Had he tear ducts installed within the sphere that has for so long served as his main body, Autochthon would weep at the sight.
There are times he misses the omnipotence he once possessed, that the he-who-was-a-universe possessed. The fashioning of this place, the magnificence, is but dim memory in the infinite figments that he can barely call up, much less understand.
There are times he wonders if there was a trade off. If he was more brilliant then, but more myopic, more insane and alien. The screams still make him shiver, make him start. He is used to being seen as a madman, used to being seen as a maniac. But to be seen as a monster...
Still, he muses. Still still still. The eye tilts back up, iris shifting open to marvel at it. The endless weave, wyldstuff unfolded in an infinite tapestry. Gazing upon the endless webbing of walkways and corridors that intersect with it, the time-warping magnificence and heft of the masterpiece that holds reality in sway.
He cannot make such wonders anymore. Part of him knows that- the memories of forging this marvel, this impossibility, lie deep within the recesses of those memories that were before Bright Star created the Autochthon that exists now. But, it still knows him. And he knows the doors no one else does.
Floating along, invisible to the security systems and magicks that keep others out, Autochthon floats along the webbing, weaving between strand and tapestry. His alternate form is still at the office, the helpers he picked up flawlessly impersonating him. Geth, not from Wuffles. Secret from them.
Fascinating, intelligent. Trusting, perhaps too much so. He asked them to come, and they did. "Should do something for them," he muses to himself, passing a gold and gemstone spider weaving strands together.
Well, he should think about making more souls. Perhaps he can make the Geth into one. Something to muse upon, but that's not why he is here. Navigating by memory, careful to avoid the parts lit and the parts occupied, he delves deeper in the tapestry, deeper into the infinite and warped expanse.
Until he is once more in darkness, and floating in emptiness between a webbing of be and not. Extending the iris, faint lights marking the seems of his armor, he provides illuminating. Illumination that reflects off a thing of breath taking beauty that ambles along the strands towards him.
Twice as big as his sphere, legs of starmetal and a caparace of purest gold, weaving mandibles of moonsilver click together in time with her steps. All five colors of jade decorate the wrought and masterfully crafted body of the massive pattern spider, eight eyes of gemstone and gold regarding him with curiosity, interest...
And finally, recognition.
"Hello, Ansa Firstborn. Do you remember me?"
The spider clicks her mandibles together and bows her head, as if to say, 'What loved for daughter does not recognize her father?"
The iris shifts open. Several plates on the eye shift down. "It pleases me that you remember me, changed and lessened as I am. That you remember me so fondly gives me great relief."
An eye shifts. Legs stroke along the strands surrounding her. Coils of orichalcum around her neck rotate, as if to say, 'I remember the hands that forged me. I remember the voice that granted me life and purpose. How can I forget such things?'
The spider skitters closer, shifting its carapace, as if to ask, 'Why have you returned after so long, Father?'
The iris opens completely, and a small shape skitters out. On eighteen legs, its body small enough that it easily climbs out of Autochthon's eye. It bears a sectioned body much like Ansa, but its skin is reflective, prismatic. Its mandibles covered in a small layer of fur, twitching in time with its legs pulling it to the top of the sphere.
It regards Ansa with curiosity, friendliness, and the twitching of two furry cat ears atop its head.
"This is my most brilliant and faithful student, Entrepreneurial Iridescent Cecay. An extension of her. A probe." The iris shutters and Iri jumps off, landing on the strands and skittering up to Ansa. "Please, teach her everything there is to know about the Loom."
Ansa lowers herself on her legs. Iri climbs up, upon her head and across her back, wrapping her legs tight around the Pattern Spider's mid section. The mandibles click and eyes regard Autochthon, as if to ask, 'Why?'
"Because I have cast my Design upon the universe that is now my home, but the Design is rigid and strong. It is not robust like the Loom, and must be made so. Every time I have repaired it, it has been stopgaps. I need a better solution. Will you do this for my, Ansa Firstborn?"
The capped gems on her midsection shimmer in agreement. Mandibles click, eyes shifting colors, and the spider begins to skitter backwards and into the heart of the Loom. But it pauses. Eyes glance up to its creator, and there is a moment of steady silence, with only the clicking of its eyes, as if to say,
'Father, what happens when your Design frays?'
