As is befitting for a crown jewel of the world, Vantium sits in the middle of Western Equiya. While the other four cities are made to mostly accommodate creatures of the air, water, ground, or those that burrow it; Vantium is the largest and built to be welcoming for all of my creations.
Wide boulevards form many concentric circles which converge towards the core of the city. From all cardinal directions, four avenues, serving as main thoroughfares, cut the boulevards, side streets, and alleys, stopping just short of the city's center. I imagine if all these roads were to form a straight line they would traverse a decent chunk of the continent. They are often lined with purple-leafed trees of maple, oak, and many plane trees, among others.
However, the longest of trees—often several times the height of the highest oak—possessing thick, irregular, inclined trunks and spiraling bark, are mine. From a good distance, the trunks of these crystalborn trees resembled colossal twisted ropes—each of them topped with a miniature sky of often purple, black, or red foliage.
They are thrown across the expanse of Vantium, and beyond. Their roots often tend to burst out of the soil in tall undulating arches, like peaks of a sea snake, sticking out of the water's surface.
Humans found little use and killed most of the plant life I ever made. And, the vast majority of my creations are animate, therefore making those trees precious.
Buildings in Vantium are tall, and mostly of vertical proclivity, like elegant fingers of the continent bursting upwards. A lot of them are capped with blue-gray, slate tiles, and also have an abundance of slender-looking, arched windows that let in plenty of light.
Each of the cities has schools or other places of learning, but Vantium possesses most of the world's universities—their gray-black spires often form much of the skyline in the outskirts.
Those with the will and the scholarly mind are treated like royalty and given all the immense resources our civilization can muster. The goal: to expand our understanding of the world through the pursuit of knowledge.
Dozens of colleges—essentially I see them as smaller universities, really—gracing the outskirts, are additional centers of intellectual activity and critical thinking. Theirs is the greater focus on religious matters, logic, and philosophy.
Arts, architecture, music, and literature are omnipresent. Vantium is a melting pot of many scholars. Creating, arguing, debating, learning. Inspiring each other.
The foundation for any structure is important. For the largest ones, long trunks of stonewood needed to be inserted full length into the ground, to make the soil more compact.
Thousands of imposing trees were felled, processed, and transported from the far-flung East on ships and barges.
Try as I might, accidents during construction could not be fully eradicated. Heights involved and the development of new building techniques will always carry their dangers, but compared to the way humans treated their workforces our death rates are far smaller and working conditions far superior—no one is forced to toil, there are no cracking whips or beatings. Vantium is home, and many wish to add to its splendor.
The face of the city is ever-changing. At the bustling work sites of today, master builders use winged mounts, or, in some cases their own wings, to inspect the works. Special devices for measuring angles, as well as leveling instruments like the chorobates(and scores of other tools of iron, steel, and wood), are essential for building the edifices of tomorrow.
Open-air lodges are found near most construction sites in the city. Used by masons to carve and shape stones, many lodges have dozens of workbenches, and some even function as learning centers for the kindred with a love for masonry. Small crowds often gather near lodges to observe skilled artisans at work. At night the workbenches become gathering spots where dice games and table games like Senet and Manacala are played.
Long ago, when the first edifices of Vantium were first built; hefty blocks of granite, marble, and many other stones needed to be painstakingly pulled over rollers of ash and oak, coated in grease. My might felt wasted on lifting quill and paper alone, so I pulled thousands of blocks on my own. A drop in Alldora, compared to the combined efforts of my creations. Regardless, we brought and stacked the stones close to building locations. For years we toiled: days under the pale sun and nights under the glow of crystals, and later the Archcrystal itself.
Cleverly engineered architectural tools made it easier to move blocks of stone higher and higher. With the help of mighty beasts and cranes, the circular motion was transformed into a vertical one. Through a process of mechanical advantage; gears, ropes, and pulleys became a system that distributed the force from the draught crystalborn to the load.
Strong Winged possessing a wingspan wider than that of a big whistler helped in construction by bringing the building materials and workers to hard-to-reach places.
Defying my moniker, I'm not really the wright of Vantium—only a minuscule cog of a wondrous apparatus.
With little need for sleep, my progeny was prolific over the centuries. In stone and on paper, we have prospered.
In my view, one of the most fascinating structures is a special pyramidal one that uses cogwheels, levers, and weights to power itself, telling time with impeccable accuracy.
Forming the pointed apex of the pyramid is the face of the chronos—or perhaps I should say faces. The four triangular faces are oriented toward cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west. Each face has two long pointers, one is shorter, and both are made of pure hepatizon whose purplish patina stands out on the background of white quartzite. The dials are alamarium, shaped into elaborate marks and dots, and arranged in a circular fashion. Some of the dots are bigger than me, allowing for the dials to be seen at a great distance, from all four sides.
Greedily, Vantium expands in all directions.
Monuments in the form of statues and cubical buildings embellish squares and other prominent places of the city. The statues are building-sized and mostly honor those who fell during the war against the humans and those who distinguished themselves in scholarly pursuits. I expect Nikolaos' likeness to grace a square or two, one day.
Taller than most monuments, there is a religious statue dedicated to Acrona on top of a rocky hill, in the eastern outskirts. Made of steel frame, covered with panels of rare katadron that fit together so well not even a sheet of paper could slide through the joints. Most sculptures in Vantium are alive with colors, however, painting katadron would be similar to Maeve applying cerussa. A superfluous venture. The black stone is pleasing to the eye; its dark-blue glowing lines are even more striking at night.
