Before they left, Noctifer wanted to bless the souls of the departed, which, in hindsight, was a horrible idea to agree to. They trudged through the town, going to the mass grave, where Noctifer prayed for a few minutes and promised to take care of Leah and the rest of the devoted who resided in Ataea-Minor, before leaving. It wasn’t noticed then, but Solaris remained.
He looked over the markers and the flowers. Some of them had lit lamps and incense. It was a silent and melancholic sight that left him with gnawing anguish. There were so many things here—memories left to those who could remember them. These people, who were under his feet, were extant manifestations of reality. How did they live? How did they cope with the inevitable doom that awaited them?
All of this sparked two major realizations, which only threw Solaris deeper into his depression. One was that these people, born of life, struggled tirelessly towards some goal that was taken from them when fate conspired. The second was that, despite their lives and singular personhood, they were taken by those who claimed his name for their unjust actions. These people had died, and their blood marked his hands and would forever stain his nails. There was never going to be enough water in all the kingdoms to free him from this agony.
Solaris was not one for philosophy, but the philosophy remained in his head. How did they work for meaning when everything was a meaningless culmination of adversaries? Did their meaning save them? Would Solaris have been so easily forgiven by them had he tried to make sure their deaths were not meaningless? He barely realized that Noctifer had left and that he was being tailed by a second, darker force.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Why do they continue, despite their imperfection being their doom?”
Solaris looked over his shoulder at Deus Ex Nihilo who kicked up a stone. He had a point, and the same philosophical premise now being expressed. What was the point of continuing if, by your very nature, you were cursed to constantly die and start again?
“No, that’s wrong,” Nihilo cooed teasingly. Solaris’ brow furrowed, frustrated at the act of playfulness in such an area.
“They continue because they were given the ability to. No human lives without fearing death first, and life is then born,” chuckled the shadow as it walked closer to Solaris. It pointed over his shoulder at the grave.
“Remembered are they, small minutes in an endless eternity, endlessly immortal in eternity.”
“Speak properly, please,” Solaris said quietly.
“A circle is the perfect embodiment of reality because everything leads into everything else, and no immediate start or end can exist unless it is perceived. Truly, there is a beautiful meaninglessness in that one can only live with the dots of their past and the past of another outlining their future.”
With that, Nihilo left, and his voice echoed with the thought of Solaris. It felt cold—horribly cold—and he heard the call of Noctifer. The god ran back into the graveyard, the girl still clutching tightly to his neck as she slept.
“One can only live," echoed in his head. Lurching forward, Solaris pressed his face against Noctifer’s robes and cried. The god’s free arm wrapped around Solaris, pulling him close.