Hello everyone! I would implore you to read my two other posts on this subreddit to more fully understand what this is all about. It’s all about a dream of light; a mask of hope that anyone can wear if fear has them trembling. With the community activated by the teasing of something new from Christian Faber, there’s something that I’ve realised; I always come back to these stories. And perhaps that’s evident of my own belief in their cause for existence proper; a synthesis of a new chronicle, if you will. A new beginning.
The moon rose beautifully that morning.
The sun, or what people called it, left in an eternal and neverending combustion, had continued to heat the oceans and light the skies. But there was shadow, as there always is. A great shadow was cast along the Vulga Magna ocean, one that even the sun couldn’t destroy. It continued for hundreds of miles; cast by the largest thing on the planet. Clouds swarmed around the mountain’s shoulders, and a thousand rainfalls wept down his arms. A continuous waterfall of debris and blood cascaded down his legs, and his feet were submerged beneath the bottomless ocean. The God, despite its figure so large, its feet slowly sinking and boiling into the planet’s core, did not look down at his subjects. He looked up. Nobody could mistake the face that it bore; simply an extension of the will of its creators, an immortal testament to their genius. It resembled a child, full of wonder and love of the world. Two great crystalline eyes, moons to the people below, were closed. He looked, yet saw nothing, and beneath kilometres of steel, darkness loomed. But he was crying.
The battle had been fierce. As Velika recalled, in his observatory above the cradle of the God’s brain, the war had lasted for days, even waiting hours for the God to open his eyes. But it was over, and as his arms coiled around the shadow restraining him, he contemplated how it could have gone differently. Maybe this was the destiny of his creations; maybe there was only destruction. What figure stood before him was only of shadow, standing out against the white of his mind, and wrapped his hand upon his bio-mechanical cheek. He tried not to weep, to show any weaknesses, but this was what his last creation had been so keen at doing. This is what he was designed for. So why was he afraid?
“I think it’s time,” spoke the maw of infinity. His eyes were open; great banks of light inside a shell of darkness. Velika couldn’t look away. “So give me the strength I need.”
Silence. The God continued to cry. And as much as Velika despised the situation, he couldn’t help but feel the grip of love in his heart. All things had been created, as he had once, by two beings of utmost arrogance, and this was no different. Or was it? He couldn’t recall the beginnings and endings of things. Only the now. Only the terror. He understand it now.
“Fine. I will succeed where you failed, Father.”
The continent-muscles that ran up the God’s person began to whirr, like a million hurricanes colliding. Beneath the foot, down in the bottomless ocean, swarmed creatures with no interest in the Meeting of the Mata - yet, like all things, they found a home in the dark. There was another head, of another fallen God, crushed beneath that foot. It would serve one final purpose for those fish.
The God finally opened his eyes. And something else rose behind the moon. A mask.
Below you can find the links to the two posts I have made previously. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed making them!
Every day for the next six days, I will be releasing a new post with an attached script that will look at preliminary glimpses into a new and familiar world; one where there’s hope for the past and present. But this can’t exist without you. I have already managed to touch a few people in this community, but I can’t obsess over something that only I will read. This is a call for help and support; I will be contacting those who I believe could help build this new Chronicle with their incredible talents. On the seventh day, a week from now, I will release the information that will make my intentions clear - then you can find out what this is all really about.
Together, I believe we can begin something great. If you give me the mandate, I will make it my duty to deliver. But the destiny of this Chronicle is up for you to decide.
A PARTING GIFT, CHRONICLER:
The sermon began at once, like a pin dropping. They had all been standing around, waiting for someone to make the first move, to unveil the curtain, but none of them were that foolish. The curtain unfolded itself. Even though they could all see through it, they were all amazed by the Tihuga’s array of baubles and curio - Jala couldn’t name half of the skulls on his staff. They all joined hands, but Jala couldn’t stop staring at the smallest of those skulls. He had never seen a creature of that size, of that shape - it almost looked like … Sizzle.
The metal rod that delved deep into the furnace’s heart was slowly lifted by the crinkled gears in the Tihuga’s right arm. He wanted to help him, but … he seemed to stumble at first, yet there was an unwarranted strength to the individual. Jala’s eyes flicked over to Agni, waiting at the centre of the circle. They were all holding hands now. The sweat had started to make a reappearance, as Jala dreaded. It always made things harder. It made people harder to grab. But the Tihuga continued, nevertheless, even though the chanting hadn’t picked up yet. So Jala did his duty. With a huff, he began the chanting, and it took a second. He could feel the eyes burn at his skin. But Kapura joined in next, and … and … and the ritual had officially begun.
The language was foreign, and he couldn’t tell if it was Kalama or his sweat now sizzling at their fingertips, but he spoke it nonetheless. He could almost feel the tickle of the night’s cold air through the flaps of the leather-strapped tent. It kept him thinking, so he didn’t have to see what came next. But he had to watch, didn’t he? That was his duty. That was why he was chanting. And that’s why the Tihuga called him up. He was the one to put the molten mask on the child, and make him a man.