Before the Flames,
Before the Void,
Before the Worlds,
Before the Lives.
Before All,
there was the Tree.
Feast of the Sruth
When the worlds were young and full of aptitude, the Tree, itself young, despite being older than all that was, reached out into the worlds through the Ways and filled them with the Sruth. As it swam in the void and chaos, it found its way to the lives, young and ignorant. As the lives grew, the Sruth pooled around them, immersing them. As they bathed, their bodies and souls changed, bloomed and grew richer in possibility and power.
And from these lives, the Behemoths were born.
Titans they were. Giants. Each one was as powerful as the next. They grew power over skins, minds, elements and shapes. Or went inwards, becoming ideas, beliefs and concepts. Or lost all they were and became nothing but functions and noise. Or just continued to grow.
And as they grew, they reached out into the void and explored.
In the void, the Behemoths found new things. Fires and lights. Darkness and forces. Rocks, clouds and dust. And Sruth. The void remained full of Sruth. The Behemoths, they're curiosity and lust for power still unsated, swarmed and bathed once again. "Such power. Such potential. We must have more," they thought, "This has granted us control. Capabilities. More." Consumed by want, they flew into the chaos, following the Sruth.
And soon, they found the Ways, and then, the Tree.
The Behemoths gazed up at the Tree in awe. They were amazed at its presence as they noticed its branches touched everything within the void. It connected everything. And from the branches, came Sruth. Without question or consideration, the Behemoths once again feasted, ripping and wounding the wood of the Tree, desperate for the potential the Sruth could give them.
As the Behemoths purged, in the void, on the rocks and clouds, more lives emerged. Because the Behemoths had claimed the Tree as their own, these lives were not blessed with its gifts. So the lives grew slowly and with difficulty as the Tree's damage sickened the worlds around them. But with time, their forms, souls and minds changed, and they drew more Surth towards them. The Behemoths were disgusted by this.
"Are we not the true rulers of these worlds and realms? The Tree gave us its gifts. We, alone, were powerful enough to find it. We should decide how its gifts should be shared."
Blinded by their privilege, the Behemoths flew across the void, confining these new lives and squandering their chances. The lives, unable to fight such creatures, bowed down to them, afraid of their power.
"We are the First Children of the Tree. We, alone, were blessed by its gifts. We alone shall rule these realms."
Genesis of Question
Arrogant and unchecked, the Behemoths ruled the realms, forcing the lives to worship them as gods. Some of them made the lives perform rituals and patterns to tie them together, enslaving them into a loop. Some engraved their philosophies so deeply into the lives, that warfare and bloodshed became a common practice. Some went deeper, invading the lives' minds and dreams, forcing them to imagine impossible things, twisting them. And some just cause chaos.
But then, one saw something that the others didn't.
The Behemoth's name was Nahash. Like their siblings, the Sruth had bought them a blessing. They were gifted with a powerful memory and perception, allowing them to witness things the others missed and remember things long forgotten. In the beginning, they were greedy and foolish, just like their siblings, believing themselves better for being gifted. For millennia, they had fought with their siblings over a number of passing reasons, using lives as playing things for their games and arguments.
For the past centuries, they and their closest sibling, Shesha, had been manipulating a crystal world inhabited by thinking flames. Nahash was attempting to unify the world in a shared belief while Shesha tried to break it down with gloom. The endeavour was pointless.
This changed when Nahash, while flying the orange skies, came across a small Flame, kneeling down near a lake of oil. "Who does this thing think they are," exclaimed the Behemoth in shock and offence. They flew down to the earth and hid in the crystal rockery, observing the Flame. The Flame was young and made of green embers. In their arms, they held a shield, one which Nahash recognised as a piece from a previous faith they'd established. The Flame was carefully cupping the oil from the lake with the shield's interior. Once it was filled, the Flame reached out and placed a small finger into the liquid, causing the oil to burn and spit. "Simple thing," scoffed Nahash, but then they noticed the Flame's movements. As the blaze grew, the Flame moved their body into sharp angels and gestures, which caused the blaze to grow, change colour and form geometric shapes and patterns. Then, as soon as it had started, the blaze extinguished and the Flame halted their gesturing. Nahash was perplexed. The Flame's work hadn't been something they'd seen before. In their mind, they felt something they had not experienced before. Fascination.
