Nyxial

Act 1: The Forging

In the deepest fold of the Void Before Time, where even the memory of light grows thin, Kanna stood alone. He watched his Pillars, his children who prevented the collapse of his creation, go about their tasks. Time, Death, Decay, Competition, and even Chaos. Each had their part to play. Other pillars were still needed though. The Plan was already written, awaiting a Pillar to hold it. The wisdom and finality of Judgement had yet to be carved. And a guardian would be needed, a Pillar to warn the others of threats to the universe, his most delicate of creations…

But those would have to wait. The Pillars were already rebelling, pushing back against the rules he had crafted them with. Thanatos was choosing the individual over the whole, he now carried every soul who did not know where they belonged to their final rest, while still cutting the threads of entire strands. Chronos had begun searching for ways to bend time so that it would hold paradoxes, not simply erasing the damage, but letting the damage exist so the strands could heal stronger. Asthéneia painted her plagues with too much vigor, often going beyond the boundaries of the canvas. Even young Próklisi was struggling with his competitions turning to conflict.

The strain was necessary. The changes his pillars sought had to happen, so they would protect their own rules with greater fervor. Rules Kanna needed within the plan. But Kanna knew the workload was too much, cracks were forming, tangles in the weave, maelstroms in the void. They needed rest, respite, a period to recover… so the strain would not become to much for a Pillar to bear.

So, from threads of starless velvet, of the hush between heartbeats, of the cool underside of every stone that has ever sheltered sleeping things, Kanna wove the fifth pillar. The darkness gathered, folded, and became a woman, or something shaped like one. Tall, cloaked by wings of raven’s feathers and living night, skin as dark as the emptiness between worlds, eyes twin eclipses ringed with silver.

When she breathed out, nebulae drifted from her lips; when she breathed in, dying stars went quietly. “Who am I?” she asked, her voice soft as the moment before sleep.

“You are Night, Sixth Pillar of my creation,” the Weaver said. “Every cycle, you will drape the worlds of the universe in darkness, and during that darkness you will take on the roles of your siblings. Each has labored without cease since they first set eyes upon the weave. They burn, they cut, they race, they rot, they measure and straighten… never resting. You will cradle hope in dreams, quiet discord, still the ticking of time itself for a few hours. Night is mercy, Nyxial. Night is restoration. Be the night that lets them rest. Be the velvet that covers the wounds of day. Be the gentle dark that teaches the universe to breathe.””

“Nyxial…” the woman said, tasting the name. Then, she smiled. “No. I would prefer simply Nyx.”

Kanna was about to continue, to explain the new Pillar’s task as he had done with the others, but he slowly turned his head at the declaration. That was new. Before he formed the thought all of existence paused, every Strand, every second in that moment, every mortal and Pillar alike. All motion, thought and emotion, each atom, particle and wave. For the first time since creation began, the only thing that moved within Timeless Limbo, and without, simply stopped.

Kanna examined his newest creation the way only an Elohim could. He viewed her thread, the instructions that were written upon it, the laws determining what powers flowed from her domain. It was when he examined her emotions and temperament that he saw it, a convergence.

The convergence itself was expected, planned for. Indeed, he had placed it within each of his Pillars, and his Pillars alone. For mortals he allowed them the Freedom of Choice, but the Pillars had need of something more… a will of their own. A will to take the path not shown, to create a choice not offered. Free Will. It was a dangerous, powerful thing. Nyxial had not been the first to exhibit her free will, she had simply used it much sooner than recorded.

The cause was clear, Nyxial had been crafted to assist her siblings, and needed access to each of their domains. Thus, a portion of each Pillar’s free will also flowed into her. What disturbed Kanna is that he had chosen to remove his own knowledge that this would happen once Nyxial was created, and he did not know why… for he had removed that knowledge as well.

Kanna hovered in that moment, considering. Considering the implications, the reasoning, and the threat. It was during this frozen moment of existence that he connected what would be said to what he would have to make, for his plan to come to fruition as needed… when needed. The Strand that defies… The Strand that would choose not to have a tomorrow… The final strand, the Strand with (static sound effect).

Kanna had to trust that he had removed this knowledge to maintain the plan. That if he knew too soon, the outcome his plan would set in motion would change. His word was law, only he had the power to break it, but he had to keep his word whole or everything would fall apart. Kanna left his removed memories alone, he would not touch them. He knew what needed to be done, he knew what would be done, he knew his plan would work… and now he knew that he couldn’t know why, because that knowledge would make his plan fail.

“You are Nyxial, and will always be, no matter what you choose to have your siblings call you.” He placed a hand against Nyxial’s cheek. The touch did not warm; it cooled, soothed, promised rest.

Nyx inclined her head, her cloak of raven’s feathers unfurled behind her as wings of pure absence made of the spaces between galaxies. “I understand,” she whispered, and the whisper was the sound of every lullaby ever sung.

Kanna placed one hand over her heart, touching the convergence within. From it He drew a single drop of liquid night, black yet luminous, and let it fall into her waiting palms. The drop split into ten perfect fragments, each glowing with stolen starlight

A thread of Thanatos’s mercy.

A brushstroke of Asthéneia’s beauty.

A measured breath of Próklisi’s spirit.

A turning wheel of Chronos’s rhythm.

A spark of thunder and chaos, of ErisElpis’ joy.

A velvet cloth of Nyx’s own form,

and more, faint echoes of Pillars yet to come.

The last was a single jewel, holding all that was mortal.

The fragments sank into her skin like rain into parched earth. Nyx felt the weight of every sleepless world settle on her shoulders, and discovered the weight was not heavy.It was a cradle. She smiled, small and wondering. “I will be their rest,” she said, and her voice was the sound of curtains drawn against a too-bright dawn.

Kanna’s eyes softened. “They will thank you,” He said, “and they will fear you. Both are gifts.” Then He stepped back, and the Limbo folded open like a theater curtain made of night. “Now go, learn of the harm your siblings’ restlessness has wrought, let the mortals rest and heal from their harm. Then learn from each sibling the lessons they can share. Bring them peace of mind, and let them rest as well. They have earned their respite.” 

Nyxial stepped through, heading towards her first task.