Genesis

"So here's the list," Atla tallied on her finger, the instalments they had to visit. "First is the Sepia Genesis Pandal," She pointed at the rotund ceremonial pavilion erected by the training grounds. It was shimmering in silver with ebon lakes adorning its surface. "Then we have the food stalls," She gazed at him with dreamy eyes, pools of saliva trickling down her lips. "We can't miss those no matter what! And then the Quawwalis!"

"All of that in one night?"

"Duh?" She deadpanned and pulled him in a fleeting burst.

"But the carnival would be here for weeks?" Korou tried to reason.

"But we won't," Atla shot him a coy glance with a tilt. "And that is why all we have is the present dumb brat."

"You make no sense, dork warrior."

"This is fun."

"Sure," Korou rolled his eyes, but a fleeting smile tugged at his lips.

The entrance to the Sepia Genesis Pandal was scattered in patches of disorganised mob standing in a symmetrical queue. Pairs of Lamphi Shamans—Athongba from the Monastery, stood by the pillared archway. Their gaze scrutinised each visitor, frisking them for enchanted tools, sharp objects or a smoke. Korou, who stood at the end of the twisted string, heaved a sigh.

"Forget tonight," He commented, pulling Atla by the wrist. "If we remain here, the carnival might be over by the time we enter there," He pointed at the pandal. His hand was washed in its argent flicker, illuminating his skin in a divine glow. "Why is it crowded anyway? Is Goddess Sepia blessing the visitors with her presence?"

"We need to work on your tone," Atla snickered but smiled knowingly. "But no, the Goddess of the moon has better job to do, but this-" She gazed at the handcrafted pavilion, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Only happens once every five decades, a grandiose display of the woman's life, and this time it is the Milu Bodou troupe, who took the initiative."

Korou didn't know how deeply rooted the decade of the Moon was in the lives of Kangleipak women. As the product of centuries-long oppressive patriarchal society, these fleeting ten years twice every century brought home the tale of a fearless warrior Goddess, who, despite the curse of never passing through heaven, became a beacon of light for mortals and, even in her tragic fate of loving a human, never let go of her dignity.

After an hour of waiting, their turn arrived. As someone well-versed in the Ballads of Sepia, Korou didn't expect any new information to be presented, but the pandal took his breath away.

The first step into the meandering vaulted hall, and he was hit with a warm spring gale. Though painted in obsidian, the curvaceous grtoto wall had specks of amber twinkling, recreating the night sky. Korou, walking underneath the mystical exhibit, felt his heartstrings tugged by its beauty. They strolled into the slightly tilted rampart and entered the central hall.

Korou's gaze trailed over the cupola. It was wreathed in darkness, as his and Atla's silhouette blurred under the hazy silvery shimmers. There was a silence; no one uttered a word. He held his breath, and the ceiling erupted in streaks of colours.

"There was nothing, then there was matter—Monad" Atla, through a toothy smile, recited the genesis in a whisper. "From within him was birthed the creator, Yaldabaoth and then ascended the nine Gods."

Thunder roared over the dimly lit chamber as the projection of scenes melted into a cataclysmic view of the formation of the world. Flames erupted, oceans bellowed, no land in sight, no civilisation perceived. This was the first glimpse; Genesis of the new order. Korou's lips were parted in a bewildered awe; he had never read this. The Lamphi cosmology, despite its importance to applied magecraft, had minuscule readings, most of which were recorded in runic languages.

The scene shifted again, and the darkness shimmered into glaring golden light. The world was breathing. Flora and fauna emerged, landmass stabilised, Mana trickled in through crevices of the planet, and the man appeared. Before too long, urban structures were erected, magic was formed, and the blessings of the Gods blurred. Yaldabaoth, the creator, witnessing this insolence, set his gaze upon the man's dwelling.

"The cataclysm?" asked Korou in a hesitant whisper.

"Beginning of the end," nodded Atla with a ghastly expression.

It was chaotic again. The scenes melted into a shattering shard of glass. Each a carrier of reality that enraged the divinity. For nine days, the world wailed in celestial retribution. Continents were levelled, oceans exhaled into dust, mountains dissolved, and humanity begged for salvation. On the tenth day, it stopped. Yaldabaoth descended on the land of scorched condemnation. The flourishing continent was reduced to ash. The judgment had been passed, but the creator demanded more. He craved the absolute devotion of his subjects; thus, he spilt his blood over Yaldaba. And from there emerged the inaugural tide of Miasma and the antithesis of life: Demiurges.

The projections paused, and the chamber was dark again. Korou squeezed Atla's hand, who pulled him close. He wasn't afraid of the dark; he was sure of that, but the display of divine aggression made his stomach gurgle. The destruction witnessed was on a scale that even the wars from his previous world couldn't hold up to. And although his rationale argued the relevance of fiction in this show, his heart believed otherwise.

Soon, a soothing melody of harmoniums with reverberating thumps from the tabla swept through, whistling of the flute, chord strings of sitar complemented it, and the vocals, soft, almost a chant, trickled in. The Qawwali of the Sufi Saints had begun their reproach towards the birth of the Moon.

Atla, behind, tugged at his cheeks and pointed towards the adjacent side. Sparkling particles of Mana glided in an arc, streaming into an illuminating orb. The song shifted its tone, the beats faster, and a flash blasted through. Korou's vision dimmed as he held onto Atla's chuba. She stroked his hair tenderly.

"And then Sepia was born," She whispered, gently into the night. Her tone calmingly adept. "She swept the world in her compassionate gaze, healing the wounds of her father's descent. She guided humanity and gifted them the wisdom of spirits. Shamans were born, and salvation was found. Yaldabaoth, enraged again, struck the Goddess in his divine wrath, a curse bestowed, night draped, Sepia was to never gaze. For aeons she was to march this world alone, until-" Korou felt her quivering palm cup his cheeks, his eyelids heavy crept open. Her scarlet melted into his as she continued in a murmured hush. "-the prince gazed at her. The Goddess who was deprived of dwelling was at last found."