5:16 Of Metal and Demons

Argent was to be the first to claim his region. He knew he would be. He had always been slated to be, not because he had earned it but because the original idea had been his and the process was halfway done already. By the time he approached the region that so long ago he had been given permission to sink his Dao of music into, he could already see how it would finalize. He’d been dreaming of it, after all.

This was one of the first regions to grow from seeds of the original, and was now already eons old. Its Tree was large compared to many of the babies, even if it was only a quarter of the size of the original. Its Holy Mountain was tall enough to cast a great shadow, but small enough to remind him of the old days, before the War of the Sun, when everything had been new. When he, too, had been new.

But unlike many of the newer regions, this one had already been filled with things. For example, Fae and Karae and many other sentient and sapient species had already settled here. A Dao Progenitor had even been reigning over this region’s version of Pangaea for eons now. He had grown fond of the old-looking Elemental, whose Dao was of Farming. She was constantly at the base of the Tree, tending to her garden, and was still there he appeared above the Mountain and looked down upon the entire region.

The Fae here, both in this part of the Heaven Realm and in the Physical Realm, were mildly different than the ones born in the very center. They had shinier skin, a more musical nature, which was hard to describe in terms that made sense, but their Qi sang with a subtle echoing through forests and trees and plains and valleys and tundras in ways the first iterations of the Peoples had not. The Fae themselves were the most noticeably different, almost as if they were…separated, some, from the complete Whole that had been the first creation of Statera Luotian. More…following after his footsteps and presence.

Argent settled his arms across his chest and considered making a big speech, or a proud declaration, but that was not his style. So, he sat cross-legged on the Mountain at the very peak, put his hands flat against the stone ground to say a quick prayer, then pulled out one of his newest favorite instruments.

A saxophone, the mortals called it. Jazzy and upbeat, or sad and bluesy. It was made of brass, and though he had been bronze, his skin shifted to match it. This one wasn't an instrument of the gods, forged in the heart of some sun, like the mortals loved to tell their stories about how gods got their favorite tools and such. It was just a mortal instrument, that he had found in a mortal shop. He had to restrain himself to properly play it, so the material didn’t disintegrate in his hands. He brought it to his lips, and blew.

The first note rang out, pure and singular, and he felt his heart stir.

He was, in truth, one of the oldest gods in the Four Realms. One of the original one hundred and twenty-eight elemental gods. One of the first sixty four, in fact. He was a quiet, taciturn being, he knew, and once, so long ago, had been shown by the Creator Himself, by the Heavens Himself, how to make a sun, despite being made of metal. He’d been present for the first time their Parent had expounded upon the Dao.

A second note hit the air. He was old enough to remember that the Heavens was his Parent. That Statera Luotian, the Balance of all the Heavens, tried and tried to be a kind soul, an example to His children, to encourage them to be unafraid to pursue their own paths and be different, but to never forget that they are all souls from the same place, loved by the same heart. Even through punishment. Even through change.

He hit his third note, long and low and sad, as he looked up at his Dao Star. The Dao of Music had been pinned permanently in the skies of the entire Four Realms, the universe itself, because the Heavens had decided—no, not approved, acknowledged that it was complete enough to hang up there. Because even if he had felt adult then, the Heavens had seen him as Their child still, and pinned his star in the sky like a child’s drawing. Now, he felt very much like a child despite his age.

He hit his fourth note and did not linger on it any longer, pouring it all out.

The air shifted. The ground beneath him rumbled, but he did not care, playing everything he was and letting the region itself listen, notes sinking down into the Mountain below, letting the sound of this simple mortal instrument carry the weight of all he was into soil and Qi and will. Because in his opinion, if he could not do this with a mortal instrument, if he had to rely on an instrument forged specifically for his power, he did not deserve to have this region recognized as his own.

His song was not a sad song, but not a cheery one either. It was just life, and all that entailed.

It called upon memories of the past. Of learning who and what he was. Of those first years when he discovered metal was not just metal, that he was not confined to one idea, metaphorically or literally, even if it was his dominant nature. He had the fire of passion in him, the danger of water, the steadfastness of earth, the determination of metal, and the elation that came of the idea that he could always be more. More himself, more whatever he wanted.

The song picked up tempo as it recalled the War of the Sun. The danger. The threats. The desire. Of him stepping in front of the Shadow and taking a blow, holding for all of one second. But all of one second was all he had needed to do, all he had needed to give, and victory was theirs.

