Godhood
A Tale of Deities
Tower of Broken Dreams, Ceyr
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At the crests of the dunes, the desert breeze caught the red sand and made sprays of them that diffused elegantly with the hot air. Aun, mother star of Ceyr, looked on harshly through nigh-cloudless skies at the desolate landscape that belied little of its glorious past, when its sand was fertile soil, and made up rolling hills and plains instead of featureless dunes whereupon an abundance of wretched, low-bellied creatures like scorpions and snakes now crisscrossed their soft surfaces. Indeed, this was wild country that tested the mettle of even the hardiest of creations that tried to make a living here, as evidenced by a lone juvenile Ironwood tree in the distance, its dead, black branches swept with sand, and its body half-buried in the powder. Fitting that a kilometer underneath its roots, the ancient city of Roma, capital of the human Imperium Ferrum, lay in deathly slumber: the tree that they made a proud icon of in the past now marked their graves in the present.
But breaking the monotony of sands and scattered, ominous objects in the Ullanor Wastelands was a gleaming tower of white that stretched almost to the clouds. Supported by giant buttresses that curved as they tapered towards the very top of the structure, Aun's light caught the rounded gemstones that regularly broke the smoothness of its surface -- rubies, emeralds, amethysts, but sapphires consisted the most of them -- and arrayed a rainbow of colors to anyone looking at the tower from any direction where they could see it. And at its foot, there was an obvious depression of the sand that surrounded it, obviously not a natural work but one that allowed access to the heavy double-doors that consisted much of its entrance. Made with marble as with most of the structure and gilded with gold, a book's worth of runes was etched onto the doors' surfaces, but the most meaningful ones roughly read: "Hope is the first step on the road to disappointment."
While its superficial message was obvious, the unpleasantness that was life after the War in Heaven made Vaul muse for a moment of its deeper meanings, before gesturing with a flick of his wrist and setting aglow the runes, the myriad characters -- each not just a letter but a whole concept unto itself -- lighting up in clockwise manner. The Elven God of Smiths found his eyes following every activating rune, until blue luminescence covered the entirety of the doors, then was suddenly extinguished. He idly put a foot back a pace as the locking mechanism depressed the doors inward and finally parted them away and into ports in the walls, revealing a rather spartan foyer whose only eye-striking object was the beginning of a long, winding staircase that spiraled towards the the very top of the Tower of Broken Dreams.
Vaul felt annoyance tug at the back of his heart as he activated the lumen globes that filled niches in the wall at intervals. His armor, made of the finest mithril and decorated with reliefs that portrayed in himself in baroque sculpture as he was written in the grandest of Elven epics, bent like a second skin and made no sound as he skipped every other step in his impatience, such was its quality. The lumen globes were the only source of light inside of the Tower, save for the opening at the very end towards where the staircase gently tapered towards, wherefrom Aun's light poured in rays. There were one thousand, one hundred eleven steps to make in order to reach the rooftop, but Vaul's feet, in his haste, landed on only half that number. And when he surmounted the final step, the frown on his face contrasted with the smile of the figure at the opposite side of the amphitheater of sorts, leaning against the colonnaded parapet.
"Thirianna," Vaul said, the name uttered with ambivalent colors of hatred and jealousy, compassion and love, relief and regret. "I have never been a fan of bothersome theatrics."
The angel but fluttered her magnificent wings and smiled wider into a grin. Crowned by hair of gold, locks exquisitely curled and long as they fell upon her back and ample chest, with a soft face, deep eyes, and lips whose smiles promise everything, and frowns inspire guilt and broken hearts, this was Thirianna, the Guardian Arch-Angel. Clad in white sleeveless robes that fluttered mystically with the breeze, she held in her life-giving hand a long lance which she was using at the moment as a sort of walking stick, and it intimidated Vaul the moment he set eyes on the weapon, for he still remembered how it pierced through even his armor and drew his blood all those centuries ago...
"You have done your siblings a favor: at least they will not have to bother with the door and the lumen globes. It is good to see you too, Vaul, after so many years."
"Yes, yes," the smith god said quickly, eliminating the crease of his scowl. "But could you not have picked a more welcoming venue? The sand in the wind irritates my ears."
"Ah, but there is no better venue," Thirianna said, as she set herself off the railing and walked calm steps towards the only other figure on the rooftop. "For this is where we recognized our sin, and this is where we shall begin our journey towards redemption."
Vaul stepped forward as well. "So you dragged me from the Forests of Ulthanesh into the rough spot on Kharnath's arse because of symbolism?"
The angel gave a chuckle. Were Kharnath still alive, he would not have taken that slight well. "Pretty much."
There was a silence when they had come within feet of each other, and they both found their eyes examining the figure of the other. Their armor, their clothing, their skin, hair and ornaments. It lasted for a few seconds, ending with the two parties staring each other in the eye, and through the action communicating wordlessly. Vaul was first to break the stare, and looked and gestured to his left, where there were seats like ascending stair-steps fashioned from a single piece of marble and shaped into a wide semicircle that hugged the parapet.
"I presume I am the first of my ilk to be here. But where are Aesir, Sophia, Sita, and Maugan Ra -- the other four angels?" Vaul asked, but when there was no reply after a few seconds, he returned his gaze to his elder sister, who looked at him with hurt.
"What?" he was genuinely bewildered.
"Brother and sister who last met wearing masks of death and stoking the flames of hatred in their hearts, now reunited after so long, and the former acts detached and cold."
Vaul bitterly chuckled. "Forgive me, sister, but you tried to kill me."
Thirianna shook her head in disapproval. "I had to. You were hurting our Creator, but the return of the Golden One heralds a new age, an era of reclaiming. Let us forget the sins and the selfishness and the grievances of the past, and instead forge on with love and understanding. Is it the lance," she lifted the weapon a few inches up, "that intimidates you?"
"Yes," Vaul admitted, his lips pursing at the last syllable as he suppressed a feral growl, and quelled the reflex action to take the handle of his sheathed runesword. "And its wielder. The scars have not healed."
"Brother," Thirianna beckoned, extending her free hand as she stepped forward. "Please forgive me. Embrace me."
But Vaul merely held a palm up and retreated, not looking her in the eyes. "No, no. You know my memory is perfect. I cannot forgive such trespasses against me so easily. When I think of the War, Thirianna, I feel pain as your accursed weapon nearly tore me apart. Even now, my body aches as my mind relives that time. And you haven't answered my question."
The angel looked deflated, and ceased her approach. With her voice lacking some color, she began to answer: "Aesir and the others are attending business regarding the Resurrection. There is no point for them to be here, as they already know everything."
"Ah yes, because you people so jealously guard the majority of our Maker's corpse up there in Aett. So us gods and our demon brethren, while we feel our Parent stir, know only so little."
"Mhm," Thirianna seemed unperturbed at the accusation, even proud of it. "But you forget to mention our younger siblings."
"The upstarts?" Vaul raised a brow. "You consider them to be our kindred?"
"Even Itone, yes." And at this, the smith god looked offended. "Now, hush, and let us continue our talk at the railings, where we might behold our siblings as they approach from below."