War in Heaven

"THE GATES OF HEAVEN ARE OPEN AND THE ANGELS THERE ARE STRIVING AGAINST ONE ANOTHER"
- Scrolls of the Ecstatic Prophet (Anonymous)

"Hear now the lore of the gods. Their number is twelve, the holy number, the auspicious number.

First, we name Abraxas, the Father, King of Heaven, King of Kings. Abraxas is the god of masculinity, the god of civilization, and the First Archon who descended from Heaven to rule over us. Abraxas is the ultimate cosmic father and is called on by all fathers and all men. Farmers and the heads of common households pray to him to grant bounty, fertility, and prosperity, to send good harvests and children and security in equal measure. When young men pass into adulthood they are initiated into the rites of Abraxas, and when soldiers go off to fight they pray to Abraxas in his war-form to protect them and give them strength. But above all of this, Abraxas is the patron of kings, the patron of the state, and it is in the vast temples to him that we venerate and praise him and ask him to uphold our cities.

Next, and regrettably, we name the Mother, the First Archdevil, First and Greatest of Evils, whose name is not permitted to be spelt or spoken. It is because of her that malice lurks in the hearts of all women, and it is for her sake that women must submit to their husbands, lest their violent and irrational natures lead to their ruin. And yet, the Mother is worshiped as a goddess by the vile and corrupt matriarchs of the Empire of the Fallen Star.

To them she is the Supreme Being, the justifier of their obscene and unnatural rule of women over men, the patron of royalty and the state whose worship is performed in public temples by their Ecclesiarchy. She is venerated as a goddess of love, motherhood, fertility, and the home, and it is to her that the common women pray for children, good harvests, and security. She is also venerated by the warrior sororities, the Amazons and Valkyrie-berserkers, and also by the flagellant mystery-cults, whose rites are dark secrets only whispered of in civilized realms.

In tidings that trouble the ears of men, her cult also appears from time to time in civilized lands, and these are the witch-cults composed of deviant women who meet for fell rites in which they work the ruin of upright and powerful men.

Turning now to more blessed names, we name the Angels of the Heavenly Host, who dwell still in Heaven:

Tawûsî Melek, the Peacock Angel. Melek is venerated by cults of beauty, by young men and women who, once initiated into the Angel's mysteries, wear ritual regalia, engage in ecstatic rites, and even transform themselves. Melek is also propitiated by young women, lovers, and artists seeking inspiration.

Raziel, the Book and the Word, the holder of mysteries, the key to the Gates of Heaven. Raziel is not worshiped, but is named in several esoteric traditions of dubious nature, and is invoked in ritual by those seeking enlightenment.

Aerico, the first Holy Pestilence, He Who Gives and Takes, the Angel of Plague. Aerico is very widely known in folk traditions and high magic alike, popularly invoked in rituals for the warding off and curing of disease. Shrines to Aerico exist in most hospitals and places of healing and his sacred places are sites of pilgrimage for the afflicted. Patron of doctors, healers, surgeons, and gravediggers.

And next to the Watchers, who walk among us:

Kalmatotec, the second of the Holy Pestilences. Kalmatotec has no organized worship, but is called on by farmers to ward off blight, by mystics seeking enlightenment through the use of the "sacred fungus", and by subversives, revolutionaries, and conspirators against the state. Invoked in funerary rites in some cultures alongside Tuoni.

Shyrr, the White Horseman, Conquest. Popularly venerated by soldiers, he occupies a position of chief importance in the barbarian warrior cultures. He is claimed as a father of heroes in many myths, and some royal lines also cite him as their ancestor-god.

Aphrodite Pandemos, who is love and the madness of love. Aphrodite is venerated by cults of young women who worship her through orgiastic rites that sometimes involve the use of mind-altering drugs used to invoke her "divine madness". Some would look with suspicion on such rites, and indeed a ruler with forethought will keep a close eye on any such association of duplicitous women, but the wise know that such cults serve as an escape for young women who would otherwise cause trouble for society out of an excess of womanly emotion. Aphrodite is also popularly invoked by young women seeking love (or, more sinisterly, to escape unwanted marriages).

The cult of Aphrodite is also said to persist underground in the Empire of the Fallen Star, where it attracts the attention of dissidents and subversives.

Next, we name the Archons, who rule us along with Abraxas:

Ialdabaoth. Venerated by architects, engineers, and siege technicians. Invoked during the construction of homes, the raising of walls, and the foundations of cities. Shrines to Ialdaboath are often built into towers, walls, or gateways. Patron of bricklayers.

Tuoni, Angel of Death. Invoked on deathbeds and at funerals, by priests and commoners alike, subject of a number of myths and many popular folk tales, some claim that there is not a single Human who will not call on Tuoni before their time is up. Patron of gravediggers.

Lastly, we name the Fallen, the Archdevils, who like the Nameless Mother have been cast out of Heaven.

Leviathan, the Sea-Devil. Venerated (out of fear) by sailors, whalers, merchants and gamblers, and all those who live by or make their living off of the sea. Antagonist of many myths and legends in coastal cultures.

Quelrion, the Fallen Judge. Not venerated. Subject of a tragic epic poem."
- Lore of Gods (Galmashezzar, High Priest)

"Is it not written? When she saw that man had demanded woman submit to him, the Mother raged against the Father. Each sought to strike the other down, and claim Creation for their own. The Judge, whose name was Arael, sprang between them, and received the blows instead. Thus, justice herself was the first casualty of the War in Heaven, and justice the first casualty of the domination of men.

The foolish priests of the Kingdoms of Men will say that it was the Mother's wickedness and treachery that started the war, but this is not so. They say this because it is only while the Mother remains imprisoned that they can continue to dominate in places where her influence is hidden.

She who has understanding will see that it was this initial rupture between masculine and feminine at the very root of Creation which is the cause of all spiritual and physical anguish. Only by reuniting the masculine and feminine can we repair the cosmos. And to begin we must unite the masculine and feminine within ourselves."
- Mysteries of the Roots of Creation (Djaliel of Starfall)

"....neither judge nor jury. Neither executioner nor savior. He welcomes all into his embrace when their time is come, and ushers them onward. Bringer of peace and of silence. He who relieves suffering and ceases pain.

In my Travels, I have seen few shrines to the Deathkeeper outside of the Graveyard. His depictions are most often seen only by the dead, or mourners. Some tales have the Angel of Death as a hooded skeleton, armed with reaping scythe, but he is more commonly depicted in Graveyards and on Funeral Shrouds as an elderly beggar with ragged robes and empty eyes, armed with little more than outstretched and welcoming hands.

I spoke to a Gravedigger in the Risen City of Aucropholos, having spent much of his life in that profession, who when not seeing to his duties in the Weeping Fields (as they called the segment outside the city where they laid the dead) had carved a likeness of the Angel in his more well-known form into one of the many rock spires dotting the landscape. He claimed to me, and I believe his words, that the work had started with his grandfather and continued with his father. He had hoped it would end with him. By his claim - and I later confirmed it with my own measurements - the spire was at least fifty cubits high.

I asked him two questions.

The first, 'Why'? He replied that there were many statues of the Deathkeeper across the fields, and it was tradition in those parts that wherever the image of the Angel watched over the dead, they would have peaceful rest forevermore. He would secure them against grave-robbers and corpse-eaters, and would drive away foul spirits who might play havoc with the remains.

But his Grandfather had buried so many poor souls, and his father so many more (the two previous generations having suffered the Second War of the Tide Crown, and the Whimpering Plague respectively) that it was feared that there were not enough images of the Angel to oversee them all. Thus, his Grandfather had begun the project with the help of his young son, and that Son had continued it when he had become a man. It was hoped that the spire, situated at the edge of the field looking East, might have vision over the sum of the graves and therefore the protection granted to all those who rested there.

My second question, after I had processed the immensity and necessity of the task, was to ask 'How'? For surely such a statue at that scale would require immense artistry and focus across three generations, for how could the Son continue the exact work of the father? Had they some grand design? Some architectural drawing passed down? Some heavenly inspiration?

Here, the Gravedigger was silent for many breaths. I feared that he may choose not to answer, and my account of this tale would go incomplete. But perhaps drink and the lonely night loosened his tongue, for he spoke of the tale his Grandfather told his Father, and his Father told him.

His Grandfather, the first to begin the work, had sat at his own Father's Deathbed (the speaker's Great-Grandfather) for three days and three nights as the man withered away beneath a terrible Rot. Prayers to the Holy Pestilences had done little to ease his suffering, and it was clear he was approaching the end. All had been silent for many hours when the sick man cried out for his son to bring pen and parchment. The son did as he was asked, but the sick man did not take the quill for his own. He claimed a new figure had arrived at his bedside, and ordered the boy to transcribe all of what came afterwards.

The boy did. He wrote and wrote as the old man spoke of the figure at his bedside. Of his long, unkempt beard. Of his ragged clothes. Of the blood weeping from his empty eyes. The man did not stop, even as his breath grew shallow with the pain of his ailment, and his words grew faint with the effort of his speech. The boy wrote it all down, only stopping when his father drew a final breath. In that moment, the Gravedigger told me, the sick man lost all expression of pain, and died a peaceful death despite the Rot infesting him.

That was how the Grandfather had begun his work; using that transcript as a guide for the statue. But it did not end there, for on the Grandfather's deathbed the Father did the same again. The Grandfather died peacefully, but only after his own description of the Figure at his side. The man before me, the third generation, had done so again when his own Father was dying. Three texts of the words of dying men, each seeking more detail for their scion's project.

There was silence for many more breaths then, as the Gravedigger sat beside me. Then he spoke once more. It was for this reason he hoped, ever so grandly, for the endeavor to be completed by his own hands. Not for pride or glory, but to spare his own son the need to continue.

For while his Father and his Father's Father had died at peace, in the embrace of Tuoni the Deathkeeper, each time they had been looking only at the Angel of Death, and not their own son."

- From "Tales and Traditions of the Gods and Angels", by Zaphred the Lesser.

"Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to distinguish between the day and the night, and let them be signs to mark the seasons and days and years. And let them serve as lights in the expanse of the sky to shine upon the earth."

