As you dream, bearer, after the last world has passed, and after you have seen the terrible visage of Oblivion looming before you, darkness comes for you, a deep sleep. For most, it is dreamless, but for those whom have preserved their own shards through this long (long) trial, your sleep is not dreamless. There is a connection between you and this shard, and it radiates with a soft, comfortable sensation. It is inert, but it is a soul – a piece of a soul. As you dream, you commune, and within it you see…a different you, with different choices, but just as present in Kenos as you are now.
By now, the third generation of bearers, Zenith has stood as a place for only the immortal, and those who are not are often treated with disgust, or derision, for being subject to the sands of time. Death, disease, and any number of medical conditions are often suffered in silence by those who believe Lady Yima will deliver them to a new world. You, though, you understand that things must change. That this cannot stand, and that you want to do everything that you can to help bring salvation to those who suffer in shame for their mortality. It is not their fault, after all, and they should not be looked upon as mere fodder when they could live so much longer, and help bring about the perfect world.
You and a fellow bearer – their first name is lost to time, but you know them as Dr. Gilden – have had many conversations about this, about the potential of magic arts and to weave this in to help push Zenith’s population into living longer, healthier lives. Not everyone can be a shard-bearer after all, and even bearers can lose limbs, or succumb to disease – or so you theorize – so you and Dr. Gilden spend long hours raising money, garnering support, and finding like-minded individuals from the bearer populace and even snatch some away from the Akadimaïkós District in your pursuit of the brightest minds you can gather. The ribbon cutting is supposed to be one of celebration, but imagine your surprise when the name is revealed, and you discover that your partner has taken all of the credit, interfering and naming the building after themselves, instead of your shared names as agreed. You confront them afterward, in private, to help save both of your faces, but Gilden anticipated this, and you’re even more surprised when they snap their fingers, and you’re injected with poison, and drug away. The next time you wake up, you’re strapped to a table, with the masked face of Aetós looking down upon you, scalpel in hand.
no subject
By now, the third generation of bearers, Zenith has stood as a place for only the immortal, and those who are not are often treated with disgust, or derision, for being subject to the sands of time. Death, disease, and any number of medical conditions are often suffered in silence by those who believe Lady Yima will deliver them to a new world. You, though, you understand that things must change. That this cannot stand, and that you want to do everything that you can to help bring salvation to those who suffer in shame for their mortality. It is not their fault, after all, and they should not be looked upon as mere fodder when they could live so much longer, and help bring about the perfect world.
You and a fellow bearer – their first name is lost to time, but you know them as Dr. Gilden – have had many conversations about this, about the potential of magic arts and to weave this in to help push Zenith’s population into living longer, healthier lives. Not everyone can be a shard-bearer after all, and even bearers can lose limbs, or succumb to disease – or so you theorize – so you and Dr. Gilden spend long hours raising money, garnering support, and finding like-minded individuals from the bearer populace and even snatch some away from the Akadimaïkós District in your pursuit of the brightest minds you can gather. The ribbon cutting is supposed to be one of celebration, but imagine your surprise when the name is revealed, and you discover that your partner has taken all of the credit, interfering and naming the building after themselves, instead of your shared names as agreed. You confront them afterward, in private, to help save both of your faces, but Gilden anticipated this, and you’re even more surprised when they snap their fingers, and you’re injected with poison, and drug away. The next time you wake up, you’re strapped to a table, with the masked face of Aetós looking down upon you, scalpel in hand.