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When I was a King and a Mason— a Master proven and skilled—
I cleared me ground for a Palace such as a King should build.
I decreed and dug down to my levels. Presently, under the silt,
I came on the wreck of a Palace such as a King had built.
The garden was his favorite place.
Of course, repeating the cycle again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again—
made him memorize the entirety of the palace until there was nothing new to discover. He remembered every guests in each room, every potraits that hung from the walls, every carvings of prime ice.
But the garden… even in permanence, there were beautiful flowers that bloomed, verdant grasses that sprung, bountiful harvest that grew. It was a glimpse of spring in the everlasting winter.
His most hated place— hate? There is no 'hate' in your vocabulary. No, you shouldn't have a 'favorite' either, for that is not just. A __________ _____ view everyone and everything as equal, as their love is limitless, not bound by a mortal's perspective— was the castle in the sky. It was stormy all over, because it was built by bricks of frigid clouds and freezing thunders.
It was not he would go there every time… It was just, as stated, stormy, and frigid, and freezing…
Except he really did wait there, during the awaiting of the wedding, where the groom must be separated from the bride. People said that the groom mustn't see his his bride and her wedding dress before the ceremony, as it would bring an ill-omen to their marriage. A tradition borne from humankind, he had heard some guests whispered. They said that unlike them, humans had the privilege— or more aptly, misfortune? Ah, but their souls are complete and they have no need for love— to not marry the ones they truly love. They can marry complete strangers, or the ones they eventually hate, even! If the groom saw who he was about to marry, he might try to cancel the wedding altogether.
Such was the complication of humans' ways. He wondered a little on why they copied it in the first place.
…If you can complete this task… then there'll be no need to copy… If you can complete this… then there'll be no need for the wedding… If you can fulfill your own promise, Ikhor—
Come, state your vow
For my kin's sake…
I long to see her again…
The wedding bells toll, and they forgot all of their love and hate all over again. They shouldn't have these sentiments anyway— they were dolls, in a doll house.
There was no worth in the fashion— there was no wit in the plan—
Hither and thither, aimless, the ruined footings ran—
Masonry, brute, mishandled, but carven on every stone:
"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known."
Do humans attach sentimental feelings to their birthplace?
Or is it their mothers, or fathers, or anything that birthed them, that instilled such sense to them?
Perhaps the latter. For the truth is… he could barely feel anything as he laid his gaze upon the egg that he had hatched from, much less the ruin that was its 'nest'.
It sparked no interest within him. How strange. From what he understood, even the most ignorant of people would put some semblances of curiosity over the matters of their birth.
But, truly, his own eyes tired themselves out gazing at the broken shell.
The most interesting part of his birth happened outside. There were many adventures, many challenges, many stories that he recorded…
Compared to that, this place—
'You' promised me the power of transcendence.
Power wielded by the first ray of light themselves!
'You' promised me the power to lord all over humans and faes.
Oh, 'you', the perfect Primordial Man— After all these years of service to His Majesty…I deserve that much!
"I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
I must have 'you'!
—Is a bit boring. Is this the equivalent of infantile years that humans barely remember?
Although… even then, many believed that the humans' younger years would mark them into adulthood. Was there truly nothing here that left a mark for him?
Ah…
Maybe…
The memory of overwhelming light upon a room… As if summer made a visit upon the day of his birth…
…And…
…the memory of being born, already a man…
Yet created in a visage of someone's youthful years…
Swift to my use in my trenches, where my well-planned ground-works grew,
I tumbled his quoins and his ashlars, and cut and reset them anew.
Lime I milled of his marbles; burned it, slacked it, and spread;
Taking and leaving at pleasure the gifts of the humble dead.
The village looked like the scenery of autumn in a foreign fairytale's book.
Was it from Fontaine, Mondstadt, or other places beyond the false sevenfold radiance's order? Doesn't matter, it beautifully illustrate one of the seasons that would never touch this godforsaken frostland… except this place— besides, you and I would never see the world beyond this eternity, child.