Thrown in the far reaches of the northwestern outskirts was one unusual-looking temple, shaped like a triquetra when viewed from above. This temple had three curved wings spreading outward that ended at three equally-spaced points. The northern wing had a statue of Allmother, graced with human-sized purple crystals in the eye sockets, the southwestern wing had one of Theia, adorned with aurichalcum, and lastly, in the southeastern wing stood a striking pure katadron statue of Acrona.
Some statues of the goddess and those dedicated to her daughters in the outskirts are a bit too grand for my liking. Be that as it may, many of my progeny have inclinations toward believing in the divine, prompting me to keep my peace.
Bath complexes can accommodate the needs of thousands, each. With colorful statues, gilded carvings, floral mosaics, blue murals, long warm pools, fountains, and painted sculptures—mostly carved or forged out of murky-purple hepatizon, white marble, khar-nogoon(whose mesmerizing diagonal lines possess every shade of green), gray-white granite, reddish-brown bronze, and such and such—the baths of Vantium rival the obscene splendor of old imperial palaces. Only these palaces are not to be used by just a select few.
Floors are an expanse of granite and marble tiles, often inlaid with khar-nogoon to create geometrical and floral patterns. In addition, slabs of marble and granite cover the baths' walls like a fondant covers a cake. Rotundas and halls holding hot and cold pools were always full of life, always bustling with kindred.
Most baths are in the western part of Vantium.
Skies of Vantium are often littered with mounted and unsaddled Winged alike. Without the Winged above and the beasts coursing through the city's streets, moving through Vantium would be highly impractical for many kindred.
Circular sunbathing platforms are thrown here and there across the outskirts for the Winged to rest and play. The platforms are attached to tall spires and pointed towers.
Vantium has thousands of circular and rectangular platforms where my creations can rest and bask in the pale sunlight, or archlight, of course.
Periphery possesses innumerable conical structures that may seem unusual in appearance. Some of them have spiraling pathways on the outside, encircling the cone like a vine. Packed with dirt and violet grass, these paths allow many four or six-legged wingless kindred to run, walk or climb around the structure until reaching the flat top to bask in the archlight.
Hundreds of towers and hills have ascending jumping stones winding their sides, instead of steps. These mostly accommodate my two-legged creations with sufficient strength to make large jumps to reach their homes at the top of a hill or to reach some high chamber.
Hives, tall rectangular constructions, are mostly found in the southern outskirts. Designed to house insectoid crystalborn, these buildings have thousands of small and big hexagonal entrances. The openings are engineered to face the sun and archlight.
Hives are perhaps not among the grandest buildings in Vantium, often not even having any rooms or chambers inside. However, they are home to the smallest among us, and, by and large, I was often fond of the hexagonal shapes.
The northeastern outskirts have the main arena. Mainly used during festivals to Theia, the place is a miniature desert otherwise, occasionally used as an oversized gymnasium of sorts, and sometimes as a staging ground for Wraith-hunting squads.
Follies of pure marble, gilded and partly painted in blue and red, adorned many of the voluminous thousand-shaded-purple gardens sprawling the outskirts. Large and small violet and red patches of rich foliage often appeared messy and without order or any clear plan, but this was by design. Most gardens of the periphery are actually strategically placed to be in harmony with stone, paint, metal, glass, and plaster.
One of the largest ones was a town-sized garden in the northwestern outskirts. Named fittingly: ''Everbloom,'' the variety of plant life there counts in the hundreds of genera. The garden's blue, purple, red, and black wildflowers swallowed most of the space there, their sweet aroma wafting throughout much of Vantium.
Considering there is...no need for defensive walls, Vantium provides a sense of open vastness, a sense of freedom, with environs that know no border.
Some proposed the building of massive walls around the city or even utilizing the might of the green Archcrystal to protect Vantium from behemothic attacks. But, sadly not even a crystal-powered shield blanketing the city would hold one of those grotesqueries for long. They need to be slaughtered long before reaching anywhere near one of our five cities. Defending is akin to delaying defeat.
With no large bulky ramparts, the city avoids having choke points and spreads naturally. Like a living thing.
The movement of my creations is a glorious organized mess. The exact mechanisms involved in thousands of Winged above Vantium avoiding air collisions will forever elude me.
Beasts of fur, scale, feather, chitin, and everything between, course above and below, blood moving through a body, obeying the rhythm of a giant ethereal heart.
The middle of Vantium is a city within a city. This vibrant Core is an organized chaos of many pale granite hills, themselves dwarfed by superstructures of numerous footbridges, and edifices like the library, amphitheater, temple to the Goddess Creator, and other notable structures, commanding the landscape.
The Core has many hills of granite that are adorned with castles and palaces—often placed on top or at the side of the hills. Their blue-gray roofs charmingly complement white granite walls and gilded marble sculptures, gleaming in the pale sun.
Underground walkways, ablaze with crystal light, connect the grandest of buildings with each other.
Sprawling purple gardens, sprinkled with dark red and blue flowers, often mixed alongside a stony forest of towers and spires topped with blue-gray tiling. The Core makes the outskirts seem serene and flat in comparison.
In terms of sheer numbers, most of the amphitheaters, temples, and even a large mausoleum are spread across the outskirts, but the majority of edifices are found in the city's center. The granite ashlar masonry applied in multitudinous buildings is executed with such mastery that the resulting uniform smoothness and levelness experienced across all of them is as flat as a sheet of paper.
The heart of the city is also strewn with small paths and roads—hidden passages leading everywhere and nowhere. I use them once a year to walk the alleys and avenues of Vantium unseen, wearing a night-blue emerized cloak. My face shrouded by the hood. It is a good way to gather impartial information, to sense the true mood of the city. I trust Maeve, of course, but I mustn't become cloistered.
