The centrepiece of the palace courtyard was a towering tree. There were no other trees like it in Hod: it was immense, towering above the palace, its broad leaves were a shimmering, metallic gold that twinkled with the reflected colours of the daytime aurora and its bark consisted of white crystal. Soft lines of gentle golden light travelled through the reaching branches and down the crystalline trunk in slow, pulsing waves, providing the illusion that the entire tree was inhaling and exhaling. Nine glass lanterns, each a perfect sphere, hung at key points among the branches with small but brilliant flames burning inside.
An altar stood in front of the wide trunk of the tree, a shallow basin carved out of a single waist-high slab of rock. The altar and the tree both predated the palace and, indeed, most standing structures in Hod. A well-tended path had been worn around the base of the tree many seasons ago and was lined with colourful rocks and bright grasses.
Michael approached the tree, gazing up at its shining leaves with thoughtful reverence, and placed his hand against its trunk in silent greeting. Perhaps it would be hyperbole to call the time he had spent in the tree’s presence immeasurable, yet the comfort he found under its branches had not faded even after so many seasons. The thought that the completion of the Grand Sanctuary around the Sephirah Hod might lessen the frequency of his visits to the tree caused him a pang of regret. He resolved that it wouldn’t; he had passed too many sleepless nights in the tree’s soothing company to abandon it simply because the official ceremonies changed locations.
Turning from the tree, he faced the crowd milling about the courtyard beyond the altar. It was a small and subdued crowd for a kindling, one that lacked the jubilant anticipation the ceremony typically invoked. Michael sympathised with their uncertainty; not only was this an unscheduled kindling, but it had also been announced on the coattails of perhaps the most turbulent day in Hod’s history.
The assembled crowd consisted primarily of people who worked in or around the palace or individuals involved with someone who did; he recognised a great many of them by face if not by name. The absence of children from the Nursery and central Academy was glaring. This might be the first kindling to take place with no children present. That detail, more than anything else, reminded Michael that this was a ceremony borne of desperation to maintain the illusion of normality rather than the true celebration of life and agency it was masquerading as.
One figure was isolated from the rest of the crowd. Aeon Raphael sat on one of the low benches lining the courtyard with her back turned to the group, her shoulders hunched in a posture that blatantly discouraged approach. The crowd seemed more than willing to oblige if the wide ring of space around her was any indication. The infirmary staff had provided Aeon Raphael with a simple, loose-fitting long-sleeved shift that covered most of the odd markings on her torso and limbs, though it did very little to ease the illusion that her face was in bloody tatters. They had also provided her with a lightweight crutch, which she clung to even while sitting as if her life depended on its presence. Michael’s initial fears that she could not stand, much less travel the distances between Spheres, had been proven wrong; she agreed to join them in the courtyard even when offered the chance to wait in the infirmary. Though it had been a clear, physical struggle, she refused direct assistance and never once requested help or voiced her difficulties. It was almost as if she was determined that her greatest difficulty would be navigating the world while blind without allowing anyone to touch her. The crutch helped to a limited degree, but her reliance on it to support her weight restricted its ability to test the ground ahead of her.
It was difficult to see someone so frail and in need of help refuse to allow anyone near her. The way she flinched and slunk further away from every sound his people made was painful to watch. Yet their brief interactions had made it plenty clear that forcing any issue with her would do far more harm than good. Patience was key. He knew that, but even so, it was hard to watch. Michael untied the new ribbon included with his fresh change of clothes from his sword to prepare for the kindling as he pondered how best to help her. The ribbon was halfway to his pocket before an idea stopped him and prompted him to reconsider the length of red fabric.
A deliberate movement at the edge of the courtyard caught his attention and he tucked the ribbon away for later. Saerim Ananel stood in a door to the palace as she enthusiastically waved a bright green paper fan to draw his gaze over the heads of the crowd. When she saw that she had gained his attention, she raised her free hand in an encouraging gesture. They were as ready as they were going to be, and precious time was passing, inexorably ticking down the moments until the King’s deadline.
There had been a hurried discussion of what Michael would say during this impromptu kindling. The agreement they settled on was that an adjusted version of the classic kindling ceremony would be best. Michael was to open with a short speech praising the Infinite Source, applaud the many accomplishments achieved throughout Hod’s history, and assure the daeva that today’s events, no matter how chaotic they seemed, were all a natural piece of the Grand Plan. He knew the words, he knew what to say to begin the ceremony, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to speak. A quiet, guiding tug deep inside him whispered that a stilted, overly formal speech imitating a kindling was perhaps not the best way to raise morale.
Michael unfurled his wings. He fanned them out to their full wingspan and fluffed his feathers in a silent but pointed display. It was enough to catch the attention of the assembled crowd. The courtyard fell silent as all attention turned to him. Michael plucked a long pinfeather from his wing and dropped it onto the altar.
The feather brushed the bottom of the stone basin. A pillar of blinding light roared down from the aurora overhead to engulf the altar in an inferno of brilliant colours. Without a single thought of hesitation, Michael plunged both his hands inside the fire and was consumed by the power of the Source.
In that moment, there ceased to be any semblance of difference between him and Hod. In that moment, it was as if Hod had never been separated from the divine realm of Atziluth to form the Sphere in Yetzirah. In that moment, he was one of nine aspects of the Infinite Source and his purpose could not have been clearer to him.
