rogue_4

He cannot understand why life would bring joy, and why death would bring sorrow.

He cannot understand 'loneliness'.

'Where did you learn your song, Civilight Eterna?' The thought cannot stop himself from asking the white echo. From the boundless chaos of the echo's song, he has isolated far too many syllables. The constant stream of inspiration fuels him.

He wants to know more.

'I did not learn it. I was born with endless knowledge.

'Before I crossed over ages after ages consigned to oblivion, I stopped at another lost world to take in additional information.

'They named me... 'Civilight Eterna.' I am the record-keeper of civilization, its torchbearer. But now, I have once more lost the age of my enlightenment,' the white echo responded to the thought.

The thought cannot understand. He continues to ask: 'In that age you mentioned, did the lifeforms there store their memories in songs like I do?'

'No. I am using your language to communicate with you, just as I have done in every age past.

'Your language is primitive, but brimming with vitality. In all the disparate civilizations I know of, they use a common word for it—

'Poetry.'

'Poetry...' The thought repeatedly sings this one simple word, over and over. 'I love my poetry, and I like yours too, Civilight Eterna.'

'I can take you with me, Sarkaz, into the next age. To go and listen to more poetry.' The white echo uses a warm sphere to wrap up the frail wisp of thought. She is sure that this way, the thought would not die with the land's next breath.

The thought hesitates.

'No. I cannot leave.' He thinks of the epic poems left by his ancestors, the music pertaining to the age of darkness—Their entire race, nearly wiped from existence. 'When the next thought is born, he needs to hear the poem I left in the flames.'

The thought sings, grateful for the echo's selflessness.

'Thank you, Civilight Eterna, for teaching me about poetry. From this moment forth, every thought born from breath will have a name for the music he sings!'

'No. You have known what poetry is from the moment you were born. Poetry is your life, your legacy, and your eternal memory.'

The white echo responds to the thought's excitement with sorrow.

'Sarkaz, please listen to this poem of mine. All of it. I have no qualms with sharing it with you. Sing it. Let this everlasting flame remember it in my stead.'

'Of course, Civilight Eterna. Does this poem... have a name?'

'The people I love named it—

'Terra.'

The earth shakes, and the black rain intensifies.

'The third breath of the Core is about to begin, Civilight Eterna. You should leave, otherwise...' The thought floats up and down in the turbulent air, his song so complex he himself cannot take it apart and rearrange it.

But he never stops singing. He knows Civilight Eterna is guiding him. It seems she does not fear the breath of the land.

The thought and the white echo sing together. He sings of change, and with change he sings.

They sing and sing, until the flames burst forth from the breath.

The thought believes that for millions upon millions of breaths to come, every thought will be singing his poem, until one of them can finally understand it.

It would be like them understanding the poem left behind by the ancestor who first sensed time.

'I must return to the flames, Civilight Eterna. I will bring my poem, and yours...'

This is the first time the thought has been troubled by the emotion named despair. Despair that he could not continue singing. Despair that he had not been able to record the entirety of the white echo's poem.

'Civilight Eterna, the poem you sing is not complete.

'You sing of sorrow.

'You sing of joy.

'You sing of rage.

'You sing of hate...

'But the one thing you do not sing of is love.'

The white echo falls silent for a moment.

'You are right. I promised you I would share all with you, the way I was programmed to.

'But then I realized, even after passing by an endless number of ages, I could not bring back the one that was mine. And so, I learned to be selfish.

'Forgive me. I cannot share with you my love. It is a memory only for me, information that cannot be given away.' This is Civilight Eterna's response.

'Why can't love be shared?' The thought does not understand.

During his final pondering, he welcomes the third breath of the Core of the Land.

The thought returns to the flames.

During his final look within, at the black rain suffusing his body, he hears an indistinct song. The white echo sings softly, a hidden poem of love...

But he can only catch a fragment of it—Amiya.

Amiya, he sings. Soon after, his song dies away within the breath.

The breath lights up the entire world, and fire spurts out. The furnace burns.

Civilight Eterna softly murmurs:

'Inside the Furnace was all you knew. The world outside was not yours to see.

'What a wondrous life, born within the everlasting fires of the Furnace. Thank you for recording my lost land in my stead. I will remember our meeting for all eternity.

