Prologue to Ascension

What think you of the inane remnants erring atop their frayed facet? You believe them aware of their Revisionism? Of their antediluvian gaol subsidized by their [ever-slumbering] Guardian? Were I one of mind, I’d condemn her vanity. Yes, yes. Think me incapable, abjure my listlessness, and yet know of my verve, my incessant gaze. That which rakes at the charnel domicile festering in thine mind. Know I lurk Beyond the Bend, espying those fortunate few willing to glimpse my Absence. And know that I—unsullied by my Sister’s half—break upon my perch. Their noble games of innocence and godhood mimicked by Desolation.

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God rays washed the Gaoler’s path gold, unveiling a sea of tall, wavering green blades hidden in the twilight. The dew of a late night’s storm burdened their stalks, and though the damp discomfort of his soaked trousers tempted him to return, he trudged through the fields. Dragging his water-ladened boots through the uncaring, virescent tide.

Silvery kites broke the gloomy skies, hoping to steal his gaze for one last fleeting look at their fabled Eternity. Before she sealed him along with Him, in a Prism too small to cage that which she created.

If the Gaoler had remembered once, just once before her brilliance drew her into a mind-shutting waltz, before His ravenous presence returned to their mobile, then perhaps Eaucidivix would have ample time to prepare. She would oust the terror of Eternity, and with their afforded peace, devise an escape from this cyclical monotony.

Upon the thought's end, a queer sensation crawled up his throat. No…that wouldn’t work. Regardless of their actions, they’d return to the path. With or without their acknowledgement.

The Solanarium detested deviations, after all.

His stiff fingers tightened around the Key that could not be denied, yet even then, it never whispered.

They claimed that’s all it did; promising splendor beyond the godscar. Perhaps even a paradise to those desperate enough to seek it, but not to him. Never to him.

Paradise was nothing more than a destined death flickering at the end of a murky hall. And it would sear him as it seared them all. Each lapping flame painting the never-ending swath of a decayed dream.

The Gaoler drew his stiff arm to his chest, paranoid that the Firmament-drowning light of the Tower would expose him. Not that it could. Solvaylius’s cloak masked his presence within the Firmament, reducing him to naught but an afterthought. A pure transmutation of Absence.

If only he could remain as such.

If only they could return the Beast to the nothingness from which it spawned. Perhaps then, she’d have no reason to bind them to this unending Cycle of Iterations and false hope. So different, yet the same.

Even if he sought to stop the wheel, his interjections would prove meaningless. He’d fall into that self-same routine, the Solanarium stringing him along like a defective marionette. Intent on silencing his ninth-remembered screams.

And it would win. One way or another, it would win. But not today.

Not this time.

The Gaoler squeezed the Key as his thoughts drifted, so he reminded himself of where he was. That the blistering-needles of faux radiance digging into his rain-soaked palm would one day change everything. If only slightly.

If only for someone weaker than him that could care so much more.

They would die and live and die as they always have. Unaware of it all, with just enough ignorance to cling to bliss.

But if there was someone whose life held true meaning, whose value superseded that of a simple one-time warden, then it was hers. Even though she orchestrated this tapestry of divine indifference, even though she unwound, knowing it would hurt them, she was still remorseful.

She could still feel.

And yet…did her remorse hold any weight? They persisted beyond this. Beyond all that crippled them. Some claimed that their next Iteration would be better, only to forget. To do as they had done and ruin as they had not.

It perpetuated. Their heart-rending bitterness and listlessness relegated to an afterthought. Destined to fade. All save hers.

But Eaucidivix wasn’t one for apologies. Not after five, nor eight. And he’d rather she be that way, if only this last time.

The Gaoler came to a gradual stop as he arrived at his destination. It was no more remarkable than where he last stood. A wet, rippling field beneath the attentive radiance of the mornlight Tower.

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Despite their proximity to the coast, the surf failed to reach his ears. He never liked the east. Transmitters made travel swift, yes, but even now, he longed to be at her side again. In her home to the far west. Where even the ocean failed to lift its outline.

Ethereal, moon-strung whispers drifted from the clouded heavens, their long-dead pledges caressing him like worn silk. To be cared for by their Agent, and yet fail… What did that mean for them?

What did that mean for the children that were never wanted, but burdened with her sins all the same?

The Gaoler forced a grimace. He couldn’t hold it naturally, but Eaucidivix had mentioned that it was a great way to show displeasure. She’d even taught him how to do it after long hours of research.

