“At first, I merely watched over them. I laid by the hillside while they stumbled around this newfound world. Those were peaceful days, for the concerns of humanity were only of survival and shelter. They could not feed off of Creation like I, and so they were forced to ravage the plants and beasts. I did not agree with it, for I saw all life as offspring of that divinity. But there was nothing I could do lest I witness mankind wither away from starvation.

“From then on, I would come to accept many difficult arrangements: some trivial. Others utterly bizarre. When they began wrapping their bodies in leaves and bark, I deemed it simply a necessity against the cold. But then they started to wear those strange coverings under the scorching sun. ‘Clothes’ they called it. A form of ‘fashion’. I thought it madness back then, but it would be false of me to say I did not come to grow fond of all the differing styles.

“But what truly baffled me was how they spawned children of their own. Cosmos never did set the exact method in which humanity would reproduce - never did I expect the divinity to part with us so soon - and so years passed as I worried for their continued future. Eventually, however, humans began to change. They molded their bodies into odd forms. I did not understand why some desired to walk about with big lumps of flesh attached to their chest, and I was certainly confused when others had grown a strange mushroom-like appendage from their lower half. ‘Fashion’ they claimed it to be again. A form of ‘personal identity’. It did not take long before they started conjoining those ‘fashions’ into each other in a grotesque union of love. It was certainly a sight, to say the least, but my surprise was great when a child somehow emerged from that unsettling ritual.”

- The Knight

———

The Knight

The garden is eerily serene now. No mocking laughter. No leering voice to taunt its patience. All that can be heard is the gentle breeze and the faint sound of something crawling in the distance.

There, by the birch tree wherein lays the most precious of his flowers, is the sunken form of Satanael. His mask is shattered in half, and his body has been shriveled into a thin, hollow shell: dry, cracking, and with bones protruding from the sagging remains of his skin. The Knight can no longer see any color in his eye; it is but an empty cavity now—dark like the void. And the rose which he claimed to be a gift from the divine has wilted into a brown muck.

Somehow, the four flowers have been unaffected by his rampage. A miracle, perhaps, or maybe it is the result of an instinctual love: a subconscious desire to protect his beloveds even whilst bereft of a sane mind. Nevertheless, he makes his way there now. He digs his dirty nails into the soil and slowly pulls himself forward, bit by bit, as he continues his wordless endeavor with neither a care nor acknowledgement of the one who has left him in this feeble state.

Hm? What is it, Aegis?

The child excitedly raises his head, and he manifests a plain white flower onto his palm. It is a kindly - and rather bland - looking flower, entirely different from the blooms’ Satanael touts, but Aegis is proud of his creation. It also denotes a weakening influence; Satanael no longer has full control over this realm. And soon, the twin celestial blades shine once again—confused over their sudden dormancy.

“It is about time you two awoke,” it says, casually tapping against their handles much to the weapons’ embarrassment. “But I suppose now is better than never. Come, let us put an end to this struggle.”

The Knight steps forward, and it heads towards the still-creeping form of Satanael. He eventually reaches the amber displays; then, he collapses before the flower of rainbow petals—his mother’s essence. And he wraps his body around the crystal, weeping, latching on with a pitiful wail. The supposed maestro is not here; there is only a vulnerable child. One afraid of what is soon to come.

“From where does the blue jay sing?” he mutters deliriously. “Above. Above. Oh joyous meadow; oh little bud. For what reason do you bloom? Abloom. Abloom. Will you take me there, to that place o’er the yonder skies? Will you take me there, to the land of paradise? My precious Eden, do not cry for me. You will live on in my heart. In this garden of possibility, we shall all finally be happy.”

It approaches the man. He shudders in recognition, but then he smiles. And for a second it is as if all the world’s hatred and wrath is contained in that scornful sneer. Regret. Despair. Loathing. It all courses through him in an instant, but in the end, all that is left is bitter acceptance.

“What… will you do?” he says.

“What I must,” it replies.

“Ah, I see. And what if I were to let you go? My strength is exhausted; I can no longer stop you. We could simply part ways here. I promise to never show myself before you ever again.”

“I cannot do that. You have seen too much.”

“What, that dreadful mist? I must say I have never heard about the Heaven’s Throne commanding such a power, but you need not worry. I am a man of my word. What secrets you have shall be safe with me—”

“Stop this, Satanael,” it says with a firm command. “I know full well the kind of man you are. Do you really think me naive of your intentions? If you wish to fool me, then at least attempt to hide your face wrought with vengeance.”

Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

“Heheh, was it truly that obvious? Pity, and here I thought myself rather adept at deception.”

He crumbles into a meager pile on the ground and then looks up at the false sky. There is naught left but resignation; soon, even his conjured form begins to fade. But before he does, Satanael reaches out and bids the Knight one last request.

“May I ask of you a parting wish?” he whispers.

“… Speak.”

“Take these flowers away before you destroy my garden. They are innocent, my beloved children, and even if I am to perish… they shall live on—forever dreaming in eternal bliss.”

“Very well. I shall find a lone meadow where they may rest undisturbed.”

“Thank you. I no longer have any regrets. Do with me as you please.”

