CHAPTER 477

THE FIRST EMPYREAN (II)

Ashtar stood at the edge of the Silver City, upon its grand, marble-cast walls. The city itself floated high in the sky on top of a sharpened rock, looming over the world beneath, one that Ashtar had never laid eyes upon due to the clouds blocking the view. There was something different about him, the holy-like qualities of his being seemingly having been replaced. His eyes now shone in splendid silver with a tinge of crimson and black swirling in the deep reaches. His countenance, too, had undergone a shift, the humble and kind-looking demeanor completely gone in lieu of a confident, even slightly arrogant, one.

In a way, too, he appeared decrepit, his gaze dull despite being haughty. Lino could feel it, the stretch of infinity bounding the armored shoulders of the standing figure.

“—this was how it began,” Ashtar’s voice beckoned out all of a sudden after having not spoken to Lino for nearly a week. "My story. At this moment, I became what I would eventually grow to loathe. I was tempted, though I hardly blame Ataxia for it; in a way, he was right. We can truly argue his methods, Lyonel, but I've never argued his ends. There's a story behind us all, the story that bounds the infernal void and the corruption of the time. And, as there is a story, there is a reason for what we did, for what we do. For why we fight."

“…” Lino remained silent, though desperately wishing to ask Ashtar about that ‘story’ – where they came from and why.

“I know you want to know, but it is not my story to tell. You’ll learn, eventually. She will probably tell you.” Ashtar added with a faint sigh. “Know this, though; despite being the First Empyrean, the mark I left upon the world isn’t as big you may have imagined. Past helping Ataxia corrupt the Archangels, creating an army of 268 Primes, I did little. I did not participate in the Sacrilege of the Silver City, nor did I witness it. I was not here when Gaia fell from the Heavens, and I was not here when six Writs united against Ataxia and held him back from taking over the Silver City in its entirety. There is only one remnant of it that survives to your time,” he added, glancing at the heavenly Palace behind. “The heart of the Palace, the so-called Vault of the Sacred. That is what Gaia, what Descent, what other Bearers are trying to open, Lyonel. And that is what Ataxia desperately doesn’t want them to open. Why? I don’t know.”

The scene flashed all of a sudden as Lino found himself staring at a beyond-grand doors cast out of golden and silver metals, inscribed with the shimmering threads running in swirly patterns upon and down and across. The doors rose as high as thirty meters, arched toward the tip, as wide as a row of ten men put together.

“—‘tis the door whose innards no one has ever seen,” Ashtar said. “My scalp tingled whenever I laid my eyes upon it, as no doubt yours is now too.” he was right. Lino’s scalp indeed did tingle, initial steps of perspiration washing over him for a moment. “I always felt a calling from the beyond, though never distinct. Not a voice, not a feeling, not a thought… just… something. A primal instinct perhaps, I’m not too sure. I asked Ataxia aplenty – he would never say. He did tell me, though, that was not where the vaunted First Scripture resided.”

“…” Lino’s world had been bombarded far too much in the past few days to the point that he’d decided not to be surprised by anything, but merely process it once it’s over.

“It’s all a simple hierarchy, really,” Asthar continued. “First came the Scripture – how, when, where, why… nobody knows. By the time I awoke, it was gone, nowhere to be found. How do we know there was one, then? We do. We all do. All Seven Writs. All Archangels. We all knew. After the Scripture, I was the first to awake, two years prior to the descent of the Seven Writs and the awakening of the remaining Archangels. However…” he added suddenly, extending his arm out and touching the doors. “In my heart of hearts… I believe the Silver City was here before the Scripture, Lyonel. I can't prove it. I've nothing to back up the claim. Everyone else believes one of two things – either the Scripture made the city, or literally became the city. No third. I don't. These walls… these halls and windows and gates and streets… they were here beforehand. They welcomed the Scripture, in one way or another. For a little while, I even believed I am the Scripture. Ah, the days of young vanity.”

Ashtar chuckled longingly, shaking his head as the scene flashed once more. He was now standing inside a rather spacious room decorated with nothing but candle-lit walls and six pillars upholding the flat ceiling. He stood on top of a slightly elevated platform, a wooden altar erected in front of him, holding up a strange-looking, leather-bound book. In front of the platform, sprawled on their knees, sixteen Archangels sat, their heads lowered.

