The flight back to the city gave Michael time to think, which was not a thing he was particularly grateful for. To be called directly by another Aeon was unprecedented. They certainly knew of each other, bound as they were through the common link they shared in the Source, but to date, their interactions had been limited to simple coexistence. The other Aeons had their Spheres and Michael had Hod. So long as they each maintained their own Sephirah, there was little they needed from the others.
Indeed, there was little they could do for the others even if there was a need. Aeon Gabriel had been the most proactive - and the most successful - in this regard; it was no secret she sent warnings to the other Spheres of avoidable disasters glimpsed through her innate gift, including Hod three times in the past. But her warnings were always sent as simple messages read by one of her Saerim to whoever was available to answer the call, a show of trust they would deliver it where it needed to go. Aeon Gabriel had never asked to speak with Michael. Ciel’s theory regarding the odd energy in the aether nagged at him; someone, Ciel had guessed, Out There was either in trouble or very angry. Michael suspected he would be able to confirm or deny her speculation soon enough.
The crux of Hod's communications system was located in the inner ring of the capital city, one of many civic buildings constructed outside the forest left untouched around the Sephirah. Built to accommodate constant, high-volume public usage that in truth it seldom saw, the communications centre featured dramatically sloping walls and multiple enclosed amphitheatres of varying sizes capped with domed ceilings. The roof of the main hall was shaped into a great concave dish pointing towards the sky, a colossal spire that stretched from the centre of the dish to the boundary of the Sphere and the Void beyond functioning as the dish’s antenna. It had been, Michael recalled, a constant and terrible pain to construct, but it was the only way to send or receive messages between the Spheres. Saerim Ciel and Saerim Ananel both considered the centre one of their proudest accomplishments, though for different reasons. Michael wasn’t fond of it himself; that he had relayed the required specifications of the building provided by the Source did not mean he understood how it functioned, to his embarrassment. Still, it had provided a solid blueprint for them to establish a useful local network and there was a certain, slight comfort in the reminder that they could at least speak with their neighbours should they desire to do so. He doubted the centre had been used to contact another Sphere more than a handful of times, including today.
A moderate amount of traffic wended through and around the centre as he approached, the standard contingent of technicians and messengers attending to their business as they did every other day. To his delight, there was also a small group of children from the central Nursery soon to be entering the Academy touring the grounds. Were circumstances different, Michael would have been tempted to tag along on their tour if only to see the looks on their little faces. Instead, he avoided their sight as he landed. This wasn’t the best time to get distracted and in all honesty, his frazzled, just-escaped-from-a-construction-accident appearance might have frightened a few kids.
True to her word, Saerim Ananel waited for him in the lobby, scanning through a stack of reports while chewing on her lip in distress. That alone was a powerful indication that something was amiss; Ananel’s reputation for possessing an eternally cheerful and light-hearted disposition had not developed without fair cause. As soon as she saw him enter the centre, she set down the report she was reading, scooped up a bag from the floor and hurried towards him, her large brown eyes bright with determined concern as she took stock of his appearance.
“My Aeon, I apologise for the short notice,” said Ananel with a quick curtsy when she reached him. “I heard of the excitement at the site of the future Sanctuary. I would rather you have time to recover; have you spoken with Umahel yet?”
“No, that won’t be necessary,” Michael said with a quick wave of his hand. “I understand you have a message from the Aeon of Yesod for me?”
“No, my Aeon, the Aeon of Yesod is on screen even now requesting an audience,” Ananel said. She shoved the bag into his hands. “These arrived for you from the palace. The closest washroom is down that hall. And I suspected you may need this; you will have to activate it yourself at a later time, of course.” She produced a blank local comm and offered it to Michael, her other hand also held out, empty and expecting.
“Thank you, Ananel. You know me too well,” said Michael as he traded his burnt-out comm for the undamaged one. He peeked inside the bag and felt an undiluted wave of gratitude at what he found; inside was a complete change of clothes, freshly cleaned and pressed. They’d even sent over a new pair of boots. Michael vowed to himself to ensure everyone involved was properly thanked before the day was over. “Do you know what this call is about? Is it another one of her visions?”
“I would assume so, my Aeon, though she declined to share the details with me,” Ananel said, doing her best to usher him down the hallway towards the washroom without appearing rude. “I assured her you would respond as soon as you were available, but she was insistent on leaving the transmission active until then. She even made use of the word ‘emergency’. It would be best if you did not keep her waiting overlong, I believe.”
Michael froze in his tracks. “An emergency? Here? What room is she in?”
“Theatre nine. But my Aeon! The washroom is that way.” Ananel pointed in the opposite direction of theatre nine.
“You said it was an emergency,” Michael protested, annoyed.
