ORIGINS

‍ ‍Radiance entered the Multitude as an eventuality and within refracted, yet walked out in solemnity as a physical body followed by a host of others who were lesser than he in stature and luminance. These were remnants of the First Light, of him but not by him, and were called lesser angels. With both wonder and great trepidation he beheld them and dispersed them; where they went they erected monuments to his grandeur and where he traveled through the universe what his body exuded shone upon everything. Yet there were still dark corners of the cosmos Radiance did not reach.
Solum was among the lesser angels who had wandered beyond the stars and far from Radiance, gone into a darkness so remote that the First Light had all but faded from sight. Still he ordered the first bastion of angelkind be built and when the work was finished it stood a tremendous and beautiful sight, beyond the craft of any single hand. Yet Solum proclaimed to the others that it should bear his name, the only dedication within his power. He called out for Radiance that the might of his ambition be witnessed by their sovereign, but Radiance never turned to see it and never ventured near. Solum slowly diminished into a dark place and was abandoned by all but its namesake, who waited there beyond all reckoning of time until he had no memory of its purpose and no will to maintain it. There in the dark, parts of him became parts of the bastion itself; his whispers were heard from the walls, the effigies which bore the likeness of Radiance changed to show Solum’s now dismal countenance, and the very structure of the place seemed to pull toward him as if to shelter, and yet collapsed upon him still. He cried out, but the sound went unheard.
As ages passed there were more and more havens built for the angelkin, the most resplendent were the citadels of Alun and Caelum which had a great many stars’ distance between them. These were magnificent feats of engineering and artistry where gravity was more suggestion than law, where great prisms of water flowed through canals stretching far beyond what eyes could see, where jewels of wondrous color were built into their very foundations. Radiance went to rule in Caelum and appointed one of the most promising of the other angels, Izzah whose eyes glistened with gold, to watch over Alun; he called Izzah “Archangel” and praised him for such fervent honor and loyalty, for Izzah was steadfast and dignified in his love for Radiance. Thus it was granted that Izzah choose any of the angels in Alun to be his mate and he chose Chaya, one of the first to flee from Solum. She had only a little of the First Light left in her by her long journey out of the dark, but she was unturned and devoted, eyes of glinting silver and hair like a falling shadow; she went with Izzah in gladness and affection. They sired their first child, Sul, who Radiance visited and bestowed upon his head a crown fitted with glistening jewels that shone with the brightness of a giant red star. He congratulated Izzah and Chaya on the first pure heir to Alun and and saw that Sul’s heart was ablaze with the First Light and he bore the golden eyes of his father. Radiance departed to Caelum thereafter. Izzah and Chaya had a second son, Layl, who was equal to his brother in brilliance but was never bestowed a great honor. In the next age, Sul and Layl went to found the city of Alaen to continue the legacy of their mother and father.

Kala, born as the primordial incarnate of Time and Death, was witnessed by the other three Farers with awe and wonder for what paradox the Multitude had produced. His body shone with the luminance of a giant star, all the beauty and terror of the cosmos resolved into singular form, hung in a state of eternal potentiality where energies condensing would surely be wrought upon the universe eventually. So Kala roamed the expanse and he danced; where he went matter collapsed into its most fundamental elements, which he swallowed until at last he could contain them no longer. He opened his mouth and the eternally amassing vibrations therein escaped, moving through all things, forcing matter in a single fraction of an instant to face its opposition, into unraveling. The stars collapsed, subsumed into an existence without form. Then all was black and all was quiet, yet only within the void and only for a moment, for the First Light flashed again to force its sundering. The Genesis of Aspect repeated, shaped new matter, and Kala presided over its annihilation. This cycle echoed through eight ages; each new iteration of the universe born from the same Convergence and ending by Kala, but far beyond the domain of the other Farers.