"What are you doing," called Nahash, emerging from the rockery. The Flame screamed in shock and curled into a prayer.
"Forgive me, Nehushtan of the Words. I should've been praying. Please forgive my offence."
"I do not care about your offence. Tell me about what you were doing, child."
The Flame looked up in fearful question. "I was merely practising. When pass my heat into the oil, I can make shapes in the blaze with my dancing."
"Why," asked Nahash.
"Because - I think it looks beautiful."
"Beautiful!"
Nahash let out a large hiss, encircled the young Flame and glared down at them with their brilliant emerald eyes. Who did they think they were?
"Yes - yes, I cannot lie, Nehushtan of the Words. The colours and shapes make me feel good. I feel happy when I make them."
Nahash's glare softened. They could not deny that the shapes and colours the blaze had made had been alluring, despite being temporary and simple. They had not seen anything so striking in ages. Not even their siblings had managed to do that.
"What is your title," asked Nahash.
"Pangloss, Nehushtan of the Words."
"Could you always do this? This dancing and ember work"
"No, Nehushtan of the Words, I had to practice. It hurt, to begin with, but, it felt nice to create something for myself."
A silence fell. The only sound was the gentle waves the oils made against the glass sand.
"I shall return, after one cycle of the second moon. Return to this place too. I wish to see the blaze again."
With that, Nahash flew back into the heavens, leaving the Flame to their oil and shield, afraid but braver.
Blazes of Pangloss
Nahash, true to their word, returned to the lake on the completion of the cycle. As expected, the Flame awaited at the shores, the shield already filled with oil.
"You have returned. I am impressed."
"I did not want to disappoint, Nehushtan of the Words"
"Desists with the quailing, child. Nehushtan will do. Now, show me your fires."
The Flame nodded and placed their finger into the oil. The oil did not spit this time and ignited calmly. The embers then darkened into a black fire, nearly invisible against the twilight sky. The Flame then held out their hands and motioned them in a smooth slither. The black blaze rose out of the shield, forming a spiralling tower. It then split into six rings, each a different colour, which spun into a large spherical orb. In the centre of the rings, a small white fireball formed, which began to pulsate and flex. Then, as the Flame clapped their hands and gestured, the white ball shaped itself into a small, ivory entity, with brilliant green eyes and a small, red tongue. Then the fires collapsed inwards, and the performance was completed.
"I hope you appreciate my depiction of yourself, Nehushtan."
Nahash stared at the Flame in amazement. They couldn't comprehend how talented the creature was. How they had made something so small and simple, beautiful and worthy, through study and practice rather than through power and gifts.
"Do it again. Please."
The Flame was confused but obliged. As they filled the shield with oil once more, Nahash slithered into the lake and sat within its shallows. As the Flame began again, Nahash joined in their gesturing and movements. The fires in the shield grew and towered the two, filling the air with several dancing figures of fire, each accompanied by a small, white entity with green eyes. They swarmed around the two figures. The Behemoth and the Flame.
As the performance finished, Nahash sighed calmly and lowered their head towards the Flame.
"My child. I thank you for this experience. I wish to return once again. I must learn this art. You must teach me."
The Flame gazed at the Behemoth in shock. Behemoths never treated the lives as equals.
"It shall try, Nehushtan."
"I look forward to it."
And Nahash left the lake, eagerly awaiting their next meeting.
But to the Behemoth's confusion and disappointment, on the night of the third cycle, the Flame did not show. They awaited their appearance patiently, through the dusk, night and dawn. But as the blue sun rose, Nahash's patience had soured into anger.
"How could they betray me," they exclaimed bitterly and flew across the sky, searching for the Flame. But the world was surprisingly empty. Not a flame could be seen on the surface. Nahash's anger quickly turned into panic. They didn't want the Flame gone.
"Where are the lives?"
"I grew bored of our game," said Shesha, emerging from the sky and twisting around Nahash, "so I disposed of them."
