[center][img]https://txt.1001fonts.net/img/txt/dHRmLjg4LjM1YmVlMS5SMkYwWlhkaGVYTWcuMA/ignis-et-glacies-extra-sharp.regular.webp[/img] [img]https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwallpapercave.com%2Fwp%2FccC4evq.jpg&f=1&nofb=1[/img] [i][h3]"The Earth is the cradle of humanity, but mankind cannot stay in the cradle forever.”[/h3] - Konstantin Tsiolkovsky[/i][/center] In the depths of space, ancient machines whir to life. A signal has been received, written in a language of code that only the Gateways know, that says: Come back. And they do. From one end of the Galaxy to the other, overlooking worlds of deep ocean or alien jungle, they come back. First with a spark, a wavering in space- and then a flash of blinding light and heat, a storm in the void, a celestial crescendo like a sun being born. And then only a steady light. Billions of lifeforms witness it. They wonder for a moment, perhaps, but then they go back to their lives, not knowing that over their heads now sits a portal to countless other worlds. [center] [hr] [b] ) ---(**) || (**)--- ( [/b] [/center] There is a new star in the sky, and only one man cannot see it. That man is a revelator and, though he is a priest, he is practical. His temple is made of hard white stone, which stands out starkly in the half-darkness of this part of Acerbus, close enough to the Night that the stars shine overhead faintly. It’s a large, rich temple, politically important- he cares about that more than he does spiritual matters. He is performing a ritual, the Third Birthing Remembrance, an overcomplicated affair which supposedly represents mankind’s journey from Earth to Acerbus. Revelator Andrea does his job dutifully, but internally he scoffs at it. His theology is the same as his mindset: grounded, skeptical, a religion with all of the fluff taken out of it. Unlike the stereotypical revelator, Andrea is not a man of the supernatural or other flights of fancy. He scorns the sacrosanct myths the others hold to so strongly as “only metaphors,” and delights in the scandalized reactions of his fellow clergy when he tells them so. He did not choose to be a priest, he was raised in it. He would doubt the existence of Earth itself if the evidence for it wasn't so great. Everything about that old story of humans blazing across the cosmos in the wake of a dying world sounds like the kind of tale a storyteller would come up with three smokes in. He supposes it must be true, but with a suspicion that it’s all been rewritten by his more myth-minded peers. [i]This is ridiculous,[/i] a voice in the back of his mind complains, as he carries out the ritual. First he was burning incense and letting the smoke smudge up the open stone courtyard, now he is lifting his hands and scattering dirt on the ground. He does it all mechanically, routinely- he has done it countless times before and it is mandatory, but this time in particular he starts to sense something… off. It is a few moments, in which he stands with his hands held high, before he notices: the worshippers aren’t looking at him. This is both strange and a little upsetting. They’re leaning over to each other and whispering, they’re staring up into the sky with slack jaws and looks of awe- they’re not looking at him. He raises his arms a little higher. But the congregation does not notice, their gaze is at something over his head, in that faintly starred sky. When he turns to look, it takes him no time at all to see it. There’s a new light in the sky, outshining the stars. It sits right above the peak of the temple, bright and burning and reminiscent of the stories about- “The Gateway!” someone behind him cries out, completing the thought, and the light of someone else’s device invades the holy space. “Look,” they say, fast and overexcited. “People think it’s- the Gate, the portal thing, from the stories!” It has only been a few minutes, yet the Acerbian people are already connecting the dots. But Andrea isn’t. He is staring, slack-jawed as one of the worshippers, at the burning light in the sky. And the story is flashing through his head with a weight it’s never had before. Could it be? “Revelator! Do you know?” one of them is asking now, pulling at his shoulder. He does not answer; the words may as well be coming from a trillion miles away, from across the cosmos. “Revelator,” they say again, and now they’re saying “Revelator, are you alright?” With a rumple of fabric and a thud on the stone, Revelator Andrea falls to his knees. [center] [b] ) ---(**) || (**)--- ( [/b] [/center] The Gateway is open, and only one man cannot see it. That man is Oscaro, and he is not a priest. This is the second most important fact about him, and he has to tell it to everyone he meets. It’s because he looks like one: usually dressed in ceremonial robes, with an apparent air of spirituality and sophistication about him. He is indeed a part of the clergy, but his role is as a [i]fidel[/i]: a specialized monk of a particular deity, who serves under the revelators, but only when that revelator’s duties connect to the fidel’s chosen deity. When they are not aiding the revelators, they live lives of contemplation, study, and service to their fellow believers. The first most important fact about him is that he’s blind. Completely blind, from birth. His particular condition could be cured with Acerbian medicine, and that is precisely what Oscaro’s parents wanted for him. But he refused. The law was that a child could not be “healed” of blindness until they were old enough to make that choice for themselves, and as soon as Oscaro was of age to understand his own disability and what it meant for him, he knew he wanted to remain blind his entire life. His mother, crying about it, begged him to change his mind. But she never asked him why. She didn’t need to. “Hallowed Oscaro,” says a woman’s voice over intercom, “the captain wishes you to know that we are approaching the Gateway. Departure in estimated two hours. He…” the voice hesitates. “He suggests you should get some rest before we reach Earth.” In his private quarters aboard the battleship, Oscaro chuckled. She’d only hesitated because he was titled Hallowed. Even military types couldn’t get over Oscaro’s special place in the clergy. Especially military types, in fact. Many times he’d noticed with amusement that they were less nervous around actual revelators. Oscaro comms back: “Understood. They’re sure I’m the only one qualified to be our first diplomat?” The answer came back in the affirmative, of course. Fidels, like priests, are social creatures, but they are further educated. In times past, when Acerbian technology wasn’t so reclaimed and the education system not so developed, they served as the early Temple’s only true scholars. Oscaro is more educated in history and language and politics than anyone else on this battleship, where he’s been serving as a spiritual guide only because no true priest is willing to work on a ship patrolling so far out from Acerbus. It was the closest vessel when the Gateway opened. As such, it is the one first entering the Gateway, and Oscaro is now the one who must play diplomat if anything is still alive on the other side of it. He wonders about that. And about the other colonies, if the stories about them are true. And about- many things, so many that it sets him to repeating holy poems for peace. His goddess is the Swallower, who it is said is better worshipped by the blind than by any other humans, being called Hallowed once they embrace her, and who it is said offers the peace of oblivion to those who understand her. He slipped into visions at his desk reciting poems about her. When he awakes, the Acerbian battleship has passed through the Gateway. They have arrived safely in Sol, not far from the Moon, not far at all from Earth. Earth! The long abandoned womb of humanity. The crew is excitable, amazed, ecstatic, all the words. They are in shock. They are gazing at the viewscreens and speaking longingly about their long-lost homeworld, however gray and ruined and empty they say it looks now. Oscaro cannot see it. But he smiles.