Chapter Text
Chaos was not something people with high standards liked, it was messy, it was loud, it was unplanned and flashy, but most of all, it didn't yield to their words and orders. Chaos existed before humans had a word for it, often calling all that was bad to its name, as if it wasn't their own mistakes giving it creation and power. But despite it all, chaos loved fun.
At first, order exited in the walls of palaces, in the streets of people, in the hearts of nations, but something shifted, a quiet word was given and rules started to break, then Chaos was born. Born to the flames, born to the mistakes, born to the errors and explosions, to the mess and destruction, but to the joy too, to the happy laughter after a prank, to the smiles of creation from mess, to the happiness in people standing for their wants and rights. It was often a word of disgust for nobles, but a word of hope for the rest.
It wasn't a quick start, nor a grand entrance, but slowly a form was given, small at first, but the more of something was broken, the stronger it became, it wasn't given a name, not yet, and it hasn't form a mind full of thoughts, but as time passed, as more and more was said in its name, the bigger and clearer its own picture became. From it all, Chaos was born.
As the being stood in a palace, surrounded in flames, the people inside run around in fear, not noticing the young person inside its walls, it stood there, because it had found something big, for now at least. A surface, one which reflected its own image back to him, and that action was like waking up, as if the universe had been waiting for this moment and bestowed on him gifts meant only for him, yes, that felt right.
He stood there, seeing his reflection, studying himself as the screams and thundering steps moved on, the smell of something coppery in the air, his hair was blonde and to his shoulders, his skin was pale compared to the being he followed around, it looked delicate, as if it could break like porcelain despite its divine nature, his stature was not big, but adequate, Chaos didn't need to be big to be significant; his eyes were blue, like the sky above, and that brought him to the feeling in his back, there was a type of bird humans often claimed were his heralds, or well, him and another's, he would found out later tho, not right now. Speaking of it, as he continued to look at himself he noticed the lack of garments humans often had on themselves, and that didn't stood well with him, so searching he went.
Picking around at things, feeling fabrics and clothes, he started with under pants and pants, forgotten in what looked mid scape inside some closets, the first was easy and simple, the second not so much, he stayed in that roo, trying out styles until he settled for a soft and sturdy pair of almost black pants, with a small take of green, he liked that color, like the leaves of trees. Next, he went for shirts, but none were to his likes, not until he found some loose dark green fabric, with wide sleeves and tied by a string, with that, he felt satisfied, and then he noticed the strange artifact on top of fallen human, as he picked it up, he smiled, yes a hat, that would do for now, until the humans advanced and he could pick and choose what he liked, with that, he went out walking around the palace, so many fallen, so many running, screams and pleas, the smell of iron in the air and him walking leaving faint footprints in the halls.
A nice day for a stroll in his opinion.
Chaos walked from hall to hall, supervising in a way for its domain to expand, he knew it would, he could hear it, feel what it meant in his bones, so he went outside, stretching its limbs as he had seen other do, he and another were born the same day, he heard it in the wind, but their time to meet had not yet arrived, he was needed elsewhere, following the paths of the rebellion against the tyrants, following the streets and growing in their destruction, he needed to be stronger, he needed to learn, to watch to grow. Time would tell if their paths cross another day.
He walked at first, behind the procession of chaos developing before his eyes, he smiled at it, feeling content. He was sure humans could see him, sure they felt his presence between them, not quite aware of who he was, just that he was there. It made him laugh at them, some times, their own ugliness scared them, for what was he but the result to their own actions.
Anarchy was not what people called it at the start, they called it insubordination, they called it mad, hated, rage, they called it unstable and not needed, but in their violence it was created. It took years and years for it to be a concept, starting from small whispers of disagreements, as a secret, and continued to grew and brew until it was inevitable to be there. Its creation was slow, as much of human movements worked, it was born from dissatisfaction, from need and want to change, from pain. It was also from order and planning, from carefulness and secrecy, it was born from hate and rage and fear. Anarchy was born from the loins of human rebellion to the badly form of control and tyranny.
It stood there, before a fallen king, its soul long gone, the sounds of rebellion moving away from him, its birth had been slow, but his creation had been fast at the moment, the moment that axe had been brought down he was there, standing in screams and iron, now he was in silence. But it could hear it, the screams, the flames, it could hear all that lead to its creation, the dissatisfaction, the pain, the chants for justice, it knew its purpose.
Anarchy looked at itself in the reflexion of gold, and he knew what it was brought down to do, the procession was already on its way to create something else in its halls, his place was here. He went to the chambers of the tyrant, and took away the clothes that stayed in his dresser, the clothes the people had suffer for him to obtain, he chose carefully, what he wanted to present, dor he would be a physical reminder to their consequences. He picked a white loose linen shirt, dark brown pants, black boots, a long red cloak to cover him his image was not complete tho. He went out the room, straight to the king in its last resting place, he took the gold, the jewels and the crown, for a monarch fallen from their greed at the hands of their victims did not deserve to rest with their gold intact.
He stood at the end of the throne room, hearing the silence, it felt wrong. He knew something else had been born at the same time as he, a far looser concept than his own, but it was fine, their time to meet was not here, and so with that last thought, he walked the palace halls until all that was left was silence and he could leave this place to his new purpose. To the calls of humans asking for change, for Anarchy.