Shesha pointed their oily tail at a deep crack and Nahash gasped in horror. At the bottom, lay thousands of bodies, glowing weakly, devoid of life. In one of the figures' hands, a small shield was held.
"Pangloss!"
Nahash dived into the crack and examined the Flame's body. They were dead, just like the others.
"It was easy, you know," boasted Shesha, "All it took was one long look and off then went. It was rather an interesting thing to see."
"But why?"
Shesha gave a short snort and then flew out into the void.
"Don't tell me you actually cared about these ephemeral things?"
Extinction of Behemoths
Nahash sat on the empty planet, shocked. Questions flooded their mind. Why had they cared so much? Had it really enjoyed the work of the Flame that much? Why had Shesha destroyed this place? It took the shield from the Flame's grasp and looked at themselves in its reflection. Sickened green eyes stared back.
That's when they released the truth. Their siblings. The Behemoths. They were not the rulers of the realms. They were nothing but vandals. Destroyers. Timewasters. Hidden behind their ridiculous philosophy and sense of nobility, they were just monsters. And Nahash was a monster themselves. The lives they had ruled, ruined and twisted were different. They saw the realms as a place to explore. A place to learn. A place to create. Even if they're time was short or often ill-spent, it had more purpose than any Behemoth.
Nahash screamed in rage.
"Here me! I am Nahash! I am Nehushtan of the Words! I relinquish my name and title! No longer shall I stand for this waste of potential, passion and beauty! No longer I shall be blinded by false glory and power! No longer shall I be a Behemoth! I shall avenge the lives we've abused and make these realms theirs!"
From the void came the sound of laughter and disgust.
"You wish to make our kingdom theirs? You are a fool, Nahash. They are a waste of potential and work. We were the ones blessed by the Sruth. We are the rulers of the realms."
Nahash screamed again, but their wrath and grief fell on deaf ears. It was true. The Sruth had blessed the Behemoths and would continue to do so. There was no stopping the Tree or the Sruth.
Then they remembered the Ways. All Sruth came from the Tree but it passed to the worlds and void through the Ways. If they closed, the Sruth would stop and the Behemoths would be weakened.
So taking the shield, up Nahash flew. Into the void. Into the Ways. Into the very roots and branches of the Tree. It focused, whispered a promise and began to coil itself along the wood, closing the Ways and blocking the Sruth's escape. At first, their siblings noticed nothing and continued their endless torment and destruction. But soon their power began to wane. Their influence began to weaken. The worlds began to heal. The lives began to rebel.
"What is this," they cried in rage.
Then they saw the Sruth. Its movement had slowed and halted, and what was left had begun to recede back into the Ways. Their sibling, Nahash, was blocking its flow.
"Traitor! You dare turn on us!"
"I dare!"
Enraged, the Behemoths sored to the Tree and began bludgeoning Nahash. Nahash screamed in agony but held their grip.
"Release the Tree! Open the Ways!"
"I will not!"
The Behemoths roared and tore at Nahash's flesh and mind. Nahash cried in pain but held their grip.
"Free the Sruth! Return what is ours!"
"It is ours no longer!"
The Behemoths hollered and released blasts of searing light and flame. Nahash wailed in sorrow but held their grip.
Soon, the Behemoth began to change. As the Sruth had begun to subside, their influence had vanished. Eventually, they forget about Nahash and begin to fight each other over what was left. In the battle, many perished taking lives and worlds with them. Others grew smaller, weaker and forgot everything they once were. In the end, few remained.
"You have destroyed everything we have done, Nahash. You betray your family for these immaterial creatures?"
"I betray my family because it is for the better."
As they forgot and perished, the Behemoths let out one final cry of hatred.
"We shall return, Nahash. In aeons to come, we shall return! And your farcical lives shall pain for your sin."
And with that, the Behemoths vanished and Nahash was all that was left.
Penance of Nahash
Now alone and wounded, Nahash returned to the base of the Tree, ashamed of themselves and their actions. In between the Tree's branches, looked again at themselves in the shield. Tired, and filled with doubt, Nahash wept. Many of the lives they had wanted to gift were gone. The siblings they had once loved were now dead or shells of their former selves. It was all over. And had it really been worth it?