"—and that is the truth, my Brethren," he said, spreading his arms open. "That is the love we behold! The care we are given!"

“All praise the Mighty!!” the sixteen echoed.

“Arise, now, my Brethren. The day is nigh. Endure. Prevail. Behold.”

“Aye, aye!!”

The sixteen soon dispersed, leaving Ashtar alone as he slumped back into a wooden chair behind him, his expression complex. Eyes shimmered as he turned toward the far-side window, gazing onto the palace beyond.

“To become a Prime was easy,” Ashtar said. "The world we came to, surprisingly, had a lot of Chaos Qi. Too much, as a matter of fact. All one had to do was surrender over to Ataxia… and he was gifted with strength and power beyond measure. You don't understand it, Lyonel, trust me, the strength. Power. The mere seventeen of us alone could take on an army of a thousand Archangels. We commanded Chaos! The Prime Element! The source of Everything!"

“…”

"Chaos is… everything," he added, tapping his finger against the chair. "And more. Its existence a paradox, yet it remains. All ideas put forth suggest it should have stopped existing when the Cosmos came to. In the springtime of Chaos, there is nothing – and then it collapses, creating everything. And, thus, its springtime comes to a close, its very nature diminished into a myth. Yet it persisted. It persisted against all odds. That is what always fascinated me, what fascinated us. It would take some decades for others to realize, for others to understand – why… just why is Ataxia alive? How can he exist? How can there be Primes? How can there be Chaos? And, if Chaos ought not to be, then Order should follow. And if Chaos isn't immortal, shouldn't immortality cease? How can there be nihility, when there is everything?"

“…” questions came in a spitfire, causing Lino to merely embed them into his mind rather than ponder on them for the time being.

"Truth is, the Writs themselves are paradoxes. They are realizations of a concept, a concept already realized by the virtue of its existence. The most persistent concept, Time, does not have a Writ. Why? Why is there a Writ of a Spoken Word, yet not of time? We pondered, in solace, in the union, we pondered on and on. I imagine it won't be long before you realize just how... small the Writs are. It all traces back to our story, I think. The tale of how and why we arrived here. I tell you this not to confuse you or to steer you awrong; there is no point in pondering on these thoughts, Lyonel. Some things merely are. We are too young, too dumb, and too short-lived to ever truly understand the Nature of Everything. The Cosmos… is beyond huge. Its realities escape us as much as ours escape the mortal eye. No, even more. Don’t weigh yourself down with the unnecessary. You have a calling – you have a life. Fulfill it – live it. The rest is irrelevant.”

The scene flashed once more, this time around back to the Palace's Grand Hall where seemingly everyone had gathered. Once more, the crimson-black swirl stood in the crossing of all eyes, six other swirls standing opposite of him in a half-circle. The atmosphere was beyond tense, heavy, nerve-cracking.

“—we have warned you, Ataxia,” Nirvana spoke out. “Yet you did not listen. Henceforth, we banish you from the Silver City, to forever roam the deadly nature of this world on your lonesome. Should you ever return, we will end you!”

“… you idiots,” Ataxia scowled coldly. “You have forgotten. Imbeciles. Cretins molded out of vanity. Your arrogance will be your undoing. You would rather shield them and lie to yourselves than face the truth of the matter – than to face that we have to prepare, that we can never allow the past to repeat itself. It won't be long before we are spotted again! We were given a unique chance, a chance to fight back with the knowledge of what's to come, yet you are literally spitting in its face! I can't believe you fools think the answer lies beyond the Gates. There is nothing there! There is absolutely no answer there! Listen to me! Nothing!"

The scene shifted once more. Ashtar now hovered far out of the City, gazing at its grandeur from a mountaintop piercing the clouds. Surrounding him were 268 Archangels with determined eyes, and a crimson-black swirl standing by his side.

“We shall return one day, Children,” Ataxia said. “In all our glory. For now… for now, we shall simply bide our time. Bide our time…”