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Anaxagoras was able to hear his own voice in his head for as long as he could remember. He remembered sounding out vowels in his head while he has still been learning to read, could remember the word “dromas” and how it sounded, could hear his own internal monologue and his train of thought.
It’s really not until he commits blasphemy the first time that another voice appears in his mind.
Anaxagoras had still been young then– he had caught a glimpse of his sister, however blurry, and even so simply being able to see her once was worth the eye he could no longer see out of.
The voice is but a mere afterthought.
Anaxagoras had been aware of the voice the moment he saw past his sister and at the tree, at the embodiment of all possibilities and branches and universes and things so infinitely incomprehensible it was best left in the labelled box of “things” lest Anaxagoras lose his mind prematurely. He enjoyed retaining the sanity he had left.
Anyways. The voice. The voice is surprisingly helpful, despite preferring to keep quiet. He rarely ever commented, yet his deep insights and philosophical musings would leave even Anaxagoras to think for an answer for days or weeks.
He never told Anaxagoras his name, but presumably it was because he had no reason to. After all, there was no one else Anaxagoras called “the voice in his head”.
Anaxagoras did not know the nature of the voice in his head. It was not a mental disorder or illness, as far as Anaxagoras was concerned, despite the fact that his sanity was not the best on most days. No, he presumed it was something along the lines of how Tribios was able to connect with their other selves. Perhaps this was a long-distance form of that. The voice in his head knew far too many things that Anaxagoras would have no feasible way of thinking of, theories that Anaxagoras had to prove himself.
No, Anaxagoras thought. The voice in his head did not belong to Amphoreus. The voice in his head was amiable to questions most of the time, willing to answer Anaxagoras as long as he deemed the question well thought out enough and something Anaxagoras would have difficulty accessing. As far as Anaxagoras could tell, it appeared that the voice in his head could only access certain information about Amphoreus.
He did not know about every city, for one, even if he could name all the titans. Perhaps his knowledge had something to do with Anaxagoras’ proximity to it. Either way, the voice in his head was mostly willing to offer different perspectives on Anaxagoras’ queries and problems, which was rather useful.
Anaxagoras cannot remember how long he had been in his head at this point. It was beginning to get rather hard to imagine the lullabies he knew his sister would sing to him as a child, yet the quiet observations of the voice came to mind without resistance.
As much as Anaxagoras had pressed the voice about its origins and knowledge, the voice was only willing to give Anaxagoras knowledge that were theoretically feasible for him to obtain, and nothing of the world beyond the sky nor himself.
The only thing the voice said about himself, Anaxagoras thinks with amusement, was that it preferred the male set of pronouns and that Anaxagoras was right in that it did come from the tree he had seen.
So. There is a voice in Anaxagoras’ head, one he converses with regularly. While Anaxagoras was fine speaking with himself in public, he did his best to hold conversations with the voice in his head in private. After all, despite Anaxagoras himself not minding curiosity of foolish students who should know better than to ask, the voice in his head seemed to respond negatively to social interactions with anyone other than Anaxagoras.
Sometimes, Anaxagoras wondered why that was. Other times, he asked the voice in his head for more philosophical dilemmas instead.
It is nearly insulting, Anaxagoras thinks, that the only reason he learns the name of the voice in his head is that there is another voice in his head.
“I thought there was only me?” Cerces asked, amusement in their voice, their ethereal presence floating behind Anaxagoras.
“My apologies,” Su said, mildly. “I presumed you would rather be differentiated by name than by the alphabet.”
Ah. Yes. Back to Su, Anaxagoras thought, ignoring both voices in his head for now.
The voice in his head did not comment on the blasphemy much, mostly because it was not harming anyone other than Anaxagoras himself. He did disprove, that Anaxagoras could tell, but he still did not know if it was because it was blasphemy or because Anaxagoras was treating his body more like a vessel each passing day.
Whatever the case, while the voice did not actively help Anaxagoras, it was still willing to answer questions if pressed– and that was all that truly mattered.
After all, despite the fact that they had been sharing the same body for over five hundred years at that point, the voice did not wish to speak with Anaxagoras on a personal basis, and Anaxagoras was no longer as curious as to the voice’s life either.
And then the Black Tide invaded.
Anaxagoras has a wonderful memory, this he knows. It is part of the reason why he is one of the seven sages, after all.