Again, for the building of most colossi, it was necessary to first embed the longest of stonebark tree trunks deep into the soil, making it compact. Foundation is often overlooked when one gazes upon a small mountain of graceful lines and polished stones but it is obviously critical if the structure is to stand for centuries.
Creating even one grand structure is a massive endeavor, consuming sky-trees in the hundreds, at least. An army of carpenters is needed to make the critical wooden scaffolding, the wooden cranes, and hoists—given muscle by strong crystalborn whose circular movement lifts heavy stone and timber. Carpenters are also responsible for the shoring(to support the structure during its infancy), and the design of custom-made centering ribs that shape and support the vaults and arches. My scholars are able to make devices for more than just war.
Entire timberlands were felled to build Vantium.
Over many decades, we cut down entire ancient forests of the East. Expansive heavens of purple were brought down to kiss the soil, mainly in the southern and southeastern regions of Aurum. The logistics involved in cutting and transporting the things almost made me give up on the venture.
A large lake and a connecting Reua river separate big sections of the Core. The river flows into the lake, exiting the opposite side. It cuts through the entire Vantium from northwest to southeast.
Water levels can be very unpredictable and management thereof required clever placement of smooth granite dams and several strong, vaulted bridges which partly hug the lake.
Rough white-gray stone rises to surround much of the lake. Most of the structures in the Core have granite in their bones. Some are even carved from it entirely and polished to a high shine—they rise above the Silver Lake, the white granite shimmering upon its surface like a mirage. Here and there, the natural roughness of the stone is left untouched, making the buildings appear as if born out of the rocky hills.
Clad in limestone and overlooking the Silver Lake is my manor. A luxurious building of towers, domes, and labyrinthine corridors. Like bursting stars, filigree works of platinum rosettes are embellishing their vaulted ceilings. The estate is fit for an imperial prince. I haven't been there in months.
In a few places prodigious rocky causeways, made to look nature-made, brush and slice the edges of the lake. Sometimes they form large pool-like sections where kindred can swim or bathe.
Sea serpents, one giant nautilus-like creature, long, wave-cutting fish-shaped beasts with smooth skin instead of scales, a large yellow octopus, and so on, are just some of my crystalborn that found a home in this lake. There is even one lorelei—a striking kindred, having the upper body of a human female with bright green eyes, and the lower half being that of a purple-scaled fish. The eyes are mine but her swimming prowess is otherworldly. I raced her once, decades ago, across the entire lake. She beat me, effortlessly.
Wild-world also uses the lake quite extensively. There is a blue animal, shaped like a tadpole and about an arm long. Its blue skin was that of an olm. There are thousands of them in the lake, feeding on: I don't know what.
Silver Lake is bordering the very omphalos of the West.
A large, tall inselberg of pure granite rises from the center of Vantium, overlooking the lake that stretches away from its side. Jagged white mixes with slightly gray rock that ultimately gives birth to white buildings. They sprout from the colossal rocky fist like tree mushrooms across a tree trunk.
On top of this granite fist, and well underneath the levitating Archcrystal, is a big, citadel-like structure named Bastion. It has a domed top and tall windows, often several times my height, with thick glass panels, coated to resemble stained blurry mirrors. The blurry effect is only seen from the outside, while anyone standing inside the Bastion has an unobstructed view of the surrounding area. At night Silver Lake glistens from the archlight, resembling a small emerald sea of liquid silk.
Bastion's base is dominated by four large dome-topped towers that are partially fused into it. Stacked with crystals, swords, spears, and the like, the towers serve as treasuries and armories.
Bastion's domes are a wonder. They are made entirely out of stonecrete: a mixture of water, stone, lime, and pozzolana. Stonecrete is used profusely throughout Vantium, even more so in the Core. Bases and capitals of columns, walls of many buildings, footbridges, temples, palaces, manors, amphitheaters, arches, and vaults, all and more, owe their strength and stability to this remarkable material.
The formidable structure is used for the Council meetings, and, occasionally as my residence.
A long spiral is carved deep inside the inselberg, far below the Bastion. The interior of the spiral is engraved with Genesis symbols of power, precisely spaced and put in proper order, they enrage the Archcrystal, thereby turning it into a small green sun. Decades of careful research went into discovering and using the symbols correctly. Of course, the shining green jewel in the sky is nothing compared to the glory of the once-naked sun. Yet, it is an empowering beacon to the might of knowledge—and, naturally, a delight to my creations that bask in its light.
Carved into the side of the inselberg is Balaur's likeness—a statue almost as tall as the inselberg itself. He wears the flowing robes of a scholar, a giant quill of pure granite in his right hand, an open book in his left, and stretching across the inner forearm. The beautifully-carved lettering on it states: ''Forward! Scream at the coldest clime and rejoice. For one day its bowels will become slashed.'' It was written on parchment, hidden below the straw of his cell's bed. I believe it was the last thing he wrote. I never grasped the meaning, however, if it was important to Balaur, then it is important.
The inselberg was flanked by two broad white bridges that encompassed almost half the lake. The bridges had very wide arches, and below each, a waterfall roared. Mascarons at the sides of the bridges portrayed the faces of my long-dead creations, a large number of whom fought and perished for me. Many faces have exaggerated features, but done with taste and carved with great skill—chiaroscuro contrasts of light and dark give the stone a quality of living flesh.
Much of the Core is white stone graced with just the right amount of golden veneer. Humans often disregarded gold as a useless metal since it was so abundant. Aristocracy throughout most of humanity's history generally avoided using gold, and those that were well off like the rich mercantile classes didn't use it at all due to gold being called ''poor man's shine.'' Lapidary crystals, sculpted aurichalcum, and such, were in repute.