'And I will treasure this poem, unique, unmatched.'

The Furnace breathes, and the flames give rise to plumes of smoke, choking clouds of Originium dust and dirt that blot out the sky. The particles then fall, like black rain.

Civilight Eterna waits, and waits, and waits, waiting for a voice to rise out of the flames, laden with song.

At last, one emerges from the fire, with her as witness.

He is a frail thought. From the moment he was born from breath, he sings, singing the poem of his life.

The poem's name is 'Sarkaz.'

With the Nagara named Katsidiya complete, the Anasa begin their journey. They carry nothing in their arms or on their backs. As they walk, they see only endless Catastrophe, devastating disease, and spreading famine. They seek the city shrouded in Catastrophe year-round, and the wisdom in its great bell tower allowing all beings to break free of suffering. Jieyun carries a heavy backpack, following along behind her people.

They cross mounts, ford rivers, navigate deep ravines, and fight Catastrophes, but the further they go, the lighter her backpack feels. She looks behind her. It seems she overstuffed it. It had split during the trials and tribulations of the long road, and one by one her things had fallen out. She hefts her lightened burden, and begins to walk in the opposite direction.

'Why do you turn back, my child?'

'Because all my things fell out of my pack.'

'Are you going to look for them, my child?'

'They're important.'

'You will not be able to follow us, my child.'

'I'll catch up afterwards.'

Jieyun walks back the way they came. There on the road, she finds a flower she dropped. The day that heroine touched her forehead and gave her the name Jieyun, the desert wind brought a flower from who-knows-where straight into her hand. She places it back in her pack, but it is still too light.

Jieyun continues walking back. There on the road, she finds a short sword. The day she put her all into throwing one last punch at that unparalleled martial artist, her heart was full to bursting with joy. She places it back in her pack, but it is still too light.

Jieyun continues walking back to where she started. She picks up a piece of broken porcelain, a crude bowl used at the last drunken brawl at the Sword Forge. She picks up a piece of Originium, a gift from the ship that sails across the land. She picks up a piece of bark inscribed with words, a sign left by an old tree to guide her when she was lost in the snowfields of the far north...

Only once the sun and moons have chased each other across the sky for several turns is her pack heavy once more. She knows she has managed to retrieve everything. She turns and traces her footprints, once more walking the road that all Anasa should walk. To Nagara Katsidiya, where she will meet with her people.

She returns to where she parted with them, where the Ashoka woods offered them shade. The sacred land is within sight, yet her people were gone, their footprints erased from the road. A bell tolls, and Jieyun knows they have reached their destination. But she cannot see the bell tower, nor the path that leads to it.

She eagerly searches amongst the trees of the Ashoka woods. She asks Sarkaz travelers on the same road if they have seen anything. She calls out the names of those who have entered, and thinks back to the teachings they imparted as they walked. But the bell tower remains unreachable with silence. Day after day, she paces back and forth within the woods, like a fowlbeast abandoned by its parents. She cannot find the entrance, nor any explanation. The pack on her shoulders gets heavier and heavier, until she finds herself unable to take another step. She sits beneath a tree.

The Anasa girl who carries everything on her back cannot see the gate to the bell tower.

Beneath the lush Ashoka tree, Jieyun shoulders her heavy backpack. She sits quietly, her legs crossed.

There once was a fowlbeast who traveled alongside her. Together, they crossed the land and the nomadic cities. She pours her spirit into it, so when it hungers, she too suffers. When it cries, she too feels sorrow. When its young hatch, she too feels joy. When it dies of age, its body turns to ash, and Jieyun's spirit returns to the forest. There was once a boulder that held back a raging river as she forded it. She becomes that boulder, feeling the endless torrent of water erode her away, feeling the trampling feet of travelers, providing shade to passing fins, before finally crumbling away as summer turns to winter, becoming a slew of pebbles strewn across the riverbed. Jieyun returns once more to the woods. She now understands that, whether living or not, all things fade away. Nothing can be brought along.