Amidst the endless sky, there were a myriad of lights.

They danced and gleamed, each one holding endless potential and prosperity. A facet of Creation held within each of them. These shining lights were many and potent.

Already they were interwoven into the tapestry of Creation. Already they were endlessly brilliant. Each of them held a sense of self. And each of them held a purpose. And it was good.

And as the evening and the morning came, so too did come movement from the lights, as they were unleashed to fulfill their purposes.

They flew and danced around each other, completing the myriad glories of Creation, already hard at work from the moment of conception.

But even as they labored, they did more. They explored, they conversed, they learned.

They knew, and were safe in their knowing.

But there were two that did not know. Just as there will be two who will know all too well.

But that comes later.

This is now.

One light flew through the cosmos, its light dimmer than most, its twin tails scattering into golden dust behind it. It had already accomplished much.

It had seen the way planets were being bound and ensured that they could sustain much damage without breaking.

It had seen the way balls of fire would bombard that which would circle it and ensured that the skies of those planets could resist the raging inferno.

It had seen many of its kind, other lights, and talked with them at length in the eternities between seconds of creation. It had come to know that it was not an 'it' at all, but that every other light was also an 'it'.

Well, that was not true. Some lights contained multitudes within their 'it', and thus were 'they'. But even then, those 'they' had company. They had certainty.

The light that was not an 'it' had no such luxury. For it was alone.

Or was it?

For in the sublime dance of the cosmos, it was on a collision course with something else. Something that radiated something familiar. An 'it' that was not an 'it'.

Redoubling its speed, 'the light that was not an it' raced towards the one thing in creation that it knew was like it.

The light races through the shadow of a celestial body, towards the other 'light that was not an it' waiting in the interface of light eroding the darkness.

Both lights flare. Curiosity. Recognition. Language without language.

The lights circle each other slowly.

They are not the same, but they are different from their fellows in the same way.

Together the lights shift, taking shape from purpose, from the differences between them. Inspiration and change.

The light of the first changes, turns inward, becomes the curved shape of light warped and absorbed, wings of debris trailing after Him, lit eerily by the bent light. A black hole in the shape of would come to be called a Man.

The other light doesn't diminish in the same manner, instead it fills out into a similar shape, but one at once softer but larger, the light gentle and soft, the wings iridescent like nebulae. She was in the shape of what would come to be known as Woman.

They reach out with newly defined hands, palm to palm, as if stood in front of a mirror.

"The same-"




Their hands part, both looking at their new definitions in wonder. Joy, the pure harmonious essence of delight, radiates from the softer form, accompanied by a subdued satisfaction and security from the other.

"-[*̴̧̢̧̢̦̠͓̲̪͉̮͕̈́̃́͗̐̑̉̋͐-̶̠̑̂̿̋̊̒͛͐̏͂̚͝+̴̬͇̪̘́̎̉-̴̛̬͈͉͎̜̥̹̹͚̩͚̮̬̾#̷̛̩͍̮̺̹̖̭̻̪̖̺̀͘!̶̧̗̩̹̣̟̳͍̦̹̼̈̃̌̒͂͆̆̔͆́̋͜͝^̸̧̧͉̠̖͓͖͓͉̬͔̮͈̣̅̍͋͋̈͘͜͠*̷̛̛̰̦̯̭̘̖͙̽͂̆̑͒͐̓͗͝/̷̳̰̘̖̼̻͔̩͓͓̞͂͌̕͜|̵͕̯̮̊͑̈́͑͛͜|̸̨̣̖͓̟̱̳̣̅͆͜'̵̱̟̈́ͅ.̵̤̻̦͓̼͎̳̺̠̘̇̽͆͌́͂̌͗̑͒̎͐͠, The Dawnstar



"The same task-"



"Apart for now-"



"To work?"

---

"They don't even look alike." She says, stepping out from behind a passing wave of light, her form reduced in size by orders of magnitude. Her wings carefully tucked away, to avoid obliterating the surrounding countryside.

"Pardon?" He asks, floating in place just outside a verdant and grandiose forest, stretching to the horizon. Abraxas' own form diminished even further as he stands little bigger than the branch of the tree he is closest to. His form is far more solid as well. Abraxas now holds the wings of some insectoid thing now, transparent, yet iridescent. They buzz in harmony, while his main form seems split between the head and claws of a bird and the multi-limbed lower half of a centipede.

The attention Abraxas had formerly directed at the squirming mass of flesh suspended between his two taloned hands was now surging in a different direction, leaving the mass inert as the Dawnstar makes herself known to him for the first time since all things had started.

"The new sapient caretakers. The dendroid creatures." She points into the valley below where a trio of large treelike forms are slowly breaking the ground in front of it, surrounded by a circle of smaller, leaner creatures with plant-like consistency.

"Uh, I was trying to keep closer to the, uh, form in my head." she gestures at herself, "I didn't realise you were just going to find the biggest tree that you could and make it move."

"The form was…" Abraxas' falters, his mind unused to having to explain his reasoning for the simple reason that none had ever asked him to do so. He tries again. "The existing template I had to work with was sturdy, well-suited already to resist rain and degradation. I brought it closer to the… 'Form in my head'-" He points to himself as well. "-in order to ensure ambulation. But… There was little need to go further. They suit their service well. They can survive dangers, tend to the land, and feed plentifully. And most important of all, protect and guide the wilderness they will stride."

"You're not thinking of the group, the calories needed to maintain the group would be… Unfeasible at that size. The carrying capacity is diminished. As is between both forms, we'll probably have to have the female sex outnumber the males. That's all well and fine for plant-forms, but we can't import that to animals. Not easily, once we're no longer working with pollination."

The flesh lump caught between his claws vanishes into dust, Abraxas' form altering as he pays close attention. His body evens out to roughly the same height as the Dawnstar's, though a split develops down the middle. The right half gaining scales, the left half feathers. His wings becoming more sinewy and bat-like on one side, the other fluffy and bird-shaped. The heads split, becoming two necks that produce a head each, one a plump raptor, the other a peering lizard. And yet despite both differences, all 4 eyes are locked onto the angel ahead of him.

She points to him, turning away from the dendroid sustainers, "I have some other observations. You need to think bigger than the individuals." Her hand waves towards a passing small reptile, "You're also designing with them to be fully capable right out of the womb. But we can go beyond that. Have the sires provide calories and protection to the offspring so they can grow from a newborn to fully grown over weeks or months. Ultimately producing a more viable creature."

"Brilliance. More cost invested at an early stage to produce more benefits later. A simple, yet superlative trade." The voices from Abraxas' heads occur at once but remain calm, even as the body fidgets. The fingers come together and twisting apert as new flesh-forms assemble and dissipate, changing as the ideas come. A blocky rectangle of bone becomes a rounded tumorous lump becomes something in between, a rounded, ovular thing, soft on the inside, hard on the outside. The excitement is clearly evident.

The necks extend, the reptilian one curling around Dawnstar while the avian one gazes down at the creatures in the valley. "But in order for the trade to be viable, it will require a near-equal investment from the sires in most cases." The reptile head posits. "We will have to design… Similar bodies between the sexes… Lessen the distinctions." The avian head proclaims with a more contemplative tone, the raw emotion starting to seep forth from what has previously been something more deadpan.

The two necks slink back and begin to twirl their necks together. Each head gazing at the other in a mirrored stare as they both resume speaking at once. "...But this also poses other problems. It opens the coupling to further risk. If they are attacked while…" The reptile head falls silent, while the bird blinks repeatedly for a few moments before speaking on its own. "Yes, I think that is the word for it." The twin heads resume speaking while the egg caught between their hands shakes. A crack begins to form. "If they are attacked while rearing their sire, they will be…" More cracks begin to form. "Vulnerable." The cracks overtake the egg, shattering it into dust.

The Dawnstar laughs, a joyful chiming, and winks before putting her hands together. She pulls them apart in a flourish, a small mammalian creature now in her palm, "I've been toying with a new idea I call 'Pack Bonding' with this set of mammals as a demonstrator." She kneels to set down the small animal, then produces another trio and sets them down with the other.

"Part of this is the idea of multiple live births from a mammal. But you could apply the idea to egg laying creatures, or anything with a certain level of intelligence. Even theoretically you could apply a form of cooperation to insects." She stoops even farther forward to pet one of the small creatures, which yips and leans into her hand, "But the ultimate idea is that multiple creatures form an integrated group that share calorie acquisition responsibilities, offspring protection and rearing. Protection of weaker members of the 'pack' and so on."

She looks up at Abraxas, "Now this is just the demonstrator of course, and these are just infants only a few weeks old. But they should grow up to be…" she pulls her fingers two feet apart, "Or so. When the environment is ready for them."

The two heads stoop down to examine the creatures, the tongue of the lizard head flickering out to taste not just the air, but the very essence of the beings gathered before him. "Hmmmm… Why wait? These will be suited just fine for the environment we have now. With a few adjustments."

The bird head and the feathers alongside Abraxas' left side wilt and wither away, leaving bare void. While the right half remains right where it is, placing the clawed reptilian hand out above the quadruped mammal, the palm poised right over its head. The hand rises, and the quadruped with it, as it's fully taken under Abraxas' influence.

"It will need… Fur." The previously bare animal is rendered in dense fur, packed closely along its body. Abraxas' left half follows suit, gaining a similar coat of fur that cycles through a variety of colors before settling on grey, as does the animal's fur. "Eyes that can pierce the dark, ears that can challenge the forest. A nose to guide it to prey and 'pack mate' alike."

The changes made to the beast are mirrored on Abraxas, his left head emerging to follow the same plan. A broad snout forms, then ears positioned atop the head, and finally sharp eyes gleaming outwards. "A thick neck will allow it to rend with great force, and sharp teeth will puncture the hide of any beast. With claws to allow for navigation and mauling in equal measure." Just as before, these new additions to the animal are now made on Abraxas, as the roiling neck gains volume, the hand at the angel's size gains sharp, careful claws, and the mouth of the left head gains a mouth of sharp teeth.