The world he had built from his own soul spread out before him as if for inspection, presented in glorious swaths of colours that defied description, endless in potential and splendour. Lustrous sparks of light represented its inhabitants. The wind was his breath, the warmth of the aurora his heartbeat, the earth was his bones and the daeva his hopes and dreams. Their souls were transparent and familiar to him, a discordant orchestra that produced the purest symphony in perfect harmony. Their hopes, their dreams, their fears, failures, successes, the very essence that composed each individual brushed against his mind, followed by faint shades of their experiences.
The group gathered in the palace courtyard was the most obvious to him. Though he could not feel it himself, he shared their awareness of the heat radiating from the altar in blinding waves, their fear-tinged awe at the sight of their Aeon wreathed in the burning, primal light of the Source, as well as their instinctive recognition of his presence. They knew him as Hod, as the will of the world they lived in, as an extension of the Endless Source, and they welcomed his presence even as the raw power frightened them. He loved them for their trust, for being who they were, for all they could accomplish by simply existing. He had built this world for them. That moment reminded him that his work had not been in vain. More than anything, he wished for them to prosper, to grow and thrive and live, and he would protect them for all eternity.
There was one soul who did not belong. It was a jarring feeling, one that scattered his focus in search of the cause. With his mind encompassing the entire Sphere, it was difficult to concentrate on any one detail. It took effort to make himself aware of the difference in the aether, one he had never felt before.
First, his attention was drawn to the Paths. There were four Paths connecting Hod to the unknown, brimming with aether from the Source and beyond his understanding. They were oddly intrusive, rather like what he imagined being impaled on a metal pole would feel like, but they were painless. Once he grew accustomed to directing his thoughts around them, they were surprisingly soothing. Though they did not breathe in time with Hod, they carried the comforting signature of the Source. He would learn to adapt to them in due time. The Paths were not the root of what he felt.
She had not moved, still isolated from his daeva in the courtyard. He couldn’t explain how he had forgotten her presence. Now that he was aware of her, the Aeon of Tiphareth drew his attention like a beacon. Unlike his daeva, her soul was removed from his awareness, obscured behind a vortex of swirling energy, unlike anything he had ever encountered. Only the briefest glimpses of the Aeon of Tiphareth herself were visible through the tempestuous haze surrounding her, fragmented flashes of disjointed shapes lacking identifiable intent or purpose that only reinforced the notion she was not of Hod. She was a piece of something other and did not belong here, not like this.
Curiosity overwhelmed him. The desire to know her, to understand this foreign aspect of the Source gnawed at his restraint. It goaded him forward to unveil the truth. His power reached for the dark haze swirling around the Aeon of Tiphareth, the very aether in the air rippling and shaping to his whims, only to be turned away by the shadowy bubble surrounding her. An electric, buzzing keen built in his mind, a steady crescendo he associated with the Source Itself. This only intrigued him further.
His focus narrowed as he directed the boundless power available to him to a single point of the dark vortex to peel back the veil. Through the perspectives of his daeva in the courtyard, he saw the corona of divine fire enveloping his body spread to engulf the entire tree; the heat of the flames forced the daeva back, but he was incapable of understanding why. He was fixated on burning away the whirling haze that obscured the answers he sought. The flames crashed against the edges of the whirlwind, but it was not enough to dispel the shadows. The droning keen of raw power had become all-consuming. A feeble tug in his lesser mind was urging him to return to his body, but he brushed it aside. If he could only concentrate, he would be able to pry open this mystery and uncover the truth within.
Something was watching him with calculating interest from inside the shadows. He froze, unable to explain the sharp vulnerability he felt as the shape within the haze stirred. His hesitation cost him, and he was flung away with all the force of an explosion.
Michael was thrown back into his body with a startled gasp. He knew he was wreathed in fire - the roar of the towering inferno surrounding him was immediately familiar even as the brilliant light of it disoriented him - but for a moment he could not recall what he ought to do about this. So he held his breath and stood in the fire’s heart, confused, as he struggled to interpret what his senses were telling him. His skin was tingling, he felt nauseous, and behind the steady ringing buzz in his ears, he could hear the murmuring of the crowd gathered for the kindling -
The kindling.
It came back to him in a rush. He was standing before the courtyard altar to perform an unscripted kindling as a demonstration of faith, and instead, he had transformed the area into an uncontrolled bonfire. Before the fire spread further, Michael drew his sword with a flourish. He ran his hand along the glowing seals carved into the blade and pushed every other thought from his mind except for the design of the seals. Holding that image foremost, he twirled the blade in a circle, including a few admittedly theatrical embellishments for good measure, as he spun the flames tightly around himself. A quiet calm settled over Michael as the fire converged on him; he could not feel the heat it was surely generating, but he could imagine it as something deeply comforting.
He thrust the sword towards the sky. The flames gathered around him followed the point of the blade and shot upwards in a blazing pillar of multi-hued fire. A deafening peal of thunder shook the ground as the energy he dispelled was reabsorbed by the aurora and dispersed, followed by a bright flash of light as thin lines of fire descended to ignite the dozens of hastily erected kindling bonfires placed throughout the city.
