By Jason
You realise darling, I am older than I ever thought I would be. This is a fact that amazes me even now. I have outlived the Five Mothers, the Bahamut who ventured out onto the Celestial Ocean to contact you, forging this universe as they travelled.
I doubt they would recognise me now.
If they saw me now, what would they think?
I am not one of them. Not now. I have changed. Some would say I have evolved; others would be less kind. I think they would be afraid of me. I am so different now. Old, decrepit, deformed. An alien to their eyes. Maybe even an abomination… Before I touched your Artefact, as I watched the pod mothers swim in circles around it, I knew what exactly would happen. I sensed the possibility with every atom in my being. The greater part of me wanted it, ached for it. It pushed me toward change, recognising the importance of the process. I am still surprised by exactly how much I wanted this though. Surprised at how important it was to me back then and how stupid I must have seemed to my pod sisters. Not stupid in wanting to grow and see and develop. But, stupid in that ultimately it won’t have made any difference.
You are dying.
I have seen your end. I feel it. I know it and I hate it.
I still think you beautiful.
Wise.
Even now you seek to comfort me. Trying to prepare me for the time when…
I am not sad. I am not being maudlin, nor wishing for more time or even to have my time again. I have lived as I wanted, with whom I wanted and how I wanted. It’s just that now, as I near the end, I see that my life has been so brief. It has been a moment in the universe. A brilliant and beautiful moment, but only a moment. One that that will be over very soon.
Our universe is music. A song that never ends and I have sung my heart out. My contribution has been made and heard. There were verses before mine and there will be many more after mine. So, the universe’s song grows and changes, it reflects the times. As some voices fade away, others will join. Fresh voices filled with energy and confidence and gusto. They will sing about their universe, not mine, it won’t be my universe anymore. The song continues to be sung but the song changes as the choir changes. It has to. It has to change to stay alive. If it did not change it would be a dirge, a funeral rite that after millennia of ritual repetition would lose all meaning.
I remember when you touched the Artefact. That first moment. A single pure note. A chime breaking through the deafening silence. You were so young. So foolhardy. But not afraid, never afraid. You embraced it. You have embraced every moment since.
You embrace your death.
You call it change.
I’m sorry. I hate it.
As I have often told you my darling, our universe is a song that changes as the universe changes. Everything around and under and above the song grows and develops and moves on. This is life. This is also death because death is simply change. Death is part of the universe in action. It is a pinprick of brilliant light and then… well, who knows? It could be rest. It could be torment. It could be nothing. I rather fancy it is a chance for our songs to find new homes. Those we have sung to will carry on, they will put in a cadence here or a key change there, something from our repertoire, the parts that have, perhaps, meant something to them. In this way our song lives on. All you have to do is listen.
I know this will happen because my own song has changed over the years, subtly yet profoundly. I have been influenced by so many others. My melodies are stronger, my rhythms are more complex and my harmonies are warmer and deeper because of the songs that have touched my life. I am part of the continuum. I am part of the universe and as I have changed so has the universe.
Your song is starting to fade. Words and melodies are peeling off. Floating away. Carried on darker tides. Floating out into the space between the stars. The space between the atoms. Beyond even that. I am afraid. They will all be lost. I won’t hear them again. I won’t be able to find them in this sea of noise. There is only the cacophony of rot, loss and decay. I feel the old emptiness growing.
You are becoming a memory.
I cannot sustain you. I cannot keep you here. Why do you still sing? Why? Now that your song is losing its shape. Why do I still sit here and listen? It hurts to listen. It burns. Inside. Like a black hole. Like radiation. Why must you still sing? Better to stop. All at once rather than by degrees. Just stop. Please. Let the silence in. Where is the kindness in this? This slow drip, drip, drip. This torture. Please stop, soon. It is hurting us both.
Remember that I wanted this change with all my being. I was so young. I wanted to participate in the universal song. I wanted to sing with all my heart. I touched the Artefact and my song changed for ever. I changed forever and, importantly, I took part in the change, it didn’t just happen to me, I sought it out. I sought you out Gloam. Do not forget that. I sought you out. My song has been the better for it. I would not have wanted it any other way.
You are my love.
The only one I have known.
Not for much longer.
Harmony? You saw me and you accepted. You stayed. Generous to stay, kind to remain. You are, you were warmth and compassion. You were, you are questions. Listening. You listened to me. Compassionately. Hearing “my song.” You called it a song and said that, although it was not like yours, it was still beautiful.
You were brightness. You are my life.
You are dying and I do not believe in beauty anymore.
I do not want to hear any more.
Silence will prevail.
The Emissary stopped singing.
The last delicate notes faded away with her final breath and were taken away from Gloam. In its place there was a moment of perfect stillness. Curtains of deepest black wrapped around a beat of perfect silence. In that moment Gloam felt calm. At last, her pain was over. Gloam felt relief, a kind of guilt washed ease. A kind of hope. The black curtains parted and the universe peered in and screamed at him. That song, that universal harmony that his beloved had taught him to enjoy, ripped through his body with bright, greedy claws. Laughter and need, desire and despair, love and longing tore Gloam apart. He screamed, throwing his rage out into the cosmos. Overwhelmed he finally stopped. The song continued its voracious work as he turned and glared at the impertinent universe with grief warped eyes.
S’Uba stood looking at the portal. The shifting architecture of the Circle hummed as it slowly turned around her, a reassuring yet tedious sound. The connection between the Circle and Gloam had almost shattered when he threw his anger out into the universe. The rash actions of yet another screaming baby. The Coruscation had agreed to keep the portal open by any means. Feeding sentience into the portal had shored it up for now, but more would be needed. The next phase of the Hunt would begin tonight.
The Emissary’s death, while sad, had of course been anticipated. The Emissary’s attempts to prepare Gloam for the end had proved to be inadequate. S’Uba had told the Emissary as such but the aging Bahamut-Artefact hybrid would not listen to reason. To the end the Emissary had hoped for more. Foolish. Still, contingencies were being put in place, new harmonies were being written all the time. S’Uba smiled: everything was falling into place.
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