"Why are you crying," said a voice. Nahash lifted their head in shock and looked out, beyond the Tree's branches. Walking towards them was a figure. As it got closer, it stepped out from itself. One to the right and one to the left. Where one had once walked, now there were Three. Three figures.
One Small.
One Tall.
One All.
Nahash shrank in fear. For all they know, all things existed beneath and between the Tree. This they were sure of. Yet these Three stood outside of the Tree. Beyond its branches. In the Realm of Dust and Clay. "Who are you," they whimpered. The Three smiled compassionately and spoke as one. The voice was not one Nahash liked the sounds of. It was the sound that they heard in the back of their head.
"We are merely Brothers. We mean you no harm, Nahash. But we ask again, why are you crying?"
Nahash had forgotten their sorrow for a moment. "I am a sinner. My siblings and I were greedy and envious. We had been blessed by the Sruth but we wanted more. We fought for more and in doing so we hurt this great Tree and caused such devastation. I wanted to fix it. I wanted to make the worlds better. Now, I am alone and in disgrace." Nahash looked away, attempting to hide from the gaze of the Three.
The Three then laughed and circled Nahash, petted their scales.
"My dear creature," they sighed, "Do not give up so quickly. Look."
The Three pointed out into the void. And to Nahash's surprise, they saw climbing from the horrors and desolation, lives growing once again. Young and ignorant, weak and flimsy, but new. "Even after the harshest of battles, something shall rise," said the Three. Nahash's eyes widened in disbelief. The Sruth was flowing once again, encircling the new lives. Potential was blooming once more. At first, they were overjoyed, but then they remembered what they and their siblings had done and worry crept into their mind.
"You remain troubled," questioned the Three.
"My siblings and I were like them once. Bathed and blessed. What if they are merely a new generation of destroyers and plunderers?"
The Three looked at one another and then nodded in agreement. Small acted first, ripping a piece of hide from one of the dead Behemoths. Tall then acted, taking bark from the damaged roots of the Tree and placing them within Small's hide. All then came forward, held out the shield Nahash had lovingly guarded and took some blood from a nearby battlefield.
"You are blessed with knowledge and hindsight. You have seen the price of greed and folly. If others shall come, make sure they learn. This is your purpose now. No longer are you Nahash. You are now the Serpent. Giver of knowledge. Keeper of tales. Protector of the Tree."
The Serpent took the hide, the bark and the blood and sat in the branches of the Tree. When they looked back, the Three had gone. "I must tell my story," said The Serpent, assured. Dipping their tail in the blood-filled shield, it remembered the face the Flame had made when they'd danced. The Serpent sighed sadly and began to write.
Nexus of Wander
And thus The Serpent was born. And as the aeons flew, The Serpent performed their duty, watched and learnt. With every tale and truth they witnessed, they wrote it down and added the record to the Tree. As the Tree's wounds filled with records, the worlds grew quieter and mellower, with the lives growing more enriched and curious, encircled with Sruth. Soon, just like the Behemoths before them, the lives found the Ways and came to the Tree. But this time, The Serpent was waiting for them.
"Who are you," the lives asked.
"I am the Serpent, guardian of the place."
"What is this place," the lives asked.
"This is the Tree. A place of knowledge, of truths and of tales."
"Who's tales," the lives asked.
"All that has been and all that is happening. Maybe even some yet to come. Would you care to hear some?"
"Yes, please," said the lives.
And with that, the Serpent's role was complete. They told the lives tales of the worlds. They passed on knowledge and ability. Afterwards, some of the lives returned to their world, to use what they had discovered to further themselves and better their time. Not all did, however. Others moved to other worlds, to seek new stories and abilities. To further enrich themselves and others around them. A few remained behind also, with the Serpent, recording the tales and maintaining the Tree. Eventually, the Tree's branches were filed with records. Each a story. Each a lesson. Each a wonder.
Before the Flames,
Before the Void,
Before the Worlds,
Before the Lives.
Before All,
there was the Tree.