Some of our scholars argued how Vantium is, ''Empyrean in the flesh.'' I'm not particularly fond of such notions. Humans thought of Empyrean as a place with a neverending bounty of honey and wine. Vantium would seem like a strange place to any of them. Grand, but strange.
Most humans would have considered the city to be abhorrent since it was not built to accommodate their corporeal needs. Although, some religious texts described Empyrean as an expanse of divine light, a domain having no wars or diseases. And in this regard, our sublime city is rivaling that otherworldly expanse.
It is night. The Archcrystal is suffusing its emerald hue across Vantium. Long spectral shadows edged with green spread long and wide across the outskirts, attacked on all sides by the blue light and the golden haze of crystal-lit streetlamps.
I gaze up at the black.
The night sky was beautiful once, a glowing carpet of stars. Each cloudless night, human eyes saw thousands of these cosmic candles, but my eyes...my eyes saw even the faintest candle. A canvas of purest black was speckled with radiant diamonds. Light and darkness locked in an eternal, glorious war.
A few times over the last four centuries I wondered: Is the war over?
Now only the green orb that is the Archcrystal adorns the celestial dome.
Ganbold's piercing screech echoes in the far distance, almost drowned by the chatter of the theater crowd, few crickets, and the pleasant chirping of round-shaped goldyeyes. The giant hawk's impetuous nature made him no friends, but the beast is brave. He sometimes accompanies Wraith-hunting expeditions, acting as a scout. Like me, Ganbold is endowed with keen vision. Difficult to say, but his remarkable eyesight could potentially rival even mine.
The theater I'm in is a good deal east of the Core. Compared to palaces and temples, this theater is a modest and simple structure. Made to be semi-circular, with step-like seats gradually descending towards the clearing at the bottom. There are three seating sections, with the smaller, lower one, often reserved for the youngest or those with weaker sight. A rule written with water, apparently.
Some months ago Max, one of my more...headstrong creations, slew a Wraith. Alone. The large Amber extracted was expertly cut into smaller chunks and, to my delight, the few kindred born out of them grew to become sentient. They are growing, still.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Max is clever but imprudent. The shape, size, cunning, and might of each Wraith are unique. Max could have easily---
No point in brooding on such thoughts. His heart is the wind and I must accept that.
At the moment, there is an intermission. Given my eyes and hearing, I sit furthest from the stage, in the remote upper tier of the theater. And, I prefer to be unnoticed.
To my left, on the walkway strewn with slightly rough and cool to the touch, colorful granite statues, the younglings were playing pell-mell, the theater their playground. They are giggling and running around during the pause, able to find the most simple joy in all things.
This highest passageway of the theater offers a nice night view of the city. A few members of the audience decided to climb the stairways to reach it and gaze upon Acrona's statue glowing in the distance. The mesmerizing dark blue ghostly lines possess the warm brightness of dying embers; scars of the night itself.
''Maker,'' one of the younglings whispers while pointing at me. I place a finger across my lips in a shushing gesture.
One of the toddlers giggles while pulling my hair behind me. My night-blue hair, the color of that long-forgotten twilight sky, is nearly impossible to cut or for even a single strand to be uprooted without great difficulty, but the little sprout is certainly giving its best efforts.
After some time of pretending not to notice, I suddenly turn and mockingly bar my teeth at it.
In an instant, I regret my folly as the small thing starts to cry. Of course, there could never be actual tears on its tiny cheeks but the sad sentiment is definitely there. My intention was quite the opposite.
''Forgive me, Maker.'' Its caretaker quickly removes the child before I get a chance to try and console it.
I spend too much time with sheets of paper.
Next to perform is Flo. I hear he is a slightly overzealous performer but well-liked. His light green skin is purposefully contrasted with the vivid, red swirling patterns of his silken costume.
Much of the audience has already settled into their seats.
The kindred in the theater wear a rich attire, including doublets made of silk with a satin weave, tight-fitting woolen breeches, often richly embroidered, and long backless gowns of velvet or silk, dyed vividly in violet, pink and red, bejeweled or adorned by crystals and gems, occasionally outlined with fur. About half the gowns are woven in a heavy raised pattern of a brocade weave, sometimes using silver or gold thread. Hats are mostly avoided, although, there are one or two feathered ones.
Most of the cloaks were a cascade of dark turquoise, indigo, blue and red, crafted from silk, velvet, fur, cotton, and wool. There are even a few of my crystalborn wearing a soft yet tough Wraithskin cloak. About a third of the cloaks were finished in the smooth and soft twill weave, giving some of these garments a pleasing light luster.
I instinctively unfocus my eyes.
''Humans were vile creatures,'' Flo begins, ''they needed to eat the flesh of other things to live.'' The younglings make disgusted faces, mimicking the orator. ''They also drank water, can you imagine drinking water like some beast of nature.'' Again the youngest ones in the audience seem repulsed. Despite the smile on my face, it makes me a little sad they stay like this for only a year or two. ''They had everything. The dominion of the whole world was theirs, but the heart of mankind,'' he rapidly taps his chest, ''was made to never know peace.
''Against each other, they fought. Their own kin, they slew. Like a snake eating itself.'' Flo hisses towards the audience. ''In the end, after many eons of tribal warfare and squabbling between petty kingdoms, there came an age of balance.'' He then throws his arms and tries to mimic a scale.