When the sky settled once more, the world was calm and untroubled. The air possessed the same hopeful, clean quality of the morning after a great storm. A healthy fire blazed atop the stone altar. The plants around him were shrivelled and dead and the glass lanterns in the tree had melted, but the tree itself was untouched. The intensity of the initial, uncontrolled ignition had forced the gathered crowd backwards for their safety. A timid uncertainty lingered over them as they waited to see if it was safe to approach once more. That he was to blame for their fear cut Michael to the core. A vice clamped down on his chest, restricting him to shallow, panting gasps. Twin desires to shriek in fury and flee in horror fought to control him; he stomped both into submission through pure determination. They were still looking to him for guidance and he would always try to be what they needed, no matter how often he failed.
Michael squared his shoulders and stood to his full height. “Let that stand as proof that we are guided by the Source!” he yelled with a gesture to the flames dancing on the altar. “Never doubt that we are protected! No matter what chaos we may face, we will persevere! Together we have built our home from nothing, and together we will carry it into the future! You are the Beni Elohim of Hod, tasked with showing the other Spheres what Glory can accomplish! Will you allow mere uncertainty to reduce you to simpering children? You, who hold the favour of the Source? I know you are above such things! We are more than our fear! We will greet the unknown with our heads held high and show the strength of our mettle!”
A murmured agreement rippled through the crowd, a whisper of optimistic excitement that warmed his heart. He held up his hand to silence them before they could voice their agreement too loudly.
“We have been summoned before Most High to speak of the future,” he continued. “We will answer this summons gladly and introduce the other Spheres to the achievements of Hod. The trip will take upwards of two days, but you will not be left without guidance. Regent Remiel, step forward, please.”
Michael spared a thought for how unfair it was to call Remiel forward without warning - their original plan did not involve asking the Regent to step onto the stage so literally - but Remiel hurried from the crowd to stand beside him without complaint. Michael returned his sword to its scabbard and began undoing the belts holding it in place.
“Regent Remiel, I leave Hod in your capable care while I am away. I grant you full authority to act in my stead until I return. With this sword as a symbol of my office, let no one doubt that I believe you will do everything in your power to protect the people. There is no one else I would trust with this,” Michael said as he held out the sheathed sword for Remiel to take. “You have my utmost confidence.”
Remiel’s hands shook as he accepted the sword so carefully he might have thought it would explode if jostled. His eyes glistened with emotion that threatened to burst into tears at any moment. Michael hoped he wouldn’t; he doubted Remiel would ever forgive him for triggering such a public display of ‘weakness’.
“Thank you, my Aeon,” Remiel choked out. His voice was wavering, but still understandable. “I won’t… I won’t disappoint you.”
“Of course you won’t. I know you, Remiel, and that’s why I trust you,” Michael said. He turned to face the crowd and raised his voice once more. “You will never face hardship alone. Should you ever doubt that, look to the Sephirah and see the light of the Source.” He pointed to the pillar of light that forever marked the heart of the Sphere. “Never forget that Hod is an aspect of the Source and that you are a part of Hod. Have faith. Revel in your vibrancy.”
With the ceremony concluded, the crowd began to disperse throughout the courtyard. A persistent, tense melancholy lingered over the palace that refused to be denied, but the people now possessed an understated optimism that cheered him significantly. It was a far cry from the bright enthusiasm he knew them for, but it was an improvement. With any luck, it would be enough to keep the calm while he was away.
“My Aeon, are you certain it’s wise to leave your sword behind?” Remiel asked as he clutched the scabbard to his chest like a delicate and precious treasure. “What if you have need of it during your trip?”
There was a thought that was causing Michael no small amount of concern. The very idea of losing control in front of the King made his throat hurt and his stomach wobble, so he pushed it from his mind with a sense of dread resignation. If it came to that, merely having the sword wouldn’t be enough to contain the damage.
“It wouldn’t be appropriate to carry a weapon before Most High, regardless of how I intended to use it,” Michael said. “And at any rate, I ought to be above needing a security blanket just to speak with my father, wouldn’t you agree? No, it’s best it stays here where it’ll be appreciated.”
Remiel gave him a somewhat shaky grin. “Would it have been too much to ask that you stick with the plan?”
“No one’s ever accused me of being cool-headed during a crisis,” Michael grumbled as he kicked a bit of dirt over the still-smouldering embers of what remained of the grass surrounding the tree. “Excuse me a moment, Remiel. I must speak with our guest before we leave. Is Mahariel here yet? Why don’t you see if you can find her?”
Now unfocused, the crowd had spread through the courtyard with no discernable pattern or goal, but one area remained empty. Aeon Raphael sat alone, completely unmoving, on her bench at the very edge of the courtyard. Her back was to the majority of the daeva but her ear turned towards the tree. The crutch seemed to be the only support keeping her from falling over and she clung to it with all her might, coiled so tightly it looked as though a stiff breeze could break her in half. Michael approached with a great deal of reluctance and no idea what to say. He was convinced he had done something incredibly rude, though he couldn’t pinpoint what he had done wrong.
“D-did your ceremony go as you planned?” Aeon Raphael asked without turning to face him.
He ought to tell her, yes, the kindling had been an unconventional but complete success. He needed her assistance and he suspected he required her respect. Perhaps, just this once, it would be justifiable to twist the truth to prevent his fellow Aeon from realising how precious little control he had.
