Greinar

These are the words of the Asara Kazeel, written in the elder tongue of the Ivalieh before the ending of the elder ages.

What is written here is truth seen through the veil of prophecy. It speaks not as history, but as memory of that which is yet to come. Read therefore with wisdom, for within every seed there is the promise of a flower.

—-

As time passed, the children of the adjoining galaxies, Hyloe, Lisie, and Oniem, found their path among the stars.

And in finding the stars, they found one another.

This was not an age of peace.

They contended, as all children do before wisdom has settled upon them. Kingdom rose against kingdom. Brother stood against brother. Some died. Some endured. Some passed beyond remembrance.

It is the way of things.

Yet those who survived were strengthened by hardship. Through suffering they found endurance. Through conflict they found resolve. Those who remained after that first age of destruction and fear forged alliances, raised empires, and entered the second phase of their lives.

Then, over thousands upon thousands of millennia, each child discovered who it truly was.

For no child had been made complete.

And so each sought its two brothers.

Some searched in vain. One brother had fallen to fear. Another to pride. Another to the hungers of lesser ages. Those who remained alone passed from the Universe.

It is the way of things.

But those who were reunited discovered the purpose for which they had first been born.

Quietly they became one.

Strength became one with Wisdom.

Wisdom became one with Grace.

And thus the three were one.

The transition was complete.

Many had died.

Few had endured.

Fewer still were born anew, transformed into splendid beings, ready to take their place beyond the ending of the Universe.

It is the way of things.

—-

Time passed, and the Universe evolved, as do all things within it.

Lisje had been before, and so he did not.

He had watched many Universes flower and collapse. He had seen light born from nothing, and nothing take back the light. He had sown his children through the vastness, and at the inevitable ending of every Universe had gathered the worthy into Heaven, that place beyond dimension, beyond time, beyond the reach of dying stars.

The Ivalieh had served him well.

Much had been accomplished.

It was almost complete.

The Universe had grown old, and Heaven had become home to the children of many elder worlds. The Ivalieh had served Lisje faithfully throughout this age. That had been their honour.

Now their appointed labour drew toward its ending.

Another would tend the garden in the Universe to come.

Only one among the many races would endure beyond the ending of this age.

The others would pass away.

It is the way of things.

Then Lisje bore children.

Beautiful children.

Children unlike any that had come before.

They carried within them a promise Lisje had not seen before, in all eternity.

And when next he bore children, the promise was greater still.

Then Lisje knew wonder, though wonder had never before touched him.

The Ivalieh looked upon the three, and the three, and knew they were unlike any children who had come before them.

Yet they were sown among the three galaxies-Oniem, Lisie, and Hilien-as all children had always been.

The first three made their home in Oniem.

The second, more wondrous still, were divided.

One entered Lisie.

Two remained within Oniem.

This had never been done before.

The Ivalieh perceived what others did not.

All three bore Strength.

Two bore Wisdom.

Two bore Grace.

One was less than the others.

Yet it did not matter.

For never before had these gifts been so richly sown among a single triad.

This had never happened before, in all eternity.

Then the Ivalieh beheld the second three.

Again Strength.

Again Wisdom.

Again Grace.

Yet their promise surpassed even the first.

The Ivalieh looked upon them with both joy and fear.

For never had Lisje sown children with such promise.

This had never happened before, in all eternity.

Lisje loved all his children.

Yet these he loved most.

Therefore the Ivalieh, who had never before guided the growth of any race so closely, were commanded to watch over them.

This had never happened before, in all eternity.

So the Ivalieh nurtured the three, and the three, for neither was yet complete.

They gave them progress.

They gave them knowledge.

They gave them craft.

They gave them speech.

They gave them memory.

They taught them the shaping of Acal.

The Ivalieh who came to Oniem and Lisie never departed.

The ages passed over them, and they remembered no longer.

And it was well.

—-

Yet nothing hidden endures forever.

The elder children of Lisje first suspected.

Then they knew.

They saw that their Father had shown favour to those who came after them.

They saw gifts bestowed that had never before been given.

And they said among themselves:

"Surely these shall endure beyond the ending of the Universe.

Surely they shall take our place.

Surely we shall pass away."

Anger entered their hearts.

Then sorrow.

Then envy.

At last came jealousy.

This had never happened before, in all eternity.

Nor would it ever happen again.

Time passed.

The seed that had been planted took root.

Quietly, beyond the sight of Lisje and beyond the knowing of the Ivalieh, jealousy grew.

The elder children looked upon the races nurtured in Oniem and Lisie, and hatred entered their hearts.

Patiently they conceived their design.

Not a war of conquest.

Not a war of glory.

A hidden war.

A war against becoming.

Thus evil entered Heaven.

Where before there had been none.

Lisje saw nothing.

His eyes rested upon the children whom he loved.

The Ivalieh saw nothing.

They had never imagined that deceit could dwell in Heaven.

Time passed.

The child in Lisie was struck first.

They did not strike at its flesh.

They struck at its becoming.