“It is also the historic first live communication with the Aeon of another Sphere and you look as though you’ve been struck by a falling building.”
“Well, as it happens, there is due cause for that,” Michael said. “Do you suggest I go home and take a bath?”
“Please don't be obstinate, my Aeon, we both know you requested a change of clothes for good reason,” Ananel said. “You are wasting time fussing when you could have been freshening up.”
She was right, and he knew it. However, he also knew what a difference a mere few moments could make when responding to an emergency. He withdrew the clean jacket from the bag and shrugged it over his ruined shirt, passing the bag to Ananel so he could button the jacket in hopes it covered the worst of the damage. “There. Is that an acceptable compromise?”
Ananel knew him well enough to recognise a lost cause when she saw one. With a grim frown, she produced a clean handkerchief and held it out, tapping the left side of her neck to show where he needed to apply it.
It came away coated in soot and ash. Perhaps she had a point. Even so, if there was an emergency, he could only assume Aeon Gabriel would be willing to forgive his poor appearance. He set off at a brisk pace towards theatre nine, Ananel close behind him. “Remain nearby until we know more about what the situation is, but don’t contact anyone else just yet.”
“As you say, my Aeon.” Ananel nodded. She positioned herself next to the door leading into theatre nine, then made an excited, abrupt gesture to catch his attention before he could open the door and go inside. “Oh! My Aeon, wait! There's a bit of… something in your hair.”
He was sure of it. He was sure his hair had dried awkwardly and was full of many unwanted somethings. Michael ran both hands through his hair and ruffled it quickly with just a tinge of anger. If only whatever Aeon Gabriel had to tell him didn’t have to be so urgent that it denied him a proper bath, but of course it was. “Is that better?”
Ananel’s face told him quite plainly that it wasn’t, but she smiled encouragingly regardless. “I am certain it will be the least of Aeon Gabriel’s concerns.”
“A technical truth, but a likely one.” Michael nodded. He took a deep, steadying breath, opened the door, and entered theatre nine.
It was one of the smaller rooms of the centre, about twice again as wide as Michael was tall. Though sparsely furnished, it was lavishly appointed, meant to convey in a glance all the prosperity of Hod. The curtains on the arched windows overlooking the garden outside were closed for privacy, and a lone, stately table and chair stood in the middle of the room facing the enormous screen which dominated the entire wall.
It would have been easy to mistake the image on the screen for a painting at first glance had he not been prepared. The Aeon of Yesod sat in perfect stillness with her hands folded in her lap, her expression serene and eyes closed as if in deep meditation. Thick ribbons of silvery mist swirled around her, a shimmering veil that lifted and toyed with her hair and the flowing silk of her robe so that the blues and greys twined together like gossamer fins trailing in a deep ocean current. Her long black hair was pinned in an elaborate twist atop her head, her loose bangs swirling in the gentle touch of the mist in a way that perfectly framed her round face. A delicate pattern of fine lines and flower blossoms was drawn across her cheeks in shining silver pigment to highlight her doll-like features.
It was as if Michael had forgotten how to breathe. She was identical to her statue in the Sanctuary, the artistic ideal of what the Aeons were meant to represent that Michael could never hope to measure up to.
He tugged on the hem of his jacket to ensure it was straight without drawing too much attention to the action as he shuffled to the table in the middle of the room. His stomach tumbled in chaotic loops. If only he had listened to Ananel. Aeon Gabriel did not break from her meditation at his entrance. He waited a long moment, not wanting to disturb her and fascinated by the bright red of her lips, but she seemed oblivious to his presence, lost in her own world.
At last, Michael reluctantly cleared his throat. “I don’t mean to intrude, Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah, but I understand you wish to speak with me?”
The mist around her dissipated as she opened her eyes, though her posture never once changed. Aeon Gabriel took stock of him in a single, silent glance, and when her slanted eyes met his from under her perfectly straight bangs, a shiver raced up Michael’s spine. The statue in the Sanctuary had not done justice to her eyes: brilliant light blue and clear as ice.
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper yet crystal clear as she acknowledged him. “Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King. Have you been attacked?”
“Ah,” Michael said, his voice squeaking with embarrassment as he realised she must be referring to his dreadful appearance. He cleared his throat as he straightened his jacket once more. “No, nothing so dramatic. I must apologise for both my state of dress and the delayed response; there was an incident and I was away from my comm. When I received word of your transmission, I decided we had left you waiting long enough and did not stop to tidy up. I presumed whatever was afoot was important enough that you might be willing to overlook my offence.”
Aeon Gabriel’s expression hardly changed as she leaned forward ever so slightly, but there was a quiet intensity behind her gaze. “What manner of incident?”
