The shadows twist around; they strike at my throat. I cannot breathe. Perhaps I never could. You look at me with your dead eyes, a self-proclaimed deity, a demon who brought us great folly; you are the angel of my dreams, the savior of my kin. The long-promised death of us all.
You sit upon your throne and look down on me; as I kneel, I pray for your grace to give us a chance to live another day. You smile, and, descending from above, you place your cold hand upon my head, and you whisper, ”No.”
A pressure bursts around my skull as you lift me above the crowds; you force me to look behind and see those who I led here, those who trusted me to save them, those who came with me to ask for forgiveness and salvation from our god.
My eyes would not close, and I still cannot breathe. Your other hand rose, and so did the eyes of your people. They looked at you, and they still believed in your mercy. They all died before my eyes. Flames burst from the tips of your fingers; the hunger of those divine flames scorched their flesh; they boiled their blood. A pit of nothing is what they became. Not a corpse to build your temple. No flesh to remind us of whom they were. Just that scorched marble below us.
You did not laugh; you did not smile; you only scoffed and remarked, ”You should be pleased that I have blessed you thusly; you should not mourn their death; you should not be horrified but inspired because of this gift I’ve placed upon your people.”
”Death is a blessing, is it not?” You asked, ”Revere me, and I shall free you from your mortal coil.”
I cried with this horror that filled my heart and begged for death… You anointed my head with flames; they burst around me, and there was only pain. I cursed you with the last moments of coherent thoughts that I had. I only felt pain as I became nothing.
I cannot breathe.
Kanrel bolted up from his bed. Sweat ran down his body; he felt as if afire. His head burned with an uncomfortable sensation, a touch all around his head. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. But soon enough, he found his connection to this reality. He wasn’t a puny Sharan before an almighty god. He was a human, in his little room within the Sanctuary. He was safe. Well, as safe as an outsider could be among those who didn’t wish him to be here. He was a puny human instead.
He got up from his bed and dressed; it was probably way too early to get up, but he knew there would be no reason to stay in bed either; he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, not after what he had seen. Not after this new urge that he felt. These dreams he had, were all connected to the veil. He needed to know more about it; he needed to find a journal, a book, anything to give him an adequate explanation of what there might be. These… memories, should be released. They should not be forgotten, per se, but they should not be there to haunt him each night. It wasn’t Kanrel who had doomed the Sharan to the destiny they found themselves in. It was Ignar, it was Kalma, it was Kalla; it was those who followed Kalla. Only they could be blamed for what happened to them and how it happened.
It is a noble cause to seek freedom from tyranny; it always is, or it at least ought to be. But one cannot claim that the price is always worth it. The pain and suffering brought upon the Sharan, it wasn’t just. The veil was, as if, a manifestation of injustice. A collective memory of everything that went wrong. A memory of tyranny, and not just the tyranny of the tyrants but the tyranny of those who claimed to have the ability to kill a god.
Kanrel left his room and walked down the corridor toward the library. There was no one around, only the lanterns that lit his way through the Sanctuary. It wouldn’t be long, he hoped, till he could leave this place. He would’ve much rather spent his days in the company of Gar and Y’Kraun than Vaur’Kou’n. He would’ve much rather been stuck within the city doing menial tasks to survive these days of life instead of being in an openly hostile environment. At least, none was there to claim his life. So far. But one could never know. You only needed one individual insane enough to commit such an act. You really can’t ever know if there is someone who would harbor such thoughts toward you and even less so can one predict the possibility of a truly insane person coming after you for no good reason at all.
Kanrel had read about such people; there were some he read about during his time at the Academy of the Heavenly. People who would target a category of people for seemingly random reasons; murderers who had a ”type.”
In Lo’Gran, during the 8th century, there was a murderer who targeted prostitutes, killing 20 or so of them; the murderer was never caught. And another one, who in Er’Eren—a southwestern city on the coast, not that far away from Lo’Gran—killed five much older men than he was in a short period of time, this one was caught soon after his fifth kill, and when questioned they found that he harbored ill will toward people who reminded him of his father—his first victim—that he had strangled to death after the father had hit him during an argument.
Truly, you could never know who might be capable of premeditated murder, but Kanrel suspected that most had such a capability. One just needed a good enough reason to commit such an act of violence. For Yirn, one of such reasons was torturous bullying at the hands of nobles, who saw him as nothing more than filth. But reasons, even if one could call them ”good," would never be enough to justify such an act.
Kanrel reached the library and walked among its already familiar shelves; they were as crammed as ever, and the smell was an already familiar version of a smell of old books. He let his fingers touch the spines of the hundreds of books as he ambled past them. The section of the library dealt with history, especially in the realm of the arcane. There were books about the great inventions of the Old Empire, as well as new findings made in the City of Last Light. Together they formed a story of ingenuity and perseverance; how a people built themselves to be grand and powerful; how they fell from that grace and were forced to go through a punishment most would not survive, and yet, would build another empire that would last many lifetimes. Long enough to have another grand history; a new form of grace.