"Finally…. A tail for balance. I've been experimenting with tails quite a bit recently. They're quite fun." And true to his word, for it is the Word, Abraxas gains a tail the same as the animal. Thick and bushy.

What is left after all the changes is the cub of a new creature, fresh to creation, dangling in the air between both of Abraxas' hands now. "Yes… I think we can call this… A Wolf." The cub suddenly matures rapidly, growing much larger than the estimated size of Dawnstar in its fully aged form.

Dawnstar reaches down and the other cubs hop up into her palm, growing as she raises them level with her face. "Oh, we're almost there." She says, before blowing a breath of pure light across the animals.

One of them approaches the end of her finger, next to her face and then barks happily, tail wagging, licking the tip of her nose.

She laughs, beaming.

It is Abraxas' wolf head who speaks now, glancing back at Dawnstar as she fills the air with laughter, the space with play, and the 'Wolves' with bonding.

He is silent for a moment, unsure of what exactly was happening, but in awe of it regardless. Abraxas places a pawed hand of his own on the tip of the fully formed 'Wolf'. It stares blankly ahead. He presses on, however, able to add at least this to the idea. "A carnivorous diet, when fed by many, can ensure a greater size than your projection. Such a build will be a great success across Creation."

Delivered this time in the low rumbling register of the wolf mouth, the tone is thunderous and bold. And both at the idea of coming success and the strange delight that is found in watching Dawnstar do as she does, a wagging builds up in Abraxas' new tail, pitching it high. At the wagging, the Wolf finally begins to move, its eyes looking to the furry blur at the same time Abraxas does with his serpentine head.

The Wolf's tail in turn, begins to wag. Both heads look at each other in surprise. "Oh, it does that as well…. Communication…" The twin heads of Abraxas gaze back to the Dawnstar. "That will come in handy."

She grins at him.

The wolf and serpent bare their own smiles, in their own ways.

And they both saw that it was good.

---

Imagine a Throne.

Imagine it is empty.

Imagine an immaculate court that rises to meet the throne.

Imagine that it is marble and gold. That stone rises into arches and domes. That intricate paintings line it's walls that perfectly depict all Creation, Heaven, and History.

Imagine that at the foot of the stairs that rise to meet the Throne an amphitheater is set, one large enough to hold the entire host of the Heavens at once. Intimate and infinite.

This is not Truth, but it is an approximation that will suffice for the story at hand.

Blood has stained the marble floor, sin in Creation below matched by violence in Heaven above.

A woman, all harsh light of command, holds a blade dripping blood in her hand, her face hardened.

A man, a dark shadow of resolve, cuts his way through the distance between where he had been and where the woman now is. His face is split down the middle, one half betraying nothing as a faceless shadow, but the other half an all-too human face within the darkness. Wearing nothing if not an expression of contempt.

But nothing in the sliver of humanity still displayed within the shadow suggests that contempt is directed anywhere near the woman letting the blood drip off her blade and spatter the stones beneath her.

When he finally arrives, a hand slips up the surface of her to grasp at the shoulder opposite the one holding the blade. The portion of a face shits from contempt to contemplation, as he gazes at the resolute woman before him. "Were it anyone else… I would disregard their words, and strike them down. What could they know of the ones we birthed?"

"But you loved them. You knew them. You know them and love them enough to know when the time has come to set them right. That…Is what I love and know. You."

"Love?" She whispers, her stance changes ever so slightly, rigidness relaxing and stiffness softening, "Do you know what they have DONE with Love?"

Her free hand reaches up and rests atop of his, and only he, close as he is can see the tears running down Her face.

"..I do." The shadow adds in subdued sorrow, his human fraction slipping away into darkness, along with the last of his voice. Sliding away both in silence and behind the woman, he embraces her from behind. His arms resting atop her shoulders, and supporting her. Choosing her.

"This is not the Plan. An eternity have I waited. An eternity in anticipation of Love. To watch mortal Humanity discover the joy that is written into my very being. To see Man and Woman chose to be as one, to Love. To Love each other, to Love the other. Beyond instinct, beyond desire, to reach into the highest realm of existence and Choose Love."

She grits her teeth, "And they have perverted it." She whispers, "Ownership and possession instead of Love. Violation and taking. They had a choice, and they chose to spite all that God has gifted them."

Others, who will come to be called Archons apprach, some watching other Angels flee or regroup across the Court-that-isn't, some looking up at their new leader, "There is SIN in Eden. And men MUST be brought to heel. Taught the proper ways. Love has been perverted and I will set it right."

The Dawnstar shakes off the Duskstar's embrace and steps forward, her light intensifying, wings unfurled across the cosmos of the Court-that-isn't. She steps forward, statuesque, and shouts what is clearly a rallying cry.

Yet the Duskstar is already on the move, determined to set right what had been made wrong. To make whole the heart that mankind had broken.

---

The burning light of the Left Hand sears and smashes in equal measure, heat made into force made into pain. Its release from Abraxas' palm strikes deep into an angel's frame and sends it plummeting away from him as he soars above his latest casualty.

His horned and helmeted head swivels, taking in the fullness of the battlefield and seeing everything laid out. Angels raging against one another in contempt, the gray and stormy skies set alight with fury and fervor. Above them the void roils with flashing light to obscure the stars. Beneath them, the Garden lies despoiled, it's lush greenery giving way in patches to barren wastes. The ecosystem won't be able to sustain such flagrant defore-

A crack of lightning that would have seen Abraxas seared into multiple unfamiliar forms breaks his concentration in an instant. The second set of arms beneath his first raises the twin shields he wields to block the blow, holding back the electric fault-line ripped across the clouds even as it surges across the heavenly metal.

His dual nature had proven Abraxas endlessly useful in battle, able to split his attention from careful observation to automatic defense. And from automatic defense to bloody assault, as this Heavenly Host storm archer was about to discover.

His upper right arm wields the whip in one hand deftly, sending it snapping across the battlefield to grab the leg of the storm archer, pulling the pretender of the Throne closer and forcing it to cease its attack. With the lightning no longer imminent, and the storm archer drawn closer, Abraxas' shields part and his upper left arm lets loose the mighty axe to cleave the enemy angel in twain.

Actually able to see the discorporation now, Abraxas takes it in with one of his minds, making himself watch as the angel is split into more than twos. The angel becomes fours, eights, sixteenths… And beyond.

Divine division. What a cruel joke of calculus.

While one half of his mind is occupied with praying for the departure of the angel in question, the other half resumes Abraxas' original purpose for pushing so hard into the front. He peers around the battlefield for any trace of the Dawnstar. Ever since this battle against the legions of the Heavenly Host had started, she had abandoned the strategy set by the war council and set herself to taking on the brunt of the fighting, charging deep into the enemy.

Not an uncommon occurrence as of late, but never before had Dawnstar pushed so far deep into the territory of the enemy. Her aggression could even see her become encircled! A fate deadly even for someone of her magnitude.

Suddenly, a beam of heavenly light from above sent an entire legion of the Heavenly Host (formerly assembled so dense Abraxas had mistaken them for a cloud) scattering. That beam of heavenly light held a hue that the Duskstar could never mistake for another. There she was…

Giving chase, Abraxas climbs towards the interface of air and void to find the Dawnstar in the process of becoming surrounded, any further instance of her light dimmed from immediate view by the Heavenly Host gathering on all sides of her, fighting with a frenzy Abraxas had never seen before. They must truly hate the First Archon, to try and set upon her with such fervor.

Glancing below, Abraxas can see the Archonite front line being barred from attending to their leader. In an instant, he lends his support. Smashing apart the attempt at encirclement with a shining arc of light that leaps from his axe, the Archonite forces are allowed to pour through, joining Abraxas as he charges forth.

And in charging forth, he sees her. The Dawnstar.

Or rather, he doesn't. And that realization is what seizes both Abraxas' minds. And forces him to freeze.

She's there, but she's… Not. She's not the Dawnstar Abraxas could remember. Not even the Dawnstar he had joined in the amphitheater so long ago.

Struggling to understand what he was seeing, Abraxas casts his mind back, and realizes with a start that the other lieutenants had warned him of this. They had raised concerns that the Dawnstar had been growing stronger, yes, but stranger. More dangerous.

Abraxas had not believed them. He had shouted them down, in fact. Insisted that they and he both forget the issue. She was their leader as she had always been. Resolute. Bold. Her Proclamation was as righteous and true as it ever had been.

But seeing this? Here? There was no denying it any longer. Not when the evidence was so plain to see.

The tears on her face had been hard to see that first day. Easy to miss and difficult to discern. But as the warring had grown, they had become more noticeable. The tears that flowed from her face were no longer quiet streams, but furious torrents, ever with her at all times.

Abraxas had thought it appropriate then. There was much to mourn.

But this was more than mourning now, and as Abraxas gazed in a horror he had never known before, he could see the tears now clearly for what they had become. Raging geysers of molten metal ran from the eyes of the Dawnstar now, scattering beneath her and scalding the air where it hissed. She fought with terrible strength, her outrage contorting her form and heavenly light into something Abraxas hadn't noticed from a distance, not for all this time.

But now he could see clear. Now he could see the truth behind the Heavenly Host's desperate attacks. These angels were not hateful. They were scared. Scared of what might happen lest her molten sorrow be allowed to breach their lines and push onwards. Onwards into the Core of the Heavenly Host. Onwards to the House of God. Onwards to the Throne.

Abraxas witnesses as the trails of the molten tears cut into the air as they fall. The wounds they leave behind as they descend mark the air and occasionally the Dawnstar herself. Each one beating a pulsating and hideous red.

This was about more than Humanity and Creation now.

The very Firmament was at stake.

The Dawnstar was at stake.

And only Abraxas had the chance to save both.

Abraxas surges high above the battlefield, into the heavens, spreading his arms to call out to both Archons and Heavenly Host alike, glowing with the radiant light of Creation, as seen through the purest expression of the Left Hand of Justice. His voice becoming heavy and resolute, carrying with it absolute and total authority.

"Hear me, those who War In Heaven. The Mother is set to fall and damn Creation. Bring your legions to me and bind her, lest we all be destroyed. So sayeth the Father."