Therefore, he does not turn his gaze away from the falling bodies of those who stayed behind to protect the Grove. This is his home, after all. This is their home.
It is desperation. It is a gamble. It is everything and nothing at all if he fails.
When Anaxagoras splits his soul apart, the voice in his head offers no resistance.
And yet, and yet– Anaxagoras knows that his soul should have been torn apart. That he should have long dissipated.
Here is a truth– Anaxagoras was never meant to reach the throne with his dying body.
Here is what happened: Anaxagoras reaches it, because there is a gently hand holding his body together.
Anaxagoras, founder of the Nourisprouts, one of the Seven Sages of the Grove of Epiphany, dies with the Titan of Reason on the throne of the Grove.
The voice residing in his head does not die with him, because he never resided in his head at all.
When Anaxagoras wakes, the titan is holding his body together, and perhaps they were too unused to mortal bodies, for even Anaxagoras could identify that he was most certainly not supposed to hear every blade that rustled in the wind.
Anaxagoras allows his body to be pulled about, and when the cloaked figure vanishes– the Flame Reaver, Anaxagoras will call him, the voice in his head quietens as Cerces’ overbearing presence vanishes, Anaxagoras’ body his own to control once more.
Phainon, Anaxagoras thinks, is as endearing as the last time Anaxagoras had seen him. He eagerly asks Anaxagoras if he remembers, and Anaxagoras is nearly affronted by the implication that he would forget , of all things.
He responds, rather snappily, all things considered, but it is the way that Phainon does not appear cowed but rather smile brighter that Anaxagoras feels his heart melt, just a tiny bit.
The newer voice in his head chuckles lightly, commenting on his feelings, and Anaxagoras ignores the Titan’s words.
He stops ignoring the Titan’s words when they ask what he means by being the second voice in his head, to which the first voice in his head responds instead. Anaxagoras is about to assign a numerical value– or perhaps an alphabetical value– to the voices in his head when the first voice in his head introduces himself by name for the first time of their entire acquaintance.
“Su.” the voice in his head says. “I am called Su where I am from; and you must be Cerces, I presume.”
The one thing Anaxagoras revels in is that despite the fact that Cerces is the Titan of Reason, even they appeared to be confused by Su’s presence.
“You do not belong to this world,” Cerces says, a frown on their ethereal face. “What reason do you have to be here?”
“I suppose I am like you,” Su admits, quietly, his voice as melancholic as it had been when Anaxagoras first asked him of his origins. “I was too curious for my own good.”
Anaxagoras knows that the both of them are referring to him as the subject of interest. He is not insulted, because he knows he is special, but neither is he flattered, because a divine gaze was utterly meaningless if the divine would not help humanity advance.
Instead, Anaxagoras designs a set of exams to test the new limits of his body, and it is only by Cerces doing their best to remove some of the modifications they made and Su gently prodding him to speak with Hyacine instead that Anaxagoras relents and allows his vessel to rest.
Anaxagoras has not dreamt in a long time. He does not recall dreams from his childhood; most people do not. Yet, every so often, he remembers a glimpse of color. A dream of the stars, of possibilities swaying on branches of an infinitely encompassing tree. His sister had said it sounded like the Titan of Reason. The grove was made of the Titan, his sister would tell him. They see every scholar, they hear every woe, they answer any question that is asked of them.
Those dreams fade, when the Black Tide arrives and takes his sister away, and instead they are filled with the eternal darkness the tide brings with it.
Anaxagoras would wake up, shivering in his bed in the Grove, years after the event had passed.
It is only when he glimpses his sister, the infinite possibilities beyond this sky, that he stops dreaming entirely.
He sleeps, and he wakes; the dreams gently brushed away by an unseen hand.
For the first time in centuries, Anaxagoras dreams.
He dreams of the stars; he dreams of the sky; he dreams of knowledge; he dreams of an infinite amount of possibilities to a tree that exists yet does not exist.
The Imaginary Tree, Su supplies in his mind.
Anaxagoras should have expected the damn titan to start questioning Su as well. He cannot have any peace in his own head, can he?
He ignores the both of them protesting in his mind and commenting on his decisions. He was a grown adult, and has been for the last millennia. The both of them could stop commenting on his health and maybe answer his questions about the nature of life and death.
…No. No, he did not need them to answer. Su appeared to function outside of Amphoreus’ cycle of existence entirely, and Anaxa would stake his remaining ember of life– and the Titan’s– on the answer.