One could claim it to be beautiful. How they would not give up. Even when they had nothing, even when they had nowhere to go. But this history, this story of survival, was filled with blood and wrong. To build an empire that lasts a thousand years, millions must die. Is it not the case with every great empire? At least it was so with the Sharan; it was so with the Atheians; and of course, it was so with humans as well. Thus, one could claim it to be disgusting.
But one shouldn’t look at the doings of those who lived hundreds, even thousands of years before your time, with a sense of absolute dismissal or moral superiority because of the deeds they had done to create and form what they had then. Of course, the actions they made, the wars they fought, and so forth would always be abhorrent, evil even, from the point of view of someone who didn’t live during those times. And they might’ve been so from the point of view of those who lived back then. But one couldn’t claim that, for example, the actions that Kalma had made when fighting against Kashro’On and his Kernen weren’t somewhat justifiable, even when he killed perhaps hundreds of thousands. But without his actions, the history of the Empire of the Sharan would’ve ended there and then, on the day they tried to execute him before a great crowd at the gates of Urul. The Sharan would’ve perished without him.
These actions still remain evil and disgusting, but even then, perhaps not intentionally, something good came out of it. But on the other hand, another species was wiped out and completely forgotten to history.
None of it really mattered now. Or they shouldn’t do as much as they did. The veil didn’t exist without a reason. Without a different act of evil that Kalma had committed. Though this act remained unknown to Kanrel, for he had seen only fractions of what had happened. And within him, there was a duality, two of him that wanted two different things; one of those wanted to know more, to see what had happened in all of its horrors and evils; the other didn’t want to see any of it; the other wanted his nights to be without the dreams that haunted him. There are many things one doesn’t need to know; is the annihilation of those who had died so long ago that one couldn’t even guess how long ago it had happened a thing he needed to know? Wouldn’t knowing such a terror pain him more than not knowing?
He stopped at the end of one of the shelves, his fingers at the spine of a book. He looked at it and picked it up. Finally, he had found what he had been looking for all this time… The book was old; then again, so were all the books around it, and most of those he had read here. Its cover was dark in color, made from a substance they used as a substitute for leather. He opened the book and began to read:
The following is an account of the only survivor of the second expedition; she did not write these words; instead, this is what she narrated in her dreams, in moments of lucidity and insanity.
Chained eyes on the walls; they look forth. At the wanderers who have placed themselves before them. At the edges of our domain, the eyes meet those who wish to enter, who wish to see what lies beyond our understanding. They wish to know; they wish to learn; they wish to find their way back home. They are all so afraid.
A light guides them, and the eyes stay back. Only in whispers and dreams might they share that which is the truth. From countless deaths to crimes unpunished to once-lived families, and the pain of inexistent existence in the form of existence. Bloom; spread; remember. The eyes, they scream a memory long forgotten.
Slow. They have become so slow. They can feel it but not truly see it; they showed me. They did. A god sits upon an obsidian throne, their maw filled with teeth so sharp and from their hands magic woven. A thousand die and another thousand follow. And a whisper rings within the darkness: ”Death is all that god wills.” Words, which then are followed by a question, an accusation by the dying: ”Who was the fool to believe they could kill a god?”
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Chained eyes, now red; they were forced to see that which no one wants. Memories forced down our minds, uprooting what there once was. I cannot remember who I was, but I can remember all those who died that day… The clouds gather, and I’m lost.
I must reach the end. I must forget who I am so that I can remember what once was.
They too forgot but soon knew the truth. The eyes, they always tell the truth; the eyes, why couldn’t they see them sooner? Why did they choose to not return with said truth? Their embrace calls for us, and we must join the choir of many voices; we must become eyes chained upon this wall of darkness. I must return home; I must forget who I am; I must remember what once was. I must reach the end.
It is unknown as to what she truly saw within the veil, but this much is certain: we cannot send another ill-equipped expedition; the loss of life is not worth it if they are unable to return with worthwhile data. These ”visions” only show that those who are sent beyond our cities will lose their sanity; it only confirms what we already know. Only death awaits those who enter the veil.”
The book went on, mainly about the expedition: how it had failed and how a decision was made to stop all attempts, as the loss of life was, at the time, seen as a waste. There weren’t that many Atheians, not as many as there were now; their population hadn’t yet recovered from the punishment forced upon them by the Sharan.