Antistrophe either descended into the Multitude at the exact moment of Radiance or immediately thereafter depending on which telling. Unlike Radiance, however, Antistrophe was unaccompanied when he rose out. His form inspired awe and terror in those that witnessed him for he bore black wings like great shadows that stretched into eternity, talons on hands and feet that could tear planets asunder, and great horns upon a his head. He visited all of the angels’ dwellings about the universe and leered but then assured no harm to all he encountered. In Alun, Izzah called him Aternal for his presence dimmed the luminance of the First Light which still lived in him and the lesser angels. Antistrophe took no offense and was, in fact, inspired by Izzah’ title and courageous words to him. He went to Caelum to recount Izzah’s composure and tact to Radiance; though Radiance smiled he grew more wary that the darkness which loomed about Antistrophe might extinguish the First Light. He bade Antistrophe leave Caelum and not return, but that he collect no more than ten thousand angels from both citadels as a favor, that he might form his own populace somewhere far away. In this endeavor Antistrophe was quite convincing and found most of the ten thousand who believed to follow him was proper and the First Light faded from their hearts. When he had traveled to the distant reaches of the universe he was missing only one of his great host. He came upon the remains of Solum and commanded that his followers inhabit it while he searched for the last angel. He went back to Alun and ordered an audience with Izzah and Chaya, then that he had chosen one of their sons for his host but that they would decide which of them would go. Chaya protested, begging Izzah not to submit and so Izzah denied him firstly. Antistrophe repeated his request, Izzah denied him more forcefully for the second time. So Antistrophe took him and Chaya to the Alaen to meet their sons. He called all those who dwelt there to the center of the city where he raised his great taloned hand and cleft Sul’s body in two. Layl cried out in unison with many of the others who had never seen death, and begged Antistrophe that he return to Solum as his final prize. He plucked one of his brother’s golden eyes from his head and took it with him in remembrance. When he departed Alaen, his mother and father, and the other angels, he became their enemy.
When Antistrophe and Layl came back to Solum, the populace there had turned violent and half were killed or had consumed each other. Solum was covered with blood and the remains of the dead. Those who survived no longer resembled the angels they had been, they were pitch dark figures even in peering from the shadows. They craned their necks to see the return of their sovereign and hissed at Layl. Layl silenced them with a word, but when he turned to Antistrophe for counsel he found that he had been abandoned. He fought some of the remaining survivors that rebuked him and commanded the corpses be cast into the deeps of space. The others pointed what fingers remained on their hands and wept at the sight of him, calling him “desolate”, and begged that he not reveal his name to them. They called him Mazhran, “The Great Rebellion”, and soon thereafter submitted to him as their master.
Mazhran looked over the whole of Solum for ages, walking its corridors and pressing an ear to the walls to listen for always he heard murmurs which beckoned him. Some were sorrowful songs, others fits of rage or threats of violence. When he had committed them to memory he too began to change from his birth form, though it escaped his notice until one of great and ruinous stature among the dwellers approached him, yet did not bend a knee or cower. He introduced himself as Viga, asked for Mazhran’s favor, and led him to a pool of still water; it was the only one remaining in Solum that had not been touched by the carnage of the others but where some ruins of the bastion had fallen into it, a place that Mazhran strangely had never come upon. When first he looked upon the pool, Mazhran recoiled and wept at his own reflection for what he’d become, but Viga was unmoved and simply stretched out his hand and gestured that Mazhran look again. The two stood at the water’s edge for a time before Mazhran glimpsed Viga’s intention for there was a faint glimmer beneath the surface. Mazhran then waded in to look closer; he went down to retrieve the aged vestments of an angel whose body lay at the bottom untouched. Viga rejoiced when he emerged and dressed him in this vestige, praised him for his magnificence, and called him Aternal. At this, Mazhran welled at first with contempt, but then with triumph and named Viga as his companion and next-in-command. They went about Solum making plans and rallying the other dwellers who all yielded to Mazhran’s leadership. He tended them and claimed them as his lineage.

  Of the greatest storms of burning dust which poured from the Multitude, one produced a vibration distinct from the others and where it resolved and spun into a body of its own, there was Mythindra, her ear pressed to the still-cooling surface. She listened as if for a heartbeat and repeated in song what she heard. Her voice roused the matter about her and far beyond, so that not only did other Farers mind her, but so did entire worlds, and whatever stirred upon them; and for a single moment, nothing anywhere was in disarray.
    The Farers wandering nearest went to witness her and were at once enraptured, for Mythindra was beautiful and fascinating beyond all they understood; her hair caught a cold and glinting light which flowed from her head in streams of white silver, her skin was pale as frost, and her eyes shone of red and gold stars within wells of deep darkness. And when she looked to her watchers, so many had forgotten themselves, begging that she grant them new names and distinguished titles. She listened intently to the pleas and what she named them, they became instead, even remade from the very roots of their being. But now they looked upon each other with estrangement and disquiet until they could no longer bear it; an uproar of hysteria and savagery broke among them but Mythindra persisted and raised her voice, even above their cries. A few fled into the dark and were followed, or never seen thereafter, others were slain.

Yet Mythindra noticed one among them, unmoved, who had asked nothing of her, whose eyes did not reflect the fixation of the others. When their eyes met, Mythindra’s song broke off and she was silent as stone, for she saw herself neither in splendor nor silver, but as the gray dust she had risen from. After their communion, fearful and fevered, she fled in that silence the company of all that had milled about her, and waded with eyes averted through their heaped bodies. She escaped them, but still they warred in her absence and without her song, echoing conflicts some of which were sworn eternal. Long she wandered the Expanse in solitude thereafter, looked upon nothing, and sang nothing. She saw stars born and spent in the span of her wandering, and galaxies turned while she drifted between them.
‍ At last Mythindra came upon a curtain of biting frost which concealed a small moon and its merciless mother-world. The mother punished her for her trespass with winds that tore her hair, lashed her skin, and drove her to refuge upon the moon. There she lay down in its cold dust and pressed her ear to its surface. Far beneath the ice she heard its waters bellowing, and commanded peace. She named it Toń, and the waters were still. When all was quiet, she listened for its vibrations and answered them with her own voice.