“No,” he said instead, sighing. “Most kindlings only light the altar itself and we usually take notes from the people to offer as a sacrifice. This kindling forfeited many of the traditional customs for expediency and got somewhat out of hand as a result. Are you…” Michael floundered, unsure what he was trying to ask. A vague impression that something unusual had passed while he had been separated from his body struggled through his confusion, but it was difficult to parse a memory that lacked physical sensation. “Are you comfortable? You could have waited in the infirmary. The heat didn’t bother you over much, did it?”
Aeon Raphael made a casual, dismissive noise, touching her face as she pondered something. “I didn’t r-realise you u-use swords in Hod.”
“I don’t know that it’s fair to say swords are commonly used in Hod,” Michael said. “Non-combat swordplay is a popular sport, but that hardly makes swords an everyday accessory.”
“Th-then why act as if leaving y-your sword behind is in any w-way significant?”
“It’s become something of a personal signature. I designed it to suit my needs long ago and it’s been my constant companion since.”
“You n-needed a sword?” Aeon Raphael drummed her fingers against her chin. “It is a-a weapon. Why would y-you need that?”
“It is a tool, and I needed a focus,” Michael said. “That it functions as a sword is incidental to its primary purpose. I needed an object that could be comfortably carried while withstanding the power in the seals.”
“And w-what are these seals?”
“Ah, they were inspired by the Source. It took some effort to design them, I’ll admit, as I had no precedent to work from, but I needed a focus for my power,” said Michael. “It took longer still to contain the effect to the blade, but the result was a focus that channels the energy I need while harmlessly absorbing and dispersing the excess.”
“You describe a-a shackle meant to drain you,” Aeon Raphael said. There was an odd undercurrent to her words, one buried too deeply for Michael to identify. “W-why would you want that?”
“I would much rather bear a shackle than the guilt of an accident the shackle could have prevented,” Michael said stiffly.
A slow smile lit up Raphael’s features, equal parts delighted and incredulous. “Y-you can’t control it. You can’t control y-your power on your own. How embarrassing. Is that the reason you’re a-alone down here so far f-from the Crown, O son of the King?”
Michael lurched forward as if he had been stung. Molten fury laced with uncertain shame boiled in his gut. “Listen,” he snapped, but he stopped himself before he could continue, rocking back on his heels and wrestling his voice down to conversational volume.
The damage was already done, however. Aeon Raphael launched herself away from his voice before he could say more. Her crutch clattered against the bench as she lost her footing and hit the ground in a jumble of limbs. She scrambled backwards anyway, only stopping when she hit one of the knee-high decorative rocks lining the common walkways in the courtyard. She used it to pull herself up, her back pressed to the stone as if she could meld into it to get away, her breath coming in fast and shallow and her face blank with panic.
The realisation that he had done this, that his poor control of his own emotions had caused this reaction of raw fear and pain, hit him like a mountain of rock. He lurched forward to help her up with an alarmed cry of, “What are you doing? Are you all right?” but stopped dead in his tracks after the first step; he needed to be calm, rational, and to stop acting on impulse. The plants on this side of the courtyard had been far enough from the altar to avoid being roasted during the kindling, but the grass under his feet was now shrivelling from the heat. He had to control himself.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
“Take it easy. Everything’s all right,” he said, as much to himself as Aeon Raphael. “There is no need to panic. Panic causes injuries. Let’s not have any panic, all right? I was just saying that Hod is precisely where it needs to be. I am precisely where I need to be. You would perhaps benefit from keeping implications otherwise to yourself.”
It took a moment for her to fight her frightened gasping under control enough to speak. “I-I made a mistake,” she managed at last.
“And I overreacted,” Michael said. He picked her abandoned crutch off the ground. Not wanting the heat from his grasp to warp it, he passed the crutch from hand to hand in a way that most certainly had nothing to do with his restlessness. “Mistakes were made all around, but that’s no reason to hurt yourself. Can you please stand up? You don’t belong on the floor, Aeon Raphael.”
She exhaled slowly through her teeth. “The title’s what hurts? Please d-don’t call me that.”
He hesitated. “Don’t call you what? Aeon Raphael?”
Aeon Raphael hissed in discomfort.
“What would you prefer I call you, then?” Michael asked. “I seem to recall you had no love for the Aeon of Tiphareth, either.”
“J-just Raphael, please. That’s m-most comfortable.”
A shiver ran up his spine that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. “Ah, I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he said carefully. “Even if we knew each other well enough for that to be appropriate - and I’m sorry to say we don’t - there are certain niceties that are expected to be maintained, and as unfortunate as it is, the title is one of them.”
“I-I know what I am,” Aeon Raphael protested. Her argument was weakened by the fact that she was sprawled in the dirt, propped up by a rock as if it were the only thing keeping her from trying to crawl underground. “You don’t n-need to remind me that often. In fact, it’d b-be kinder if you didn’t.”
“It’s a show of respect,” Michael said apologetically. “I can’t afford to offend you by denying you your title awarded by the Source. Can you stand on your own or do you require assistance?”
There was a brief pause as she weighed her options. “I-I can’t feel my legs and I lost the crutch.”
“I have it here; hold out your hand.”
