registry;

[softlyfalling]

📖 Registry 🖋

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memory 030

[softlyfalling]

You’re in… a shrine, again. This seems to happen a lot to you.

Through the entrance, the hallway makes a sharp left turn, leading you back toward the outer wall. Halfway down, you realize there’s an inscription—Old Realm on one side, High Realm on the other:

The Earth Dragon is the pillar of strength upon which the world rests, for He understands that there is no difference between the Essence of the self and the Essence of All Creation. It is the Way of He Who Illuminates Both Worlds with Majesty and Power to endure any hardship, for He knows that the key to altering the world is to first alter the self.

…huh.

Once again, you must contend with a series of puzzles that seem designed to get a little under your skin—mirrors that show you in different clothes and poses until you all realize (after way too long) that it requires you to strip naked in the relatively chilly shrine corridors. At least you don’t mind the cold, but it’s a little irritating. However, this is the last stop on your journey, and all of you are at least determined to see it through (with varying amounts of complaining).

One of your companions activates the pyramid that the corridor leads to, causing a brilliant white beam to shoot out—and it seems that Glory finished his task on the other side of the shrine, as well. An adamant door rises from the floor in front of the enormous gem on the back wall—now leading to a vast, indistinct cityscape.

It’s a city, yes, but—alien, and impossible as a landscape, each direction consumed by one particular element, a vast pyramid visible in the distance, and a smaller one even further away. The buildings are strange and geometric, in triangles and parallelograms; birds made of fire fly across the sky; colors you’ve never seen before paint into labyrinths that make your head hurt. It’s mesmerizing and you immediately wrench your gaze to your feet—before realizing that Oroonoko, Glory, and **** haven’t. You grab Oroonoko and cover her eyes, and she squeaks, but doesn’t actually protest.

Keeping your eyes on your feet, you all shuffle toward the pyramid—it seems significant, and, well. You want to not have to look at all of whatever the hell that stuff is outside.

There are two doors leading into the pyramid—one is rimmed in ever-shifting, silvery light, while the other is made up of the five elements: wood, water, earth, fire, and air. The corridors are very narrow, so you have to go single-file, until you find… something.

It looks like a bush, but it can’t be one—with golden branches and twigs of water, leaves of fire and solidified air. And above you, in the distance above the smaller pyramid, you can see… silvery light, coalescing into a disc, dark patches shifting and flowing across its face, seemingly at random.

The bush flares bright, and speaks to the silvery disc, delighted bewilderment in Her voice—although, you more experience the words, rather than hear them, precisely.

"Beloved! It has been ages! How have you come to be here?”

“It would seem some of our Chosen walked the Path you left upon Creation’s birth-Caul,” the disc replies, and you realize, startled, that this must be—Luna? “The Chosen—humans, that is—once again serve as our Conduits.”

“Does this mean we will commune with regularity, the way we once did?”

“No, I do not believe we shall.” There’s the feeling of a deep sigh, in the moon’s soul-voice. “This particular instance seems to be a fluke. An unusual confluence of circumstance led these children to walk our Path.”

“So your Chosen are still at odds with those of my children?”

“Yes. Their feud shows no sign of abating.”

“More’s the pity.” You sense the bush’s scrutiny turn toward all of you, and there’s something—terrifying about that, honestly. “Dearest, I see a few of my children’s Chosen, but where are yours? Are these some of Sol’s? And what are these?” Tendrils of fire-water reach out across the infinite gulf between pyramids to coil, questingly, toward you and Glory—

You choke down a yelp. You both want to jump back and also really, really don’t want to offend who you think this is.

“So they are. I believe the presence of one of His more flexible Chosen is what enabled our communion. The other two... I know not.” They speak low, mournful. “They are a new development, dark mirrors of Sol’s servants, but Chosen by your fallen kin.”

You hold entirely rigid and still while some of the tendrils reach into your chest, and try not to breathe or make any kind of sound, although—despite the fact that it’s made of fire, it doesn’t hurt, somehow. It just feels… really uncomfortable. The bush—who must be Gaia—makes a satisfied sort of hum. “I disagree, dearest. These Exaltations are hardly new. Tell me, is Sol missing any of his Chosen?”

“Hm… Yes, quite a few.“

“Well, these “dark mirrors” may be the ones He misplaced. These two, at least, bear the Maker’s signature – I believe they are part of his original batch. Have you consulted with Him about these ‘new’ Chosen?”

“No, beloved, and we cannot. He hid Himself away shortly after you departed.”

“Tch.” Gaia scoffs. “Perhaps that is for the best.” Her voice turns warm again, though, just a moment later. “I know how much you love a puzzle, my dear.”

Luna's laugh echoes through your bones. “That I do. Beloved, I know not how long this Conduit will remain open. Perhaps we should make the most of the time we have?”

“Yes, please. Come here, dearest.”

And then yet another impossible, incomprehensible thing happens in front of you, and you are left to avert your eyes once more.

Notable:
What the fuck was that.