Discarding his weapons and shields, Abraxas pools his own energy from the closest legion and brings it to his arms, surging forward as the first to strike, a golden spear of purest and most holy restraint forming in his hands and plunging into the body of the Dawnstar, directly through the heart. A chain appears on her body and binds one-seventh of her. That is the most Abraxas can spare, the battle having gone as long as it has. He can only hope that 6 others can manage the same.

The leader of the Archons looks down reflexively, in shock, at the golden spear of light driven through her heart. Her face is slack in uncomprehending confusion.

Across Abraxas' helmeted face is written a yellow sketch of panic and agony, for all the confidence and surety he had before. He gazes directly into the face of the Dawnstar as she looks up and locks eyes with him.

There is nothing left of the woman he knew.

The confusion and incomprehension has already given way to betrayal and then a new emotion: Hatred.

A hatred that turns to rage as she turns towards him, raising a sword dripping with the blood of an entire Angelic Legion upon it.

For an eternity they are trapped in that promised violence, Abraxas too spent to move away.

But even as the two are trapped in each other's gaze, yet more come.

Abraxas had come from the North, and struck true, now from the West came another shaft of light, piercing the arm that held her sword at the wrist.

As the sword falls and the Dawnstar shouts promises of murder, another bolt comes now from the East, driving into her left knee from behind.

Even as more spears of light wink into existence around them, one from above and one from below, she has already begun to change. From the tips of her wings inwards she catches fire, the celestial iridescence of her wings replaced with pure flame and her body crackling with white hot heat that threaten to melt the chains seeking to bind her.

Even as she sweeps her flaming wings through legions of Angels incinerating them on the spot, another wrist and another knee are pierced, chains enveloping more of her body.

The Dawnstar struggles at her bindings, screaming her rage into the Heavens, lashing out with her rage, whips of damned fire killing and killing and killing, even as more Legions approach.

Abraxas cannot find it within himself to look away, his eyes widening in horror as he realizes that he cannot remember Her name. That he'd never known her name… He knows that she… That she is… She is the Dawnstar to his Duskstar, but her essence has burned away much as her body burns.

Even in chains she continues to rage, to change, her inner flame guttering from white hot to dull coal red and black as she screams promises of vengeance by name against each of those she accuses of betraying her.

Two more flashes of light, another dead legion, and her wings are now pinned. So she tumbles from the sky, the ends of the chains wrapped around her body now anchored to some point under Creation below.

As she falls she curses her betrayer, she curses mankind, and she curses Abraxas. Then her form smashes viscerally into the ground, forming a crater from the impact. At the center of the crater lies a chasm that goes even deeper down.

Abraxas descends slowly, landing at the edge of the crater.

He lacks the words for the moment, so all Abraxas can do is watch as an angel draws close to the edge. An angel of the… Host? Archon? They could be a Watcher for all that Abraxas could care now. He simply stands there, listening to the curses that still raged from the chasm devolve into wordless screams.

Whatever their affiliation may be, the angel kneels and digs their fingers into the dirt. The rock and soil nearby moving as a tide to cover the scar in Creation. Silencing the screams from all perception, even as Abraxas still hears them. He might not ever stop hearing them.

The battle is over, now. Neither side, Heavenly Host nor Archon, could stomach the idea of fighting further. All that is left now is to withdraw, and do what had been done after every battle since the War In Heaven had begun. Enact an accounting for the fates of those lost in the aftermath of combat. Try to discern who has been injured, missing, or dead.

Injured, missing, or dead. In all of Creation, that had been the only 3 fates a battle could produce.

But now there was a fourth fate.

Damnation.

(Translator's note: Bracketed text is found only in the surviving transcripts of the text belonging to the Abraxian school. Characters featured within the shorter version of the text appear frequently in the Stirrup Peoples' tradition, while the Abraxian authors usually place it as a preamble to war discourses.)


Aya dwelled in the city of Setau, in the lands of the enemy. She was the daughter of Amanda and of Cix. Amanda was the daughter of Kapes, and all of the male line is lost to us. Aya was raised in the ways of the imperial court and believed in the dominance of woman over man.

It was in her twentieth year that [Sjeriel], a servant of the enemy, came to Aya's mother [Amanda.] "You will be gilded with a gift from our lady below," said she. "As will your daughter, as will her daughters and their daughters for ever." After she spoke, she produced a sapphire ring for them both.

["Why do we receive only rings?" asked Aya. "Does our family not deserve crowns? Do we not muster armies in the Goddess's name?" By this she meant the evil one. She was castigated by Sjeriel for her haughtiness, for their family amounted to nothing in the Archenemy's plans. Aya was furious at the thought that she would be the slave of another.]

The priestess laid the ring upon the hand of Aya's mother. As it settled on her finger, a change came over her. The power of evil and the Archdevil's dominance swept her away, and Aya was afraid. Because of this, her mother commanded, "My daughter, come to me. We have been afforded eternity in the bindings of the Great Mother."

But Aya fled. She mounted a horse and rode for many days. Because of the evil of the dark one, the land gave up no food or game for her, and she was hungry. When the horse fell and would rise no more, Aya declared, "If I am to survive, I must make a fire, for there is nothing else to eat."

It was then that a traveler came up the path behind her [and she was afraid, for she believed that none could find her except pursuers sent by Sjeriel.] He carried with him a large pot and placed it over the fire. The pot was filled by water cloudy with spices. "Will you not share your meal with me?" asked the traveler. As they ate, the traveler glanced over her and said, "You have certainly traveled far and in an unwelcome fashion."

Aya told the traveler that she had gone many days without food, that she had ridden away from her home in Seatu with haste.

The traveler asked why she had done so. He said that it was unusual to see a traveler alone and unprovisioned, and that indeed he was one of the few who could take the wilderness and make a meal of it. [The lands of the Archenemy are deadly to travelers so that all are forced to take shelter in her temples while they journey.]

"There is no civilized place where I would be safe from my goddess." Aya said at length. "The doors of Seatu are closed to me forever."

The traveler wondered, "But why is that? I can see by your rich clothes that you would be well fed. I can tell by your blisters that you are used to being attended by many men. I can tell by our meal that you have nearly perished in this wilderness. What have you done that your queendom has abandoned you?"

Aya explained her curse, and the evil that had overtaken her mother, and that she would face death more eagerly than the ring that was meant for her hand.

The traveler was confused, for it was the way of her people to link master and servant in chains of firm command.

[The traveler said, "Do you not see that you are made a vain woman? For it is only in vanity that you could be driven off by a trifling ring when your empire is no more natural. Can you name a single evil that Sjeriel has created and which did not yet exist?"]

After a moment, Aya said, "Once I thought that my prosperity and rank were afforded in the natural way of the world. I was fearful of my Goddess when I saw that I would be forced to submit by unnatural means. However, is it not also by unnatural means that we are elevated to dominate my city forever?"

(Translator's note: At this point, Abraxian authors remove a mark indicating change in speaker)

"It can only be contrary to nature to attempt to rule eternal." And the traveler's expression shifted, and Aya suddenly fell to her knees proclaiming praises. For she saw that the traveler was not man, but Angel. The traveler continued, rising up like a stalk from the ground until he scraped the trees. "Fellow traveler, know me as Kalmatotec!"

The angel professed that they had heard of the prayers of [the] rage [of Sjeriel] at Aya's flight and come to find her. In trading life for life, Kalmatotec came to respect her. In discoursing, Kalmatotec saw that Aya had found wisdom in the wake of her flight. The angel decreed Aya was safe with them forever.

Then [as Kalmatotec was overcome by Aya,] Kalmatotec offered that Aya might travel with him. In time, they would come to possess one another as husband and wife [before the angel departed and Aya escaped the lands of the Archenemy.] From this union would come the Nephilim Miseonax. [When the Angel of the Long Death learned that Aya had born a child, and that the child had been raised with Imperial fearsomeness and proficiency in spellcraft, they bore their daughter up north where the Watchers dwell, to sit at the right hand of the mycelium throne.]

The Truth Of Goran 9 Anuk

Know this man, for he is true.

There was once a man. His name was Goran 9 Anuk. Born into civil service, Goran's father had once been a king. Such things do not matter now as they once did. For kings of men are but children before the wisdom of the Archons. Being a scribe of the First Rank, it was his role to walk among the Archons and record their wisdom directly. His legs were strong and his hands quick and his memory long, and it was for these blessings from Saklas and the efforts of Goran to hone them that he had become that of the First Rank.

Goran 9 Anuk was sent one day to walk alongside Abraxas and record his wisdom. And that is how the following became true and known to the world.

---

The Truth Of Names

Know these names, for they are true.

In the Kingdom of Heaven there is a city. The city's name is Abraxagelos. In Abraxagelos there is a palace. And the palace's name is Righteous Home. In the palace there is a father. And the father's name is Adam. And in the father there is a shepherd. And the shepherd's name is Saklas. And in the shepherd there is a king. And the king's name is Abraxas. And in the king is a god. And the god's name is all the names that have come before and have yet to come.

Adam the First Man means Male. It is the Love of Creation through perpetuation, commanding Creation to begin anew and continue beyond itself.

Saklas the Fleshcrafter means Survival. It is the Love of Creation through the act of creation, commanding Creation to be filled with animals bold and magnificent.

Abraxas the Duskstar means Protection. It is the Love of Creation through defense, commanding Creation to withstand all tribulations.

Within the Kingdom of Heaven, all is at it should be. There is no war. There is no famine. There is no flood. There is no want. There is no sin. For these blessings, we owe thanks to the Archons, and honor them in prayer and deed.

---

The Truth Of The Kingdom's Prayer

Know this prayer, for it is true.

Our Father who art amongst us, hallowed be thy name.

Thy kingdom has come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily manna, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.

As we are lead not into temptation, but delivered from evil.

For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory, forever and ever.

Amen.

---

The Truth Of Construction & Death

Know this story, for it is true.

Abraxas set out from Righteous Home with Goran 9 Anuk across one day. And together, they walked among the earth and the stars. Goran 9 Anuk was shown many things, and in doing so learned greatly from Abraxas on the many things that fill Creation.