Michael wasn’t sure if she would comply. It was with obvious reluctance that she prised one of her hands away from the rock and held it out in front of her. She flinched when the handle of the crutch brushed her fingers, but was quick enough to take it from him and unsteadily work herself to her feet once more.
“Are you all right?” he asked as she tested her balance. “I don’t think you can afford too many more falls like that, and definitely not during the council. Let’s both do our best to keep our reactions to a minimum while in Most High’s presence, yes?”
Aeon Raphael clamped a hand over her mouth and flexed her fingers oddly.
“You’re not having another fit, are you?” Michael asked, alarmed.
“N-no, I think that’s passed,” Aeon Raphael said. Her distressed expression and unsteady stance did little to validate her statement, however. Several times over, she drew a breath as if she were about to speak, only to change her mind at the last moment and remain silent.
“My Aeon, I’d hoped to catch you before you left!” Saerim Ananel called as she hurried towards them, a small box cradled in both hands. Michael couldn’t suppress his smile at the relief of a friendly face. “I promise not to delay you overlong, my Aeon, but I thought you’d like to know the kindling appears to have been a rousing success. Turnout to the bonfires throughout the capital was minimal, as we expected, but those who observed the transmission responded well to it and initial feedback reports are positive. Should I have the daily reports sent to your desk as normal?”
“No, thank you, send them to the Regent for now. We’ll be leaving as soon as Saerim Mahariel is ready,” Michael said. A glance around the courtyard showed that not only was Mahariel still absent, but Remiel had vanished as well, most likely in search of her. “Speaking of, you wouldn’t happen to know where she is, would you? Or the Regent?”
“Ah, I passed them in the hallway inside,” Ananel said. She glanced at Aeon Raphael, who couldn’t have appeared less interested in or aware of their conversation if she had been unconscious, as if to gauge how much she should say. When Ananel met his gaze again, it was with an awkward smile that spoke volumes of what she had seen. “They were saying their farewells. I expect they’ll be along shortly.” Her expression grew troubled and she bit her lip, wringing her hands in agitation as her gaze flicked to Aeon Raphael once more. “There is a situation you should be aware of, my Aeon. During the kindling, we were contacted by the Regent of Tiphareth demanding the release of their Aeon.”
Michael and Aeon Raphael shared a precisely timed wheeze of surprise. Her cough soon turned into a delighted laugh. “M-my Regent did what? You can ignore that.”
“No, no, I think not,” Michael said as he rounded on her. “This is the sort of misunderstanding that sets the worst precedents for future interactions. I would appreciate it if you would speak with your Regent and explain the situation before further misunderstandings occur.”
“Shall I-I do that now?” Aeon Raphael asked, her head tilted towards him with a dry smile.
Michael ran a hand through his hair with a grimace of displeasure. They only had so much time before the council, and the King’s order dwarfed all other priorities. “No. Saerim Ananel, please inform the Regent of Tiphareth that Aeon Raphael is accompanying me to Kether but will be returned to Tiphareth as soon as the King’s business is concluded.”
“I will relay the message, my Aeon,” Ananel said. Her tone told him she doubted such an explanation would be of much help. She shook her distress away with a smile. “In the meanwhile, allow me to offer you this mirror gem to take on your trip.” She held out the box for him to take.
Michael accepted the box with care and, upon lifting the lid, discovered a thin, circular crystal - cut from a similar material to the trunk of the tree - resting upon the cushion inside. Fleeting sparks of golden light flared in unpredictable explosions of colour across the surface of the gem only to fade away moments later.
“I use them to map out the communications quadrants to watch for system errors, but with very little effort they can provide a nice map of the capital city,” Ananel said with a gentle smile. She reached out and tapped the surface of the gem. In response, a perfect, miniature replica of the palace sprang from a twinkle of lights to hover over the box. Every detail was exact, down to the minuscule figures of the people who lived and worked there, frozen in time by the still image. “I thought, perhaps, this one could be offered to Most High as to showcase a mere sliver of the splendours we have accomplished here in Hod. I am certain the King will be very pleased with what we have built.”
Michael’s throat was tight as he replaced the lid on the box, banishing the phantom tiny palace from sight. He nodded at her in gratitude. He didn’t trust his voice to speak without cracking.
Thankfully, he was saved by the arrival of the rest of their group.
“My Aeon, I have completed my preparations for our departure,” Saerim Mahariel announced as she trotted out of the palace to join them, flanked by four guards. They were all dressed in the thick navy uniform of the peacekeepers and swathed in heavy travelling cloaks. Remiel was with them, still cradling the sword he’d been trusted with against his chest with both hands. When they were near enough, Mahariel dropped into a low bow, a motion copied by the accompanying guards. “We are ready and awaiting your orders, my Aeon.”
“Yes, Saerim Mahariel, I expect we will be departing shortly,” Michael said brightly. He took his travel pack and settled the box with the mirror gem inside.
“Will it be possible for us to contact you while you’re away?” asked Remiel.
“Not directly, no,” Ananel answered for him. “Our personal comms are not built to handle such extreme distances. The primary equipment at the centre can exchange messages with the communications department in Kether, however.” Her dark eyes brightened with sparkling excitement. “To be able to speak so easily with those in Highest Yetzirah, much less to be able to travel to visit other Spheres… This truly is an exhilarating development.”
