The world exploded into radiant light and conniving darkness. Ozymandias would have collapsed if he could, but the sights before him robbed his body of any purpose but that of a witness.

Once the lightshow had calmed down and he gained control, Ozymandias looked around. The dark and light were bleeding off of two distinct sources. One was his fellow creation of the Law, giving off a dim yet pure white light.

The other was the Law itself. He could feel that its attention had turned elsewhere, but its presence in the room remained. The sheer size of its light and dark filled the room. It was far, far brighter than the golem's, but was interspersed with threads of the deepest void.

He reached out his left hand, and brushed a finger against the darkness.

The world fell away, drowned in a sea of black.

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Her pulse was rushing.

She had set up today to be perfect, not a single chance for mistakes.

She had cleared all the leaves and bushes in a ring around this clearing, and ensured that no hanging branches would be caught in the blaze. Before her was a small circle of grass, twigs, and other forest-y bits.

She raised her hand, clutching her prized possession within. The small cylinder of red plastic looked to her as if it was made of gold. Beautiful.

Her thumb pressed into the wheel, and down into the button.

A click sounded out, seeming to echo through the clearing.

Flames sprung out of the lighter, and she smiled so hard it hurt.

She dropped the lighter, and stepped out of the circle.

She had no idea how long she watched that blaze. She only left once she heard the sirens approaching.

She laughed, as she crept away into the forest. She laughed, and watched the smoke rise.

The fire must be fed.

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Ozymandias recoiled, his hand burning like a wildfire.

What was that?

That had been a memory, but not one of his own. But the feeling. He had felt the joy as flames sprung up, the memory forcing its way past his mental defenses like they were wet paper.

Had that been the Law?

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

He was pulled from his musings as something else drifted past him. It was a line of particularly bright light, swaying lazily between him and the Law. He reached out once more, and a wave of golden brilliance swallowed him whole.

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Ozymandias was floating in a void of pure white. There were no walls, no ceiling, and no floor. Just endless nothing, as far as his eyes could see.

This could not be a memory. But what else could it be? A thought? A hope? A fear?

He got his answer as a voice began to rumble through the room, laced with pure and utter inspiration.

I met a traveler from an antique land,

Who said—“Two vast and trunkless legs of stone

Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,

Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,

And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,

Tell that its sculptor well those passions read

Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,

The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed;

And on the pedestal, these words appear:

My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;

Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!

Nothing beside remains. Round the decay

Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare

The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

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He collapsed to his knees, as pure purpose rushed through him. He had just endured the full weight of the Law's being. It rattled him to his core.

After the first memory, he thought he could handle it. He thought that he could rifle through the Law's mind without the slightest repercussions. But now, as his mind, body, and soul screamed at the weight of what they had just endured, he found a warning.

And immediately disregarded it. That memory, and the inspiration that had created him, had opened his eyes. Whatever the Law truly was, its wealth of knowledge was immense. And necessary. He was Ozymandias, and he would have his kingdom. The stories offered truth and insight, which he would not refuse.

But perhaps he could just touch the smaller memories tonight. His soul still burned from the Law's pure knowing.

Ozymandias would have his kingdom. He would have his order. He would have his truth.