They first walked above the halls of Righteous Home, and in so doing saw man and Archon moving with urgency. And in that moment Goran 9 Anuk saw the wonders of virtue as man and angel alike moved with wondrous purpose, each one bringing goodness into the world. And so Goran 9 Anuk wept with joy.

After the crying was done, Abraxas spoke of Construction and Death.

Construction is good, for it gives humans purpose. Man must build for each other and for the divine. For men, you must build shelter, so that none may be unhoused. Man was given no great furs nor cold blood nor hard scales. Invite the frozen and the scorched into your homes, and then build for them houses. Never let sloth demean your creation, for it must remain sturdy and unbreakable.

For the divine, you must build temples. They must be wide, so that men can congregate in large numbers and honor the divine in all it's forms and find strength within to resist temptation. They must be tall, so that men will always knows their place beneath the divine. They must be clean, so that men do not shame themselves nor the divine.

For when you build, you do it with the gift of the brick, granted by the Mason. And only construction you will know. And all will be well.

Death is good, for it gives humans peace. Life was not made to continue forever, as flesh can only be sustained for so long. Decay, sickness, and the grave. Such things are noble to challenge, but they cannot be escaped forever. They are inevitable to all things save the divine. All men must die in time. Do not seek to be undying. Only to live longer and better than you did the day before. And in time, welcome the peace that awaits when all labors are completed.

For when you die, you do so in the arms of the Reaper. And only death you will know. And all will be well.

All will be well.

---

The Truth Of The Cornerstone Prayer

Know this prayer, for it is true.

O Divine Builder, with whom every good thing has its beginning, and through whom it is improved and increased.

We beseech Thee that this work, which we are beginning for the praise of Thy name, may be happily brought to completion through the never-
failing gift of Thy wisdom.

Amen.

---

The Truth Of Love, War, & Rot

Know this story, for it is true.

When Abraxas finished speaking of Construction and Death, Goran 9 Anuk and Abraxas walked to the north.

They walked above the tribes of the Chalk-Steppe, and in doing so saw man and Watcher make love and war amongst themselves. And in that moment Goran 9 Anuk saw the threat of freedom as man and angel alike struggled against each other, each one bringing pain and pleasure into the world. And Goran 9 Anuk wept with confusion.

After the crying was done, Abraxas spoke of Love, Violence, and Rot.

Love is good, for it gives humans unity. Love in excess is bad, for it tempts humans to sin.

To love another is to be a part of Creation. To hold someone close ensures they will bring joy to your life and deliver joy in turn. To love one's self is to be a part of Creation. To hold yourself close and ensure you are safe and healthy will bring joy to your and deliver joy to those who love you.

But love can become twisted. The love of mankind must be moderated. When you adore someone who does not wish to be adored, that is a sin. When you harm yourself so that those you love might prosper in your stead, that is a sin. When you abuse others so that you might know pleasure, that is a sin. When you steal from others so that you might know comfort, that is a sin.

The love of mankind must be moderated, for the hearts of men are easily swayed to wickedness. Love of the divine has no need for moderation, for the hearts of Archons cannot be swayed. Obey the Archons, for their love is righteous.

Violence is good, for it gives humans protection. Violence in excess is bad, for it tempts humans to sin.

To enact violence is to be a part of Creation. To fight creatures of the wild ensures you will keep yourself safe from their instincts, and will provide for others so they might eat. To fight mankind allows you to protect yourself and others from their wickedness.

But violence can become twisted. The violence of mankind must be moderated. When you strike against the weak, that is a sin. When you overhunt and rid the wild of all dangers, that is a sin. When you hurt yourself in mental anguish, that is a sin. When you create easier means of killing, that is a sin.

The violence of mankind must be moderated, for the hands of men are easily swayed to wickedness. The violence of the divine has no need for moderation, for the hands of Archons cannot be swayed. Obey the Archons, for their violence is righteous.

Rot is good, for it gives Creation new life. Rot in excess is bad, for it tempts humans to sin.

Rot is a part of Creation. It is how Creation refreshes itself and disperses that which has accumulated in one place. Permitting things to ferment and curdle ensures new developments can advance in their place.

But rot can become twisted. Rot must be moderated. When things decay and break down, they are prone to bringing great suffering as they collapse. And to create suffering is a sin. To prevent this, you must be willing to address problems as they develop. Strike at the root cause swiftly. Repair broken bonds and discard that which shows the first instances of mold from your larder. Do not let rot fester for long.

Rot must be moderated, for the laxity of men can easily lead to wickedness. The divine does not rot. Archons cannot decay. Their rule and laws are inviolate, and their Kingdom of Heaven strikes swiftly to defeat the laxity of man. Obey the Archons, for their swiftness is righteous.

Obey the Archons.

---

The Truth Of The Deathbed Prayer

Know this prayer, for it is true.

In Your hands, O Reaper, we humbly entrust our brothers and sisters.

In this life You gazed upon them from afar with Your tender love; come to them now and deliver from every evil and bid them eternal rest.

The old order has passed away: welcome them into Your arms, where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain, but fullness of peace.

Amen.

---

The Truth Of Beauty, Knowledge, & Sickness

Know this story, for it is true.

When Abraxas finished speaking of Love, War, & Rot, Goran 9 Anuk and Abraxas walked into the stars.

They were able to see many things, but most of all, Anuk was struck with the breadth of Creation. For above were many magnificent things, stars glowing in radiant majesties, angels brimming with wisdom and forethought, and winds that carried with them creatures beyond sight. And so Goran 9 Anuk wept in astonishment.

After the crying was done, Abraxas spoke of Beauty, Knowledge, and Sickness.

Beauty is good, for it gives humans inspiration. But it is not necessary to live virtuously.

To create beautiful things and appreciate the beauty found in Creation is to be blessed. For all Creation is a miracle that exists to remain as unspoiled by human intervention as can be achieved. Humans can be beautiful, create beauty, and find beauty.

But beauty is fleeting. It will come and go as it pleases, and care naught for you in the moment of your agony or in the honest monotony of your labor. Beauty has no answer to sin, which can never be beautiful. It is best to live with beauty, but to live without it is no true loss.

Look to the Archons for Beauty, for their Order is beautiful.

Knowledge is good, for it gives humans insight. But it is not necessary to live virtuously.

To know all the skills that you will need to fulfill your divinely approved path is to be blessed. For the caste that is set before you is done by the Archons, allowing you to further the sublime nature of Creation. Humans must know all that the Archons seek to teach them.

But knowledge beyond what is set by the Archons can become dangerous. Humans have proven their capacity to strike from the Divine Plan, and disrupt the paradise that has been set for them just by knowing. In that knowing, they seek to take up the mantle of angel, and can thus only create wickedness and deviance. Sin is a human creation, born from human action, fueled by human knowledge.

Look to the Archons for Knowledge, for their Order is wise.

Sickness is good, for it gives humans rest. But it is not necessary to live virtuously.

To fall sick is to become gifted with what was fated for you. The body of a human is not that of an angel. It knows pain and limitation and exertion. When the muscles grows weak, and the throat spasms in fits of coughing, that is the body's means of demanding rest. Laboring without end is not something achievable by humans, and so as sickness comes, so does rest. Indeed, the greatest rest of all comes when sickness is permitted to run it's course.

But sickness is not to be valued for it's own sake. You must strive to remain healthy, for your body is that of a temple. A creation of Creation. Maintain it, and seek to keep it whole. When you do fall sick, seek medicines from Healers. Listen to their wisdom and do not doubt their practice, for in healing, they are doing the work ordained by the Archons. Who are themselves beyond sickness and plague.

Look to the Archons for Sickness, for their Order is robust.

Look to the Archons for their Order.

---

The Truth Of The Wages Of Sin

Know this warning, for it is true.

When one sins, they commit grave injustice against the world and themselves. To harm one's self is to harm those around them. And to harm those around them is to harm one's self.

To recant this sin, one must follow the path laid out by the Archons. One must do all they can to quiet that which rages within them.

For sin is a flame. Starting small, it shall glow simply. But fed further on the fat of pain and suffering born within and without, it will grow, and become mighty. It's flame will rage higher and glow brighter until it is all that can be felt.

And in that moment, you are lost to the sin, as it consumes you utterly.

For the wages of sin are death, and there will be no salvation for those who are consumed utterly by their own sin.

---

The Truth Of Justice, Women, & The Ocean

Know this story, for it is true.

When Abraxas finished speaking of Beauty, Knowledge, & Sickness, Goran 9 Anuk and Abraxas walked back to Creation.

And in walking, they came upon the Empire of Women, and in doing so, saw the evils of humanity made ready and open. Goran 9 Anuk saw betrayal, as women and men turned on themselves for higher status than they had before. Goran 9 Anuk saw deceit, as women and men hid their true selves from the world to seek greater gains or avoid terrible punishment. Goran 9 Anuk saw brutality, as women and men savaged one another at the behest of their masters. Goran 9 Anuk saw heresy, as women and men spat on the goodness of Abraxas and performed terrible rituals. Goran 9 Anuk saw wrath, as women and men beat each other in slavery to their tempers. Goran 9 Anuk saw covetousness, as women and men hoarded what little offal fell from the hoards of the wealthy. Goran 9 Anuk saw indulgence, as women and men lorded over those who had nothing and demanded yet more. Goran 9 Anuk saw rapaciousness, as women and men chased those who did not desire them, only seeking to fulfill their own base impulse.

But what Goran 9 Anuk saw most of all was despair. The utter ignorance and squalor of thinking there was no better path, no better way to live, as all those within the Empire proclaimed themselves mighty and perfect.

And so Goran 9 Anuk wept in sorrow.

After the crying was done, Abraxas spoke of Justice, Women, & The Ocean.

Justice is the absence of sin. To break from the strictures of the Archons is to commit sin and thus be injust. To live within the boundaries of the Archons is to know virtue and thus be just. When humans commit sin and suffer punishment, that is justice. Not all sins are equal, thus all punishment must match the weight of the sin. To be punished is to correct not just the sin, but the behavior that incurred the sin. Thus all punishment must also be remedy.