Crimson leaves dance in the whirlwind. Perpetual grey painted the sky. Mosses and vines climbed the wooden houses…
red rubrum κόκκινος roșu червен червоний чырвоны vörös czerwony czerwono—
They really liked autumn. It was the season where everybody rest. The trees prepared for their deserved rest after their vivacious lives. The clouds covering the world like they were blankets for the people below. And the houses collected woods to safeguard their warmth…
white albus λευκός alb бяло білий белы fehér białe bjołe—
It came across his mind that the colors looked like the sun. The king of all stars shedding its hues to paint the earth red, even though said sun never shines its light inside. The eternal white outside could never penetrate this land, even if its to help with their frigid hands. And, oh, the azure, brilliant firmament shall never witness the joys and sorrows that was borne from this soil—
blue caeruleus μπλε albastru cиньо синій сіні kék niebieskie modre—
come ἰχώρ, ти et I vom hozzuk новото Tomorrow
They didn't understand the language of that foreign fairytale book. Perhaps the ones who raised them didn't teach the language yet, or didn't intend too. Nonetheless, it gave them appreciation for this autumnal scenery…
My mother used to read it as a bedtime story, before she said that the outside world is dangerous and we should only follow Dr. Moreau… Hm, what if we read it together? Oh, um… What's your name again? I forgot…
Huh? Introducing ourselves again? Taking whatever names we want? Hehe, if that's the case, I still use the name my mother gave me! My name is—
Yet I despised not nor gloried; yet, as we wrenched them apart,
I read in the razed foundations the heart of that builder's heart.
As he had risen and pleaded, so did I understand
The form of the dream he had followed in the face of the thing he had planned.
He'd like to have a pet— A __________ _____ does not have wants nor like, for they will usher a world without wants nor like, only love—. The question is; could he be a good master?
He liked to learn the pet's lives and details for the health of that pet, he could make disciplined schedule and habits for the welfare of that pet, he shall gather the most nutritious foods and the most enjoyable toys for the happiness of that pet.
They would be a good pair of master and pet.
…Is there something more about the master-pet relationship than that?
If one were to feed it, pet it, and take it to walk regularly… it was all there was to it, right?
If he did that, the pet would be loyal and affectionate. And some people said… that certain species' loyalty would last for eternity.
It seemed that befriending pets are easier than humans.
He'd like to walk it upon the ruined, frozen palace that once he called 'home'—
Tsar, oh Tsar, my beloved Tsar. My most beautiful master— oh, My Tsar!
As you have taught me the way of wars, I fought alongside you with my roars and claws. As you have given me a title so honorable in your court, I sang your generous names in glories and laments. As you had taken me from a cruel master and gave me a home, I had returned your lifeless corpse to the palace you called 'home'!
Yet it is all my fault! If only it is my life that is reaped by that monstrous nemesis… Oh, my Tsar, where should my boundless loyalty fall to now?
I yearn like a dog who lost its master… But, I am! I am a wretched mangy dog that is loved by you and you only. I am a dog indeed but I am your loyal dog— please, cast your merciful gaze toward me once again. Please, grace me with your gentle voice once again. Please, bless me with your precious visage once again!
…No… Not you…
Not… not in that form…
You are hideous.
How dare you bear the form of the one I loved?
Mockery, blasphemy, a mortal sin, an unforgivable sin! It is only because of that beautiful mask you stole that I cannot raise my claws toward you— Begone, begone from my sight, before my sentimentality no longer halt me!
No… How about you cast away the visage you stole, you thief!
When I was a King and a Mason— in the open noon of my pride,
They sent me a Word from the Darkness. They whispered and called me aside.
They said— "The end is forbidden." They said— "Thy use is fulfilled."
"Thy Palace shall stand as that other's— the spoil of a King who shall build."
Once, there was darkness.
Then, I said—
Let there be light.
The world was then illuminated by the light of love.
In the spring-like garden, the Snegovik duchess danced among her people, as they rejoiced for their complete souls. In her arms laid her true beloved, dancing with equal passion and glee.
In the pristine institution, the Domovoy scientists spoke conversed while basking in the summer's warmth. The older one retold the glory of the past and that of the present, while the younger one shared the stories of the children he raised.
In the village, the people danced in circles and their arms intertwined, the laughter of men and women, the old and young, the humans and the faes filling the autumn air. The leader among them stood apart, but his eyes and smile wholly focused on a pair of a mother and girl who danced on their own.