“There was an accident at a construction site,” Michael told her. “There were a few injuries, but blessedly no casualties. I will say it is less than comforting that your initial reaction is to wonder if I had been attacked. Shall I presume the worst, that such a response is related to your need to speak with me?”
She inclined her head as she straightened, her countenance guarded and neutral. “Please excuse the dramatics of this call, but I fear we face an unprecedented situation. You are aware of the visions of the future gifted to me by the Source, are you not?”
“I am.” Michael nodded. “You have sent warnings of tragedies seen in your visions that have allowed us to prevent unnecessary suffering, and we are grateful.”
“It is not so simple. Please allow me to explain as best I am able,” Aeon Gabriel said before he could continue. She raised her hands and the mist once more leapt into being around her. It swirled in time with her subtlest motions, forming rivers and lines and vague outlines to illustrate her explanation. “No future is set in stone. My visions show me potential futures formed by the potential outcomes of actions taken. While no vision has ever proven false, there are many more possible futures than can be counted, and many of them apply to futures where certain actions are required but have not been taken. For example, observe this clip.” She removed the shining clip from her hair and held it for him to see it was carved in the shape of a bone-pale water serpent. “It is carved from local coral which has very low impact resistance and would not survive a fall from this height. If I were to drop it now, its future is to shatter beyond repair.”
She dropped the clip. The little sea serpent tumbled towards its doom, only for Aeon Gabriel to snatch it from its fall with her other hand moments before it vanished from sight. She held it up for inspection. “And yet it did not shatter. Its future has changed. Why?”
“You caught it before it could fall,” Michael said.
She nodded. “Forewarning that it would break and knowledge of when and how it would fall allowed me to catch it. Alternatively, knowing that it would not survive the fall would give me the choice to not drop it in a demonstration. This is my favourite clip. Do you understand?”
“Our actions shape the future, I believe is your key point.”
‘Actions have consequences, and knowledge adjusts our actions, often in ways that are not readily apparent,” Aeon Gabriel said as she returned her pin to her hair without ever once breaking his gaze. “If, for example, I were to tell you that following your preferred lunch routine three days from now would set in motion a chain of events that would result in the loss of fifteen daeva, what would you do?”
Michael let out a nervous laugh before he could stop himself. “First, I would like to know how bread and noodles could be so dangerous.”
“Your trip to that eatery distracts a nearby daeva working on renovating an overhead. You never speak, but they are so flustered they fail to notice the incorrect bonding agent has been applied to the sealant. Four seasons later it dissolves in the rain and collapses, killing a group of daeva in the courtyard below.”
“Why must it always be construction related?” Michael mumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face. He shrugged helplessly. “Knowing that, I would stay home that day.”
“And if staying home set in motion a chain of events that results in the loss of four dozen daeva?”
Michael threw his hands up in agitation. “I would ask if there was anything I could do that resulted in no losses.”
Aeon Gabriel nodded. “That is what I search for. To be aware of the consequences of many actions and find the course that offers the least loss and greatest boons.”
Michael let out a slow sigh but nodded to show he understood. “There’s a reason you’ve chosen to tell me this now.”
“I hope it is so that you will understand why I cannot share every detail I have seen,” she said. “Just as I hope you understand why it is imperative that what I tell you now remain confidential, even from your own Saerim. I do not yet know what the consequence of telling you everything will be.”
Intentionally keeping anything from his Saerim made him itch in agitation. He didn’t know if he could agree to that. “Why tell me any of this at all if there are such potential consequences? Why now?” Michael asked instead.
“I do not know that there is a choice,” Aeon Gabriel said. The mist surrounding her settled into the resemblance of a map of a hundred rivers intersecting with no visible reason. “This is an approximation of what I have been able to chart of the future. Each of these branches show the choices different lives might make, the twists how those choices change the direction of their future and those around them.”
“Do you track each possible choice every person might make at any point in the future?” Michael asked.
“Of course not. Such a wide scale of observation would require more time devoted to searching than exists each day. I am shown choices that lead to great changes, as well as the lives that lead up to those choices. There are many lives I have not seen, some of those lives quite influential. I cannot chart them all. There would be no point in trying. This is what I have succeeded in charting. This point is the present.” She pointed to a narrow cross-section of the jumble of streams. “These futures not attached to the main branch are holdover potentials from choices that were not made in the past. This area ahead of it represent the choices that might be made in the future.” She pointed to a rapidly ballooning set of branches that were too intricate and insubstantial for him to see across the screen.
“They all cut off in the same place?” Michael asked, his brow pinching with concern as he studied the surgically clean line where the branches ended at the same point, no matter how separated they were.
