Another Way

Interlude I: In Memoriam

Nearly there.

The rumbling thunder of the distant storm served as a constant reminder to keep on moving, the unpredictable currents surrounding what remained of the archipelago vicious in their temperament. They thrashed aimlessly through the ocean with their master long gone, guarding the eternal grave of those who once lived there.

Their name was all but forgotten to mortal beings, the few coastal dwelling peoples that had ever established communication or trade routes with them regarding their existence as naught more than an ancient fable, a parable of an island kingdom swallowed by the elements because of their folly and the defiance of their deities.

The truth was much, much more harrowing.

What was once a splendid beach of marble colored sand was now a vast swath of salt and ash. The lifeless miasma that hung over the island preserved the bones of the slaughtered for eternity, the remains of many of them doomed to keep their hands clasped in prayer forever, prayer to the very same beings that had ended their lives many centuries ago.

As much as her body was screaming for rest after many hours of flight, she knew better than to disturb anything here with her physical presence. Their selves might have been gone, but the deep bond between the hallowed ground and what were once its guardians was still as strong as ever, despite how little of the latter remained.

Thankfully, her destination wasn't too far away, the Windrider steeling herself for the remainder of her pilgrimage with a few moments of meditation before continuing further inland. Her golden eyes scanned the ravaged forests and ruined settlements in search of anything that stood out as she flew, finding less and less each time.

What hadn't burned down was left to erode in the briny air, the beautiful wooden sculptures this island was known for in particular now little more than featureless hunks of dried kindling, awaiting their turn to be on the receiving end of the endless storm's wrath. Back in the day, she'd spend days simply absorbing the beauty of this place, natural and crafted alike, the depictions of its four guardians taking up a large, and deserved part of the latter.

Valor.

Love.

Bloom.

Passage.

Names long lost to time, and to themselves.

The thought stung more than even the salty air, the Windrider forced to slow down and compose herself once more lest her tears would end up disturbing the island underneath her. It was far from her first time here, inside the charred bowels of the jewel of the ocean, but the suffering that underlaid the gruesome sights never got any easier to process, any easier to reconcile with what she remembered of her, what she remembered of them all, their courage, their kindness, their patience, their wisdom.

Even in times long past, when they were as wild and ferocious as the still untamed islands they watched over, the thoughts about the wellbeing of the creatures that inhabited their territory were a constant presence in their minds, even if many of their actions ended up being thoughtless and hasty, hurting those around them more than they ever helped.

Soul by soul, the life that filled the dense forests and craggy cliffs became a part of something larger than itself, something destined for so much more than a hasty death on the hands of whichever predator found itself hungry that day- and their deities gradually followed.

Prayer by prayer, ceremony by ceremony, the four deities began to shed more and more of their savage natures, their followers' faith shaping them from guardians of the land to guardians of the people, their civilization growing even more brilliant with each passing season.

The deep truths of philosophy and geometry that have been discovered here were eagerly spread over to the distant land dwellers whenever an opportunity arose, as were its joyous songs and exquisite delicacies, even the briefest thought of the latter making the Windrider's exhaustion sting that much more acutely.

She still remembered the first time she encountered an avatar of what used to be Love following the islands' destruction, how narrowly she'd escaped death on its hands, how malicious and yet utterly hollow it was, not even a single thought that she could sense emanating from inside its shell. For the longest time, she'd assumed that an evil force had simply possessed them all, drove them to commit the atrocities that they did and leave their islands for good- no other explanation could've possibly come close to answering the harrowing change that transpired in even one of them, let alone all four.

It was only recently, relatively speaking, that she finally learned of what exactly transpired here, just what unimaginable crime had caused them to become their present selves, the Sculptor finally caving in and offering her the answer, the guilt of responsibility weighing heavy on its divine essence.

The flimsiest of walls that had separated this world from others was breached in the middle of a joyous ceremony- not a rare occurrence if what Sculptor said was to be believed, its luminous reach ordinarily constantly on the lookout for such tears in Demiurge's filament, ceaselessly maintaining the boundaries between realities. Before it could manage to do so here, however, something slipped through the crack. A nonexistence beyond comprehension, an absence of light, an absence of self, a living manifestation of ravenous hunger, hunger for identities, hunger for light,

Hunger for names, mortal and divine alike.

Before the deities knew it, they were gone, their very selves consumed by the being that Wasn't, Sculptor's intervention driving it back into its own sunken world not long after- but by then, it was too late. Left with divine flesh and no higher purpose controlling them, everything they'd repressed, every savage part of themselves they had been tirelessly purging their thoughts of as their civilization grew, began creeping back in, suddenly finding itself in utmost control of what were once beloved guardians.

The Malice of strife.

The Cruelty of life.

The Misery of change.

The Grief of death.

No tale of the events that transpired had ever left the islands, for none had managed to escape the slaughter that followed.

Even now, she knew that her presence there was little more than folly, a childish plea towards a friend long gone, a naive wish to unwind time and do something, anything to prevent the tragedy that befell these islands, even if she knew full well that nothing she could've done would've helped at all- at most, it'd only provide more kindling for the force that had hollowed the guardian's shells.

And yet, she repeated her pilgrimage again and again, bringing the most meager of offerings with her each time, a singular Orchid bloom- just like the ones that Love would endearingly weave into her own and little ones' hair at every opportunity.

Only the plinth remained of the monument of pearl and silvery wood that had once sung her praises, standing lifelessly above the ruins, in an utmost perversion of the living rainbows of flowers that had once surrounded it from every side, the salted, barren dirt the only remaining indication the latter had ever existed in the first place. Holding back tears, the Windrider clasped her own hands to the furthest extent she was able to, her prayer eclipsed by the approaching thunderstorm-

"Oh the ever graceful Love,
to you I offer this gift,
may it find you at peace,
may we be granted solace."

And then, following it with a whisper of her own as she laid the bloom down on the plinth, taking off afterwards before any of the once guardians could show up-

"May Return deliver you home."