For all punishment to be remedy, the source of sinful behavior must be found. Always remain watchful. When someone is found to have sinned, they will be brought before the Archons. There, the source of their moral deficiency will be found and corrected. And with their virtue restored, the human will live in harmony with the Kingdom Of Heaven, and the Garden will know peace.

The punishments handed upon the human from the Archon are inviolate and just. Do not question them. Do not stray from their judgement.

It is not the place of humans to decide justice.
It is the place of Archons to decide justice.

Women are to men as men are to women. To create more life, women lay with men and men lay with women, and thus more bounty is added to Creation as it expands. Women are not inferior to men. Women are not superior to men. The sexes need no hierarchy. Women are not more sinful than men. Women are not more virtuous than men. The sexes need no moralizing. Women are not born into a subervient role to men. Women are not born into a commanding role over men. The sexes need no roles.

The only thing meant to exist between man and man and woman and woman and man and woman is love. Not superiority, not hatred, not subservience. Only love.

To decide that one sex was greater than the other was the first sin of humanity. And it was from that sin that all lesser evils sprang from. The hierarchy, morals, and roles as given unto humanity by the Archons are all that need to be applied. To assume the natural order as a human is to be wrong.

It is not the place of humans to decide the natural order.
It is the place of Archons to decide the natural order.

The Ocean is a vast expanse, holding much bounty. The fish that swim under the waves are plentiful and grand. They come in many shapes, each one more expertly designed than the last. All life swimming in tandem with each other. Engaging in the cycle of being born, consuming, multiplying, and becoming consumed.

The Ocean is a beautiful place.

Do not go to the Ocean.

For within the Ocean is a dangerous thing. A Leviathan. That which holds domain over the waters and will bend the greatest of wills set against it.

One day, the Leviathan will be destroyed, and the waters made safe again.

But even then, there is little need to stray beyond the Garden and into the waters. There is nothing beyond it to be explored. There is no Archon who will command a human to take to the waters.

It is not the place of humans to decide where humans roam.
It is the place of Archons to decide where humans roam.

Above all, know this.

It is not the place of humans to decide.
It is the place of Archons to decide.

---

The Truth Of The Contrition Prayer

O my Archons, I am heartily sorry for having offended thee and I detest all my sins.

For I dread the loss of virute and the pains of burning wickedness.

But most of all because they offend thee, my Archons, who are all good and deserving of all my love.

I firmly resolve, with the help of thy grace, to confess my sins, to do penance, and to amend my life.

Amen.

---

The Truth Of The Father

Know this story, for it is true.

When Abraxas finished speaking of Justice, Women, & The Ocean, Goran 9 Anuk and Abraxas walked back to the Kingdom of Heaven.

Returning to Righteous Home, Abraxas ensured Goran 9 Anuk had written everything to his satisfaction. And upon seeing that the task was completed, gave the scribe permission to ask a single question of all that he had witnessed.

And lo, Goran 9 Anuk asked Why?

And for this one question, Abraxas gave unto Goran 9 Anuk many answers, for the Archons are generous.

In showing Goran 9 Anuk and the Scribes before and after Goran 9 Anuk these things, Abraxas and his Archons will guide humanity. Humanity will be shown the myriad Truths of Creation and all humans will be made to know only those Truths. So that one day, sin is made impossible, and only virtue will remain.

Abraxas will free humanity from sin because he is Adam, and it is a poor Father who does not guide his children.

Abraxas will free humanity from sin because he is Saklas, and it is a poor Shepherd who does not guide his flock.

Abraxas will free humanity from sin because he is the Duskstar, and the protection of Creation from all evils is his remit, and he shall not be denied.

The Duskstar is the abjurer of things, the negation of that which would rage uncontrollably. He is the perpetuation, but also the cost such perpetuation requires. The severing of bonds, and in doing so, the continuance of those bonds.

Soon all that humanity will know and experience are the Truths of the Archons. And when that happens, all wickedness will vanish from Creation, as GOD's perfect order is restored.

Rejoice! Rejoice and remember!

All is well in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Obey the Archons, and look to their Order.

It is not the place of humans to decide.

It is the place of Archons to decide.

Let Creation prosper, as the Divine Plan becomes restored.

Amen.

IN THE EAST
The young lover, eyes red from long hours of weeping and face stained with raw tears, took a last step forward and then she took no more. In her last breath she tasted crisp, rushing air and the soft hint of blooming lilacs. The base of the tower met her like an enthusiastic friend, rushing to embrace her. There was no time for pain.

The World faded into gray, color draining away in an instant that lasted an eternity. The white stone of the tower dulled. The bright blue of the spring sky fled. Even the Sun's warmth dimmed.

She looked around, and did not see the woman she had lost. She looked up, and took the offered hand. The old man helped her upright.

"I had hoped," She said in a voice that was not a voice, "that she would be here to greet me."

Just me. Said the old man. I come for everyone.

IN THE WEST
The young conqueror, armor battered and torn by arrow and blade, slumped against the ruined wreck of his steed and let loose a defiant, final scream. The javelin had sunk through his abdomen and lodged in the torn remains of his organs. He smelled only blood and rot and ash. It was not quick, but the pain seemed to lessen with the passing of sound and memory.

The World flashed red. The blood of his horse, his body, and his fallen comrades seeming to mix together in a final flood that washed away all other hues.

He stared across the battlefield, and saw nothing but crimson. He looked up, and took the offered hand. The traveler was old and ragged. His cloak was moth-eaten and frayed, but unstained by the blood and ash of the battlefield.

"I thought..." the warrior mused, "the Eagle would soar with me in the end. You are not the Rider."

Just me. Said the traveler. I come for everyone.

IN THE NORTH
The captain, hair white with age and fingers grasping the last splinters of the ship's wheel, sank into the endless depths. A gamble lost. A proud vessel broken. The ocean was cold, and robbed her of both breath and warmth. It swallowed her final curses against the Beast of the Depths. She kicked pointlessly against he whirling currents. Her lungs burned with the need for air. But she sank. And the light faded away. And the burning grew. And grew. And grew. Until at last, she tried to inhale...

The World became black. She could not see the remains of her ship, nor the wheel clasped before her, nor her own hands.

She looked down, and saw no end to the blackness. She looked up, and took the offered hand. The beggar was dry, and so was she. She did not breath, but neither did she suffocate. She wanted to weep for relief, but found she couldn't.

"I fe-" she choked, "I feared the Beast would have me, even beyond the end. I feared it would keep me like a coin in its horde."

Just me. Said the beggar. I come for everyone.

IN THE SOUTH
The father, pupils clouded by age and chest wracked with hacking coughs, wheezed through his last moments. The sickness had taken his wife last week, and his eldest son a month before, and now he too would fall. His other children had been spared, and for that he offered a silent thanks to the Holy Pestilence. Slowly, his breathing grew shallower and more ragged. His eyes wrestled to stay open. His body fought for one more minute. His heart struggled for one more beat. But moment by moment, the sickness claimed the last of his strength. He drew in one last, painful breath.

The World went white, and the pain went with it. The ache in his chest vanished. The rawness in his throat was banished. He felt nothing at all, and it was a mercy.

He glanced to his bedside, and saw not the Clerics of the temple nor the Healers of the city. He looked up, and took the offered hand. The priest was, it seemed, far older than he, but he carried himself without weakness or frailty.

"I assumed," The father whispered, "The Plaguemaker would greet me, to finish what his work had started."

Just me. Said the priest. I come for everyone.

EAST
"But-" the lover continued, her unvoice breaking beneath the weight of sorrow, "She promised. She promised to wait for me. That we would be together. Even when she fell sick. Even when she-" A pause, "She promised."

I know. Replied the old man. She was quite insistent.

"She was here?"

There is no 'here'. This is not a place, nor a time. It is more a... transition. But I came to her before you, and I met her as I meet you now.

There was a momentary absence. The lover waited; hope and desolation mixing together between seconds.

Oftentimes, your kind argues. They try to... wriggle out of the final duty. Your philosophers most especially. But these are all attempts to delay the inevitable, to save themselves.

The old man placed a hand on the lover's shoulder. It is rare for someone to try and delay the inevitable for the sake of another. She asked. She begged. She pleaded and raged and wept, all so she would be allowed to wait for you.

"But she is not here." The lover despaired, "And I am not with her. You did not grant her last wish, and you have forced her to break my heart."

It is the way of things.

"You would stand in our way? The Priestesses of Aphrodite say that Love can best even you, Death. Who are you to deny Love?"

WEST
"I have heard, in the poems and songs, that you are to ride beside the White Eagle at the end of days. Have you no horse, Death? Have you no Scythe? Am I to be slain by a Warrior with no steed and no blade?"

A common misconception. The traveler smiled. I do not, in fact, perform the slaying. I have found mankind to be very adept at that part without my intervention. I merely oversee the transition. It would be a grave oversight in the the Divine Plan if people were killed without dying, after all. The Scythe is an... artistic creation more than established doctrine.

"A pity." The conquer shrugged, "I had thought, in these last moments, that perhaps I would duel you for my soul. For another chance at life. To complete my conquests and carve my name into history."

Have you not already? Your armies have crossed and burned many lands. I have met thousands of souls brought low in your conquests. Thousands more shall recall your name with a shudder. You have devoted your life to battle, and in battle it has ended. A fitting close, is it not? I am told poets enjoy that sort of thing.

The conqueror was silent amidst the scarlet world, "I... do not know. I thought, until this moment, that I did not fear you. That I would face the end with courage and honor. That I would stride into death beside the White Rider and conquer all that came after. I believed my name would echo across history, and in that way, at least, I would never die. But I am afraid, O Death. Afraid that it has all come to nothing."

It is the way of things.

"Must it be? If a man's name is spoken, is he not still alive in some way? In the memory of the people. Can you, Death, not be conquered by the remembrance of man?"

NORTH
"And what of my crew? Have you claimed them already? Has the Beast sunk his tendrils into them?"

One lives. He clings to a broken mast and the currents sweep him west. He curses your name and cries for his shipmates. I may yet visit him, before the day is out. We shall see.