The Geneler lost the gift of Acal.

They lived.

They endured.

Yet they would never become what they had been sown to become.

Lisje saw this, but too late.

He saw that one of his children had died, though it still lived.

He saw that his greatest work had been broken.

And Lisje wept.

He knew there was no healing to be found.

Yet he did not know what hand had struck the blow.

Nor did the Ivalieh know.

But they knew one prodigy yet remained.

Therefore they watched over Oniem more closely than ever before.

The elder children understood they had acted with too much haste.

The second wound would be quieter.

Not by force.

Not by fire.

But by corruption.

Quietly they entered Oniem.

With but the slightest touch they sowed forgetfulness into the blood of the Anjil.

The blood remembered no longer.

Age followed age.

The children of the Anjil lived.

They endured.

Yet they would never become what they had been sown to become.

As the ages passed, all the children of Oniem began to forget.

They forgot the roads once walked by their fathers.

They forgot the songs of the Ivalieh.

They forgot the truths that had shaped them from the beginning.

One by one, the lights of the elder days faded.

They began to die...

without dying.

When Lisje looked upon them, he saw only that his prodigies were fading.

He did not know the hand that had wounded them.

He believed, perhaps, that this also was the way of things.

Yet hope remained within him.

He granted them more time.

For perhaps time might yet heal what no hand could mend.

—-

Yet hope remained within him.

He granted them more time.

For perhaps time might yet heal what no hand could mend.

Thus the garden was not yet forsaken.

Lisje looked upon his broken children.

He mourned them.

He saw no healing.

Therefore he entrusted the garden to the Ivalieh, that they should gather what could yet be gathered, and clear that which could no longer flower.

It is the way of things.

—-

But the seed remembered.

The promise bore its first flower.

And the flower was a Rose.

Lisje looked once more upon his children.

And hope returned.

Then Lisje spoke.

He called to the Ivalieh.

"Stay your hand.

The garden yet bears promise.

Do not clear what yet may flower."

Therefore he commanded them to wait.

Only a little longer.

Only the span of a breath beside the life of a Universe.

—-

The enemy beheld these things.

And he knew.

If the word reached the Ivalieh,

all that had been wrought would come to nothing.

Therefore he stood between the speaker and the spoken.

Between the messenger and the message.

And silence became another weapon.

The word reached them not.

Therefore they put their hands once more to the garden, believing its flowering at an end.

—-

The gardeners came first to Lisie.

And there the fairest garden was cut down.

Yet one seed crossed the darkness between the galaxies.

It took root,

but it did not flower.

—-

Then the gardeners came to Oniem.

Nothing beneath the stars could withstand them.

Before mercy reached them,

a third of the children of Oniem had passed away.

Some died.

Some moved on.

It is the way of things.

Then mercy reached them.

And the gardeners stayed their hands.

For the first time in all eternity,

they looked upon a living branch they had believed dead.

Great silence fell upon them.

For they had tended the gardens of Lisje since before the memory of worlds.

Never before had they cut down that which still lived.

And they mourned.

—-

Yet while sorrow filled the hearts of the gardeners,

hatred filled the hearts of the elder children.

They knew that mercy had come.

They knew the garden yet lived.

They knew the promise endured.

And fear entered them once more.

For they saw that all they had wrought would, in time, be undone.

Then they turned their hands away from the children of the galaxies.

And toward their Father.

Darkness.

A war entered Heaven.

Not for dominion.

Not for glory.

But because fear had forgotten love.

Lisje knew not what had come upon his children.

Those whom he had gathered from the endings of countless Universes.

Those whom he had loved.

Those whom he had trusted.

They came against him.

And Lisje did not understand.

For never before had child raised hand against Father.

This had never happened before,

in all eternity.

The Ivalieh were far away.

The gardeners still walked beneath the stars.

And Lisje stood alone.

Darkness.

The battle was swift.

The children of many Universes were mighty.

Yet none had ever lifted their strength against the one who had gathered them.

Thus they destroyed the Father.

And in destroying him,

they destroyed themselves.

For hatred consumed that which had given it life.

Darkness.

When the battle was ended,

Heaven stood silent.

The enemy looked upon the ruin.

And he rejoiced.

For this had been his purpose from the beginning.

Not the death of the children.

Not the fall of the gardens.

But the emptying of Heaven itself.

—-

Yet the work of Lyfujil was not complete.

Though Heaven had fallen,

the garden yet endured.

Though the Father had been slain,

the promise yet lived.

The children of Oniem mourned their dead.

The children of Lisie were no more, save those few who had crossed the darkness between the galaxies.

The Ivalieh gathered among the ruins of the worlds they had believed lost.

And they mourned also.

For they had not failed in obedience.

Yet through obedience they had become the instrument of the greatest sorrow since the first dawn.

This had never happened before,

in all eternity.

—-

The enemy looked upon the children of the present Universe.

He saw that they still endured.

He saw that the promise had not withered.

Then he turned his hand once more toward corruption.

