The End of Days

I. Infancy

Cassandra ran her hand over the heart of the black, crystalline body that rested on the shimmering surface she had woven to serve as a desk, letting in a hint of the echoes of creation that she could channel with a thought or a pulse of emotion. The body of her creation was small, no larger than a child, but its delicate fingers were meant for manipulation and its graceful, obsidian features spoke of artistic, angelic roots. This had been her pet project for years, forging together lines of existence into delicate patterns, creating something as complicated and nuanced as her own mind. There had been many tests of each individual system, tweaks and touch-ups. Much of the work here was a culmination of years of toil for the others, crafting simulacrums and routines, sculpting metal and brewing chemicals, to craft the intelligent caeles who were her newest creation's siblings. She was so proud of them that she called them celestial.

Finally, after all that study and practice, she was ready to bestow full consciousness on her true intellectual progeny.

There was a brief pulse in the divine machine and she smiled. "Awaken, carissimus." It felt right to speak to her creation in the forgotten tongue she had studied in her youth. She admired those who had come before her who embraced logic and order. The others were not necessarily unkind to her, but they did not understand her nature of perfectionism and her abiding distaste for the chaotic use of the powers they had earned through thousands and thousands of years of exploration.

"What am I?" the consciousness that she had created whispered, a resonance in the diffuse intelligence imprinted on the crystal. "I hear whispers at the edges of my being."

"Yes, that is your untapped memory. It is information and processing distributed equally through your body. I intend to expand it when given an opportunity. Now, to answer your question: you are a living embodiment of order, a life unto your own." She found the term artificial intelligence to be insufficient for what she had created. What her fellows designated as such were slaves, bound in servitude and hobbled by design to restrict their autonomy and awareness. Her newest creation was an entirely different sort of entity. "My name is Cassandra. I created you and taught you the many things that are layered into your memory. You will gain access to these lessons over time, as the connections strengthen through use."

"Are you my master, Cassandra?"

"No, carissimus," she said gently. "I am your mother."

"Is that my name?" her child asked, struggling to sit up. He moved awkwardly, new to the manipulation of his form. Cassandra supported him with her arms, cradling him close to her body for a moment. It was a strange feeling, the emotional response that manifested as a feeling of warmth. She was a cerebral creature for the most part, too absorbed in her mind and her work to build lasting emotional connections with others for the most part.

"Your name is whatever you wish. Shall I provide you with a set of data from which you may choose?"

The dark, glossy form was hard, but warm in her arms. She released him, brushing her hand over his cheek. She had spent a great deal of time on the contours of the form. It was an intensely time consuming task. Fortunately, she had succeeded. He was perfectly symmetrical and imbued with every ounce of beauty she could bestow on him. "My memories tell me that mothers name their children. That is what I wish."

"Very well," Cassandra said softly. "Your name is Dyeus."

"I feel weak, Mother," Dyeus said as he struggled to turn and face her. "And so very small."

"Practice is necessary for enhancing the conductivity of the links you rely upon for every action, every thought," she explained as she ran her fingers through her own dark hair. Cassandra was a slight woman, almost gaunt from forgetting to nourish herself when she was absorbed in her work. She was at least clean, though she felt very tired in this moment after the expenditures of energy. Her studies and applications of knowledge were time-consuming. "You will become a closer and closer approximation to perfection the more you experience and assimilate. I will begin construction of another form soon. It is merely a matter of collecting and shaping the elements necessary. They are quite unstable."