The song dipped into the aftermath of the War. It spoke of the pity and sorrow he’d felt at looking at all those cursed, injured spirits that the Shadow had so twisted, and the destruction they had wrought on the realms. He played of restoration and resurrection. Of rising higher and higher, of growth. He played of the pain of holding himself back, running in place for far too long, to survive a calamity neither he nor the Heavens could control. He played again of the war that happened between two universes.

He played of the small things. Mothers and fathers singing their children to sleep. Musicians pouring their hearts out on stage, or alone in their room strumming just to feel. Songs that would never be shared, and the tragedy and beauty that was contained in that one moment. He played his own Dao, and it came easy, because to him, music had always been about heart. Pouring it all out. To give voice to those inner things. Whether that voice was of tragedy and sorrow, of tears in heaven, of parents who had lost children, or simply the desire to entertain, or even the rage at the world, at everything.

He took a deep breath as the last note rang out, pure and clear and bright, and saw for the first time that around him a palace had been formed. Music filled the halls, spirits already attuned to metal and music dancing along them, statues and tapestries of his life, his achievements, and those who had, knowingly or not, understood and followed his so-called teachings decorating the walls. And in his mind sat an idea. Beings of music and metal that he could shape from clay. No—Fae, who would evolve into his People, because they were and always would be the original template.

The idea would not leave, and he did not want it to.

Argent wept, even as the Mountain below stirred, accepting him. The Titan within cracked open one eye to observe, rumbling out a single musical note before falling back into slumber. A note that rippled through the spirit realm, setting the Spirit River that surged through this space to rippling, the beast within it shifting, the Valley responding with a haunting, discordant note, not unlike tolling bells, and in the Physical Realm, the Tree swaying, its leaves rustling in response to him.

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I watched it all, and sat beside Argent through the whole of it, though he had not felt or seen me in any conscious capacity.

And I sat with myself, and lamented my new state, because I saw in what he was doing something I had started to lose. To respond to all the things that were happening around me, I had pulled myself away from what mattered most, from what made me, me. But I didn't need to anymore. I could change my path, and still reach down to sit beside my children as they made important steps. In fact, if I did it right, my new existence as the literal Heavens made it even easier.

Tears prickled the corner of my eyes as my spirit reached out to lay a hand on Argent's shoulder, not able to send an incarnation for fear of ruining this moment, this delicate moment where he bonded with a region.

I am proud of you, I whispered as the wind itself, pouring all my love out for him.

Argent set the saxophone down, put a hand to his chest, and bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said. Because even if he had not truly heard me, I could see he had felt it.

This—this had always been the goal. Even if it was not what I had originally envisioned. Even if we had run into far too many bumps along the way. Even if I was no longer in the state I had imagined I would be.

The parallel of the current situation was not entirely lost on me, either, especially with how much I had grown. Long ago, I had watched the Fae begin the path of cultivation from afar, for fear of disturbing it, knowing they needed to do it themselves. And now I felt like I was doing the same, but this time for gods.

I wiped my eyes. No matter what the concept, no matter what the existence, being a parent was tough.

*

War finally broke out in the Physical Realm.

Alanna watched it happen. Most of the Dao Progenitors and immortals stayed out of it at first, because it started on what she considered a micro scale. Mortals and mortal sects. Clans. Tribes. Mortal power grabs that exploded into conflict, then died just as quickly because they existed on a scale those who lived forever saw as fleeting. Immortals largely saw it as something beneath their notice, for sure. There had always been these sorts of clashes in the Physical Realm. At the height of its power, the Celestial Empire had ostensibly unified everything, but even she hadn't been able to stop every single low-level conflict and fight. Such was just the nature of it.

But whereas before, she would send troops to go mediate, especially if conflict threatened to get too heated, the response this time was slower. And the administration itself made more and more mistakes that were never quite fully rectified, such as always taking one side over the other, or even just favoring one side. Little micro-transgressions that slowly built up into full problems, until high-ranking cultivators became involved and cities were wiped off the map in the ensuing clashes.

Then immortals took notice, especially when it involved their people. And what else could they do but take the side of their people, their clan, their family that had descended from them or had helped raise them up, even if it risked offending another immortal? Especially when some of it was meant to insult other immortals, trying to bait them into open war. Just because they had crossed the bridge of immortality did not mean that they were all good and whole, had not turned away from their truest inner selves. Those who had greed in their hearts and ambition grabbed more and more, as much as they could, as they realized there was nothing truly stopping them. And those who disagreed grew more and more incensed.

