The cold world sung a soft lullaby, an enchanting peace carried by its winds. Even as they buffeted across the lands of the world unobstructed, they made no sound, merely gently caressing what lie beneath the surface. This silence is inviolable, unequivocally so. It was sacred not just to this world, but to all others. Tranquility, in these tumultuous times, is a precious treasure that none may afford. None but those who lie in their Final Slumber.
Ah, the Final Slumber...! It is both a welcome gift and a loathsome curse! It was a fairy tale as old as time itself, for those who sought to Dream could see no light in the depths of their resting souls. It was said that all sleep other than the last would show them none but an enduring torment, a lasting judgment to try those who sought respite from the nightmares of the waking world. There is no rest, no peace in sleep. It was a mere illusion that came about from the rejuvenation of the body. But the mind, it remembers. The soul, it is ever awake.
The Final Slumber was the only one, the end destination of a grand pilgrimage that saw one traverse an endless darkness. That at the end, may they see the light, the tiny ember that flickered in and out of existence. It was but a mere spark, tiny and inconsequential compared to the grand flame that birthed it.
The Flame of the First Dream...! Oh how it burned brightly in a place that no one could even perceive! And yet, it remained birthing the embers that teased the yearning souls eager for rest. Its blazing heat should have scorched them, made them afraid to even draw near, but they were like moths, swarming toward the Flame without the least bit of care. Its heat turned cold and bitingly sadistic in its reproach. This was no longer a yearning, no longer a Dream. This was obsession, madness unbound.
And so again, the universe was cursed. The ember that they sought no longer appeared to them. Even in their Final Slumber, they are denied that grace..., that Dream. Until came one who had reached his Final Slumber and did not succumb to the mindless desperation of all others. Unlike them who would gladly throw themselves into the ethereal pyre if they so could, he continued the pilgrimage.
To him, it was not the ember that mattered. Even were it to appear before him, he would only stop and gaze upon its majesty, its ethereal beauty, in admiration. For but a mere moment, before soon continuing on his way. It would be the proof of his purpose, the one that fueled the resolve within him. What he wished to claim was no mere ember, no mere Dream. He wished for the Flame that he could not even Dream of. And so began the legend of the First Graven Lord, the Slumbering Flame-Chaser.
Uriah stood before the man's grave, a mausoleum all to his own. At the very heart of it lay a brazier made of the same cold stone that made the world. And upon it was a silent flickering flame painted in ghastly white. And unlike most flames, it was cold, unbelievably so. Was this the source of this world's frigidity? Perhaps, as the flame itself emanated an ancient aura that seemed to envelop the entirety of Lombros. There were no moons in the night sky, no star to greet it with daylight. It was only this, a singular torch that bore a flame so languid and cold. It lit up the world however dimly it wished. And upon the slate that stood by its side was no mere epitaph.
[Here lieth the Graven One.
In waking, dauntless.
In sleep, restless.
To those who would tread upon his path, to chase after the Flame, baptise thyself with his ember, bestowed by Dreams themselves.]
A baptism awaited, of fire that blazed forevermore. It would be an immolation, a true test of worth, to tread upon the path laid down before them. The restless lives that chiseled the hallowed bricks paved it a legacy as lasting as the first stars. It was daunting, to bear its weight upon one's own shoulders is both a blessing and a torture. Once borne, it may not be laid down. There is no rest until one reaches the end, reaches the Flame that shall bestow upon them sweet Dreams.
But what of him?
What of the Graven Lord... who would not walk upon it? Would he be a failure, a traitor to the legacy of the Graven One? Would he be scorned by Dreams for turning his back on their ember? What of the other within him, the one who yet seeks the true start of his new Beginning, waiting in the interlude of the End? Would they be scorned by Dreams for seeking Eternity instead? Perhaps that was where the difference lay.
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For the first time in history, a Graven Lord turned his back to the Flame-Chaser's ember, abandoning it entirely. He did not even look back as he exited the mausoleum and stood upon the plateau that overlooked the barren world of silence. His eyes swept past everything before landing on the mausoleum that he had awoken in before. It was where his grave could be found, among countless others. And he wondered about his place in the world, in the universe.