“We are approaching an epoch, the end of an era,” said Aeon Gabriel. “Our world will change drastically soon, as it did when the Spheres were first formed. I have seen possible versions of what our next era will be, but I cannot say which version we will face. I have been unable to see anything definite beyond this boundary.”
“Until now,” Michael guessed.
“Until now,” Aeon Gabriel agreed. She twitched her hands once more and a large patch of dense, dark mist pooled at the bottom of her makeshift map.
The weight of this addition threw everything above it into chaos. Entire sections of the map collapsed under their own weight or twisted in abrupt and confusing patterns that ended in jarring, withered points. The movement caused the map to spill over the invisible boundary of the epoch and thousands of currents spread forward, some as thin as hairs and others as thick as an arm as they surged onwards. One by one, however, they lost momentum and faded from sight. Unlike the clean line of the epoch, the edge of the map now was jagged and unpredictable, some streams ending almost immediately and others reaching further forwards before they died.
“Where we stand now, these are our futures,” Aeon Gabriel whispered.
“They all end,” Michael said.
She nodded, her grim expression saying more than words could.
“What is that you added to the chart?” Michael asked with a gesture to the dark section.
“My latest vision,” Aeon Gabriel answered. “I discovered this undercurrent this morning only, and its impact cannot be overstated. If something is not done, there will be no survivors. The Spheres will die.”
Michael ran a hand through his hair with a heavy exhale. “That is a bold, dangerous claim.”
Aeon Gabriel pressed her lips into a thin line. “I am aware. There is much about this situation I am uncertain of, but I know that it must be stopped. This was unlike any vision I have witnessed before. It might already be too late to stop entirely. According to what I have seen, events have already been set in motion during the formation of the Spheres by an injury I did not sustain.” She raised a hand to her throat, a flicker of distant confusion racing across her features before it vanished just as quickly.
“What does that mean?” Michael asked. “What is it you claim will end the world?”
Aeon Gabriel shook her head apologetically. She dismissed the misty map of the future encircling her with a twitch of her hand. “I cannot say. I am reaching the end of what I can safely share. Perhaps I have even crossed it.”
Michael pressed his hands against the surface of the desk before him to hide that they were trembling. “Then why contact me? What has the King got to say about this?”
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Aeon Gabriel considered him, her icy eyes watching his every movement and her face revealing none of her thoughts. “None of my attempts to contact Highest Yetzirah have been successful. The transmissions are being sent but no one is receiving them.”
The bottom fell out of Michael’s stomach with a sickening lurch. He plastered an uneasy grin onto his face and spread his hands wide. “There must be some mistake. Equipment malfunctions are not impossible to imagine; it is a very delicate system. Are you saying that no one in all of Kether is answering your calls?”
“No. My calls are not reaching Kether as if the very Sphere itself were gone,” said Aeon Gabriel. “It is the same with Chokmah and Binah, as well as Tiphareth.”
Four Spheres. It was impossible to imagine that four out of nine Spheres were experiencing the same crippling malfunctions with their communication equipment at the same time, not without also assuming a shared, devastating cause. Michael met her gaze and held it. “What do you need me to do?”
Aeon Gabriel leaned forward. “Do you have an alternate method of contacting Most High?”
“No,” Michael answered at once.
“If this is our future, if it is already in motion, we will be unable to stand against it alone,” said Aeon Gabriel. “We must have the unifying guidance of King Elion if we are to have any hope of preventing a catastrophe equal to the Shattering.”
Michael flinched. “You go too far.”
“No, I do not,” insisted Aeon Gabriel. “The Source Spoke to me to order that this future be stopped, and for that, we need the Most High. You are His son. You must have another way to call to Him.”
“I must, and yet I do not,” said Michael. “I doubt there is anything I could try that you yourself have not already done.”
“You must try. Perhaps He will hear you where my calls have gone unanswered, Aeon Michael.”
“I find that very doubtful. Most High does not condone favouritism if that’s what you’re counting on. I have not spoken with the King directly since…” Michael hesitated, his brow furrowing as he attempted to recall his last conversation with his father. The memory of the creation of the world lingered in the back of his mind, indescribable and unreachable, but he could not summon any others. Something far older, long forgotten and nonsensical, lurked beneath the surface that made him long to run outside and enjoy the warmth of the day, but it skittered out of reach before he could register any details. Since the creation of the Spheres, he had never spoken to any of the four Aeons whose entire worlds appeared to have vanished, not even to the King. His father. He had taken the space between them as a blessing and assumed the others did as well. What if their silence had not been by choice?