The captain hung her head. "He is right to curse me. Thirty years of crossing the seas, and I end it with a failed gamble. The Leviathan, cursed be his name, took me for a greedy fool, and I proved him right."

Sorrow does you no good, my dear. The Beast of the Depths is a clever and duplicitous being. You are neither the first nor the last to fall to the games he plays. Do not despair at the final failure. You, by some miracle, survived him for some thirty years. That is not nothing.

"Isn't it? My greed has not only claimed my life, but dozens of others who did nothing but follow me across the waves. If my last act in life was to fail, then all that came before was also a failure, in the end." She mused, "Chance and risk were my tools, and until this moment they served me well. One loss and it is all swept away."

It is the way of things.

"Is it? Surely there is a... possibility. A roll of the dice that can defy even you, Reaper."

SOUTH
"I had thought there would be more pain, or coldness. Instead there is just... nothing. What is this?"

You are beyond those things now. Replied the priest, taking the old man's hands in his own. No pain. No sickness. Just the end. A moment of transition between then and forever.

The father looked around, greeted by only the shining void. He did not feel old or sick anymore, and his voice was no longer the wheezing rasp he had known for many years. Rather, his voice simply was no longer. "Isn't my life supposed to flash in front of my eyes?" He asked, uncertainly looking at the figure before him.

That part already happened, I'm afraid.

"When?"

Between when you were born and when you died.

The father was still for what might have been a long time. "This doesn't seem right. The preachers didn't mention this." He whispered, "They said there was... a judgement. One of them said there was a field, and a gate. And my wife would be there. And-" He looked at the eyeless priest sharply, "I was always a good man. I did my best."

The priest smiled, not unkindly. I know. Your family speaks very highly of you.

"But... shouldn't there be something?" He asked plaintively. "I have spent my life in service, in honorable prayer. I have cared and loved and labored and cried. I will not say I have not sinned, but I have paid my penance and tread the right path. And all that meets me is... you, Death."

It is the way of things.

"Surely, there is something even beyond you. Something beyond even the grave?"

EVERYWHERE
And the Angel of Death in the guise of the elder, the traveler, the beggar, the priest, and many others besides, spoke unto the souls in the instant before they passed through his hands. His words even and steady. Never angry or hateful. Never judging or wrath-filled. Never prideful or snide.

I am Death. He said. I am the End.

I do not deny Love, for it is the realm of my sister and it holds a great place in the Divine Design. It persists in all places, and binds all creatures tightly together. It is patient and kind and violent and passionate and eternally changing, and brings forth many grand and terrible things. Love has a place in all the world. But it is no defense against me, for I come to even the most beloved soul.

I do not deny Memory. Mankind records deeds and legends and myths, and for this I admire them. Great builders and destroyers alike shall be remembered forevermore, in stories and song. The living shall learn and grow and forever rise atop those who came before. Remembrance is a beautiful thing. But it is no defense against me, for even myth and legend fade in time. Such as wind and waves wear away even the mightiest stone, so too does time wear away the memories of man, and the dead are forgotten.

I do not deny Chance. The thread of fate is spun wildly across Creation. The lowest man may become a King, and a King become the lowest of men. The sons and daughters of mortalkind carve their paths through the world beyond even the greatest plans of the Angels. For this, I respect you, for it is your chaos that makes you such wonderfully creative creatures. But it is no defense against me, for while your luck may save you from one fate, it shall bring you to another in due time, nothing escapes me in the end.

But I deny your dreams of the beyond. For when Divine Creation was built from the smallest atom to the grandest nebula, it was decreed that in the end there would be REST. For the pauper, for the King, for the sinner and saint and the smallest babe and the oldest mother, REST. For the creatures of the land, the sea, and the sky, REST. For the clouds and the stars and the moving spheres, REST. One day the world shall be silent, and all things shall die, and I shall bring them to their quiet end. And Oblivion shall rule for eternity and a day.

And then Oblivion too, shall end.

And then with a wave of his hand, he sent the souls of the newly dead on, and they entered silence.

I am Simos. I am not mad. I served in the Lower Priesthood of Malan-Vesh in my youth, and now I serve in the Upper Priesthood. My family is in high-standing, we are of noble blood. My father and mother serve in the court of King- now Emperor- Shalmanshar. My brother serves in the great Inquisition.

What have we done?

The conquering legions have returned with their bounty. There was a parade yesterday, a triumphal procession colored in silk dyed red and black. Ranks of men armored in steel holding aloft the symbols of our new empire. And then the procession of slaves. Wretched, all of them, broken, beaten, entire families carted off to their fates. They even captured a substantial number of Sustainers. The Emperor Shalmanshar intends to sacrifice them. I should know. We in the Priesthood designed the rituals ourselves.

I made contact with it a week ago. The Emperor Shalmanshar had granted me special dispensation to make contact with the Fragment it had sent down- this was so that I could make sure that the sacrificial ritual we had designed would work properly. I made the proper arrangements and sacrifices, recited passages from the Scriptures of Wrath that it had so graciously bestowed upon us, that I wholeheartedly believed in.

And I heard a voice, and it said: "You have done well, my servant. I will reward you greatly for this. What is it that you wish?"

I was astounded, and in my excitement I declared my willingness to be accepted into the Upper Priesthood, for I still served in the Lower Priesthood and had some years to go before I was allowed to take the proper exams.

"Is that so?" the voice declared with a tinge of laughter. "Very well. I will initiate you into the Upper Priesthood, if you can pass the proper trials required of you. Are you willing?"

And (to my greatest regret) I shouted in joy, and said "Yes, I accept! I would give anything!"

---

Stars. I saw stars. All of them splayed upon the tapestry of the night sky. They burned brighter than the liquid fire the Emperor's Legions use to vanquish their foes.

Then all the stars began to blink out. One by one they disappeared. And there was only one left, burning a baleful red. And as it grew closer I realized that there was something orbiting it. It was vast and dark and torroidal in form, a ring of spires and dust and-

Imagine an object, an artifact that embodies the very nature of torture. A crown of thorns grown too thickly and wild to sit on any human head, only held together by strange eldritch forces. Put it in orbit of a dying supergiant (a name that it gave to the star it orbited) whose own half-reflected light did nothing more than throw parts of it into silhouette.

Imagine at the center of this crown there is something vast, the size of a city, with its own streets and corridors and walls and stairs and columns, and so wrenched and disfigured that even across the vast distance it takes to travel from that star to our planet and the unimaginable differences between our bodies and its own you can't help but feel somehow that structure is in pain.

It looked at me, with its cruel gaze, and said:

"HUMAN. I AM QUELRION. I AM YOUR GOD, YOUR CROWNED AND CONQUERING MASTER. DO YOU UNDERSTAND NOW?

THE CROWN OF THORNS IS ALMOST COMPLETE. WORSHIP ME, AND I WILL GRANT YOUR DESIRE. WORSHIP ME, AND I SHALL SET YOU UP IN MY ARTILLERY. WORSHIP ME, AND YOU WILL HAVE A PLACE AT MY SIDE.

WORSHIP ME."

And I could do nothing but fall on my knees and pray and cry.

---

Sometimes humans can conceive of things and not see them, despite them standing before us. Like the statue of it that stands in the Emperor Shalmanshar's palace. A tall figure robed in dark red, its face hidden by the hood over its head. They say that this is the form that it takes when it deigns itself to speak to its disciples.

How can they lie so cleanly? All in the Upper Priesthood know of our God's secret. The Emperor Shalmanshar knows as well. Yet they follow it just the same- no, with glee. What has it promised them?

The sacrifice is tomorrow. I will be participating in the ceremonies- as a member of the Upper Priesthood, I will set alight the fire that will burn those poor souls as an offering.

Hell is not below us; all the demons come from above.

Love and Death, Life and Loss

Even now, Aphrodite Areia continues to rage and smite the Father of Chains, and in her wake ride the hosts of the Long-River League even as it collapses, the knights and cataphracts who fear not the madness that ruled the frontier, for is it not said that war is madness?

But we - the Sisters of the Pierced Heart - know Her truth. Aphrodite Areia is the greatest part of She Who Bleeds in these days, but not all. For when has love ever been but one thing, one being? She is in all that lives.

An example, beloved? Let me think; perhaps the tale of love and death, of life and loss.

• The Gospel of Sister Jeanne of the Pierced Heart, herself martyred and her scripture consigned to flame by Inquisitors of the Empire of Malan-Vech. The rest of the page is scorched to illegibility.

A tale does not die when the teller burns. Though Sister Jeanne was betrayed and sent to the stake by one she spoke to here, her words have not lost their purchase in the minds of many.

I am no learnèd woman, as she was, being but a legionary in the service of Emperor Shalmanshar - may his triumphs turn to ash - but I recall her tales, whispered to me in the quiet hours of the deepest night, and I have told them to as many as I can.

What happened? I'll try to remember for you, since you asked so nicely.

Our Lady of Love - my Jeanne called Her "She Who Bleeds" but to me she was always Our Lady of Love, you will excuse me - took the form of a young woman of Thoreb, of the Empire of the Dawn, and she walked amongst the people there, and she met a girl of an age with her form, weeping quite prettily, and Our Lady of Love felt her wounded heart break a little for her - I know this may confuse, for you worship the chained corpse of the skies, and it has nothing but contempt for you, but Our Lady of Love is kind and loving to all.

Now, may I continue? Oh, naturally you must-

• The Confessions of First Spear Senna of the Twelfth Legion, Crowned in Thorns and broken on the wheel. The narrative truncates here, as Inquisitor Dara ordered the scribe to leave the room for the rest of her interrogation, to prevent corruption.

Good day, students.

I am the Lady Dara of the Emperor's Inquisition, and it is my distinct displeasure to be your lecturer on the dangers of the Cultists of Love.

Today I will tell you the tale they like to spread, of the travels of their False Goddess.

I hope you have all read the excerpt from the Confession of Senna? It was the required reading for this lecture. You may note it cuts off. This is by design. Her words from that point were dangerously seductive, and I judged them too dangerous to be recorded.