Su is pleased by his intellect, even if he disapproves of everything else. Cerces is disgruntled, if not grudgingly respectful. Even if he was foolish, Anaxagoras was a Sage for a reason.
So Anaxagoras rests for just a day; for Hyacine was very good at convincing him of most matters related to his health.
On the second day, he begins putting the voices in his head to good use and starts arguing with them and extracting answers from their cryptic words.
Cerces, he finds, gives answers much easier to decipher than Su. Despite being bound to his shell and losing their life at his machinations, they had been the Grove Anaxagoras had tended to for nearly all his life now. They had a fondness for scholars– and Anaxagoras was no exception. Curiosity to learn was what drove them– and was what had driven every scholar to reside in the Grove to begin with.
Su’s answers were… confusing, to say the least. Even with all his intellect, even with alchemy at his disposal, Anaxagoras found Su’s concepts difficult to comprehend. Or perhaps it was simply the nature of the world beyond Amphoreus– Or the universe beyond that.
Or, simply, Su did not function on the same mortal plane that Amphoreus did. As such, even when Su attempted to explain with terms Anaxagoras knew, the frame of reference was slightly off.
Either way, Anaxagoras sets off for one final act, and two voices bear witness to his schemes.
Su and Cerces do speak with each other much. They speak to Anaxagoras individually, and sometimes they speak to each other to make sure they are referring to the same concepts, but otherwise they do not question each other.
Su, Anaxagoras finds, can make his voice be heard by only Anaxagoras, even if the answers Anaxagoras gives in his mind are heard to Cerces. Cerces, on the other hand, can only speak with the ghostly vessel trailing behind Anaxagoras’ physical body, and her every word is heard by Su. Anaxagoras finds amusement in the frustration Cerces shows at this, for even a Titan could be defeated by something as simple as the concept of being unable to achieve a private conversation.
However, if there is one thing the both of them agree on, it is that Anaxagoras does not take enough care of himself. All of them know that he is only kept functioning by Cerces' Coreflame– and any help Su had given him, beyond that. He is, by all means, but a dead man walking.
Being a dead man, however, does not deter Su from urging him to speak with Hyacine and Cerces from commenting on his rest habits. Anaxagoras questions Su aloud why he is more invested in his existence when it had come to its end than when he had still been alive, and Su’s feelings of regret suffocate him before he folds it back into himself, leaving Anaxagoras alone.
The worst part about having two voices in his head, Anaxagoras thinks, is that the both of them can comment on his social circle.
Cerces is amused by his hatred of Aglaea; Su gives only patient understanding. The both of them rather like Hyacinthia, and the Tribios as well.
The both of them know Phainon. Of course they do. They were both present while Anaxagoras was teaching, after all. Cerces likes him well enough, as the promised “Deliverer”. Su–
Su has only longing . It is misguided longing; all of them know this. Su’s longing is for a man he barely sees in Phainon, and yet it is so strong the taste of regret and bitterness Anaxagoras has to feel whenever Phainon appears disgruntled him greatly, especially when Su was feeling melancholic.
Anaxagoras–
All things considered, Anaxagoras does not particularly like Phainon. Rude as he may be, he was the only student who dared ask proper questions where other students would bite their tongue, unafraid of Anaxagoras’ vicious response.
Anaxagoras heart does not skip a beat when he sees Phainon smile, because not only would that be unprofessional, he was fairly certain this body’s heart was no longer beating. Perhaps, if he had the ability to, he would open his own chest and see whether or not his heart was still present or if the stardust had reached it as well.
Whatever the case is, Anaxagoras’ mood must visibly sour when Phainon comes to look for him, for he flashes a wider grin and leans in closer than was appropriate and the sadness behind his eyes disgusts even Anaxagoras.
What a foolish student he had.
Anaxagoras had known love and care once. His sister had soothed him, the first time he had bled gold, murmuring gentle promises and loving care and had told him about the prophecy.
Anaxagoras does not know love and care anymore. His soul had been shattered; even whatever fragments Su had caught and returned to him would not give him every range of emotion he used to have. Anaxagoras remembers love and care, the memories deeply ingrained into him. He can recognize it, in the way Aglaea follows the prophecy, in the way the Tribios speak with each other, in the way Hyacine wants to heal every wound on Amphoreus.
