05-25-2017, 12:22 PM
At his request, she closed her eyes and her breathing became regular, hypnotic, a metronome's scale. Time seemed to telescope and the room seemed to fade. All he could see was her face in repose, the steady glow of the lantern casting rays that traced her facial features, cast shadows, throwing sparkles into her hair.
Layers of himself shaved away with each breath, fell into the mist, stripping him to the core. And yet it was not the chong rann. He did not detach from his body to ascend to the plane. He did not create the inner world as he normally did. He was here, present in the flesh, hyper-aware of everything in the room.
No. Of her. Her breathing- tick, tock. Tick.....Tock. He was aware of his pulse, slow and regular, the steady lapping of waves against the shore. And his senses extended, quested into the darkness. He felt the press of the silence around him, cocooning them, enveloping them.
And then there were two heartbeats- point, counterpoint- in opposite rhythm. The same rhythm, staggered in time. The smell of the cavern, the odors and the dust seemed to disappear until he only noted hers, musty and sharp. Memories shot through the expanse- a tent in the desert. A warm body beneath him, bright green peeking through lids lowered in ecstasy, the musk of her powerful and sharp. Other memories. The library of the monastery. A hot summer near the sea. And so many others, all playing across his mind, a mind clouded with the heady scent of her.
And then she speaks, voice soft and yet thunderous after the silence of a thousand years. It is just a voice and yet a vision is painted across his mind, now, erasing the memories of the past. Giving a glimpse of the future.
And he sees a clearing in a forest. No. It is not a forest. A garden. And yet wild. Peace is all around him, the air redolent with promise and power. And he can hear her voice drawing him, painting him in the scene, can see himself walking in the clearing, hear the stirring of leaves, sunlight flashing in shafts as it cuts through trees so ancient that their very existence exudes the air of millenia.
His heart now accelerates, seeing her vision, feeling the sword in his hand. And hatred. An enemy. His enemy. Triumph. A head severed from its body, the crowned head now rolling in the leaves and grass.
He picks up the crown and...what does he do? He holds it up. An offering? It is jarring. Somehow, the thought feels wrong. The feeling skitters away when he tries to track it, like smoke through his fingers.
And then the vision stops with her words, returning him to elation. Victory in the war.
It is as if a bubble has popped and the world, such as it is, rushes in on him. The cord to the divine has been cut. They are human again. And he feels....empty. Curiously empty. As if he had been alive in a way he'd never imagined. And now it was gone.
For the first time in his life, he feels awe. A thread of fear seems to worm its way through the core of him. The Author- the Divine, God, Fate, Maya, the Universe- whatever it could be called, had been in this chamber with them. And he realized his heart was pounding, his breath fast and sharp.
He hungered to fill that void, that ache. To feel connected again. For a moment the memory of the garden came to him- his own memory of her words, now faded, the colors dry and washed out.
She was the key. Valeriya. She was the muse, the conduit, the source. He tried not to notice the perfect curves or her face, the passion in her eyes that weighted her request. "Yes. I will take you. You are my people." And he meant it. This was his people. Prepared for him, it seemed, from times long ago. He looked at the skin, at the map. Time enough to figure out where. The final destination was unknown, excepting that it was his place of victory. But the first leg was easy enough.
The Regus Armande Nicodemus would ascend from Hades back into the realms above, reborn amid ashes and devastation and death back into a world awash in sunlight and life. And Valeriya would be by his side. His muse and prophetess, to lead him to his destiny.
He stood and looked down at her, blue eyes bright with excitement, and extended his hand to her in aid. "Come, Valeryia. We do this together. You and I."
Layers of himself shaved away with each breath, fell into the mist, stripping him to the core. And yet it was not the chong rann. He did not detach from his body to ascend to the plane. He did not create the inner world as he normally did. He was here, present in the flesh, hyper-aware of everything in the room.
No. Of her. Her breathing- tick, tock. Tick.....Tock. He was aware of his pulse, slow and regular, the steady lapping of waves against the shore. And his senses extended, quested into the darkness. He felt the press of the silence around him, cocooning them, enveloping them.
And then there were two heartbeats- point, counterpoint- in opposite rhythm. The same rhythm, staggered in time. The smell of the cavern, the odors and the dust seemed to disappear until he only noted hers, musty and sharp. Memories shot through the expanse- a tent in the desert. A warm body beneath him, bright green peeking through lids lowered in ecstasy, the musk of her powerful and sharp. Other memories. The library of the monastery. A hot summer near the sea. And so many others, all playing across his mind, a mind clouded with the heady scent of her.
And then she speaks, voice soft and yet thunderous after the silence of a thousand years. It is just a voice and yet a vision is painted across his mind, now, erasing the memories of the past. Giving a glimpse of the future.
And he sees a clearing in a forest. No. It is not a forest. A garden. And yet wild. Peace is all around him, the air redolent with promise and power. And he can hear her voice drawing him, painting him in the scene, can see himself walking in the clearing, hear the stirring of leaves, sunlight flashing in shafts as it cuts through trees so ancient that their very existence exudes the air of millenia.
His heart now accelerates, seeing her vision, feeling the sword in his hand. And hatred. An enemy. His enemy. Triumph. A head severed from its body, the crowned head now rolling in the leaves and grass.
He picks up the crown and...what does he do? He holds it up. An offering? It is jarring. Somehow, the thought feels wrong. The feeling skitters away when he tries to track it, like smoke through his fingers.
And then the vision stops with her words, returning him to elation. Victory in the war.
It is as if a bubble has popped and the world, such as it is, rushes in on him. The cord to the divine has been cut. They are human again. And he feels....empty. Curiously empty. As if he had been alive in a way he'd never imagined. And now it was gone.
For the first time in his life, he feels awe. A thread of fear seems to worm its way through the core of him. The Author- the Divine, God, Fate, Maya, the Universe- whatever it could be called, had been in this chamber with them. And he realized his heart was pounding, his breath fast and sharp.
He hungered to fill that void, that ache. To feel connected again. For a moment the memory of the garden came to him- his own memory of her words, now faded, the colors dry and washed out.
She was the key. Valeriya. She was the muse, the conduit, the source. He tried not to notice the perfect curves or her face, the passion in her eyes that weighted her request. "Yes. I will take you. You are my people." And he meant it. This was his people. Prepared for him, it seemed, from times long ago. He looked at the skin, at the map. Time enough to figure out where. The final destination was unknown, excepting that it was his place of victory. But the first leg was easy enough.
The Regus Armande Nicodemus would ascend from Hades back into the realms above, reborn amid ashes and devastation and death back into a world awash in sunlight and life. And Valeriya would be by his side. His muse and prophetess, to lead him to his destiny.
He stood and looked down at her, blue eyes bright with excitement, and extended his hand to her in aid. "Come, Valeryia. We do this together. You and I."