Crimson Twilight: Prologue

Prologue:
The Skryians











“For every breath that’s taken, life begins anew. Endings do not exist- only beginnings.” -Etemes, second cycle.

         The Sh’fau’Kri:

         Three-million, one-hundred-seventy-six-thousand, nine-hundred-fifty-nine years ago . . .

         The city of Tr’Ca:

         With glazed eyes, Shena looked up at the thousands of feet of glistening steel that rose into the sky, an infinite mirror that jutted from the miles of ocean. The final barrier. She shuddered when Ros put a hand on her shoulder.

         “It’s for the best, really,” the dark-eyed woman said. “Your plan would never have worked.”

         Shena pushed Ros’ hand off her shoulder. “Gloat now, Ros, for it will be short lived.”

         The woman laughed. “Relax, Shena. We’ll have all the time in the world. The barriers will work; trust me. Coupled with Ven‘Ou‘Feen‘Alith and Amaethon, success is most certainly assured.”

         “I think not,” Shena hissed, turning a scowl on her. “Foolish. The Amei had been proven.”

         Ros frowned. “Proven to fail. None alive contain the proper essence, Shena. Who? Who would have supplied the required allotment? None. Face it.”

         Shena’s green eyes scowled at Ros. “Fool! That’s what none understand! Is it so damn confusing?”

         The woman sucked her breath.

         “The Amei was capable of plunging one into the Va’Hauthi,” Shena continued, raising her voice. “Time would not have existed! We’d have been fully capable of slipping through the layers to find the one suitable.”

         “That’s exactly what the two were sent for!” Ros argued, raising her voice as well. “Without having to sacrifice a life! You know as well as I what would have happened had a living soul been used. It was too inhumane.”

         Shena turned back toward the barriers. “A small price to pay for humanity’s existence. A very small price.”

         “I’ve had enough. Watch, Shena. Watch our success in your failure’s wake.”

         As Shena’s eyes welled with tears, Ros turned and watched with her as a white burst of light sprouted from the red sky. The Sh’fau’Kri was here, and there was nothing they could do. Shena’s last thought before all went black was that Ven‘Ou‘Feen‘Alith and Amaethon had failed. All was lost.

* * *

Three-million, one-hundred-seventy-six-thousand, nine-hundred-fifty-nine years later . . .

On Inner Thoughts And the Soul’s Voice:
A Treatise and Memoir
By
Caelan Sirus

         Reflections. It seems that everywhere I look, in varying degrees and depths, reflections lie in wait for me. My name is Caelan Sirus and I am twenty-one-years-old. Had I known then what the meaning was, this would not be such an appalling undertaking. An undertaking whose outcome still leaves me uncertain at this moment. So much is dependant on I, and to think that we should be connected to such a place as the “Fold” . . . the thought of that unfathomable realm we once knew as “dreams” makes me shudder.

In the depths it lies in wait . . .
A shapeless form that’s deeply haunting
In a prison I created
It is trapped,
Complicated yet flaunting
Souls—
It possesses
Whole—
Our world’s essence
And it’s cold—
Trembling, seething
In the Fold—
It is reasoning
The life that it holds;
A life that’s grown so old . . .

         That’s the voice of my inner self. The voice each and every one of possess yet are not aware of. Five years ago, I myself was oblivious of it. You see, this is what the “Amei,” or what we prefer to call it, “the Skry-blade” feeds off. I can hear your confused questions and see your wondering expressions. Allow me to elaborate.

         Let’s use the old adage, “once upon a time” for it certainly speaks of a truth. Millennia ago (no one knows exactly how many millions of years ago) on our world, a race had built a monumental society that far surpassed ours on both an ecological and technological scale. From what Emperor Kay’s officers ascertained based on painstaking excavations and exhausting translations, the Skryians had been very far advanced indeed and not too different from us. Not only did they predict the coming of the “Sh’fau’Kri,” or the “Crimson Twilight” as we prefer, but they discovered exactly what it was.