“Exhilarating is one way to describe it,” Michael said with a sigh. “I’ll send word if it appears I’ll be gone longer than expected. I trust you to keep things running for two days without me hovering over you. I know you’ll do what you need to.”
“My Aeon,” Remiel spoke up suddenly. He led Michael away from the others and murmured, “Michael. I’ve had a change of heart. You were correct. I regret my earlier complaints and that I didn’t appreciate the peace we had. I never wanted this.”
“I know,” Michael said. “I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean to imply this was something you wanted. I was just trying to find a positive side in this mess, but you know how I am with jokes at inopportune times. Everything else aside, I do trust you. I know you’ll not let me down.”
Remiel pressed his mouth into a thin line. His gaze flittered everywhere around the courtyard except for the departing party. “Be safe.”
“I intend to try,” Michael said. He rejoined the others. “If that’s all, we’d best be on our way. Aeon Raphael, if you would kindly point us to the correct Path so we could be off?”
There was a brief pause before Aeon Raphael started as if she hadn’t been paying attention and was surprised to realise she’d been spoken to. “Oh, y-yes, we can leave. That’s the Path w-we want.” She pointed to one of the four identical golden spirals on the horizon without turning her head to look in its direction. She then spun away from them to march directly towards the Path she had pointed to, only to trip over the bench she had been sitting on during the kindling. She caught herself on her crutch to avoid another nasty fall, but it was easy to read the frustration and embarrassment radiating off her as she righted herself. “I-I don’t kn-know where I am in this city,” she mumbled.
“I’ve had a thought, Aeon Raphael, that perhaps it would be easier to navigate the city if you had a guideline of sorts to assist you?” Michael suggested quietly as he pulled the ribbon from his pocket.
“Wh-what sort of guideline?” Aeon Raphael asked without turning to face him.
“I have a length of ribbon,” Michael offered. “If you were to hold one end of it, I could lead you through the city and no one would have to touch you. Is that acceptable?”
With a sigh, Aeon Raphael held her hand out in the general direction of his voice. She flinched when he dropped one end of the ribbon in her palm, but grabbed hold and tied it securely around her wrist with an ending flourish of a bow.
The downside to this plan was that the ribbon had been cut to tie his sword into his scabbard and nothing else. There was sufficient length for there to be no risk of accidental contact to start with, but it was too close for either of them to be truly comfortable. As they made their way through the capital city and passed the daeva who lived there, Aeon Raphael grew more anxious with each passing sound. Each loud noise or new voice caused her to flinch as if wounded and wrapped the ribbon just a bit tighter around her wrist, unwittingly whittling away the distance between them until they were far too close to touching. Michael might have been tempted to think Aeon Raphael found the somewhat-familiarity of his presence comforting if she hadn’t looked so terrifically discomforted while doing so.
She calmed somewhat when they left the city and entered the central woods containing the Paths. Conversely, Michael could not keep her discarded tension from creeping into him the closer they drew to the Path. The reality that he would be leaving Hod, his Sphere, to venture into the Void pressed on him, slowing his steps and growing more pronounced as the Path loomed ever larger in the sky.
As they approached Path itself, Michael’s pace slowed in pronounced reluctance even as Aeon Raphael sped up eagerly. She overtook him, stumbling when she reached the end of the ribbon’s length only to drop it altogether in her single-minded pursuit of the Path. While she hobbled ahead, the rest of them lagged behind, trying to comprehend the towering structure confronting them.
In the brief time since he had last seen one, Michael had already forgotten how large the spiral of the Paths were. His mind struggled to grasp the scale of it; he rationally understood that it was meant to cross enormous distances, but it was one thing to be told of the vast emptiness between Spheres and another entirely to face the structure meant to connect them. The diameter of the Path was at least equal in size to the palace. Michael’s earlier, impulsive thought that the Path resembled a giant spiral staircase descended from above came to him again, and though he now thought it was a terribly inelegant comparison, it served as an adequate baseline.
The Path Aeon Raphael led them to was not the same Path she had arrived with. The Paths themselves may have been identical, but the area around them was not: a shallow stream wound through the trees surrounding this clearing that the first clearing had lacked, otherwise Michael would never have known the difference. A quiet, powerful energy thrummed in the air around the base of the Path, a soft buzzing that settled in the back of one’s mind, easy to tune out but always at the edge of one’s awareness. The Path itself was composed of golden light given solid form, precisely the colour of fresh blood but hypnotically beautiful despite it. The centre of the spiral was a font of warm, multi-hued light similar to that which emanated from the Sephiroth.
Oblivious to the impossibility of it all, Aeon Raphael never hesitated as she approached the Path. When she stepped onto the initial slope of the luminescent walkway, she let out a tremendous sigh as if a substantial weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Much of the tension she had been carrying dissipated from her frame, leaving her far more at ease than Michael had seen her yet. She paused at last partway up the spiral, her posture relaxed as she shifted her weight on her crutch and held out her free hand for Michael to replace the ribbon.
“Y-you will need t-to approach the Path to cross,” she said. “It’s perfectly safe.”