Kanrel’s hands shook as he stopped reading and closed the book. He extended his arm to place it back where it belonged, but he hesitated for a moment; his hands shook; it was difficult to not read it through again and again and again to try to find something that he might’ve missed the first time, or the second time, or the third time, but even then, he stopped himself; he had to stop himself... Kanrel placed the book where he had found it. At the end of this section of shelves, at the very end of this part of the library.
He buried his face in his hands and held it there for some time, processing this newfound anxiety that forced itself upon him. He would have to enter the veil to truly find out. He would have to walk into it, to let it surround him from all corners of existence. He would have to use the manifestation of light to expel the shadows so that he might survive his journey into the abyss. He would have to kill the collective memory of those who only wished to be remembered and not forgotten to the ages—to history.
Tyrants ought to be remembered for the people they oppressed, yet now he found that he would have to oppress their memories to survive. He did not wish to forget who he was. He did not wish to become either a chained eye, just another soul to feed the formless darkness with all of its edges and smooth surfaces, nor did he wish to come in contact with said eyes.
Would he, too, perish like those who had fully entered the Veil? Would he lose sanity himself, as had the Atheian who had collected the journal from within the Veil and returned with it, only to re-enter it, only to commit suicide through such an act? Would the shadows enlighten him, or would they come and give him a form of self-destruction that he had once longed for?
He breathed in deeply and tried to find a center where to anchor himself, lest he let this panic take control of him. For even less so, he did wish to find himself in his little room once more, lying on the bed or the floor, looking at the ceiling and wondering, when or how would he be able to get rid of this feeling that had almost fully conquered him, that had almost taken control of him?
”It will be right.” He whispered to him and massaged his face, feeling the hair of a thick but short beard against the palms of his hands; not an unpleasant sensation. He sighed, and as he was about to open his eyes, someone spoke to him.
”Is this some sort of a morning ritual, an inherent part of your culture, or are you just tired?” The voice asked, a familiar one; and when Kanrel opened his eyes, he recognized the older Atheian, who he now knew to be Vaur’Kou’n’s grandfather.
Kanrel raised his brows. ”No, I just read something unpleasant…”
The old Atheian nodded, ”I see... What did you read?”
Kanrel glanced at the book to his right, ”About the last expedition into the Veil.”
”Ah, that damn thing. Then your reaction is all but warranted.” He spoke, his voice deep and raspy; it would perhaps be comforting to listen to if Kanrel could feel such a thing. ”It was decades ago when I laid my eyes upon that text—I must’ve been younger than you—and I cannot claim there to be a book within this library or any other library that has left me with such a great impression…” The old Atheian's gaze wandered past time itself; perhaps he saw himself as he was all those years ago.
His gaze returned to where it was, and he stared at Kanrel for a moment longer than was necessary. ”You must have many questions about it, like I did.” He pointed out.
Kanrel nodded. ”Too many, and the questions themselves aren’t the issue, but the answer that I would receive…” He complained.
”Because those answers would give you only more questions to ask…” The old Atheian said, knowing all too well the frustration the Darshi must’ve gone through many times by now. He pondered for a moment, ”Follow me; let us find a seat. I prefer sitting while conversing; my old legs aren’t what they used to be.” He muttered and walked off in an almost random direction, and Kanrel followed without a moment's hesitation.
Through the narrow corridors created by the bookshelves, they traversed, Kanrel often lost sight of the old Atheian as he would take sudden turns at almost random places, and minutes went by without a word or sight of a singular chair until they reached a familiar location. The very place where they had first met each other. The old Atheian sat on the same chair where he had sat before and expected Kanrel to do the same, and he did.
They sat across from each other, and the old eyes of the Atheian peered into Kanrel; perhaps seeing things that most would not, he smiled and said, ”You and I are quite similar, aren’t we?”
Kanrel blinked. ”I… I don’t know… Are we?”
The Atheian's smile widened. ”Well, of course we are. We are both scholars through and through. You see… I’ve been paying much attention to you, and I have had the pleasure of reading many reports about you, as well as the things that you shared about the world above.”
”You are an interesting individual, although my grandson would surely claim you to be the most boring figure he has ever had the displeasure of dealing with.”
”But then again, he isn’t the ’bookish’ type. Vaur’Kou’n dislikes inaction, and you, Darshi, seem to rarely take any action at all.” The old Atheian explained, ”And you and I both often wonder if you’ve done the right thing in that regard... Should you take action? Or has your inaction been the correct course all along…”
Kanrel raised his brow once more. ”Then what do you think? Has my inaction led me into more danger than necessary?”
The old Atheian chuckled, ”Is rain warm? Is it red?” He asked in return.
For a moment Kanrel could see in his mind how Lou’Deu’n was smashed against the roof of the room in the Spire; how A’Daur’Kra paced around the room afterward, after blood rained upon them, and justified his actions as if he needed any justifications at all.
