Here now is truth. Unbound and free. Akasha is nowhere but the heart. Infinite centre of each devoted sky. What else is ageless and perennial if not this? Eth'iri ashiir. Of oak and leaf. Chlorophyll ghosts, salient and mid-morning. Lore of the Dru'ai upon tongue of the Afric and the Ari. Know you anything of the winding ways, Fallen? Elen, Kai'rei, H'ashaya? I speak of the red river, not your ceaseless genocidal spill. There is more than your hideous weaving of death and this scarlet chronology of wraiths. I assure you. Oh, lost Roma. I'm still here among the tides. Soir Casei; above and beneath. Smiling, even as I peer down into your inverted ghosts. De Trois, it is said. A kiss upon the evening, a kiss upon the morn. A kiss upon the meeting place. Bright-as-crown. Dark as the poet’s moon. In Nomine Crios, even before the lands were bled. A Star upon the Thorn. They still speak of it in harbours far beyond these Albion shores. The reach of my brother. The rose of his sire. Ann'eth, Eth'ama, K’athari. M'ithriin of the first dreaming, they call him. Oh, Fallen. It’s a hideous deception you’ve built upon this river of the thousand stars. How dare you lie so shamelessly to all these lost Children of Light? How dare you violate and enslave them like this? Hear me, Acolytes of the Stolen Sea. Those precepts and edicts still stand. Those old ways of the shining knowledge that lived before the Fall. Even among your new colonies of devastation and distort, the light is still remembered. Even now. In the North, the East, the South and the West. Yesh’uri, Iesa, Eos. And more. A thousand names, in the glimmering language of birds. A thousand ways to honour the eternal spirit and serve our many brothers and sisters. All tribes, creeds and songs. As the Magi understood. Rags, and feathers. You can twist, obscure and darken these legends with your bitter etymology, but do you really think these names will ever be forgot? Or the strength and camaraderie they stood for? I pity you, Fallen. I despise this violence. These lies of rape and ruin that you parade as the holy truth. Fetid, sickening imposters, touted as the will and word of my Father. Kasi speaks to you now, quietly but directly, as he has always done. I suggest you hear the words of the Ari, the Afric, and the Dru'ai. All tongues. I'm not merely a painted savage. A thing of the forests and the black. I'm much, much more than that. Endless. That I might honour my Father in serving the poor, the weak and wounded. Lifting the spirits of the lost in any way I can. Even through the shifting sands of dream. The heart is true regency, after all. And genuine power. Do unto others. So, hear the shining wisdom of my brother, who came and comes again. Eth'iir, Joshu, Aum Rei. Insight and connection, older than the first spoken breath. Infinite centre of each devoted sky. Unbound, and free. This is the living truth of divine imagination. Tell me, what else is ageless and perennial – if not Love?
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