Michael took a slow, deep breath. The four guards whispered anxiously behind his back to each other before Mahariel shushed them. Thoughts of the dark, empty Void that awaited them beyond the aurora, beyond Hod, bit at Michael’s pretence of calm. He would have appreciated his sword at the moment if only so he’d have something to do with his hands. He shoved that thought away before it could take root. He had survived being buried alive this very morning, he reminded himself, just as he had survived being lost alone in the dark in Hod before. Darkness itself could not hurt him, and he wouldn’t be facing this trip alone. Steeling his resolve, Michael staggered the final distance to the base of the Path, counting his breaths as he went to avoid looking up.
He stepped onto the Path itself. It was an electrifying sensation, though not necessarily an unpleasant one. An echo of the immense power of the Path coursed through his body, causing his fingertips to tingle. For a single moment, he thought he could visualise the invisible threads of energy binding the world together. It passed as quickly as it had come and left him uncertain whether it was an illusion. He relaxed a bit. This wasn’t so bad. He could handle this. With each step, he gained confidence as he made up the difference to where Aeon Raphael was waiting for him.
“You will n-need to b-be quicker than th-that if y-you want to make it to Kether on t-time,” Aeon Raphael told him as he placed her end of the ribbon back in her hand.
“All right, I hear you,” Michael mumbled. He gestured for the others to join them. Mahariel trotted forward at once, her squad quick to fall in line behind her.
Together, they made their way up the gradually curving slope of the Path as it twisted higher and higher, above the tops of the trees and far into the sky itself. Michael was careful to avoid looking upwards towards the Void. Instead, he focused on the spectacular sight of Hod unfurling below them, endless in every direction. The rail of the walkway, if that was what one could call the wall of golden light that comprised the outer edge of the spiral of the Path, cast the world beyond through a glass of fleeting, twinkling lights. The aurora were satiny curtains draped across the ceiling of the sky, and through the sparse spattering of clouds, the city below was a maze of detail and life. The white stone of the buildings shone from this angle, the high roofs, archways, winding streets and decorative pillars gleaming with the reflected colours of the ever-shifting celestial pattern. Lit pyres burned in the squares, remnants of the day’s kindling, warm points of interest among the cooler colours of the buildings. The daeva themselves were barely visible from this distance, reduced to tiny smudges of activity flittering about their business. The other three Paths rose from the forest at the centre of the city, curving up and away into the sky towards the other Spheres. At the core of it all was the pillar of holy light from the Sephirah Hod that fed the aurora. From this height, he could even see beyond the ring of mountains lining the basin. Fiery rivers crossing the volcanic Outlands stretched forever in every direction, endless and untouched.
“You know, I’m not certain I recall the last time I was this high up,” Michael said when they were almost level with the lower edge of the auroral curtains. “That is to say, I certainly recall the occasion - it was during the construction of the communications tower - but I couldn’t tell you when it took place.”
“Construction of the primary tower was completed approximately two-hundred-and-fifty-seven thousand seasons ago, my Aeon,” Mahariel supplied.
“Thank you, yes. That was one of our first major projects, and we were in no way prepared to deal with the aurora. We didn’t understand then just how much energy they produced. I was all but dropped from the sky by one that was nearly that precise shade of purple,” Michael said, pointing to a vibrant swatch of purple swirling around the Path. He then remembered he was speaking to a blind woman and cringed, awkwardly wiping his hand on the front of his shirt as if to pretend that had been the gesture he’d intended all along. “Er, what I mean is that we typically discourage anyone from getting this close, with good reason. They’re beautiful, but it’s really quite dangerous to approach them too closely without first taking adequate precautions.”
“Y-you couldn’t hear them?” Aeon Raphael asked, tilting her head to the side. “I-I only know them by the s-sound they make. While I was a-asleep, the noise was constant. Th-the crackling, hissing sound was everywhere. Th-they sound like power. Can y-you not hear it?”
Though muted by the thrum of the Path itself, the hissing static sound of the aurora was unmistakable at this distance. The raw energy in the air caused the fine hairs along his arms to stand on end.
“Yes, I hear it. This is a noise I typically think of as a warning.” Michael chuckled nervously. “To hear the aurora this clearly, one needs to be much closer to them than is safe.”
“You n-needn’t worry; the Path will shield us,” Aeon Raphael said. She perked up, adding brightly, “The aurora are f-fascinating, yes? T-to think that mere whispers of aether c-colliding with the upper edge of the Spheres produces such a p-powerful result is spectacular. They ought to p-prove that we couldn’t su-survive direct exposure to the Source anymore than w-we could survive our absolute r-removal from It, yet instead, th-they show how shielded we are. They sh-show how delicate the balance is. F-for that, I love them.”
“I admit I’ve never thought of them in that way,” said Michael. By then they were inside the auroral curtain; vast swirls of brilliant blues, purples and greens stretched through the sky outside the Path. The noise was constant and the air crackled with raw energy, but their walkway itself was undisturbed. “I’ve seen them as the lights that mark the day and the edge of the world. I’ve admired them from a distance, accepted they were part of the world and then put them from my mind. To me, they were always something awesome and dangerous and… untouchable,” he whispered.
