgot to name."
Adam stepped back. "You shouldn't exist."
"Neither should you," the blur replied, and his voice fractured like static. "That's why we meet here. At the seam where existence comes undone, where u finally look outside the well you've been in"
The Eye fixed on them both. The air split open. Sound inverted. The graves lifted from the mud as if gravity had grown confused.
The stranger's words came last, barely audible through the rising roar. "Sleep now, Adam. And when you wake I would wish to see u again."
The light from the Eye surged—red swallowing all color, all form— and the world blinked out, it would feel like a memory, an old picture slowly set on fire