Rightly interpreting his lack of response for what it meant, Aeon Gabriel corrected her posture and folded her hands in her lap once more. She was every bit as composed and pristine in appearance as he had assumed her to be at the beginning of their conversation, but now Michael was certain he had not imagined the note of underlying tension in her voice. “If the events I foresaw are already in motion, our every choice now is more crucial than ever. We must find a way to contact Highest Yetzirah, if only to verify their condition. Please, do whatever you can to contact King Elion.”
“I will.” Michael nodded. “If you think it will help, I will.”
“I will remain at this console and continue my own attempts at establishing a link to Highest Yetzirah.”
“I understand,” Michael said, “just as I understand your reasons for not telling me everything. However, if the situation is as dire as you claim, surely there must be something more you can tell me, particularly if I am to be of any assistance to you.”
For a long moment, Aeon Gabriel merely watched him in unmoving silence, perhaps considering her next words. Her clear gaze grew distant and glazed before drifting to the side, focused on something only she could see. At last, she blinked as if waking from a deep daydream and returned her attention to him without ever having changed expression. “I believe there is something in the Void we have been unaware of. I cannot say what it is or what its purpose may be, for I do not know, but I believe it to be hostile, or at the very least dangerous. If, during your attempts to contact Highest Yetzirah, you encounter any entity you cannot identify, do not engage. Do not allow yourself to be exposed to whatever lurks outside my sight.”
Michael wanted to laugh. He wanted to be sick. This was ridiculous. This was obscene. If nothing else, it was in very poor taste. Instead of any of that, he nodded as if any of what she had said made sense in the calm, untroubled world they had worked so hard to build. “Thank you for the warning, Gabriel, Aeon of Yesod, the Word of Foundation and Base of Yetzirah.”
Aeon Gabriel inclined her head at his words. A flicker of some softer emotion fluttered across her features. “I am relieved to find you well, Michael, Aeon of Hod, the Word of Glory and son of the King. I only pray that we find the other Spheres in such good health.”
“We are all bound through the Source,” Michael said without thinking, as much to reassure himself as her. “Surely we would know if anything had happened to them.”
It was difficult to know what she thought of his comment behind her serene expression, but she nodded. “Yes, surely. One can only hope.”
He did not miss the concerned shadow behind her eyes as she ended the transmission. The screen reset to standby mode. The room was darker and less colourful for the loss of her image.
Michael slumped in the chair. He ran a hand through his hair as he struggled to come to terms with what he had just heard. He cast a sideways glance to the windows overlooking Hod’s capital city; the drawn curtains prevented him from viewing the world outside, but he knew even so that there were millions of innocent, trusting daeva going about their business, trying to make the most of their lives and it was his eternal duty to protect their best interests. He could not allow the world he had built for them to come under threat. He would not allow it.
The control console for the screen was built into the top of the desk. Not allowing himself time to think about what he was doing, Michael keyed in the sequence to send a transmission to the Sphere of King Elion, Kether. The wall screen lit up and a bright block of text announced the transmission equipment was searching for his requested target. Michael held his breath as he stared at it; on the rare occasions he had needed to contact any of the neighbouring Spheres, the transmission had not taken so long to connect. He understood Kether was much further away than Yesod, Netzach, or even Geburah, but he had not expected the extra distance alone to have such an impact on the efficiency of the equipment.
The image on the screen changed at last. “Invalid pathing request,” it now said. “Unable to locate user-defined receiver.”
Michael let out a slow breath as he pressed the button to end the transmission. He double-checked that he had entered the correct identification sequence for Kether and carefully entered it again. The hope that the error was on his end struggled to stay afloat in his mind, but it lacked any genuine conviction as he stared at the screen, attempting to will it to connect and prove this entire affair was little more than well-intentioned paranoia.
“Invalid pathing request,” the screen changed to announce. “Unable to locate user-defined receiver.”
He turned the screen off and rubbed at the back of his neck in a feeble effort to relieve some of the tension building there. Was it possible there was something wrong with the equipment? It had been working fine while he spoke with Aeon Gabriel, so that seemed unlikely, but it was a far more palatable answer than her foretold apocalypse - and far easier to rule out. Michael stood and opened the door to the hallway. Ananel remained where he had left her as she worked through a thick set of reports to make use of her time, but her attention was fully upon him in an instant, her gaze keen with curiosity and worry.
“Ananel, could we get a diagnostic run on the equipment used in this room?” Michael asked.
“I can, my Aeon, but every piece involved in theatre nine was examined and optimally calibrated earlier this morning,” said Ananel as she brushed a stray lock of her curly brown hair away from her face without seeming to notice she was doing so. “That is why I selected it for your use. Is something the matter?”
“Possibly, though I’m uncertain what,” Michael said, sighing. “Don’t worry about the diagnostic, then. I doubt it’s the equipment. Tell me, do you know the sequence to contact Kether?”
