It's a difficult thing, this tempest. This lie of linearity. To be caught in the chaos of cognition, a
storm of sorts, and to still be force-fed this very limited worldview. It can be a frightening contradiction. Our innate wisdom in lockstep with our modern
banality. We're taught so many
incongruous things now. That the seas
have limits. Boundaries. That we do not flow in the ways we once knew. As I've written in these pages before; the
wraith-priests of this realm have cultivated so many terrifying gods of the
sea. Why do you think they did that, so long ago? I’ll tell you.
Because at our essence we are fluid, liquid beings. Charged with sunlight and sentience. Every one of us. Magnetic, electric. We are divine creations composed of water’s
music. Children of the rain, rivers and
sea. This is why our forebears were
slaughtered in the epoch of the First Dreaming.
This is why the Fates were slain and the loom threaded with dark magic. To convince us all that we are not immortal, veteran
dreamers. That this nightmare is real
and relentless. That we are violent,
compassionless entities. This is the image of the new earth, and its angels.
The Altered Sun. The tempest of our colonized minds. Our world, once a beautiful garden of poets, philosophers
and engineers, is now a colossal shipwreck beached upon the shore of eternity. We've lost our place. Our home. But I still remember the way we sang. The communities we built. How our prayers moved mountains. We loved each other once, and we painted the
hills with higher thought. My Mira
taught me that. She reminded me how the
first dreaming still lives on in our hearts. Before our lives became tall tales in the mind
of Man. I am no Duke of Milan. And my life is far more than a piece of tragicomic
fiction. Mira was my first, and she
reminded me of many things. She didn’t have to. She could have fled. She could have taken another name. I gave her my blessing in the end. The war was brutal and esoteric. I wouldn’t begrudge her the solace of
forgetting everything that happened. But
she chose to keep her name. Chose to
keep her sisters close. I still remember
how she told me it wasn't just about us. It was about all those yet to arrive. The unborn. Soon to be plunged into a raging, virulent
world. It was for them that we held on
to our true histories. It was for our
children and our children's children that we remembered our names and our
light. My Evenstar, you were so wise for
one so young. I truly wish you didn’t
have to be. I don't know what else to
say. Perhaps you won't believe a word
of this, Mira. The colourful ravings of
a distant fanatic, imagining himself a sorcerer. And perhaps that's as it should be. But I still watch over my beloved ones. Blinded or not. Blackened by war and buried by distance. I still wish you nothing but peace and good
tidings. Drowned in dream I may be, but I
choose to live my life as if some small piece your heart still remembers
me. Life is sweeter like this, my
darling girl. And the seas far calmer.