         Am I getting somewhere, yet? No? Please allow me to continue, for this is my story and the events that are taking place up to this very moment revolve solely around I.

         The “Crimson Twilight” is what we call the universe’s way of shedding the old to allow room for the new. A perfectly natural event that occurs in every pocket of the universe every few hundred millennia or so. It slips through the main arteries of space, its means of travel a thin fabric known as the “Fold” (the Skryians preferred the term “Va’Hauthi”). This fabric touches every world, every piece of life, every organism. The “Crimson Twilight” manifests itself as a, for lack of a better term, wind. Only, a wind never destroyed all traces of life or turned people into grotesque creatures. Let me attempt to paint you a picture of what I am now looking at through the dusty flaps of my tent.

         Foliage is a thing of the past, as is a blue sky. Plant life is no more. No more leaves to whistle in the wind, no more grass to run our toes through, no more lush valleys or plains— you get the picture. Green is simply gone, save for the brightly lit eyes of those things that are waiting for me at the bottom of the crest. Did I mention there are millions of them swarming? I can hear the shrill cries from here and feel the shivers on my neck. The harsh scarlet hues that bleed upon all make the color “green” impossible to see. If a “blue sky” were to exist, the red and black tubes that continue to writhe in the sky wouldn’t allow it to peek through. The heat is very capable of driving one to madness; it happened to several people I know already. I think I write this now to preserve my sanity.

         The “Twilight” first manifested itself as a series of dreams that haunted us whilst we slept. Little did we realize they were far from. Then, over time, an unusual illness befell a majority of the population. Reducing people to piteous souls who could barely move and cursing them with vile black blotches on their skin, it then shaped them into something else, something akin to . . . I apologize. I cannot find an appropriate comparison. After that, it was as if madness fell upon the land, blackened and whole. The perfect prelude to what would rapidly become a struggle to survive. Time, needless to say, was definitely not on the side of I, nor my comrades. To this very moment it is still not, and I must regretfully cut this narrative of the “Twilight’s” behavior short.

         I neglected to mention two other things that came with the “Twilight” though were not a part of it. Beings. Amaethon and Venalith. The trapped by-products of the Skryians failed attempt to stop the Va’Hauthi were freed upon the first signs of its return. Foes that consist of only essence and are formless, they need hosts to carry out their still undetermined needs. But time runs short, for them as well as us, and they carry the secret to traveling the “Fold” and must be dealt with. I leave this task to Aria.

         I know I have yet to explain what the “Fold” is, and it is definitely not going to be easy. For starters, it is a place we are all familiar with, yet are total strangers to. It is the place we go when we dream, however at such times we are only touching its non-physical surface. For one to attain complete physical interaction with the “Fold,” a means must be obtained. That means is by shaping very rare Skryian metal into a tangible instrument or better— wielding an even rarer instrument— the “Amei” or “Skry-blade.” What this fine weapon does is meld with its owner and draw their innermost essence. Call it your soul, call it your heart, or better— call it the voice of your inner self, the one I referred to earlier. Whatever you call it the result is the same; attunement with the “Fold,” the extent of the depth dependant on the “essence” of the bearer. Once within the “Fold,” many unimaginable actions can be taken, and those actions manifest themselves in the physical realm. Confused? Don’t worry; I was as well. When wielding the Skry-blade within the “Fold,” time slows on this plane for the wielder, once again, the degree in unison with the bearer’s essence. If one possesses the proper essence, they will be submersed wholly within the “Fold” and time will cease to exist for that fortunate (or not so fortunate, depending on how you look at it) soul.

         This, dear reader, is how the “Twilight” can be stopped. This is the answer the Skryians dedicated their entire lives to find. But who could contain such an essence? Simple. I.

         No matter what outcome these final moments reveal, there is one thing I know for sure, one thing that brings me comfort in the darkest of times. For every breath that’s taken, life begins anew. There are no such things as endings— only beginnings.