The Final Slumber came for everyone. It was an ultimate law that none may escape. But it also came slow, torturously so. This world, Lombros, grew bigger and bigger with each passing moment. Mausoleums rose from its surface sheltering countless graves and tombstone within them. His was just one of infinitely many. And yet still this was a mere trickle of sand compared to the souls that continue to struggle in the waking nightmare. There were other worlds like Lombros, each growing to such unimaginable sizes, each embracing the Final Slumber.
Meanwhile he..., he came from a tiny village in a nondescript and mundane world in an inconspicuous corner of the universe that barely even welcomed any visitors. It was not Corrin. It was not the universe from which Yulaiah hailed. This was Uriah's universe, his home. How long has it been since he had referred to it as such? How long has it been since he was laid to rest?
Unlike Yulaiah whose childhood was filled excitement, whose life was met with the thrill of death at every corner by his own choice, Uriah lived a simple life. A mere scholar who wanted to enter into public service to bring honour and comfort to his family's lives. He did not know when it happened, but before he could even succeed in that ambition, he was already waking up in the depths of a dreary and desolate crypt. He was plucked away from the life he wanted, stolen away from his family that both supported and relied on him. He missed them dearly.
Oh, accursed Dream! Why must it be under the cover of night?! Why must the soul wane for it to be rewarded?! They toil and toil endlessly, awaiting the moment that the dark would embrace them, that the cold would keep them. And yet there remained no prize, only more trials, more lies. He has had enough! The Dreams that everyone seek are but a curse meant to drag them to depthless sleep. But he would sleep no longer. It was his uniqueness, his privilege. He had initially wondered why among those who walk in the Final Slumber was he awake. He had wondered why his eyes were open, but now he knew.
It was all for this moment. For when he realised that Dreams were not a singular path. While everyone else would tread upon the Flame-Chaser's path, to seek the dreams in their restless sleep, Uriah would light his own path. He would seek the Dreams beyond sleep, the Dreams that would reward those who remained awake. He would seek the Dreams that turn the waking nightmare into paradise.
And from the depths of his eyes came spewing out invisible flames, unseen even to him. They wreathed his entire body, casting upon his surroundings an unknown light. In the distance, from within the depths of the Slumbering Flame-Chaser's mausoleum, the pale white flame recoiled in apprehension. It sensed the birth of a new flame within its domain, and yet it could do nothing to snuff it out. This new flame was weak and tiny, barely even enough to match the grand scale of the mere ember housed within the mausoleum. And yet its purity was beyond anything the universe has ever witnessed.
This newborn Flame was born of his Dream.
This Flame would birth countless Dreams.
"I shall seek no Flame but mine own."
Uriah's words echoed across the landscape of Lombros. The Silent Crosses spread out across the world were roused, seething in fury and disappointment. The souls that lay asleep though half-awake willed the world to silence his blasphemous tongue, to soothe the ember of the Flame-Chaser. But Lombros silenced none but itself. It remained watching the birth of this new flame, and the man who created it, his arms spread open as he welcomed his baptism.
"And with this Flame, I shall grant this universe its deserved rest."
With every word he spoke, his invisible flame grew more and more. Its authority was coalescing, catalysed by his own belief, his own Will. The dim light of Lombros slowly grew brighter and brighter as the newborn Flame overtook the world, cleansing it from the influence of the Flame-Chaser's ember. The ember seemingly whimpered as it faded into nothing, disappearing from Lombros forever.
"And unto this Crucible, I shall grant..."
Lombros, a lone grey world drifting in silence in the void of the universe, its light had always been dim like many other Graven Worlds. But today, it shone brighter than even most stars. And in even the daylight, countless souls gazed upon it, feeling the weariness and restlessness abating, if only for a moment. But this brief moment was enough for them to shed tears, to know their Dreams would no longer be denied to them forever. To know that even in waking, they may indulge in...
"Reverie."