He remembers it; yet he does not know it. His soul, stretched thin over the eons, was laced with cracks and was nothing much than a shell at this point.
It is fine. Anaxagoras has no regrets; he has only questions yet to be answered, and he shall have them before his demise if he has any say in Amphoreus’ future.
Even with the Coreflame, Anaxagoras’ body can only be sustained for so long. As it stands, he is halfway through whatever time he has left. While politics would usually disgust him, he finds it in himself to continue speaking with the Council of Elders.
Anaxagoras only mildly revels in the fact that Aglaea is angry at him, before the final answer he is seeking calls for his attention, and he focuses once again on the proof that he needs. He has no doubt that Phainon will do whatever he needs– he had always had a sharp tongue, that student of his. He would be fine.
Anaxagoras has lived for well over a thousand years. And for every performance, there should come an end. He only hopes that Hyacinthia will be able to pull through and fulfill the duty she carries.
Anaxagoras did not believe in the prophecy. He never has. He does not believe in the Flame-Chase journey either; this is a fact.
And even so, it will continue, for what scholar would discard an experiment because its results were not in their favour?
No; it is simply the truth. And the truth is that while Anaxagoras does not believe in the prophecy, as long as his students believe it so, then he shall support it in their stead.
Cerces does not understand him. They are a titan, after all. For all that they are capable of emotion, for all that they understand most humans better than Anaxagoras himself, it is only when it comes to scrutinizing his motivation that even Cerces cannot find a proper answer, despite the fact that Anaxagoras’ memories were theirs to peruse.
Su–
Su understands him. It is painful, in a way. Su understands Anaxagoras more than he himself does, at times. He has always understood Anaxagoras. Sometimes, Anaxagoras would ponder whether he was a deviation of Su or if Su was a deviation from him, and Su would laugh so very gently at the thought of alternate selves.
Su knows Anaxagoras in a way Anaxagoras cannot quite comprehend, yet what surprises him the most is the simple fact that Su would always leave every decision up to him. It is alike how Anaxagoras wishes for humanity to choose its own future, rather than leave it all up to the Flame-Chase journey. Su would not dictate what Anaxagoras does. He never would– and never will either, for the last week or so of Anaxagoras’ decision.
Su has always allowed Anaxagoras his whims– so it is only on his deathbed that Anaxagoras finally asks Su why he had ever appeared before him in the first place.
After all, if Su was insistent on not interfering with this world–
Anaxagoras should have never heard Su at all.
Su does not answer. He does not send any emotions for Anaxagoras to interpret. In fact, he retreats into himself so wholly that Anaxagoras does not hear from him for his remaining days at all.
It is only as Anaxagoras mends his woes with Aglaea that he hears Su, for what would perhaps be the final time.
“I’m sorry, Anaxagoras.” Su says, and it is only when Cerces turns around to look behind him that Anaxagoras himself turns.
Su looks exactly as his name sounds. His hair is long, falling to his knees, a shade of grey with a singular viridian streak. His clothing is strange, yet unsurprising, seeing as he was not of the world. Anaxagoras would akin it to something the grey-haired Trailblazer wears.
And his eyes–
When Anaxagoras looks into his eyes, despite the fact that his were a vibrant pink, it felt undeniably as though he was looking into himself.
“...And what do you apologize for?” Anaxagoras questions, his tone sharp. The other Chysos Heirs know better than to interrupt him during a conversation at this point.
“You guessed right.” He says, his voice soft. He looks away from Anaxagoras and closes his eyes. “I should not have appeared before you at all.” His lips twist into a slight frown. “I am an observer– I have long learnt not to interfere with worlds. And yet–”
Anaxagoras remembers his admission to Cerces, but a mere two weeks ago.
“What is it that you were curious about?” Anaxagoras asks.
“Everything. Nothing. Can existence truly be quantified?” Su turns to him again, his eyes closed, and now a smile is laid across his face. “I wanted to see how this world would develop.”
“Did you obtain your answer?” Anaxagoras prods.
“No,” Su says, an admission plain as day. “I never would have. And yet I remained, anyway.”
Su moves to stand with Cerces, and when Anaxagoras rips out the Coreflame and burns in starlight, he wonders if he will see Su in the next cycle.
As Anaxagoras closes his eye, having lost feeling in everything else, he still sees the glimmer of the Coreflame and the swaying branches of an imaginary tree.