''This balance began long ago with the establishment of two empires. In all of Western Equiya the Dontium Empire ruled with a bloodsteel fist. While in the faraway East a powerful trading empire of Aurum, rich with trade from ruling Alldora's waves, held sway. For hundreds of springs, the two empires were in a neverending cycle of war and peace over the control of luscious Arcadia.
''At one period in human history, both East and West had almost the same amount of land in Arcadia. However, both sides thought that the other had holdings richer with crystals, so the hostilities remained.
''Ordinary human soldiers became obsolete by this time and were mostly relegated to being bodyguards of the gifted humans who each, in turn, commanded their armies of beasts.
''Overseeing the battlefield from their winged mounts, the Imperial Breakers would dictate butchery, to their many legions of Warbeasts.
''Hills of shiny dust beyond count were made as the two sides used their hordes of crystalborn to try and dominate each other.
''Some years Dontium would hold almost all of Arcadia, harvesting its rich soil for crystals and making more and more of crystalborn; bent on following every bloodthirsty whim of their masters. While at other times East would have half or more under its thumb.
''But this balance was not to last.'' His voice turns overly somber.
''About seven centuries ago, the now forgotten Dontium emperor of bloodline Balius, at the behest of his Genesis-blessed advisers and some schemers dabbling with forbidden symbols,'' he wags his finger at the crowd, ''was convinced to order the unspeakable. To break one of the Endless.'' He gasps, pointing towards the jet-black sky of the night, at the orb of light casting its viridescent hue, high above Vantium.
''Wait.'' No sound has left my sealed lips, and yet my words echo in Flo's mind as I stare at him. The performer is startled a little for a moment but then gives a slight nod.
I look at the caretakers next. ''Take the younglings away. I don't wish them to hear this.''
With a few minor voices of discontent, the little ones are taken away through the vomitorium.
''Go on, Flo.'' I tell him. Again, only he heard those words, making some in the audience slightly confused at the pause in the performance.
As the actor continues, his tone gets more serious, with some of the theatrics gone.
''Humans executed the forbidden Genesis process and went on to break one of the Endless.
''To break the Archcrystal was something considered inconceivable. An anathema for most well-versed in Genesis. But the humans, ever cunning, found a way. Every three hundred and fourteen springs there is a special window of opportunity where the might of all creators can become amplified, called Alignment.
''The twelve humans blessed with the Gift used this and stood together in the vastly oversized spark circle, ready to sacrifice their kinfolk. Twelve children were shackled far behind Imperial Breakers, inside the several times larger blood circle.''
His voice turns sorrowful. ''And of course, in front of the Vile-Twelve, larger than a two-story house, the Archcrystal stood in the center of the third and final, creation circle. Or as our scholarly kindred like to say, 'induction circle.''' Flo points at a group of kindred, sitting close to the stage area. One of them casually waves at Flo in greeting.
''One might think a circle is a simple affair but these were not. Deep within a rock desert, humans removed the top layer of the reddish-brown pebbles and soil, revealing the pale dirt underneath. The long lines created this way formed the Genesis circles, and also, the stylized-looking, and geometric shapes of the many arcane symbols of power.
''The two bigger Genesis circles were so large they could encompass an entire human metropolis. The middle one, several times smaller, and yet, a human could spend almost an hour walking the diameter. From side to distant side. The now long-lost Genesis symbols, hugging the circles, were wider than a stump of a sky-tree.
''The Endless was beautifully blue like the skies were said to be so long ago, shining with its ethereal living light.
''Ignoring the screeches of their shackled kin the Twelve crouched, and after their palms touched the dirt it began.'' He pauses for I assume dramatic effect.
SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
Scores of kindred in the theater are jolted as dozens of whips crack, somewhere behind Flo.
''A cornucopia of sparks tore the air just above the three large circles with the buzzing and crackling sounds, like an infinity of insects gathered in one place. Quickly the pleading screams behind subsided and after a few hours of bright crackling spectacle, our Maker was born.
''The balance was shattered forever. Maker's might, crushed the scale.
''You see, Maker's crystalborn were almost always far superior than those created by Imperial Breakers. And, as you all know, Maker can give life to many crystals at the same time. A mere human would get exhausted by giving life to just one. Not only that, but Maker can create intelligent life, a power possessed by none other, a power that humans dreaded the most.
''He was the weapon that tipped...broke the scale, and helped the Western Empire to conquer the East, making it dominate all of Equiya.
''The close kin of the aging Vile-Twelve, and much later the cousins of those kin, were all specially trained to force their will upon Maker's mind so his enslavement may continue for centuries.
''Dontium ruthlessly forced the dozens of newly acquired regions of the East to only teach the imperial tongue and laws.
''This new world-empire is said to have had unimaginable riches, with mountains made of beaming crystals and enough aurichalcum to clad entire palaces with it.
''At its zenith the expanded empire was magnificent. Cities, trade, culture, works of art and sculpture, and writing; it was, in a way, a prosperity with limitless potential.
''But it was still not enough.
''The last few emperors sought immortality with great desperation. This desire culminated with the last true emperor of humans, Omniel Balius. To those that don't know, the emperor is akin to a supreme general, his every whim was to be obeyed without question.''
''So like Kali the Behemoth Slayer!'' someone from the audience shouted, prompting a few chuckles here and there.
''Be quiet.'' I looked in the general area of the shouter. The words were heard by more than a few, although I meant to target only the heckler.
''...Maker...'', ''...Maker is here...'' slight commotion ripples through the theater. The growing excitement is quickly squashed by the loud drumming sound and Flo's pleading.
''How can I be expected to perform in these conditions?'' Flo mutters quietly to himself—right hand perched on his chin, fingers twiddling, moving like the legs of a spider.
