Chapter 1: The Noble War (A Prologue)

ALVIA,

 

The struggle for reunification, forced upon a cosmos in the midst of desolate winter, both consumed by renewal and the loud mourning of nine great souls, expanding and transcendent, lost in dreaming lands where the sleeper holds back the ravening worm. They sought the bounty of his ancient thought to raise up a cosmos of degeneration and decay into an age of learning and plenty.

In Ulro now they battle, warring brother against sister and wife against husband, parental will against child hope, seeking the downfall of generations after and before in their starry asylum where spheres of bleeding color mark the breach. There the tangent lords cast their spirits through, fleeing in constant stillness from the worm held back by the healer, ancient and slumbering.

In their desperate wanderings, a resurrection of armies by grafted thought heaped injury upon injury as a reminder of a state before emanatory light, there in memory transcribed. Furious watchmen gathered for the grim wars of blood and ash and erasure, hold your ground over the buried masses you maligned and scorned and forever forlorn, each reaped by the weeping starry harrow.

Once they wandered in gardens and nurseries of celestial might, holding hands while the living spheres gave suck, infantile in their surpassing glory and power and yet to stretch across the snowy wastes of Genesis as they kindled. They floated in desolate space for the mere joy of those nine souls, expanding and transcendent. Those were the days before Beulah emptied.

Then in Ulro they found sanctuary in nothingness. But, gripped by sonder at the passing of their own specters, they rose and built, rearing mountains and carving vales, and stretching out pavilions of polychromatic cloud. Music they made as well, groping for the ears of they who rose above even Beulah, but found only the ranks of their regrets lining up and awaiting divine order.

Scattered across Ulro by their tempers, they yearned for their pearl couches and opulent beds. But nails were driven deep into their luminous fibers so that they could not escape the abyss, and their pining birthed an expanse that swallowed all around into its depths while the desert spheres outside languished in poverty of intellect. Over these graves you radiant forlorn cry.

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