Ananel’s expression grew curious. “I have the contact registry here with me,” she said. She pulled a small information pad from one of her pockets and flipped to the appropriate section before passing him the pad and pointing out the sequence for Kether.
It was identical to the one he had entered. Suppressing a frustrated grimace, Michael handed the pad back to her. “Would you mind humouring me a bit longer and check that I’m using the console correctly?”
“Of course, my Aeon,” Ananel said. She followed him into theatre nine and activated the console on the desk. “Shall I presume you wish to contact Kether?”
Michael nodded. “Please.”
Ananel entered the sequence exactly as he had, and the screen on the wall changed to announce it was searching for the First Sphere.
“That’s odd. I’ve never seen it take so long to contact any of the other Spheres,” Ananel said with a frown. Michael made a non-committal noise in response, and they spent a long moment watching the screen in silence. When at last it changed to display the same error message it had shown to Michael, Ananel appeared as openly baffled as he had felt. “How unusual! That message typically indicates an improperly entered identification sequence but I was certain I entered it correctly.”
“You did,” Michael said flatly. He had yet to turn his gaze away from the screen, lost as he was in thought.
“The equipment appears to be functioning normally,” Ananel said. She was tapping away on the console, no doubt making use of the diagnostic tools built into the console itself. “I’ll have my technicians look at this station right away, but I can’t imagine what would cause this. Could the transmission be lost in the Sea of Consciousness?”
Michael turned to face her with a start. “Is that possible? What could cause that to happen?”
“Presently, it is only a theory; we have no means of approaching the Sea of Consciousness to test our theories, of course,” said Ananel. She tapped a quick command into the console and the screen flickered to life to display a crude map of the approximate layout of the nine Spheres. Bright lines of colour were drawn atop the black space between the Spheres with no apparent pattern to their direction, made even more confusing when they began swirling and expanding without any clear rhythm. “I find peace in charting what I can see of the aether flows from here,” Ananel explained. “I assure you I only make use of the equipment to pursue my hobby in my spare time when appropriate, my Aeon. It seemed such a shame not to make use of the equipment we have here to learn more about the world around us.”
“I was unaware you fancied such pursuits,” Michael said. He did not try to hide that he was impressed. “You did this work yourself?”
“With some assistance gathering general data, of course,” Ananel said. She was beaming with pride. “This is an average compiled from data dozens of us have gathered over a few hundred thousand seasons. It is accurate by our theories based on our observations, but there is still much we do not know. This represents what we can gather about the Sea of Consciousness.” She pointed to the area separating the three Spheres of Highest Yetzirah from the six Spheres of Lower Yetzirah, the area where the lines of colour were swirling together in a tight, chaotic mess of incomprehensible knots. “Not only is it far larger than our ability to measure, but the aether is uniquely dense and active in the Sea of Consciousness as it is nowhere else in the Void. I’ve heard some compelling arguments that the unusual behaviour of the aether there would be a considerable obstacle for anything attempting to pass through it, including light. That’s the reason we cannot see the Spheres of Highest Yetzirah from here as we can our neighbours. Well, according to the theory, at any rate. But it seems sensible to me that such a force would be capable of disrupting our communications.”
Michael nodded without thinking, staring at the image with a frown. Of the four Spheres Aeon Gabriel was unable to contact, three of them comprised Highest Yetzirah. Kether, Chokmah, and Binah were all located on the far side of the Sea of Consciousness, separated from them by the swirling mess of aether that constituted the only fixed point within the Void. The fourth ‘lost’ Sphere, Tiphareth, was far closer, located in almost the exact centre of the nine, on the same side of the Sea of Consciousness as Hod.
“Ananel, would you please go check the records for me and find out when we last successfully communicated with Highest Yetzirah?” Michael requested. He barely heard her agree and hurry from the room while he reset the screen and entered the sequence to send a message to Tiphareth.
A pleasant chiming noise indicated the connection was successfully established and the screen on the wall went black. Michael stared at it, waiting for a change that never came. Confused, he tapped a few buttons on the console, which assured him that the feed was live and evidently functioning within normal parameters. The viewscreen supposedly showed an undamaged connection to Tiphareth the way he had spoken with Aeon Gabriel in Yesod, but all that was displayed was blackness.
“Hello?” Michael called hesitantly. There was no noticeable response or change on the screen. He killed the connection and entered the code once more to try again.
Again, the pleasant chime indicating the call was successful was followed by the screen changing to a solid black wall. Drumming his fingers on the table, Michael considered what he ought to do next. There must be something amiss with the equipment, particularly if it was insisting things were functioning normally, but at least it was attempting to connect with Tiphareth. A poor connection was better than no connection at all.
