"Now I see it. Now I feel it. The scent of blood. The taste of agony. Suffering. Pain. They crave my blood, they crave my body. And I shall give it to them with pride... to ascend, to do what none of them ever dared. For I possess eyes they do not have, a mouth they both fear and adore, ears that bind them together, and skin they would tear from my flesh. And yet… they no longer dare to touch me. No more. I am the forsaken savior, the one sent here to… ah, yes, I almost forgot..."
They all stared in silence. Even those dwelling near distant mother flames felt that something was about to change, that someone far away was about to betray them. A process neither begun nor undone. Thousands of pupils turned toward a color foreign to most, while tongues of fire twisted upon themselves. The angel had vanished mere minutes ago, devoured by the many arms of the Mother Flame. The weak ones, his kin, tried in vain to stop him. Though his body was still frail and uncertain, the nameless one was drawn by an overwhelming compulsion. His movements, like those of a wounded beast, spoke of despair, of an obsession that now surpassed even his reverence for the Creator.
And then, as if by magic, many of those shapes knelt, dragged down by grief, by a void no flame could fill.
"Why… why has the light grown so dim? What did we do to offend it?" one asked.
"The ground beneath us… It's become so soft, so fragile. How could this happen?"
"COUGH! COUGH! W–Why is the air so dry now? Where is the freshness that once let us breathe as we sang to honor the Mother Flames?"
For the first time, one who did not belong to their same mother answered: "Mother Flames? There is only one! One Mother Flame! She alone is the greatest, the warmest, the most radiant of all that exists in this cursed limbo!"
"Cursed?" another voice rose, sparking the chain reaction. "Why would the Great Mother torment us? Who are you to speak ill of the ground on which she lets our bare feet stand?"
"Silence, traitor!" another shouted, his tone aflame with wrath. "You do not deserve her love! You think yourself equal to the Mother Flame!"
"I would never dare! And you! You were the one who spoke of many flames! There is only one, none other!"
The situation spiraled in an instant. Those like the vanished angel raised their voices, drowning in rage and heresy. The undead were crushed beneath the weight of bodies, while a grotesque dance of harmony played across the endless stage. No fists, no kicks: only hands grasping shoulders, bodies twirling in frenzied rhythm, heads shaking in manic disbelief.
From dozens, they became hundreds, and soon thousands. Their conflicting creeds igniting chaos across the dry ocean. The Great Flames looked on in silence, distant and unmoving, while their children, their slaves, tore each other apart in perfect, graceful hatred. The undead ceased their speech; their mouths were crushed, their cries muted. No one cared for the reactions of others anymore. No one preserved the sacred balance decreed by their Mother. Not even the blood and tears that drenched the countless dancers could mirror the sheer madness that now reigned. That innocent, almost beautiful waltz… was in truth the summit of a limbo long devoid of surprises.
The true spectacle came moments later, when the two heavenly gates returned, spinning slowly in the skies. But this time, silence didn't fall as it always had. The dance of discord went on nonetheless, climbing ever higher in desperation. The dead within the ocean ceased to exist, torn violently from the stage without a second chance. One could only hope the arrival of the gates would reunite them under a single emotion, or at least, in their madness, create something never seen before, even for a fleeting instant.
But nothing…
Nothing changed.
Only the crackling of fire remained. And little by little, it grew louder. Soon, all could hear it, as if their ears were pressed against a blazing pyre. The crackle became violent, alive, a herald of the utter ease with which the angel's kin had fallen into anarchy.
And then, he returned: the nameless one, his final act ready to begin.
"Now I am ready. Now I am as I once was. Now I have learned to touch time, and slice it with thought alone. Now I walk through space, counting the seconds. I have been called; my blood already spilled. My tears have birthed oceans. My screams have given rise to silence. My skin has covered mountains. My bones have turned to clouds of dust. My joy has been exiled. Now… now I am finally ready… to fly."