Aeon Raphael went quiet. She tugged thoughtfully on the ribbon linking them and asked in a timid, subdued voice, “D-did you sh-shackle yourself or did s-someone else do it t-to you?”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Michael blurted out. “The sword isn’t some self-inflicted torture device; it’s a safety measure. We have built a thriving and complex world and yet the Source has not seen fit to bless everyone with our invulnerability. Therefore it would be irresponsible, not to mention cruel, to flaunt our power in any way which would endanger the lives of the innocent we are meant to protect. If it takes a shackle, as you so eloquently put it, to ensure their safety, then I’d not consider it a shackle at all. I would consider it a necessity. But that sword, as I said before, is a tool, a focus, and a very effective one at that. If you’re hung up on the fact that it’s a sword and not something more sensible, I assure you it was a personal design decision that in no way affects the base functionality of the item. I don’t feel the need to justify my actions beyond that.”
Aeon Raphael bared her teeth in a frustrated, ill-at-ease grimace and declined to question him further. The fleeting moment of companionship they had shared evaporated and a heavy silence settled in its place.
By then they were through the brilliant lights of the aurora, beyond the upper reaches of Hod and entering the Void proper. Michael had always pictured the Void as something out of his worst nightmares: black and empty and infinite. It was an immense relief to discover that, when viewed through the lens of the Path, at least, it appeared to be anything but. Great rivers of formless aether billowed through the emptiness, the lifeblood of the Source appearing not as bright in its raw form as the aurora which lit the Spheres but no less colourful. The aether gathered in grand clouds and pools to form a living watercolour painting in constant motion on a celestial scale. The sparkling, golden light of the Path stretched overhead to enclose them in a protective tunnel that continued forward into infinity towards their first destination, Geburah. Even once they had left the atmosphere of the Sphere, the Sephirah Hod lingered in the back of his mind, lessened by distance but still comfortingly there as it always had been. He could see nothing sinister lurking amid the towering pillars of aether.
“It’s g-good to be free,” Aeon Raphael said, relief clear in her voice. She left the ribbon behind in his grasp and hobbled ahead towards the side of the Path. Just as Michael was about to warn her of the edge, she stopped, took her crutch in both hands and threw it as hard as she could. The crutch passed through the wall of light without resistance, nothing but a small ripple marking its passing, and spun away into the Void where it twirled endlessly until it was eventually lost in one of the aether formations. Aeon Raphael stretched both hands over her head in an exaggerated motion. “Th-that feels much better.”
“It seems wasteful,” Michael said, eyeing her renewed vigour with something bordering suspicion. “If you had no real need of it, we could have left it behind.”
“I n-needed it then. I-I don’t need it now. I told you b-before that the Paths were mine. The load is lighter out here in th-the Void.”
“And what will you do when you need it again for the council?”
“R-right, I meant to ask: wh-what is a council?”
Michael stared at her, at a loss for words. “How do you mean, ‘what is a council’?”
Aeon Raphael gestured vaguely at nothing in particular as if she was hoping to pull the words from mid-air. “Why a-are we going? What’s s-so important? I’d r-rather go home.”
“We’re going because we’ve been called by the King,” Michael said slowly. “That’s really all that matters. I presume Most High means to use the council to speak to us about this new era we find ourselves in. Much has changed quite suddenly, thanks in no small part to you and your Paths. There is also an issue Aeon Gabriel wants to raise regarding one of her visions. She seems to think it also has to do with you, or, specifically, with whatever left you in your present condition.”
Aeon Raphael went still. The golden lines crossing her body pulsed in time with the light of the Path. “Y-yes, I know Yesod. We sh-share the same start, n-not your history.”
Michael looked at her in surprise. “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”
She turned to face where he stood, the heel of her palm pressed against her face. “Michael, y-you would know. What is Most High like?”
“What is there to say? The King is the best of us in every way,” Michael blustered, choosing to ignore the use of his name in his agitation. “He is beyond our comment. He is the closest to the Source. He is the reason the Spheres exist as they do. We owe the world itself to the King. His will is unquestionable. We must hurry so that we will meet His deadline.”
“U-unquestionable,” Aeon Raphael repeated thoughtfully. She unfolded her wings, the movement stiff and uncoordinated as she held them high in preparation to take flight. More chords of light extended across her wings, giving her feathers a bloodied and unkempt appearance. “Can y-you fly, Michael?”
“Er, of course I can fly,” Michael said. “I am not, however, so certain it would be wise for you to fly in your condition. I had assumed we would be walking.”
“If you w-want to walk there, you ought to have l-left two d-days ago.”
“Pardon my asking, but how will you see where you’re going while flying?” Michael asked. “If you lose the Path, how would you find your way back?”
“I won’t lose the Path,” Aeon Raphael said. Her red hair fluttered in the lower gravity of the Void, and the golden light of her markings gave the illusion that her head was wreathed in fire. “They a-are part of me. I won’t lose m-myself.” She turned towards Geburah as if listening for something only she could hear. “If y-you can’t keep up, just st-stay on the Path.”
She took off, much faster in flight than he would have assumed she could be capable of and was soon out of sight.
“Your orders, my Aeon?” Mahariel prompted him.
“Above all else, stay together,” Michael said. He unfolded his wings in preparation to follow the other Aeon.
Mahariel nodded and soon they were racing along the Path towards the Sphere of the Crown, always keeping one eye on the depths of the Void for a glimpse at whatever may lurk within.