Unknown Manuscript III.

-- Chapter Unknown --

The XXXXX First Listener begins to understand the Myst.

201 of the First Age A.A.

Translation made by XXXXXXXX XXX
*You notice scratches and intentional burn marks where a name used to hold place.*

Demisaga: The Knowledgeable

 ___________________________________

The little golem sat, patient as stone, and listened for the words of his creator- who stood a few paces away near the window. Onx did not know much on his own, but he did not need to. He knew that eventually, his master would speak and that he, Onx, would know how to respond.

Balrose stood at the northern edge of his study, near one of four impossibly large openings that he had built into the walls of his Aztheon's tallest tower. Reinforced with the Ancestries of Simicry and Aurnery, the windows allowed for a nearly uninterrupted view of both the First Listener's city below, as well as the surrounding frozen sea and mountains. The conditions here in the Whitehail Peaks are so perilous, that any who attempts a journey through the countryside, without the help of the Magistrate, must be ready to encounter certain doom. To the east and west, the terrain was rocky and barren; in the south cliffs gave way to a stormy sea. However, it was north toward the mountains that Balrose had been gazing for some time.

Snowy peaks caught Shattered Light as it cascaded from above and down their icy slopes, shifting perspectives and dropping shadows from switchbacks to the floor of the forests at their feet. Balrose knew from experience the treachery of that path, as did the precious few who had attempted to scale the lofty bluffs and survived. Unperturbed, the light made its way lazily through the window, where it spread thinly on the many dusty tomes.

“How beautifully Radiance and Shadow come together to create the splendor of our world,” mused Balrose as he turned from the window to glance at his golem on the desk.

It cocked its head and its torso emitted a faint blue light, but it did not speak.

“Ah, but of course, we know it was not always so.”

Balrose frowned as he assessed the contents of his study. The room itself was spacious and regal, full of artifacts and various forms of written knowledge that he collected during his exhaustive travels of Aesor and possibly even beyond. It was an intimidating sight, a collection unmatched by even the greatest of academies and libraries. Which is why it drove him to the brink of insanity that, even here, surrounded by all of his wisdom, atop the perfect perch to ponder the earliest moments of the Myst, the answers eluded him still.

It was maddening! He took a deep breath to calm himself, inhaling cool sea air through the nostrils at end of his draconic face, when suddenly the visions came again. They had been occurring with increasing frequency, and much more intensely than they had in the past. Balrose shook his head at the strain of trying to hold back the flashes of eternity, of powers so great that they threatened to tear his sanity in two. He clamped his eyes shut and tried to focus harder on his breathing, anything to retain his own perspective. Finally, the vision subsided, and Balrose was able to continue his line of thought.

“Remind me Onx, of what I have deduced of the two warring Idolons, the great beings of the Myst”.

The golem glowed again, brighter this time. The chest of the creature was translucent, like a precious gem; a small cluster of energy spun slowly at its center. Suddenly it remembered and was able to convey the knowledge to Balrose's mind directly.

Haeis, the Idolon of Light, was the pillar of hope, promise, and the belief that only law and order can provide for posterity. Haeis was the light at the end of the tunnel, the candle inextinguishable against the chaotic disruption.

There also was Vals of Darkness, of chaos and freedom of will. The Idolon of indiscriminate destruction, the shadow that envelopes it all. As long as Vals was in the Myst, chaos would resist order, and no law could permanently bind reality into form.

Upon receiving the information, Balrose leaned against the windowsill in a rare display of his age. He was glad none of his Magisters were there to see such weakness, it would only worry them further. His mind sagged under the weight of the concepts he had been attempting to juggle, and he was worried that it might break under the pressure, simply cease to reliably function. It was safer, sometimes, to offload such important knowledge to Onx, in case his senses snapped during the added strain of a vision. Eventually, he knew, a time would come when he must finally consider all parts of the greater picture, a calamity which he suspected was fast approaching.

“Conflict buried at the root of all things, as always seems to be the case,” he said, letting loose a long sigh, “two opposite forces, infinitely eager to rid the other of it's existence, unable to realize that such a victory could only lead to a complete and total loss.”

Balrose stepped from the window and conjured a flame inside an empty lamp at the desk. He sat and pulled a short stack of parchment squares from a drawer, along with two jars of paint, one of white and one of black. Just as he had before, he poured some of each bottle onto a single sheet, hoping the visual metaphor might help him think through his mental block.

He had tried many approaches to this puzzle already. Was the solution to find a perfect balance between the light and dark? Could they be combined in such a way that allowed for vibrant and lasting peace, despite the underlying fundamental conflict? It did not seem possible, the challenge of harmony too complex, especially with the Myst so fragile and susceptible to crumbling. No matter how he laid the paint, one of the colors eventually overtook the other; except, for when he used too much, trying to imbue detail, then it seeped through and ruined the parchment altogether. He shuddered as he considered the implications, the fabric of reality simply melting away.

“It couldn’t have happened unbidden, could it? Not by random chance. There must have been another actor, and one much more intelligent than I, to have had the time to solve this riddle.”

Onx stood and walked across the desk, small crystalline eyes now level with those of his master, ancient and draconic. The golem plucked a thin paintbrush from a cup of writing utensils and proffered it out to Balrose, who took it in long clawed fingers.

“So, there was a third Idolon indeed,” he paused and held the brush above the paint, unable to choose where to first place the bristles, "remind me, what have I discovered of this mysterious Third?"

The golem looked up at Balrose, paintbrush in hand, and paused curiously before glowing.

The true name of the Third Idolon is still unknown, however, you have referred to it as the Idolon of Judgement. You have previously surmised that it was this Idolon that was able to fulfill the purpose of the Myst, whose judgment provided for the creation of the universe.

