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Red flows up the spire, streams across the roof, and seeps into every crevice. Cast by that strange stage-light, long shadows stretch to meet the horizon where earth devours sky. Withered and withering leaves whip up the air into a wailing swirl, and the generous foliage of yesteryear is now no more than a dream. The die has been cast, and the stage is awash with the blood of all that could not be. But the play is not yet over. After all, even tragedies must play out until the curtain call.
Kaveh stands before the Sanctuary. Before him, a figure is illuminated along by the strange backdrop, a perfect part of, yet infinitely surpassing its surroundings. Mankind has always strove for more than its allotment and has desired for more than it could receive, and in the face of the gods, its ambition is laid out for all to judge. His dendro vision, that last witness of ambition, pulses under the figure’s gaze as if greeting a long lost friend. The figure opens her eyes, and what he sees is within is not the noble courage of his archon. Yes, the Traveler had told of whom they were up against. But for them to assume and corrupt Lord Kusanali’s providence to use it against her, that was what he could not accept.
In one languid motion, the god who is not his god closes her right hand and opens her left. Possibility condenses into a singularity in her right and a yawning void takes shape in her left. The concerted motion is so smooth and natural it reads like a retroactively edited recording, and for a moment, he is mesmerized by the dance unfolding in real-time. How easily are the seams of reality unmade! Yet creation is a means, not an end. He of all people, who has chosen to live this truth, intimately and painfully knows it to be true. Creation means nothing if it is not worthy in itself. And he will tile every brick of Alcazarzaray once more, ten times more to affirm it.
Inexplicably, he feels a wave of joy surge through him. If this grand stage is to be his end, he is honored to bear witness to his truth.