Part III - A Brief History of Select Apotheoses of the Incarnations of Princess Aerya of the Lillium (2/2)

The nameless, ashen priestess stepped outside into the grey morning air. She tightened her scarf over her mouth and nose. The dust storms were bad today.

Near the horizon, a figure. Drawing closer. A traveler.

"Greetings," hailed the priestess, once the traveler was within range. "Won't you come in? Get out of the dust."

The traveler didn't say anything. He just nodded.

Once inside, the traveler took off his scarf. A human. Thin. Lips dry.

She poured him some water. A thin mealgrass wafer. She would offer him more, but she didn't have anything else.

"You're troubled," said the ashen priestess.

The man sipped his water. Savoring it slowly, despite his thirst.

"You think we're at the end of the world, don't you? I can't blame you. You know, this village has been through a lot, over the last few thousand years. At times it's been a quiet, rural farming town. And other times it's been used to produce crystal machines designed to enslave … well, your kind. And now it's just a sanctuary in the endless grey."

The man stared at her, drinking slowly. She wasn't sure if he understood her. She didn't care.

"Things will get better. You and I may not live to see it, but this—this, all around us, the pestilence, the death, the dust, the ash, the vast nothing which surrounds us—shall pass."

The man finished his water. He bit into the wafer.

"… Neither one of us has seen the sun, but it is there. Somewhere behind the grey firmament, under which we were all so unlucky to have been born. … And some day the grey shall part and we—human, elves, whatever we are to become—shall continue to stain and dirty our hands with the bloods of our brothers and sisters. Like nothing ever happened. We won't even remember the ash and the grey."

The man chewed his wafer.

"I know this because I have seen it. This has happened before. And it will happen again. But between the happenings, there will be war, and there will be peace. In my head are the voices and memories of all who have come before me. And it is in these echoes that my surety persists."

The man swallowed.

The priestess smiled. She stood up.

"But until then—let's do our best to entertain ourselves. Hmm? Imagination and wonder—these are the most important parts of us, I feel. … Do you like stories? I have so many. I can read to you, if you'd like." She gestured to a shelf near the back. "I've been collecting them, over the years. Some of them even have pictures." She walked to the shelf, and picked one at random.

"Ah, this is a familiar one. A story of two lovers. A human boy and an elf girl. I know this story well. … The same elf girl is one of the voices in my head, you see …"

She sat down and opened the book, and began reading to the traveler.

"'The train rumbled as it passed …'—Ah, you see, 'trains' were these giant, metal boxes from long ago that could transport you across vast distances … Ahem. 'The train rumbled as it passed by'—…"

(c. 9000–10,000 years after The Apotheosis of Miyu Nocturne)

*

The Warlord bellowed across his desk at the Mad One.

"… it is almost summer, Mad One. I have procured for you two whole crystals, as you have asked, and yet I find you distracted by all manner of trivialities. Toying around with all your arcane nonsense. Have I heard correctly? You've been spending all your time with this … transmigration nonsense?"

The Mad One (Mo, or MO, for short), deigned to look up from her fingernails, long enough to offer her rebuttal: "Okay, let me stop you right there. It's not nonsense. The very fact that I'm the avatar, sitting across from you right now, and that I've got all these voices floating around in my head, is proof enough that—"

The Warlord interrupted. "May I remind you that your precious Village by the Blue Lake would have been reduced to ash, had it not been for my intervention? I was the one who saved your people. And I built this fortress, to protect them from further harm."

"Oh, how magnanimous of you. … You sure you didn't build it for your own military ambitions?"

"Enough, Mad One. Your job here is to channel your divine will, so that my army grows stronger. The barbarian hordes will march upon us at any moment now. Do you not understand the urgency here? From now on, any sort of … strangeness you want to indulge in, must have some tangible benefit for me and my army. Is that understood? I want results, and I want them now. "

The Mad One scratched behind her ear. "Yeah, boss. Whatever. I hear ya." She sniffed her finger.

The Warlord made a face of disgust. "Now. You and your worshippers—

"—apprentices," corrected Mo.

"I don't care what you call them. JUST DO YOUR JOB."

Mo rolled her eyes. "Alright. … So can I go then? Or you wanna yell at me some more?"