In the wintry palace, a two-headed beast soared in the sky, alongside the choir of all living things, be it born of nature or human hands. They sang in perfect harmony, not one note or melody out of place.
They were beautiful.
They were perfect.
They were the visions they meant to fulfill
The Tomorrow they would bring.
Please Eitr Ikhor Primordial Human bring it usher it take it fulfill your use
A glimpse of darkness flashed before their eyes.
In that cold, limitless darkness, they saw something.
Snowstorm, endless snowstorm.
He felt himself trudging upon the deep snow. Aimless in his direction.
It was such a lonesome experience, that tenebrous frost.
But then…
He heard the clangs of swords, blood spilled upon the white. Then the sounds of hammers and axes upon stones and woods. Shadows danced and shaped themselves as castles, friends, and enemies. There were laughters and war cries, praises and laments, hymns and curses. Some shadows were closer to him: someone with thorn-like crown, someone with wings, someone so short, and someone who looked like—
Then there were whispers.
Those whispers… they dragged him. Making his foot walked upon lands that he had never knew, but so, so, so familiar—
There was a baby's cries.
How strange, why that sound tugged his heartstrings so?
He saw it— little bundle of warmth.
In an instant, his world became lit once again. No— it was even brighter than before.
That tiny infant grew. It kicked its blankets, shook its toys. Soon, it crawled upon the floor, wriggling like a worm— the cutest worm he had ever seen—, then it tried to stand, wobbly and cautious, but also with determined surety.
And then—
It turned around, looked at him, and smiled.
The smile was like the sun. It melted all darkness and frost. And even more— the little being ran at him.
Each step it took leave flowers in its wake, and its own growth too. It laughed, thus hyacinths bloomed and it came to look like a toddler.
It still laughed, thus daffodils bloomed and it looked like a young child.
It still laughed, thus wheats bloomed and it looked like an adolescent.
It still laughed, thus birch trees bloomed and it looked like—
The sun flickered, then its gone.
He only realized it then, his hands were extended to the front, as if he was about to catch something that was running to him.
Something that was gone.
His hands came to his chest, holding himself, because all of the sudden, he felt so, so, so empty and cold.
His bones and ligaments crumbled. His flesh turned into a flurry. His body fell to the freezing ground.
His frozen lungs gave its last breath, with a name exhaled with it…
…Aksinya—
I called my men from my trenches, my quarries, my wharves and my sheers.
All I had wrought I abandoned to the faith of the faithless years.
Only I cut on the timber - only I carved on the stone:
"After me cometh a Builder. Tell him, I too have known."
The door to the world is closed.
The one behind it all trembles, as though shaking loose the scaled wings of a dead moth clinging to his shoulders...
With several shudders, it sheds its giant form.
Then, "he" appears...
The will that once dwelt within the Eye of Graeae...
Now truly possesses a body no different from that of an ordinary person.
And now bears the very appearance of the Tsar in his youth.
And so, only two remain in this world of shadows: the one within the egg, and the one outside it.
Only the betrayer, and the betrayed.
Only...
The one who falls in love with the first person they see upon opening their eyes, and the beloved who knows neither love nor sorrow.
"To love the world is to love yourself...
But this is also a great thing, because this is how the world is, and one's desire to be saved must be strong enough to save the world entire.
I'd always believed that I should love myself first, and then the world, or I would fall into error, just as I have today.
But you... you are truly magnificent, Aksinya."
"...A cheap compliment."
"Ah, I am hurt. That came from the bottom of my heart."
"Hmph...
Yes. Everything... Pavlina, Koshchei, Alvis, you... and... and His Majesty the Tsar... all the things you wanted...
"Why am I only now realizing that I, too, once longed for those things..."
After that, no words were exchanged between them. No words could do.
He thought— and perhaps, this was also her thought— about the one who will come after him. With the body of the Tsar and his own consciousness laid to rest, would the one who came before them rise once more?
If only he could tell that future self about all of their stories, so they wouldn't fall into errors such as them now. How badly he wanted to tell them, when they have journeyed through their own story, that he too, have known.
But for now…
All that was left was an embrace between those two.