“This is the Aeon of Hod calling for the Aeon of Tiphareth,” he said. “I repeat, calling for Raphael, Aeon of Tiphareth, the Word of Beauty and Point Which Binds, this is Michael, Aeon of Hod, the World of Glory and son of the King. Please respond, if you are able to.”
The blackness of the screen distorted. An unidentifiable smear of pale colour lurched across the screen as if the entire image had been roughly jolted in one direction. Michael leaned forward, squinting as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. A lower-pitch chime announced the transmission had ended and the screen returned to its cheerful standby mode. Scoffing in disbelief, Michael checked the console; the log claimed that the equipment had been working perfectly on both ends before someone in Tiphareth closed the line. He keyed in the sequence and called again.
The same black screen as before answered him. This time, however, there was a smear of pale colour in the centre; it was too vague to identify, but it slowly grew larger as he watched.
“Please check your equipment, Tiphareth, you are broadcasting a blank screen,” said Michael. “This is the Aeon of Hod calling for the Aeon of Tiphareth. We have a potential incident in progress and there appears to be something amiss with your transmission equipment. Do you require assistance? Please respond.”
Once more, an unidentifiable smudge of bright colour flickered across the screen. The pale spot filled a good portion of the centre of the image now, still unfocused and blurry, and the edges were lightening as well.
“There appears to be some heavy interference involved, Tiphareth,” Michael said. “We have yet to get a clear response from you. This is Michael, Aeon of Hod, requesting a dialogue with Raphael, Aeon of Tiphareth. What is your condition? We have reason to suspect an incident is in progress and would like to confirm your status. We wish to extend an offer of support, if necessary, but we must first know the nature of your situation. Please let us know you’re all right; it would ease a great burden to hear this is a mechanical failure. I repeat, Tiphareth, this is Hod, asking if you require assistance. Please respond.”
As he spoke, the light patches on the screen spread ever further, encompassing increasingly complex shapes and patterns to form a blurry picture. The image slid sharply into focus all at once, and the screen that ought to have been showing a view from Tiphareth was abruptly shadowing a vibrant reflection of Michael standing behind the desk in Hod. Michael stared at his mirror image in shock, scarcely registering what he was seeing. Then the cheerful goodbye chime announced that the call had been ended by the other party and the screen switched back to its standby mode.
A powerful, keening energy rippled through the surrounding air, a sharp and sudden amplification of the agitated restlessness that had been building in the air all day. Michael pressed the heels of his palms against his forehead to relieve some of the horrible pressure building inside his skull as the soundless ringing in the air reached its powerful crescendo. The right side of his body was oddly energised, nearly electrified, with a sensation not unlike the empowered tingling that accompanied close proximity to his Sephirah. His hands still pressed against his forehead in a fruitless effort to ease the splitting discomfort building in his skull, visible sparks of power raced along his right arm before his face. The sleeve of his jacket began to smoulder and smoke before bursting into flames; Michael staggered backwards, flapping his arm like a fool, and was successful in putting the fire out before he caused any damage to anything beyond his new jacket.
A distant scream echoed from outside. Michael ran to the window and ripped the curtains from the wall in his rush to look outside. This side of the building faced the capital city and not the forest surrounding the Sephirah, so he had an unobstructed view of the crowds of panicked daeva in the streets below. More daeva were flocking outside to join the commotion, shouting and frantically gesturing at the sky above. The tall buildings around them prevented Michael from seeing the sky itself. Planning on vaulting directly outside, Michael tried to force the window open, but it refused to budge. Not wanting to waste more time trying to determine if he needed to push or pull a window that likely wasn’t designed to open, he abandoned the idea and ran out of theatre nine. As he sprinted through the halls of the communications centre and out to the plaza in front of the building, the heavy pressure in the air caused his breaths to echo loudly in his ears.
The daytime aurora were bright and colourful as always, but behind the vibrant blues and purples, four gargantuan spirals of golden light slowly descended from the Void towards Hod. Each of the spirals appeared to be evenly spaced over the central forest and not the city itself. Even though the distance between them did nothing to downplay the massive scale of the situation, Michael took a small measure of comfort in the fact that no occupied buildings were in immediate danger. The daeva around him did not appear to find comfort in that thought as he did, however, and the panic in the streets was slipping into hysteria. Michael could not fault them for being afraid. Nothing had ever come from the Void before; there was nothing in the Void. It was, almost by definition, completely empty of identifiable matter.
Michael put his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly to catch the attention of the crowd around him. “Everyone, your attention, please! I appreciate the impulse to react strongly to the unknown, but this is not the solution! We will temporarily evacuate the inner ring of the city, but you must do so in an orderly and sensible manner!”