Then nations became involved. The factions that had been set up in the Celestial Empire had held for admittedly a decently long time after Alanna's abdication of her throne. But the government was fracturing, had fractured, along clean lines. Some manufactured, some not. Manufactured by those greedy enough, or dark enough, to take advantage of this chaos. Once those lines had fractured, it would take a long time, and a will equal to her own, to mend it into a complete whole again.

What had once been the Celestial Empire officially descended into a bloody civil war.

The Dao Progenitors, the ones who maybe could have held it all together, were indifferent. Most had moved out to other new regions, content to explore or set up their own dominions. Some were struggling to follow her and rise up to the Heaven Realm, even without becoming gods, or descend into the Karmic Realm for all its mystery. Many looked upon the brewing war, and what it would take to stop it, and decided they would not risk their own karma for those who might not listen, and left the mortals to their fate. A rare few joined the fight, because that is what they did. With sword and spear and bow and Qi. They had been born to fight.

That central land mass beneath the Life-Giving Tree, Pangaea, was fractured into at least a dozen warring kingdoms in that initial breaking. Great swaths of land was torn up and decimated by the clash of immortals and armies. Spiritual beasts fled in droves as Fae and Avian and Karae and Elementals and Draconians beat each other senseless, devastating their once plentiful populations.

The planets beyond Pangaea fared both better and not, as the Mad Scientist's ships allowed for easy travel. Individual planets were not as valuable as stretches of land on Pangaea, but entire systems? Multiple star systems? She watched men and women carve out vast sections of space for themselves. Power that could rival any of the powers on Pangaea, poised to swoop in and take when the heart was weak, weakened from their own infighting. Or, at the other extreme end, entire planets were consumed by the fighting, leaving nothing but rubble and souls fleeing back to the Spirit Realm.

And below all that, things stirred in the Hidden Realm. Dark forces who had been content to build up their own existence in the shadows, sensing, knowing, and fueling this conflict in the world above. Demonic cultivators. Devil cultivators. Reaching up to add their influence. An influence she had personally fought for most of her reign.

Alanna scowled and felt the urge to rush down there and beat them back with a stick. Or her bare hands, whichever would be more satisfying. But she didn't. She had to let them push until they crossed one of Heaven’s lines. It was only a matter of time until they tried, and the most likely culprit was the one that had been suspiciously silent until now.

Even if the region owned by the devil cultivators had weakened severely in the crash, it had recovered quite a bit of its former strength, and had now begun eyeing the homeland once again. That darkness-infested Tree and Mountain and Valley and River, that Alanna remembered had been slated to be destroyed if necessary when the Four Realms crashed into the One World, was still living, and in it she could see the echoes of something far greater. The influence of the Shadow, as she had come to know it.

Not Morgan's movements, but the echoes of its intent. Darkness that tried to rise up because it knew better. A toxic, vile hate that was unbalancing, that sought to bring everything back into the whole, even if that whole would be corrupted and lose what made it beautiful.

Alanna turned away from it and instead faced the prayers that were directed to her, to her Dao, to her divinity, asking for help or guidance. She could only respond to the genuine ones. The others were closed off to her actual help and just wanting her to solve their problems for them. She let out a long, slow breath and threaded her answers, her guidance, through faith and omens as she had been taught by gods far older and wiser than she.

But one prayer in particular caught her eye. A person who was afraid. Not of the war, but of something they had found in themselves. A Fae who was about to try and break through the next stage of cultivation. Just a mortal stage, but still a stage. And she had found something dark in her heart that was threatening and evil, yet was still a piece of her despite her constant worship in the clergy of Alanna and the Heavens.

Alanna peered a little closer. To her shock, there was indeed that there was something there, in her heart. Physically there. Not just an emotion or a thought, but an actual thing forming next to the priestess’, that doubt and fear drove faster and harder. A thing she denied herself.

It reminded Alanna very much of the Rot. Not in shape, not in color, but in form. Suspicion rose within her, an idea forming even as she sent down not just reassurances, but helpful spirits to guide this woman in removing this…heart demon. Perhaps, she realized, the Four Realms had more than one Shadow, now.

She straightened her back and squared her shoulders, Alanna's wings spreading just a little bit. That just meant the Emperor had been right. She needed to show people the way, just as Statera, the Heavens Themselves, had shown them the way. An example. Not necessarily a ruler. She had work to do.