The darkness wasn't vacant. It was a designed non-realm a dimension resembling the recesses of an artist's imagination. Cassiathon stood upon a slab of obsidian hovering in a void devoid of stars. The sole illumination originated from dioramas—motionless tableaux encased in crystal globes that floated like bubbles nearby.
In one a metropolis of shining silver and gentle illumination its residents gliding with synchronized elegance. No strife, no grime, no rot. In another an immense stunning woodland where each tree blossomed in flawless, balanced pattern and mythical beings rested in tranquil stances. In a third a family gathered by a fire their faces marked by looks of happiness the flame never wavering.
It was peace. It was perfection. It was utterly sterile.
"My galleries " Vernia Vouw's voice resonated through the emptiness. She materialized next, to him not seated upon a throne but standing as a counterpart. She was dressed in a dress of twilight material. Her immense presence was softened, restrained. She appeared… accessible. "Conceptual prototypes. Demonstrations of philosophical ideals."
Cassiathon averted his gaze from the stunning vistas. "They aren't living. They're maintained."
"Preserving is the sign of reverence " she replied, moving gracefully toward a globe depicting a breathtaking frozen ocean scene. "Is life characterized by its hardship? By its suffering its grief, its deterioration?. Is it characterized by its capacity, for beauty for structure for significance? I opt to halt it at the peak of that capacity. To save it from the sorrowful conclusion."
She faced him her gaze sincere. "Your father's path is the concluding stop. Mine is the flawless statement.. You… you are the ellipsis. The 'to be continued…' that carries both anticipation and potential. You might be the link connecting my tense and his conclusion. You might assist me in building a world that is not ended. Fulfilled. A complete masterpiece."
The proposal was more complex than he had anticipated. She wasn't proposing power merely for its purpose. She was suggesting a collaboration in a creative cosmic project. It held a charm that pure ambition could never match. He sensed the cool link of Celeste's connection, in his mind a prompt of chaotic, living incomplete existence.
"You take away freedom of choice " he stated, his voice reverberating in the room.
"I eliminate options " she said softly. "The option to starve. To betray. To hate. To perish in dread and suffering. Is that a loss?. Is it kindness?" She. A fresh sphere appeared. It depicted Hope's Respite yet altered. The walls were sleek and white the people. Nourished, their expressions serene as they cared for pristine gardens. No lines of concern. No terror reflected in their eyes. "This might be their destiny. Not subdued. Refined. With your assistance we can steer the change smoothly. No further suffering, Cassiathon. For anyone."
He gazed upon the image of the enclave. It embodied all a guardian could desire: security, nourishment, tranquility. It marked the conclusion of the battle he had pledged to endure. The supreme achievement.. It caused his spirit to wail.
"Where did the laughter go?" he inquired, catching himself off guard.
Vernia hesitated. "Excuse me?"
"In your world. I witness satisfaction. I observe tranquility.. What happened to the unexpected? The coarse, snorting chuckle at a joke? The wail of an infant of need and clamor? The chaotic unforeseen delight? Life isn't perfected by you. You've… preserved it like a specimen."
For the occasion a hint of annoyance passed over her calm visage. "You grasp at disorder as if it were a merit. It is disorder. It is futility."
"It's a possibility " he shot back. "Your completed masterpiece lacks a follow-up. No following episode. You want to inscribe 'The End', across the cosmos. I believe the universe is a sequence.. Perhaps some installments are tragedies and others dull but it's the notion that there could be a subsequent volume that gives this one significance."
He found himself debating aesthetics with a demon queen, inside a void. It was ridiculous. Yet it was the crucial argument of his existence.
Vernia examined him the annoyance dissolving into an expression of nearly maternal disillusionment. "So you opt for the brutal draft. The never-ending editing filled with mistakes and pain. You would serve as the custodian of the version rather than the collaborator of the flawless ultimate edition."
"I pick the tale that continues unfolding " Cassiathon remarked, sensing Celeste's bond intensify, buoyed by his determination.
Vernia exhaled deeply. A genuine human expression of surrender. "So we have reached a deadlock.. A deadlock among beings like us cannot persist." The cordial facade vanished. The immense gravitational force surged back to her weighing heavily on the platform. The crystal spheres darkened. "If you refuse to serve as the intermediary you will become the site of conflict. Your distinct combination of abilities is the means that could open a cooperative conversation, with the Primordial Nyx. If you cannot be my partner I will extract the essence from you.
The Gallery of Tomorrows broke apart. The black platform split. Cassiathon sensed the emptiness, around him start to tighten, not to smother him but to draw him out.
"This conversation," Vernia said, her form beginning to glow with terrible, violet light, "is over."