Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse
/ Infinite Mana In The Apocalypse Chapter 3847– Towers of Origin! IV
Chapter 3847: Towers of Origin! IV
Absolute Fictional Transcendence!
The True Sources supporting it had been evolving tremendously, growing alongside him as now, paired with the dreadful purity of his Early Creature distinction, he could feel them begin to reach into weavings previously beyond reach.
His perception widened.
A new window bloomed.
He was being mentioned. His weavings were stirring the outside- beyond the Dyson Singularity.
He exhaled slowly, his face buried in Moiraine's fragrant visage. His hands stilled for only a breath. And as he held this Paradoxical being whose breath buzzed under his touch, he let his thoughts cast outward.
'Let them whisper. Let them speak my name. I will listen.'
Even as his fingers tightened once more at the edge of her Paradoxical robes.
Even as he drank in more of her impossible authority.
He could explore such power, and simultaneously... listen to what existence had begun to say about him.
Outside the sealed brilliance of the Paradoxical Dyson Sphere, a sea of luminaries waited.
They stood arrayed like ancient constellations made flesh- Foldless Ones in towering, impossible forms, vast and abstract.
Some with wings formed from flowing runes, some with ever-turning eyes for heads, some draped in flowing paradoxes.
They loomed around the vessel tethered to a golden-winged slime, a creature whose sluggish pull carried more authority than common Originus Venerant creatures from Fold Dwellings.
All eyes, regardless of their number or orientation, turned toward the swirling, opaque sphere of golden paradox where sight failed.
They gazed in silence, the sphere a roiling wound in space none could pierce as their vision was not able to obeerve what was happening within that Singularity!
Among them, Aetheron stood, silver hair framing a face that had not yet been weathered by patience.
His crimson eyes flickered with both brilliance and irritation as he leaned ever so slightly forward, arms crossed behind his back. His voice rang out in a low tone casually meant for those nearby to hear.
"This glorious Young Paradox we all whisper about," he muttered to Oryzarakh with a sneer, "should have finished by now. Forming a Tower of Origin under a Dyson Singularity should be a matter of seconds. Is this great Young Paradox incapable of even that?"
Oryzarakh turned to him slowly, his glacial face unreadable.
But in the fold between moments, a private message echoed through Aetheron's thoughts, coiled with weight and warning.
"You little fucker."
HUUM!
"Know what you can and cannot say with your little jealousy."
"You are who you are. Others are who they are. And if you poison your breath with envy, you will forget how to breathe entirely."
Aetheron's jaw tensed as the words curled deep into his mind like smoke from a holy fire.
Oryzarakh's internal tone shifted, still sharp, but cooler- stern like a father ready to dish out a beating.
"Focus on your own path. Do not let the elevation of another cast shadows on your own feet. Say foolish things again in the presence of those gathered here, and you will find your position worse than it already is. Even your father would not be able to save you."
The silence that followed was heavy. Aetheron looked away as he had no words!
A distance off, by a platform ringed with glyphs of golden paradox, the White Paradox stood encircled by two other ancient beings- Living Paradoxes whose complexities hummed like taut strings of endless paradox. They conversed in tongues older than most memory, laced with a dialect rich and rough like crumbling scripture.
"You think," one of the ancient Living Paradoxes said with a wrinkled smile, "that the jealous lad is right? That this Young Paradox, who breeds no Inevitabilities, might instead be... defective?"
The other Living Paradox scoffed quietly, his tone dry. "Perhaps the issue lies in uniqueness. If his composition differs so greatly, perhaps his difficulty in forging a Tower stems from that. Or perhaps... the process is entirely unlike ours."
They looked toward the sealed sphere.
The White Paradox, haloed in nine rings of pale brilliance, offered no immediate answer. But then, with the shadow of a smile that curved slowly like moonlight across a blade, he replied.
"It matters not."
He turned his gaze outward, away from the others. "What matters is that he will soon step forward, and when he does, it will no longer be our quiet waiting. I've sent no formal summons to the other Paradoxical Lineages... but the folds stir. I feel their motion as Silver Paradoxes, Imperial Paradoxes, and other Paradoxical Lineages have begun to come over."
One of the golden-haloed Paradoxes to his side narrowed their eyes, voice casual but edged. "Mmm, so we have birds among us. Singing songs where they shouldn't."
Their gaze scanned the gathered Foldless Ones, calm and terrible.
The White Paradox chuckled, a sound like shattering mirrors. "It seems some among us still play on many boards. Let this Young Paradox take his time. Because when he emerges... the Paradoxical Folds will not remain calm. The others will be here. And with them, the real debate begins."
His voice quieted as he gazed into the roiling gold sphere, half-voice, half-thought. "Because what shall be done with a Living Paradox who cannot produce Inevitabilities?"
The question hung like judgment.
He glanced at the others. "Such a matter will be... delicate. If too many with bloated complexities surround him now, it may damage what is still young. Still forming. The Honored Living Golden Paradox will be arriving soon. He shall help arbitrate who, if any, will take this flame into their house."
"And Lady Moiraine?" asked the golden Paradox beside him.
The White Paradox exhaled calmly.
"Little Moiraine," he said, fondness and caution in equal measure. "She was born with a purity that could have made her the Honored Living Golden Paradox of the Goldfolds. The one now seated trained and mentored her. Raised her. She was his intended successor."
"And she abandoned all that to go work in a prison," the other said softly.
"Maybe that was where she needed to be, after all, she and Oryzarakh were the ones to return with this oddity," the White Paradox said. "Because she saw something coming in the folds, perhaps. Because she is capable... "
And still, none could see into the golden sphere where Moiraine and the Young Paradox were in.
Yet they waited.
And they watched.
And they whispered.
Because within it... something new was being born!
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