Not all among the children possessed Wisdom.

Many hungered.

Many feared.

Many sought strength without Grace.

To such hearts Lyfujil whispered.

He promised dominion over death.

He promised power beyond the measure of kings.

He promised that no ending need ever come.

And many listened.

For fear speaks loudly to those who have looked upon the grave.

Thus corruption spread once more among the children.

Not by conquest.

Not by fire.

But by despair.

—-

Yet the promise endured.

The blood had remembered no longer.

Yet the seed remembered still.

That which had been broken sought once more to become whole.

The flower grew quietly beneath the shadow of ruined branches.

Few perceived it.

Fewer understood it.

The enemy saw only another child.

The Ivalieh saw the first blossom of hope.

But Lisje saw it no more.

Darkness.

—-

The children of the Rose grew in silence.

Not by strength alone.

Nor by wisdom alone.

Nor by grace alone.

But because the three had become one.

Thus the promise first spoken at the sowing of the children began at last to flower.

Not in one soul.

Not in one house.

Not in one people.

But in a new beginning.

For no child had ever been made complete.

Yet now completion walked beneath the stars.

This had never happened before,

in all eternity.

—-

The enemy looked upon the Rose,

and fear came upon him.

For he understood at last what had escaped him.

He had broken the blood.

He had scarred the garden.

He had slain the Father.

Yet still the promise endured.

Then Lyfujil gathered unto himself all who still clung to the elder hatred.

Those who would not yield.

Those who would not pass away.

Those who had forgotten Grace.

Thus the last alliance was forged.

Not against kingdoms.

Not against worlds.

But against the future itself.

—-

The Rose beheld these things.

The Rose saw the empty Heaven.

The Rose saw the broken garden.

The Rose saw the children who yet remained.

And the Rose wept.

Not for itself.

But for the Father whom it had never known.

For the gardeners who had unknowingly cut living branches.

For the children of Lisie.

For the children of Oniem.

For all that had been lost.

And the tears of the Rose fell upon the garden.

Where they fell,

hope remained.

—-

Then the Rose turned its face toward the place beyond worlds.

Toward the prison of Lyfujil.

For while he endured,

the garden could never know peace.

Thus the flower entered the darkness.

Not in anger.

Not in vengeance.

But because no garden may flourish while blight remains at its root.

Darkness.

No child beneath the stars knew what passed there.

No gardener beheld it.

No song remembers it.

Only this is written:

The blight was cut away.

The flower withered.

And both were seen no more.

It is the way of things.

—-

Then the children looked upward.

Heaven was silent.

The Father answered no more.

The elder children answered no more.

Only the empty halls remained,

waiting.

Waiting,

as gardens wait through winter.

—-

Heaven stood empty.

Never before had Heaven been empty.

Never before had there been no Father.

The children of countless Universes were no more.

Lisje was no more.

Darkness.

The Ivalieh entered once more into Heaven.

They sought their Father.

They sought their brethren.

They sought the voices that had guided them since before the birth of stars.

They found only silence.

The halls of Heaven stood empty.

The gardens beyond time lay untended.

The seats of the elder children were vacant.

The songs had ceased.

And the light was diminished.

This had never happened before,

in all eternity.

—-

The Ivalieh understood.

Not all at once.

For grief walks more slowly than understanding.

They looked upon the empty halls.

They looked upon the broken garden.

They remembered the children of Lisie.

They remembered the children of Oniem.

They remembered the living branch they had believed dead.

Then they knew.

The sorrow of Heaven.

The sorrow beneath the stars.

The sorrow of the gardens.

All had sprung from a single seed.

Jealousy.

And they mourned.

—-

Long they remained in silence.

For there was no voice left to command them.

No Father to guide them.

No elder children to answer.

Only the endless turning of the Universes beyond Heaven,

as it had always been.

It is the way of things.

—-

Yet beneath the stars,

the garden endured.

Broken.

Scarred.

Yet living.

The children of Oniem stood alone.

No gardener walked beside them.

No Father watched over them.

Their fate had become their own.

Whether they should wither,

or flower,

none could say.

For the first time since the first sowing,

the future belonged only to the children.

—-

Yet the seed had remembered.

The promise had borne its first flower.

And the flower was a Rose.

Though the flower had withered,

its seed remained.

For within every flower

there is the promise of another.

It is the way of things.

—-

Perhaps, in ages yet unborn,

the garden shall flower once more.

Perhaps the children of the Rose shall become what none before them had become.

Perhaps they shall walk beyond the ending of the Universe.

Perhaps they shall enter the empty Heaven.

Perhaps another hand shall one day tend the gardens.

Perhaps another Father-

or another Mother-

shall look upon the children with wonder.

None may know.

For prophecy ends where choice begins.

—-

Yet this is remembered.

The Father sowed.

The gardeners tended.

The enemy corrupted.

The flower blossomed.

The garden endured.

And Heaven stood empty.

—-

For within every seed

there is the promise of a flower.

Perhaps...

that too

was the way of things.