“My Aeon, what is happening?” one of the daeva asked.
“There will be a public announcement as soon as we have verifiable answers for you,” Michael said. “In the meanwhile, we need to focus on ensuring everyone is safely evacuated to the outer districts of the city as quickly as possible, as a temporary precaution. We will have further instructions for you shortly.”
While the daeva around him scrambled to comply and spread the word, Michael retrieved the new handheld communicator Ananel had given him from his pocket and struggled to activate it. The device had never been turned on before and did not recognise him as a valid user, and his efforts to go through the proper start-up procedures were not aided by his awareness of the steadily growing golden structures in the sky extending ever closer towards their world with each passing moment. Ananel appeared at his elbow, her mass of bushy brown hair whipping around her face in the sudden onslaught of wind.
“Is this the emergency the Aeon of Yesod warned you about?” she asked. She had to shout to be heard over the din of the frantic daeva and the constant howling of the wind.
“Not directly, but it’s likely related. Ananel, I need you to - Why is this not working?” Michael snapped as he shook the communicator furiously. Ananel rescued it from his grasp and began tapping away at it. “Ananel, I need you to work with the others and get everyone out of the inner ring immediately. We will not take any chances with this; prepare to evacuate the middle districts as well. No one approaches the centre of the city until we know what we’re dealing with, understand?”
“It needs your palm imprint here,” Ananel said as she pressed the communicator back into his hands. Her dark eyes were wide with terror. “My Aeon, we cannot abandon the Sephirah!”
“We’re not. I’ll take care of it, but I need you to first make certain all of our citizens are safe. Get them ready to empty the city if that’s what it comes to. I don’t want any heroics from anyone, are we clear?” Michael insisted.
She nodded fretfully. “The Archive -”
“We seal it, completely. Full natural disaster protocols,” Michael said. He watched the spirals loom ever closer to the ground by the moment rather than look at her. With a distressed shake of his head, he corrected himself. “No, contact the Nursery first; send the kids to the shelter there if they’re likely to have trouble with the evacuation. Then lock it down until we know whether it’s safe to move them. Tell Ephriel they must be ready to go if they need to, though, all of them.” He waited just long enough to see Ananel nod in compliance before he turned and sprinted, not daring to fly with the wind in such an uproar, towards the nearest of the four breaks in the sky, away from the noise of the panicked city and into the untouched forest at its heart. He fumbled with his new comm and keyed in a familiar sequence from memory. The device was blessedly agreeable and the local call was picked up instantly. “Remiel! It’s me.”
“My Aeon! What -”
“Remiel, listen! We’re evacuating the inner ring of the city for now; get everyone working on the Sanctuary to the outer districts right away.”
The sound of Remiel relaying the order to someone else echoed dimly over the comm, prompting Michael to experience a surge of gratitude towards his Regent. “I’ll get them out, but, Michael, we cannot abandon the Sephirah,” Remiel said tensely. “If anything were to happen to it…”
“No one is abandoning anything! Remiel, I’m asking you to stay with the Sephirah. You understand what is at stake; I trust you to guard it with your life.”
“I will,” agreed Remiel grimly.
“Good man,” Michael said. “Make certain the others get to safety. I’m approaching the contact point for the nearest one of these things; I’ll keep you informed about what I find.”
“Michael, the Source will keep you,” said Remiel. The wind grew stronger the closer Michael got to the golden spirals descending from the sky; he could barely hear the comm over the gale-force wind howling through the surrounding trees.
“You still owe me lunch,” he quipped. He cut the transmission and turned his attention to the task at hand, and not a moment too soon; the wind ripped a smaller tree from the ground and tossed it in his path. He skidded to a stop and slipped on the slick turf in his scramble to avoid being crushed, the leaves from the tree whipping against his arm in his narrow escape.
By the time he regained his footing, the nearest of the golden objects reached the top of the forest. The bottom of the spiral of light continued to extend inexorably to the ground. The closer he got to it the more he appreciated how massive it truly was, dwarfing all but the largest buildings in size. He thought, for an absurd moment, that it looked like a spiral staircase made of solidified blood descending from above. The spiral was approaching the ground in a large, mostly flat clearing in the woods, empty save for the whirlwind of leaves ripped from the trees by the gale.
Aeon Gabriel’s warning echoed in the back of his mind. ‘Do not engage’, she had advised. ‘Do not allow yourself to be exposed’. Well, it would appear it was already too late for that. If nothing else, perhaps he could stop this here and now. Whatever lurked within the Void would not spread through Hod if he had anything to say about it. Michael stood his ground and drew his sword, scarcely daring to breathe as he watched, helplessly, as the pillar of golden light lowered the final stretch of distance to the ground.