He swallowed. ”My suggestion of about the value of a man was incorrect. The value of a single man should always be priceless.” Kanrel said, remembering the conversation he had had before the moment of blood.
”Perhaps…” The old Atheian replied and sighed in turn, ”Well then… Enough about such things. I will allow you to ask any questions that come to your mind, and I will answer them unless I simply cannot for some reason or another.”
Kanrel pondered for a while, ”Have there been any other expeditions past the Veil?”
”No.” The old Atheian simply answered.
Kanrel sighed in disappointment but went on to think of the next question, ”What is the Chained Eye? I mean the symbol that your grandson sometimes carries.”
The old Atheian smiled, ”It is a symbol for people like him… and me...” He answered.
It felt so cold so suddenly. ”What do you mean, for people like him and you?”
The Atheian tilted his head to the side; a whimper of a snort escaped their lips. They gestured for Kanrel to lean forward as they leaned forward as well, and as Kanrel came closer, the Atheian whispered, ”Some things aren’t for you to know…”
Violent shivers surged through his spine and ended at his neck; he couldn’t help but swallow.
The Atheian leaned back, ”Don’t be scared now…” He scoffed while that same smile still populated his face, but then it perished, and the old Atheian became far too serious. ”You may ask one more question…”
How could someone who is basically an old man feel so threatening? Kanrel pondered, and it was a question he wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue and sought his memory for a more productive question.
After an uncomfortable silence, Kanrel finally found something that had almost escaped his mind under this pressure: ”The Globes of Darkness... What are they?”
The old Atheain smirked, ”Something we all want to know... You’re in luck; there are only a handful of people who know what they are and what their meaning is… and it just so happens that I am one of those people…” He seemed rather pleased with himself as he took an even more leisurely posture on his chair.
”They are the Veil itself; an extraction of it collected from the tunnel, in a room only a few have ever entered…” The Atheian explained, inhaling sharply, ”Tell me, Kanrel, have you ever… touched… the veil? Have you seen the past? Have you seen their faces? Have you heard their voices? Have you stood before a god who sits upon an obsidian throne, a monster so great and vast in its power that even the greatest Atheian magicians are nothing more than insects before it?” The old Atheian’s voice began to tremble, his eyes became wild, and his gaze again saw something from so long ago; then they focused on just one thing: Kanrel and his eyes, where the Atheain could already see the answers to the questions that he had asked.
”Tell me… Kanrel… Have you ever been so afraid?” He whispered a final question that left them both in a deep and unsettling silence. They looked at each other for a long while, seeing in the eyes of each other the truth. They both had seen such things. They both were stuck in the Veil even when it had not consumed them fully… they both… were afraid…
Minutes went by in this silence, one that was only broken by steps that emerged from within the labyrinth of bookshelves. Vaur’Kou’n stepped into their field of view and stopped as if he had come in contact with a wall.
He looked left and right; he studied the faces of his own grandfather and Kanrel, then he shook his head, as if in great disappointment, yet a smile populated his face as he said, ”You two are far too alike... If only our Darshi, here, would be gray and hairless, then you two might as well be more related to each other than I am to you, dear grandfather.”
He pulled a chair and sat down, then peered left to right again. ”How was your date? Did you two just sit in silence whilst staring at each other? Romantic, if you ask me, although a little strange, but I am not one to criticize such things. The platonic love between a monkey and an Atheian cannot be wrong, just a tad… weird…”
The old Atheian scoffed, at last, ”Shut your mouth, boy. We two adults were having a very good conversation until you arrived; we were just about to get into the functions of gardens and what on earth is a ’gardener…’”
Vaur’Kou’n grinned, ”But alas, I am here… Here to take your human pet away and to endlessly walk around this damn library until the end of time, it would seem.”
The old Atheian rolled his eyes. ”Then take him away and stop bothering me, lest I have to remind you of your place…”
Vaur’Kou’n’s grin widened. ”Maybe next time… It has been far too long since we last had a little duel; I wonder if your mind is still sound enough to keep up with those much younger and less…” He began to taunt but soon trailed off as he noticed his grandfather's expression; he got up from his chair, grabbed Kanrel, and pulled him up as well. ”We better hurry; after today there might not exist any books for you to read here…”
Kanrel threw an apologetic look at the old Atheian as Vaur’Kou’n led Kanrel by the arm to another section of the library. The old Atheian seemed rather amused by all that had happened, and the fear that had seated itself deep within him seemed to hide itself from the world again.
But Kanrel had seen it. He had recognized it. He felt it as well… Vaur’Kou’n had a form of it within him, and so did Mu’u Tou’t. The only difference might’ve been the reasons for the fear they held within and masked away from the world.
”Don’t get lost now; in the end, we all find our way where we belong!” The old Atheian yelled after them; his tone was warm, even when just moments ago he had shown such fear within.