The Warlord stood up, walked to the window. His back turned to her: "Go. Get out of my sight. The next time I see you, bring me something I can use. A crystal superweapon. Or some kind of strength potion. Something … magical."

Mo scoffed, as she left his chamber.

For the next week, Mo hardly left her workshop.

Her apprentices brought her food, coffee.

The fortress guards passing by the closed workshop door were treated to the full extent of the Mad One's eccentricities, in all their glory.

Maniacal laughter. Screams of agony. Unbroken, one-sided conversations to a seemingly empty room. Spells of sobbing that, without any warning, turned instantly back to laughter. (… And then back again.)

"They say she was normal, once," said one guard, to his partner. "Then one day, the voices started in her head. The voices of all those who had come before her. … She claims none before her inherited these souls as strongly as she. Never in the history of all her spiritual progenitors has there been one so graced by the deity she serves. … 'It's enough to drive one mad', she says."

"Yeah, sure," his partner replied. "… If you believe in that stuff."

After Mo's week of non-stop work—during which she slept a grand total of about two whole hours—she was almost done.

Just three more things to take care of.

First stop, the forge.

"Blacksmith. I need you to make this, for me."

"But Mad One, there is no more crystal to be found. Such a rare and precious—"

"Here. This oughta be enough."

"How did you—"

"Warlord managed to scrounge up two of them. … Still kinda impressed how he managed to do that. Anyway—luckily, all you need is a tiny fragment, so … Yeah. Get to work. Give it to one of my apprentices when you're finished. You have until the end of the day."

"Y-yes … Mad One."

Next, Mo stopped by the linen-hall.

"Garment-master. I need you to make … this."

She handed him a piece of parchment, on which her designs were drawn.

"I, uh—"

"You have until the end of the day."

"Y-yes … Understood, Mad One."

And then, the final stop. The library.

She didn't need to talk to anyone for this item.

She simply grabbed what she needed.

"… You have until the end of the day," she said, to nobody, cackling to herself.

True to their word, both the blacksmith and garment-master delivered to her what they promised, before nightfall.

Everything was all set, then.

Before Mo went to sleep that night—finally having given herself permission to do so—she checked in one last time with the two apprentices she'd picked out for tomorrow morning's activities.

"Are you absolutely sure? I want to make sure you're both going into this with no second thoughts. This is your last chance to say no. Not out of the goodness of my heart, mind you—I have a sneaking suspicion this won't even work unless the two of you are doing this out of your own free will. So—one last time. You're both sure?"

"Yes," the first apprentice answered, without hesitation, his face stern and resolute. "I live to serve Princess Aerya, as well as her earthly vessel."

"Yes," affirmed the second apprentice, her conviction equally strong. "I'm ready to give my life for you, if you so ask, Mad One."

MO: "Alright, alright, you don't have to go that far. … Man, that's grim. It's not a competition, you know …"

After that, Mo slept.

She slept really well, that night.

And in the morning, she walked with her two followers, down to the gardens by the fortress, where the sakura blossoms were just now past full bloom, in the early stages of their withering. A flurry of pink all around them, petals drifting lazily down to earth. Couldn't even see the grass, there was so much pink.

The Mad One instructed her female apprentice to put on the black robes the garment-master had produced. Then, she handed her one of the Warlord's two crystals.

Then she had her male apprentice hold in one hand the crystal ring the blacksmith had forged. And into his other hand, Mo placed the second crystal.

As for the Mad One herself, she held the book she had taken from the library. A love story, this one. With illustrations. About a human and an elf lover, torn apart by war. By their own young naivete. A tragedy, of sorts.

The Mad One chuckled nervously. "Well, even I have no idea if this is gonna work." She extended one arm, pointing her finger to the sky. "Aerya-chan, you with me on this one?"

Her two apprentices winced, at the irreverence shown to the very deity she was supposed to embody. … That's why they called her the Mad One, they supposed.

The Mad One, book in hand, scratched the side of her face.

"Well, here goes. Close your eyes now."

They did.

"Good. Now. When the two of you open them again … Well, we'll see what happens."

A long silence.

Cherry blossoms danced through the air, unseen by the two followers.

"… Alright, that oughta do it. Okay. Open your eyes, on three. Ready?

"One …

"Two …

(c. 12,000+ years after The Apotheosis of Miyu Nocturne)