Selah, the Titan!
Selah, child of Archangel strength and Tempest fury!
Behold her perspicacity and love
She who casts all low
When Blade met blade, they traded what they had to give.
The force and the fury of the Tempest.
And a flash – only the briefest glimpse – of a young woman’s love, sweet and pure as only the first untouched droplets could be.
***
Selah…
Selah…
Alisandra the Morningstar, angel of Valor, Tempest and Archangel, Power and Principality, Victor among the Mighty, floated to the stones before the Edenward.
Her blow had cleaved the plateau in twain, and her toes hung over the sheer gap over the rumbling avalanche as it toppled apart.
The Blade throbbed with satisfaction in her hands, such a well-exercised tool.
“Foolish girl…What was she even thinking?”
Selah…
Selah…
Something tickled against her breast: a tiny glimmer of Light like a barb.
It hadn’t even pierced her skin.
Valkyrie died…for this?
Alisandra touched a finger to the barb, and it drew blood.
Her smile – so warm – She cares so much
Her hair – so soft – shimmering with Tempest passion
Her voice – that silly noble accent! – like she’s read every book that’s ever been
But more than that
More than anything
When I’m with her
I feel like we can do anything
And against that, like a cruel mirror, she saw…herself.
Raging Tempest, building Great Works that demanded Great Sacrifices that she might be foremost among the Mighty and bring about the Fulfillment of her personal Throne.
After all, that was what really mattered, wasn’t it?
That no other might brook dissent.
That was what safety really was, wasn’t it?
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Her fingers wrapped tight at the base of every thread.
“N-no…”
Plucking and plucking until the dance wore her toys to dust. Until the whole of creation ground to a halt.
Then, finally, she would hold dominion over all – even Time herself.
“No!”
Alisandra leaped into the boughs of her Work, seeking perspective among the weave.
Such cynicism can be discarded out of hand! If I had known she held such bitterness…
But her eyes fell again to the rubble of her last strike. Then, rising, to her weave tightened against the sky and brighter than the distant sun.
Thoughts crept in from the shadows.
Here is our victory
Built on the blood of children, behold my empire!
How neatly laid her justifications. Who could fault her for killing an Inquisitor? Who could fault her for breaking an army that sought genocide?!
Selah…
Selah…
Maybe were she mortal, that would be justification enough.
But here stood the Archangel! Immortal, enduring, and armed with the Sword and the Key!
With no better path forward than oppression wielding those same tools.
How the Blade purred in her hand.
How tools and titles called to be used.
Archangel and Tempest, intermingling drip by drip…
Until she would be the worst of both worlds.
Alisandra released a strangled laugh. “I read Father’s diary. I read every account of Eden. Holy words and the secret invocations! Eager to learn from past sins, I sought to steer a new course in my wisdom!”
Behold!
My sins are my own
Alisandra the Archangel, seeking a Kingdom equal her title. Who else could be trusted to lead? Was it not the most sensible that the immortal should be the most worthy?!
Alisandra the Tempest, passion burning everything she touched. Was it not natural that mortals failed to meet her standards? They were but children; they had but to listen to their betters!
Ali the little noble girl, still trying to wear her father’s shoes.
And now she could no longer tell where the Archangel ended and the Tempest began.
What thoughts were her own and what were the ever-practical suggestions of her Blade!
Still the Chorus drummed against her halo. The war on the morrow; the war on the horizon; the service she would render until the end of time…
The barb pulsed against her breast. Whispered in Valkyrie’s voice:
And who the hells are a bunch of old souls lollygagging it to the Gate to determine what’s Right?!
A little barb of Truth to whisper:
Why would there ever only be one Song?
Atop her Great Work, Alisandra crumpled to her knees and bowed her head.
Stared at her Hand of God, drawn bare and thirsty for more.
What shall we Divide next? it asked. A life? A place? Time herself?!
Here on her lap the echo of God’s own command: to separate and sunder. The high and the low. The past and the future. The living and the dead.
Here, atop her head, the Tyrant’s very crown, demanding a Ruler fit for a Throne…
Who else could possibly be trusted to bear these vile things?!
“No one…”
Now Alisandra understood what was required.
And who should pay.
No gods
No masters
Not even me
“First into the breach.”
She picked up her Blade and turned its humming edge upwards.
Threaded it between her forehead and her halo and set the pommel upon her thigh.
“Let there be no Archangel,” she prayed. “No Tempest.”
No Key great enough to claim the center
No fulfillment for any of the Mighty
Let there be no more Mighty at all
“Sorry, Mother. Sorry, Esmie. It…may be a while.”
Both hands on her sword, she cut.
Divisor and indivisible.
Blade and soul.
This time…
This time she would not miss.
Blade hissed; Light groaned; the sky cracked and her Weave blazed like a sun.
Alisandra found where her own Name rested, such a small and fragile thing. Wasn’t everyone, naked before Truth?
With a sharp jerk, she bit deep.
The sky split open; or maybe she did.
An explosion without sound.
And Alisandra tumbled from atop the tree of her weave, amidst a shower of dying leaves…
Her head alight with the thoughts tearing themselves apart so she might see.
There! High above the sundered sky…
A pinprick that Could Not Be – a violation of Above and Below – a hidden window into a golden glade.
Alisandra locked eyes with a little girl who sported dawn-bright hair and hands clapped over her mouth in horror at what she saw.
“Bear witness…”
This is my resolve.
And she fell into the darkness.
Carrying her damned tools and titles tight all the way down.
Interlude: Gifts
A sentence appeared on a console: Can you still do this?
“I’m still here, Verdandi.”
He comes. We must not falter.
“I know.”
Shall I salvage the weave?
“No. It is a foul thing.”
The Edenward is cracked asunder.
“Then repurpose it. Can you…” For a moment, her voice failed her. “M…make use of what we are gifted.”
I will require time.
“Then we will buy it.”
A parting gift delivered at such cost.
It may be a while
Lynne squeezed her controls tighter.
This place really was cruel…