After gathering his wits, Flo continues. The mask is back on. ''Before Upheaval this human...grand empire, tried to break two Archcrystals at the same time, with the idea of channeling their power into the Emperor Omniel Balius, thereby transforming him into a god.
''An act which resulted in Upheaval.
''You see, after Dontium made Aurum into its giant province and forced it to pay tribute, Dontium's emperors became rulers of the whole world. Power became more and more concentrated until emperors began to be worshiped as deities. As if they were living gods.
''Eventually, rulers themselves started believing the lie, believing they are divine.
''A continental Genesis was attempted.
''At least half of those belonging to the Vile-Twelve's posterity—half of those responsible for dominating our maker's mind—were placed in the center of Aurum, together with hundreds of other humans, young and old alike. In Arcadia, scores of the best Breakers the Empire had to offer were waiting patiently for the Alignment to begin. And of course, Omniel Balius was in the midst of what was once the largest mountain range in the world. Not that far from where I am standing now.'' Flo points at his feet with both hands.
''One of the Endless was placed to the north of Omniel, and one to the south.
''Maker himself was put on a ship, and taken far away from the shores of Equiya.
''Imperial Breakers crouched, their soles and palms touching the ground.
''The moment struck, Alignment came, and Genesis began.
''But something was wrong.''
Boom-rumble-rumble!
A thunder sheet was struck with a mallet—behind Flo, beneath the stage, inside the hypogeum.
''The Emperor's body exploded. Turning into a fine red mist. Those Breakers, those finest of fine, had their inside switch places with the outside, their bodies turning into mush. And those hundreds in the center of Aurum? They simply fell asleep. Never to wake up.
''Hubris led to Upheaval.
''Some of the mightiest human creators, instead of forging a new life, dared to dabble with forces beyond them. Dared to attempt the breaking of two Archcrystals.
''They've killed...Killed! The blazing summers.'' He spreads his hands while looking up with lamentation. ''Ended the steel-cold snowy winters...'' Flo's voice drops to almost a whisper as he utters those last few words, all the while rubbing his upper arms.
''The world became shrouded with gray clouds that knew no end. Alldora slowly changed into a turmoil of raging waves. Some say the greatest calamities born of mankind's sin were the fate that had befallen the once beautiful land of Arcadia, and the curse which took the whole East.
''As the thick ashen skies blocked much of the sun, humanity slowly became plagued with famine and internal conflict.
''Instead of uniting they fragmented.
''Nevertheless, even weakened by famine and all that comes from the collapse of the natural world, they still had stronger forces than the Maker.
''One spring after Upheaval began, the East was engulfed in a cataclysm as human cities fell from the onslaught of heaven's wrath. Miraculously there were many survivors in the ruble and a decent chunk of humankind managed to flee westward. A large number of starving mouths additionally added to human woes.
''East became inhabitable no more, and so, the world's stage became West.
''Diocles Balius, a cousin of the exploded emperor, was the prime claimant to the World Throne. The six humans who controlled Maker pledged their allegiance to Diocles, who, after poisoning a few of his brothers and sisters, took power and constantly tried to establish absolute control over the West, fighting other noble-born of his ilk.
''Humans foolishly believed that six of their kind were enough to continue to ensnare Maker's will.
''For years Maker pretended to serve the humans.
''He used their strife; this lack of unity, to eradicate more and more of the dying humankind. Maker expanded the discord between various groups of humans, destroying them piece by piece.
''Human reliance on Maker's power only grew.
''And he helped them. Through a series of bloody battles, he helped them to consolidate the many provinces of the West back under the imperial boot. But you see, Maker had the quality which humans so desperately lacked: Patience.
''During those first years of Upheaval, our creator played the role of a dutiful tool. Humans never realized Maker could speak with his creations quieter than whispers, without the need of opening his mouth. He slowly organized those who had a mind of their own while knowing that others who were animal-like would follow him to the Void and back.
''Maker knew that to abolish an enemy such as humankind—an enemy powerful still, with Genesis-gifted humans having crystalborn legions of their own—cunning and guile were needed. Secretly, he commanded his sentient creations to begin highly targeted assassinations that would prolong human infighting. More and more, the human faction with Maker became increasingly dependent upon his power to fuel their war.
''Prime spear of Diocles' he was, while feigning to serve the perishing Empire dutifully—to try and meld it back together. His mask of katadron never faltered as he pretended to be humanity's slave, as he waited.''
The dramatic symphony of violins and flutes washes over the theater.
''Maker's pale blue skin was awash in red. Rivers of red. Using the legendary archblade of Pentacore—the king of all greatswords—Maker bathed in noble human blood. Our creator sliced Diocles Balius in half, down the middle.
''One night during the feast where all the nobles gathered, Maker arranged for the chamber to be locked down, and then he slaughtered the last trace of the central government. The feasting chamber had hundreds of the most influential humans from all the lands, gathered to celebrate their victories against other human factions. Fine cloth, fine food, fine music; the chamber was drowned in them.
''Maker took command.
''What followed was the War of Extermination.
''In the years of blood and dust, our creator's host only grew. He seized the imperial treasury, broke almost all the thousands of crystals inside within days—hiding the birthed younglings.
''Most of the other archblades,'' Flo takes a step back and turns to his left, ''were also secured.
''Maker knew humans would target him, for crafty they were. In each devastating battle, he had to be craftier yet. Thus, covered in a long gray hooded cloak, and riding a Winged, Maker commanded his legions of land and air from a great distance. Scores of his strongest crystalborn guarding him. Maker knew that if he falls, all is lost.