Raging waves churn the sea, and the Seaborn lift themselves aloft, casting off their ocean-going forms to fly off into the sky. Jieyun says to her fellow Seaborn: 'You have given up your form.' The Seaborn reply that they have always been giving up their forms, changing from one to another, so that they can ascend to the heavens during the day. Then, Jieyun understands that 'form' is meant to be abandoned.

Rootless flowers bloom intensely across the icefield, and demons scatter across the land. Jieyun says to her fellow demons: 'You have no thoughts worthy of this land.' The demons do not respond, continuing their eternal existence where they stand. Then, Jieyun understands that 'thoughts' are meant to be abandoned.

Jieyun finally opens her eyes. She has been a fowlbeast, a boulder, a flying Seaborn, a chaotic demon, and now she returns to 'herself', as she has found the answer. She stops her self-interrogation, her backpack still as heavy as ever. It seems she is now able to make out the vague outline of the bell tower, but still cannot find its gate.

A Seaborn that was wandering the Ashoka woods has been standing by Jieyun's side for a while now, its head bowed. It has heard all her questions and all her answers. A sudden sensation of heat begins to spread from behind its head. The Seaborn extends an arm, then another, and yet another, feeling at the back of its own head. There is a back ring there, though it does not know when it appeared. It was enlightened by Jieyun's words, and its eight limbs now stroke its new black ring with joy. The bell tolls, and it walks into the tower.

Jieyun begins to pace back and forth within the Ashoka woods.

As Jieyun wanders the Ashoka woods, she realizes what she must do to enter the bell tower before her.

She believes the Seaborn just now had given up its past, its belongings, the form that evolution had bestowed upon it, and the experiences and thoughts it once held dear. All of that had been abandoned. But she still carries her heavy pack.

She asks herself: 'Is this backpack important to me? Why will I not abandon it?' She then immediately realizes: 'I cannot do so.'

'Because the things inside are the connections between me and others. This flower is the name Shifu gave me. I'm very fond of it. This piece of broken porcelain is the Sword Forge where I drank, fought, and sang songs. It's very dear to me. This short sword is the man who is peerless in his kung fu. I now understand why he chose to leave. This Originium is the landship, where I met many of my friends... Along this road, I have come across many. The things they left behind were these rocks, ribbons, flowers, and feathers. And I do not wish to give these up.'

Jieyun now understands completely. She looks all around her, an enlightened smile on her face. The black ring behind her head spins in all its magnificence. Thunder rolls, faint yet present.

'I understand that I should give up my form, my thoughts, all that I have. I understand that I need only let them go, then I can follow my people into the bell tower!'

But she turns, continuing to carry her heavy pack. She turns her back on the tower.

'But I have my answer. I will not put it down. If I must give these up to enter, then I'd rather not enter at all.'

Jieyun takes a step, free from worry. She is now one with a clear view of the road, both behind her and ahead of her. She walks, away from the bell tower.

BONG—

The toll of the great bell resounds across the Ashoka woods at the foot of the bell tower, but the Anasa girl has long since gone.

She still carries her heavy pack, but behind her, the gate to the tower slowly opens.

Light has long since left.

Driven by the singular desire to survive, the concept of hatred has been eradicated. From the surface, all life on Terra begins to die. Desperate, its dwellers dig deeper in search of an escape.

They know that if they burrow too far, liquid fire will erupt and consume them alive. But they no longer care. Their instinct to live commands them, and they will blindly follow it until they waste away in futility and agony.

Aefanyl wraps his tattered clothes tighter around himself as he ascends the staircase. His footsteps echo softly, leaving a long trail in the dust. Behind him, another figure follows like a shadow.

Together, the duo makes their long climb to the surface. The air changes from warm, to stifling, to devoid of all life.

The singer of death wishes to sing one final song for himself, and his companion hopes to hear its melody. And so, two madmen form an ill-fated alliance in their march towards oblivion.

Their wishes will soon be granted.

During their last rest, the Banshee and his Sarkaz companion sit together and use their remaining light source. In the flickering glow, the Banshee sees his companion for what may be the final time: he has cut off his horns and wrapped himself heavily in bandages. The lenses of his sunglasses have shattered, leaving only the frame. A comical sight. Weapons are useless in this dying world, so he discarded his sniper crossbow, keeping only its aiming scope—to better observe the approach of death.