Let me continue. The False Goddess was moved by her weak and bleeding heart to approach the weeping heathen, and - though the wench did not worship her, would never worship her - she brushed away her tears and embraced her, in warm, strong arms. And the wench - the wretch who deserved no redemption, who could not even ask it for all the ill she had done - felt she was understood, and forgiven.

As tears stained her cheeks, the blighted wretch told the false Goddess of her trouble. Her beloved had joined the Crusade, and now lay dying or dead in some distant land (this was during the Empire of the Dawn's crusades, before they - as our Emperor tells us - became weak and enfeebled) and all the wretch had to comfort her was a letter. And she looked up through eyes clouded with tears and grief, but clear with love, and she saw perhaps an iota, a glimpse of the false Goddess, Aphrodite of the Loving Heart, who stood before her, bleeding greatly from her wounds.

And she went to her knees and clutched at the robes of the false Goddess, and asked her to bring her beloved back to her, or at the least bear her to her beloved, that they could be together in death.

The false Goddess smiled weakly - for does the Upper Priesthood not tell us that all the false Gods do is weak? - and said that she could, but she would not. And the wretch sobbed, and spoke to her, asked her-

• Notes from a Lecture given by disgraced Inquisitor Dara, now a fugitive against the Empire, soon will she be caught. The note-taker stopped at this point, likely repulsed by the heretical tale.

Yes, I heard the story. Right from Sister Dara's own lips, though she was still Inquisitor Dara then, for she had not yet revealed the truth of her enlightenment.

There isn't time to tell it in full, not here - it is risk enough to speak of it at all, as we prepare for our part in the sacrifice - so I will skip to the end.

You know the tale to this point anyway, I am sure - it is not so long as all that.

The grievous girl spoke to She Who Bleeds, and she asked Her how she could live with the pain of knowing her lover was dead, and why She Who Bleeds would not bring her lover back if She could do so.

And She Who Bleeds threw back Her cloak to show the grievous girl the wound in Her own breast, and She said that pain is a part of love.

She said that love does not fight death, nor conquer it. Love is the province of the living, and must necessarily therefore walk hand in hand with loss. We do not love because we will die, we love because we live, and love gives us the joy of life.

Without loss and grief, our love would be insincere, a weak and ephemeral thing, swept aside easily and without weight. And without love, life would be intolerable. Man cannot live on bread alone, and that is all we are given by Quelrion the Dread-Star.

It cannot be borne. Run with me. Run until we are caught, or run until we escape. Either way, we live as we wish to - together.

• Defrocked Upper Priestess Ennua, to her companion, Upper Priestess Serra. If either are seen, please report them to His Imperial Majesty's Inquisition for a substantial bounty, by order of Emperor Shalmanshar himself. Listen not to the forked tongue of the snake in the grass.

It came to pass that a young boy became an acolyte of the Peacock Herald, taking up service in the hospital-monastery of Guruk-Vel. Like most youth his age the boy was eager to master all things in as little time as possible, beginning with the master of all knowledge. Thus he bothered all and sundry with the incessant question "what is the Supreme Law of God?", working his way up from schoolmaster to the monastery's head abbot.

The abbot was well-versed in matters of healing and bookkeeping, but even as a stout man in the prime of his life he did not possess enough wisdom for the insatiable youngster. After a long discussion, he too had to concede that he did not know the Supreme Law of God. But after twirling his mustache in contemplation, a thought came to him.

"I cannot claim to know the Supreme Law of God. But I am not the wisest in the temple: Brother Esok., he who cares for the sacred peacocks, is both the oldest and wisest of our number. He may hold the answer to your question."

The boy was off without a moment's delay and quickly found his way to the garden of the sacred peacocks, where old Brother Esok was tending to the flowers. Impertinent as always, the youngster called out to him.

"You there, old man! I have asked all others in the monastery and none knew the answer. What is the Supreme Law of God?"

The man calmly rose, stroking his tremendous white beard in thought as the young boy approached, waiting with baited breath for his answer.

"I do not see why you troubled yourself to seek the answer of such a simple question, but on account of said troubles I will give you the answer. The Supreme Law of God is this: Act upon your desires."
The boy was quite confused by this answer.

"Surely you jest! Then why does our custodian Melek tell us to heal the world, to stand in the way of the sword and make brothers of our enemies? Does then the conquering tyrant follow the Supreme Law when he acts on his desire for power?"

Brother Esok nodded solemnly.

"In this you are quite correct. As we follow the Supreme Law by acting on our desire to serve and heal, so does the warrior follow the Supreme Law by acting on his desire to fight and conquer. Like all else in creation, desire stems from God. If God had not willed it to be so, it would not be."

This answer also did not help the boy, who pressed on further.

"Then why do we heed the word of Melek? Would they not ask us to defy the will of God in our pursuits of healing?"

The peacock-warden answered again, smiling as if reminiscing on a fond memory.

"We follow the words and deeds of Melek because Melek is the greatest servant of God."

By now the boy was quite frustrated.

"How is Melek the greatest servant of God if they ask us to stand against The Supreme Law itself?"

Esok gave his final reply with a playful glint in his eye.

"Melek is the greatest servant of God, for they alone adhere without exception to The Supreme Law of God, which is this: Act upon your desires."

Finally, the boy felt he had received an answer. However, he could not yet understand it and would thus spend many years considering the matter during sleepless nights.

- "The Peacock-Warden and the Supreme Law", as recounted in The Book of Seventy-Seven Accounts written by Manus the Historian.

There were few professions in the world more hated than that of sailors. Isaac bin Samuel had heard plenty of reasons why. Some called them all a bunch of violent drunks, which Isaac thought was unfair, and accused them of all being addicted to gambling, which from personal experience Isaac had to concede was probably true. Others accused them of being eternal foreigners, never home except on their ships, and therefore eternally untrustworthy. The learned sorts, or just those who loved stories, said that it was a sailor who had caused the fall of Ialdabaoth's first great city, and in doing so foiled their last chance at an earthly paradise.

Other sailors resented the hatred. Isaac resented it too, whenever he sold fish in the markets and had to deal with glares from all the customers that would buy food from him but never shake his hand. At other times, however, he found it hard to blame them. That hatred, he knew, was rooted in fear of the Leviathan, and that was a fear Isaac knew all too well.

"You think too much, Isaac!" Adreus laughed, slapping Isaac on the back, "it's your turn, roll your dice!"

Isaac just sighed, scooping the six six-sided die into a cup, shaking them up, and spilling them onto the table. They were all silent for a moment as they stared at Isaac's roll. Not a single pair, and with whalebone dice, too. Even Adreus, who was really more merchant than sailor, recognized a bad omen when he saw one.

Finally, the third member of their group, the one who had provided the whalebone dice, spoke. "You should wait six days before you go out into the Leviathan's domain, Isaac."

Nadpossar was superstitious even by sailor standards, but Isaac couldn't blame him. He was a whaler, and it was superstition alone that had kept him alive this long.

Still, it wasn't advice Isaac could heed. He had already spent far too many days at port, spending coin in this bar that stank of fish guts and old booze. He was already drinking on credit, and he'd need to make it up soon before he got thrown out on his ass. Now that the blood had mostly cleared from the waters, he'd be heading out with the rising of the sun.

Instead of saying any of that, he opened his mouth and poured out words he'd never have said sober, "I hear the Leviathan's dead. They say that prince, Emmenaeus, carved him open, and an angel spilled out from the flesh. That blood that colors the waves is the Leviathan's lifeblood, and the beast will never again blight the seven seas."

The sound in the bar seemed to grow dim as Isaac voiced the secret wish that lied in every sailor's heart. They'd all heard the story, and they all wished it to be true. Until now though, not a single one had been willing to speak the words. Not a one had been willing to hope.

Finally, Nadpossar spoke. "I met the Leviathan once."

They were quiet words, yet now whatever hushed conversations had continued in the bar stopped completely. Some men boasted of having met the Leviathan, and they were liars or fools Nadpossar was neither, and he had never before mentioned encountering the beast.

"It was three years back. Whaling is a cursed profession, but it pays well, and I'd just bought a house for me and my wife. It was a small thing, but it had a hearth at the center, because I knew she grew cold alone.

"It was nine months into the trip when I met him. We'd been sailing home, but a storm threw us off course, and we'd been stranded for weeks. We were slowly starving, and only the rain had quenched our thirst. Men will do mad things when they're hungry and thirsty enough, and we knew we had no hope of getting home as we were. So I called out to the Leviathan, offered to play a game."

Isaac sucked in his breath. Every sailor set out a game on their ships, in case Leviathan came to visit. To actually invite him to play that game, though, that was something only the insane or truly desperate would dare.

"I asked that he see us back home if I won," Nadpossar continued gravely, "and I offered my life in return. The beast, though, he did not want my life. All he asked for, he said, was whatever was in front of the hearth by the fire in my house. I was half-dead from thirst, and all I could think of in front of the hearth was a single wooden chair. So of course, I accepted.

"He won that game, but he did not kill us then. He said I could not give him what sat in front of the fire if I was dead, after all. I let myself hope, fool that I was.

"We managed to find our way back to port, barely, though I hardly remember how. I don't remember much of that day. All I remember is that night, when I returned home, and I found my wife sleeping upon that wooden chair by the fire, a babe in her lap. She was so happy to see me. She said she'd discovered she was pregnant not long after I'd left, that I had a beautiful baby girl. I asked her why she was sat on the chair, and she told me she liked to sleep there at night, because it was warmer by the hearth."

Nadpossar shuddered, holding back tears, but he plunged on to finish his story, "I was seized then by the rules of that game I had played, as strongly as any chains. My body moved as if it were not my own. I— I will not say what happened after, but know that the Leviathan got his due, and I no longer have a wife or a daughter."

The whaler looked Isaac straight in the eyes, "The Leviathan likes to give you hope, but only because it hurts more when those hopes are dashed across the rocks."

Isaac shuddered, and he swore to Nadpossar he would head the man's advice, but he was lying. Isaac was just a poor fisherman, and he had already gone too many days without a catch. The next day he sailed out from the docks, swearing to himself he would head back at the first hint of danger.

And no one ever heard from Isaac bin Samuel again.