''Amidst the chaos of the last big battle of extermination, humans used men, women, and even their young, even their elderly as soldiers. They all stood together alongside crystalborn beasts of all sizes, bristling with sharp teeth and thick claws. But it was all for naught. While annihilating them all, Maker lost more than half of his army. The humans simply refused to surrender, their divine spark was fire, and the price of victory was steep indeed.
''Most humans perished due to the consequences of Upheaval. Nevertheless, even after starvation, breakdown of society, infighting—provinces wanted to separate from the empire—diseases, and so on, there were still humans left. The surviving millions had to be put to the sword, spear, and claw, otherwise, we could not be. Otherwise...humans would do the same to us.
''The battles of extermination, although gruesome, were necessary.
''Alas, the nemesis plaguing the world remained.'' Flo throws his arms upward, at the pure black, far above. ''An eternal reminder of human folly.
''In the very end, only tens of thousands of humans were left alive. And so, after one final command, the Children of Equiya were no more.''
''Aye!'', ''Huzzah!'', ''Blessed be!'' clapping, shouts, the flapping of wings, and roars of approval are heard throughout the theater. Basking in the din of ovations, Flo bows low at the audience.
A decent performance, although a little artistic liberty was unavoidable.
This nemesis of the world is like a human having a cold, it doesn't need some hero of legend to save it. Given enough eons, Equiya will go on, and life would find balance again.
Regardless, my creations will all perish one day. Unable to procreate, only shiny dust would remain.
I look to my lower left at the diazoma, the walkway over which the younglings were taken away.
I want for them to see the full might of the sun, to experience the true splendor of the world, and only to leave it in old age, with their descendants being the last thing they see.
I close my eyes, releasing the breath I held without noticing. The moment I breathe in I perceive an aroma: faint and sweet. The scent of star jasmine is wafting from some distant garden. Brought to me by the southern wind.
***
With a surprisingly considerable effort, I found an ideal spot for the formidable brawny griffin to land, without damaging the pristine nature-made garden.
Leaves did scatter around us, purple grass and flowers swayed heavily in the blasts of strong winds made by the griffin's wings when we landed. But overall, the valley remained undisturbed.
In little less than a full day of hard flying south, Toranos managed to traverse almost a quarter of Western Equiya, putting some falcons to shame. This griffin is among the fastest of Winged and more importantly, an old friend who lent me his wings for over a century and a half.
Toranos has the body, tail, and hind legs of a black lion, and trunk-crushing, golden-brown, scaly feet that end in wicked, black talons of the deepest abyss. The noble white head of an eagle pleasingly contrasts the rest of his caliginous features. Unlike many other mounts, Toranos has no reins. My thoughts flow to him and he becomes an extension of my will—granted, I command direction, but Toranos commands the gales.
With impeccable instinct, the griffin felt the slow and fast air currents, making us travel nimbly, and in shallow arcs.
The reasons I chose it to be my wings were not just its might and speed but mainly its artistry in reading the winds. This magnificent creature doesn't just fly, it loves flying. Passion and love for something you're already good at can make you a crackajack for others to gaze upon and marvel.
However, on the way back to Vantium winds might be against us, making for a much longer trip.
I pat the griffin's neck and it soon lies on his rotund belly while neatly furling wide dark-brown wings for a well-earned rest.
I turn to bathe my eyes with the beauty that surrounds me. Nobody knows of this place.
The small valley is snuggled within the Xanadu mountain range, with the modest river cutting through it. The name of the river is long forgotten, there are no surviving maps that even feature it. Blue lotus adorns and outlines the flow, hugging the nearby banks.
The air feels different here. Silky, pure...untouched and forgotten.
The valley is lush with purple grass, dark-red ferns, clusters of star jasmine, a hidden amaranth or two, some cattails, lupines, a few willows along the banks, and scores of cherry trees—with scant fruit but dense purplish...leaves. Star jasmine climbs up the trunks of the cherry trees, beautifying them with a fat blanket made of white flowers and small, glossy, egg-shaped, purple leaves attached to brown stems.
The small river whispers. Its gentle babble and splashing reverberate throughout the dale. Even the short cascade has a pleasingly low murmur to it. Although, my aural manipulation plays a part here.
In theory, I could spend years without sleeping. My research and uncovering of lost knowledge consumes most of my time and these are rare and cherished moments I get to spend with my creations that chose to wander the wild.
Crystalborn felt my presence and were already partly gathered as I neared this place. The southern city of Vedenemo is designed specifically with water-dwelling kindred in mind, still, about a tenth of them rather decided to roam the rivers and lakes of the West.
I have not seen many of the kindred present here today for decades.
Water and mostly Ground type crystalborn creations surround me. Among them are a large snake with a head at each end, a beast with an upper body of a horse and the lower body of a fish, a dark green turtle bigger than a cow, a great ape with five eyes and rock plating for skin, a monstrous black dog, a yellow lizard with six legs, and a bulky, short-limbed, salamandrian creature with damp, dark red skin, gnarled horns that curve upward and a tail longer than its entire body.
Their striking eyes, so alive, so vivid, glow with a gentle radiance of the forgotten starlight. Dozens of my other creations are also present. The majority of crystalborn are wading and swimming in the river.
All the creatures in this valley are unsentient. A fact that does nothing to diminish my affinity for them.
Jumping and running would get me here faster, but I find it a crude method of moving that does a decent amount of damage to the landscape. This would be a sin to the beauty which now surrounds me.