The Knight raises the Solgas, and it calls forth the inferno to surround the blade. The heat is blistering, and it does not take long before a scorching conflagration is whorled into a mighty spiral. Hungry. And eager to devour everything within its flaming maw.

“Solgas, let loose your—”

A mighty slap knocks against the Knight’s helm, disrupting the spell and leaving it puzzled as an angry Aegis babbles into its ear.

“Hm?” Satanael says, aghast. “What is that sound? Is that… an infant?”

Aegis, it scolds in its mind. Now is not the time.

But the baby does not stop. He kicks and flails and screams in an attempt to stop the Knight from continuing with its execution.

No, I already told you why we cannot spare him—especially now that you’ve revealed your presence. For as long as his hatred of me remains, it is too dangerous to leave him alive.

Unfortunately, words of reason have no power when it comes to the stubbornness of a babe set in his ways. His outburst even reaches the point where it is tempted to render him unconscious.

But then, something truly baffling occurs. A miracle. An impossibility beyond any of its expectations. The Knight is left speechless - it twitches not even a single muscle - for right before its very eyes, Aegis cries out and the entire garden is blessed with life once more. From the mounds of ruptured dirt, the fields withered by the miasma, and the far reaches hidden out of sight: they are all gone—replaced by a beautiful expanse of flora and blinding, vibrant color. The mud beneath is replaced with that rolling green meadow of before. The grass blades’ flutter, the wind blows in a joyful dance, and every last one of the crushed flowers have been revived. The garden returns to its scenery of paradise, as if not a single moment has passed since it stepped through the boutique’s door.

Every trace of the battle is gone, reduced to a memory.

Satanael’s form is rejuvenated as well. His flesh solidifies, his body returns to a lanky physique, and he stares with disbelief at the landscape around him. Forward, he steps - hesitant and shaky - and then he takes another. And another. Until his hands brush against his cherished flora, and he trembles, and then he falls onto his knees as great, blubbering sob is finally unburdened from his heart. He sob and sobs, letting a cascade of tears flow without resistance as he continues to lie there. His is a sob of pure relief.

The Knight does not know how to react. It should be concerned, for Aegis has just rendered all its effort to break the man completely void, but rather than be upset at him, it is curious. Curious to see the child’s wish may just come true after all.

Perhaps… yes, I can use this. Aegis, reveal yourself.

The baby looks down at it with a perplexed look, especially after all it has warned him to never allow be seen by anyone.

Your presence is already known due to your prior tantrum. Do not worry, I shall protect you.

Aegis is still a bit wary, but he does as the Knight says and rids himself of the invisible veil.

It walks up to Satanael and places a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turns his head, eye red and wet with tears, and without any resistance, he is exposed directly to Aegis’s star-speckled irises.

“This child,” he says with awe. “Why do I see her in you? The Mother… she is there in your eyes. Those oh so beautiful eyes. I—I do not understand.”

He stares into that great, celestial expanse. Into that world beyond the sky. And it is here he witnesses the truth—the true form of Cosmos he claims to have seen.

“Ah, I see now. You are my god, the divine Almighty. The blessed Comet of legend. This entire time, I was the true sinner, wasn’t I?” He laughs a bitter laugh, and then he smashes his head against the ground with a sudden burst of force. Satanael grovels there, burying his face in the muck, and he raises his palms up in deliverance—as if waiting to be granted punishment. “I am unworthy: a vile, wretched creature. For the crime of blasphemy, for daring to bring harm to the avatar of my Lord, please grant me unending torment. I must atone.”

The Knight takes his hand into its own, and then it leans in close. It whispers into his ear: the words that shall chain him once and for all.

“Rise, Satanael. Your wrongs are great indeed, but worry not. All is forgiven, for you are special. Your skills, your devotion… they must not be wasted in this little corner of the world. Your duty lies elsewhere.”

“What must I do?”

“Pledge yourself. Your body, your soul, your garden… from now on, you will dedicate everything to me. And on the day of this world’s final reckoning, you shall be led towards the beauty you desire. As one of the chosen, frolicking in paradise.”

He raises his head, and his expression fills with such innocent joy—as if he has been waiting his entire life to hear those words. However, there is still one last speck of doubt buried within him.

“But why?” he asks. “Why does my divinity lie with you, the hero of Polus? Do you intend to use him as a pawn of the kingdom?”

“Oh, that is right. You still do not know of my identity, do you?”

The Knight removes its helm, and thus it discards Lorelai’s skin. Shifting, toiling, its face distorts into a hideous amalgamation of human contortions, shifting through appearance after appearance in a ghastly display as Satanael watches on with stunned silence. Eventually, a quiet chortle parts from his lips. Louder and louder. Until it expands into a hysterical, deranged howl.

“I was never in control. No, everything has been predetermined from the start. The true maestro was hidden all along, a puppeteer amidst a kingdom of marionettes. And I am but a mere doll, foolishly gazing at the sky’s Constellation.”

He regains his posture and then prostrates himself before it. There is no longer any doubt; everything he is and everything he shall be… it belongs to the Knight.

“But if this doll can be of use to your cause, then use me as you wish. I am yours. Now, and for eternity.”