Well, research wouldn’t be the correct term. He’d never been a student of the sciences, or even the underlying laws of the Firmament. The Gaoler was just…

Average. In every way. That’s what everyone except his Mother told him. She’d be quick to dismiss their claims, but he never understood why. Besides, it didn’t bother him.

Much of else rarely did.

Try as his Mother might to deny it, simplicity was the fate of many an individual. Denying such a fact brought more grief than it was worth. Eaucidivix knew this. It’s why she often stressed the importance of genius.

The importance that only the truly gifted, intelligent, and talented elite steered the fate of the realm.

If only they knew.

Squeezing the Key once more, the Gaoler’s gaze gravitated towards the godly structure rooted in the earth. Creamy-sunrise bricks sloped across the Tower, its god-defying aura promising a dream beyond a dream; a heaven they’d made reality.

A Wish.

He strained his ears, wondering if he could catch a hint of a whisper. A promise. One indebted to him, as they all so claimed. For it was a chance to right a wrong; a chance to Revise without care. He only needed to unlock the gates, and then maybe…

Then maybe he might Wish for her freedom. Maybe the Tower’s strength would defy the Cycles.

One, five, ten heartbeats passed, and yet not once did its presence graze his mind. It was silent; uninterested.

Yes, it must’ve recognized it too, hadn’t it? That there was nothing left.

His Wish…even if he possessed one, even if he pleaded with his Mother until the very stars gave out into iron husks, it wouldn’t come. And this construct? This divine centerpiece erected by their Creator? It’d only ignore him.

Just like it always had.

A mind not his own drew him to the beaten path, replacing thoughts with those of his eight Primers. But before they took complete possession, he pushed. The Gaoler came to a jerking stop a moment later. His very will returned to him.

Setting his jaw, he sped towards the unassuming shape in the grass. Its pitch-dark, glossy surface untouched by the rain. A shimmering sheet of light adorned its surface, painting each glittering god despite the storm’s reign.

Blackstone. The blasted thing never knew when to sit right.

Crouching down, he promptly lifted the rock with a sharp grunt, scooped out a shallow depression, but before he could place the Key in its new home, he froze.

Her light was there again. The comforting green glow reminding him of an ancient promise she’d forgotten all those Cycles ago. Mother.

A hot lump crawled up his throat, and though he ordered himself to relinquish their salvation, his fingers refused to cooperate. The needling radiance searing his flesh.

He couldn’t do it. Not in front of her—in front of the only thing that truly cared for him.

So, he spared the twinkling heavens a fleeting glance.

There, suspended high in the sky, rested her celestial body. Her old-new home. She’d promised to watch over them, and yet…

Images flashed before him. Times unmade yet destined. Failures, death, abandonment. All under her watch, of course, but he didn’t hate her for that.

No. He could never blame her for her foe’s faults.

That’s why he needed to do this.

Not for him, or her alone, but for everyone.

The cursed, the blessed.

The Gaoler steeled himself, his fingers unfurling one by one. His Mother would have her way. For now, that is.

Strong as she might be, her children wouldn’t endure. They were shades, after all. A flicker of the mighty inferno that begat them. And He would be the one to devour them.

But even if the Gaoler could never be as strong, charming, or even as intelligent as his Mother, he was still his own person. He could still do something. And he would.

For Eaucidivix.

The Gaoler dropped the Key and quickly covered it with the Blackstone. He waited for the object to utter one last temptation, but again, nothing. Not even a crackling zephyr for its twisted voice to drift upon.

Resting a hand on the rock’s shimmering surface, he wondered. Countless trials awaited him, but they? The one burdened with an insurmountable legacy—not from an Agent or a Sedd-blessed ruler, but a stranger that time would forget.

Well, the Gaoler wouldn’t blame them for hating him.

Even if this were the Gaoler’s last agonizing Cycle, he would accept their ire. And for some reason, that made his lips curl.

“Do take care, little one. I’d rather have left you with a trove of tools, but…I suppose I am my Mother’s son.”

The Solanarium drew him back, and this time, he allowed himself to be strung along. If fate had decreed his demise, then so be it. Their key to freedom was in safe hands.

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Hope you enjoyed! All feedback is appreciated, and I hope you have a good day!

(Oh, also, the art was done by me. Unless specified, most of the pieces will be mine. So...might be the only time I mention it.)