In the distance to my left, there is a small waterfall. After retrieving a splendid musical instrument out of my saddlebag, I stride a little further down and away from the cascade until I reach a nice stone outcropping, slightly above the water. It is located in a roughly central spot of the purple valley.
My theater of song is a scenic landscape partly filled with crystalborn as my audience. And there is no better audience than a quiet audience. I like playing for them, some compositions are mine, and once a decade I might even play a human-made one.
The flute is of exquisite craftsmanship and was used in the Imperial court. Long ago its melody echoed through palaces, adding to the lavish ambiance of royalty.
The delicate-seeming flute is made of aurichalcum. This strongest of metals has an eternal dark red beauty to it with dancing swirls of pale black shadows frozen within.
Whatever long-dead human made this was wise and understood there is no need for complicated decorative engravings, the metal's undiminished beauty speaks for itself.
It is an obscenely decadent way of using bloodsteel. Hmmm...possibly the point.
I was created with consciousness and a fully formed body. I don't remember much from my first years of existence—all I do remember are chains. They became one with the mind. Similar to how tree roots are part of the soil. Even to this very day I would, on rare sickening occasions, find myself bizarrely missing those roots. Perhaps if I fought harder, she...
After sighing over the vile days of the past, a distant rumble of a gathering storm in the east reaches my ears, locking my mind back to the valley.
Hot or cold, the environment is not a factor. I could easily traverse deserts or mountain tops unclothed. Yet, I wear a vest made in opulent red on black tapestry fabric with raven satin lining and back. It has a tapered fit and ties in the back with velvety belting. The front is fastened with six shimmering Cobalts, painstakingly crafted into buttons. An elegant notched collar enriches the vest's design. The boutonniere of eye-sized Cobalt is masterfully carved into the shape of a single delphinium flower, attached at the left breast. My cotton breeches are black, with a medium-rise waist and two pockets at the sides.
Considering my surroundings, these are absolutely not the most appropriate of garments, nevertheless, they are comfortable.
As I sit on the stone outcropping with legs crossed, my hair brushes the ground.
The melody I prepare to play for them is written hundreds of years ago by Balaur, my first creation.
Centuries of occasional practice have made me decently proficient.
I place the flute to be as level as the surface of the nearby rivulet.
The song is about a bird that spent its entire life in a maze-like cage. It begins slowly with sad and sweet chirping sounds coming out of the flute.
The tune stays such for a while, all soft and mellow-like, mimicking the singing of a creature resigned to its fate.
Only after many years, one of the doors of the main cage opens, and the bird sees its chance to escape—all the while the melody creates this image in my mind, image of a bird in flight.
The rhythm picks up.
My fingers move with the blurry speed of a tiny-feathered, pebble-sized blush. But it is not about the speed, it is about tempo. It is about hunting for that warm internal feeling of tingling glory in one's heart that only music can evoke.
Occasionally, I close my eyes and allow the melody to drench my mind. I focus my hearing fully on the sweet sounds coming from the flute. The nuance and clarity of each note are detected. Without haughtiness and with full factual coldness I can state that there is no living thing able to perceive music like me.
The notes are pure and crisp as they merge into one continuous sound.
Of course, now goes one of the most exciting parts of the melody, with the bird dramatically trying to find the exit out of the neverending cage-corridors.
I breathe in the brisk air of the valley through my nose while at the same time, I push the one stored in my mouth. My breathing is one continuous uninterrupted flow making the sound remain always unspoiled and uninterrupted.
Crystalborn in water and on land seem almost hypnotized at the lilting sound. My efforts at seeking perfection in every note, every airflow, and every movement of my fingers may seem wasted on an unsentient audience but I don't believe so. Although they may not possess self-awareness this does not diminish their ability to feel.
Their minds experience curiosity and serenity which then gives birth to fondness.
The melody moves around me and, like that small river, flows through the serene valley, going somewhere far away.
It is a positive tune and during the finale—a dramatic culmination made of rising and descending, fast and slow, coiling and unwinding, spiraling and linear, down and up the ethereal stairs of Empyrean, cascading and trickling, subtle and bold, consonant and dissonant, sounds, that unite to form a blissfully-chaotic composition—the bird finds a trickle of light, leading it toward expansive blue skies.
Balaur never got out of his cage.
As I stop, my creations' reverie disappears.
A strong gust of wind turns my hair into a dark blue battle standard.
More than half of the purple leaves fly off their branches. Thousands of them join to form a periwinkle river, coursing above the real one. These butterflies possess a striking violet beauty, with black-edged wings and a tinge of blue spilling over from their middle.
That salamandrian creature with red skin and gnarled horns is Milo. The shine of his blue eyes is waning. He has close to three hundred years. Over centuries, its eyes lost most of their inner sparkle. Once bright and clear, like the birthing crystal it was born from, the eyes are now dimmer than the veins of a katadron.
I leave the flute, almost tossing it to the side of my rocky seat, and go to Milo.
I walk into the shallow edge of the river and sit in it, settling onto the jagged and muddy riverbank. As the chilled water reaches my hips, Milo places its head on my lap.
For about eight fleeting heartbeats, Milo gazes into the distance, mouth slightly open. A lorn and exhausted look hung over his face.
Milo's long tail, his entire body, even his horns, all begin to break apart. Turning into a small mound of crystalline dust.
I lift my palm, clear water and sparkling dust lamentingly dance in it. With the slow movement of a falling feather, I lower it back, spreading my fingers in the water.
Some of the shiny dust floats, some of it sinks.
All of the dust is swiftly dispersed, taken away by the uncaring flow.
It could never have had young.
I stand up straight and gaze ahead, my rise disturbing the river's edge.
I will never stop.