Balrose gripped the brush tightly as he strained to reconcile that which he knew of the Idolons: Radiance and Shadow must have been brought to some form of balance, otherwise, Aesor could not exist as it does, with its rainbow of color and life. However, the balance must also not have been complete or lasting, as the forces of Haeis and Vals clashed across Aesor to this day. Did this mean an ancient danger still awaits the people of Aesor, if finally, Chaos and Order clash again? Yet another fear, another reason it was so important for him to tease these secrets from the ether.

He looked back to his paintings, a dozen of them now scattered across the desk, each a failed attempt to work light and dark into some sort of constructive equilibrium. Frustrated, mind unable to stretch any further around the ideas at hand, he opened a drawer and moved to sweep the wasteful scraps into it for later.

He stopped when he saw its contents: Dozens of paintings, exactly like those he had produced today. It seemed as if he could grapple with this conundrum for an eternity and still be unable to bring peace to two such opposing entities. Why continue to attempt the impossible? Maybe he should have given up before he'd even started.

Balrose ripped the drawer angrily from the desk, wooden splinters sent sailing across the room. Still upset, now also with himself, he slammed his heavy scaled fists against the polished surface. The might of his strike upended the jars and splattered a constellation of white and black specks to the clutter. Finally, forcing himself into a state of relative-serenity, he paused for long enough to take in the mess that he had created. It was as if time stood still, and in that moment, Balrose knew the decision that Third must have made.

“Onx, listen carefully,” said Balrose, working his knuckles hard against his temple, desperate not to lose the moment of epiphany.

“Third, the Idolon of judgment, must have decided to destroy Vals and Haeis," Balrose shouted, before realizing that this discovery lead to only more questions.

"But, how was it done? And why then? For Óhin's sake, ever more secrets!"

Balrose kicked the desk and grimaced, struggling to keep hold of his chain of logic. His mind was like a pool, full to the brim with the writhing gleam of fish. If he could just grasp the right one, hold it in his hands, and know it fully… but no, in an instant he was lost in the churning frenzy.

The golem glowed and Balrose felt the new knowledge slip from his mind, tranquility returning to his pool of thoughts. He sat again in the chair, pulling himself close to the desk and resting his head in open palms. It was in a tired tone that he eventually spoke to Onx once more.

“So, did we come any closer to understanding our origins today, my friend?”

The Third, the Idolon of Judgment, destroyed and scattered the other two Idolons. You still have not pieced together enough to understand the timing of this decision, nor the method or power through which this Judgement was carried out.

In an instant, Balrose's mind was again consumed by the grandeur of the visions. Conflict without consequence, a battle churning for an eternity before time. Three beings of equally unimaginable power! And what was that? Worry? No, fear. The gut-wrenching clutch of existential dread, inescapable black wisdom that all would end here before life even began, and that he would be too weak to prevent it.

It was too much to bear, and Balrose erupted in a fit of maniac cackles, digging his talons into the wood of the desk. The mad laughter, and desperate grip at anything corporeal, was all he could do to not give in to the despair, the helplessness at the scale and implications of the vision. The raw, titanic power. How could Third hope to stand against the tide of chaos and order, to redefine their very immortal nature in divine judgment? And to do so while risking the destruction of all that would ever be?

All around him spun the formless expanse of the Myst. Balrose knew that he must pull himself from the vision, back into his scaly mortal shell. But he felt so close, his answers were here, this was his purpose! If only he could hold on a little longer, if only he could...

A soft tone rose from the Myst, singular and delicate. Unable to tear his attention from it, Balrose followed the spectral sound. Destiny pulled onward and the note grew louder until Balrose felt a pulse. And then another, continuing to repeat uniformly. Balrose lifted his arm and stretched his hand out far in front of himself, reaching for the source of the pulsing.

It was as if Nothingness had condensed here at its center, the last hopes of the Myst pooled together in one final promise. A power, elemental and unmatched, it beat and beckoned, begging, as if it were...

"The Heart of the Myst"

What was that master?

The thought snapped Balrose back to reality, the details of the study flooding his senses and washing away those of the vision. He looked down and saw the deep grooves that he had scored in the hard surface of the desk. Onx stood cowering, stony back pressed firmly against the wall behind the desk, waiting for an answer before knowing how to proceed.

"I, I am not entirely sure," Balrose stammered. He was certain that he had been closer than ever to teasing out the secrets which he so deeply needed to understand.

You mentioned the Heart of the Myst, can you tell me what it is?

Balrose, unsure of how to answer, stood and slowly made his way back to the window. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. The cool breeze lifted his spirits slightly, as it breathed fresh air across the ridges of his scales. He considered the glories of Aesor, the legacy of the Óhin, its natural beauty, and myriad creatures, all of which he held so dear. He would not give up, but he had reached his limit for the day; he had to save his energy for what might be to come.

"The Heart of the Myst," he said, before pausing to give the words the opportunity to grow into more, "No, I suppose I cannot. But I suspect that understanding its place amongst all of this might be that which I must endeavor next."

Balrose turned his ancient eyes once more to his companion as if to say "remember that for me."

Onx, whose soft cloud of energy still swirled gently in place of a heart, emitted a brief glow of acknowledgment.

Balrose spent the remainder of the day seated beside the window, drawing strength from the beauty of Aesor. It was refreshing, after having spent so much time in his visions of the Myst.

While his search for secrets remained unfinished, he would have to leave the trail for a while and tend to his other duties. Holding a seat as the First Listener, as well as tending to the needs of his most current problems; the Hex Wars that exhausted a great deal of his time. Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve to ensure not much time was wasted. He would spend the day recovering and pouring through old documents, in case there was some hint that he had missed.

... *You reach the bottom of the wrinkled parchment. A story of Balrose that lacks completion, written by an unknown author, seemingly translated from another language.*