the empyrean will

A Homs is not concerned with heaven. A Homs regards as peacefulness the earth, the sky and its wind, the water.

A Homs considers precious the fire and light which are vivid, upon the Bionis. The ether which composes all, and comprises all. The return is downward. The return is to a lower state.

And this, of course, was by cruel design.

An Aegis is not concerned with humans. An Aegis regards as completeness the structure, the collection of data, the Blades and Titans which record and persist it.

An Aegis considers precious the fire and light which are cleansing, above Alrest. The ether which powers all and orders all. The return is upward. The return is to a higher state.

And this, of course, was by cruel accident.

(There is nothing above Alrest. There is the same nothing within Bionis. But the creak and draw of each joint suffuses it.)

A Homs learns to contend with self-determination, free of gods and cycles and a body whose purpose is to exact.

One soul, then two. Then one once more.

An Aegis learns to contend with self-determination, free of gods and cycles and a body whose purpose is to exact.

One soul, then two. Then two in twin procession.

Then one once more.

This is not to say, remarks the sword to the sheath, that there's anything wrong with being detached.

This is not to say, replies the sheath to the sword, that we regarded your life as "simple".

It remains to be decided, by each of Origin's souls, what the world will resemble, if its own broadest twin souls are ever joined. It remains to be seen, what the conception of death will be. How those remaining will choose to carry on. What will be offered up to the skies. What will be offered down to the earth.

What is created in the firmament only descends. What is created below heaven's light may continue forever, changing and shifting in shade.

Pyra and Mythra, created by incremental bootsteps on Titans' backs; with their feet dancing in the fire, with the imprint of fingertips in their grasp. No longer immune to burns, but itching for the empyreumatic sensation of every aspect bought beyond the sword.

And Fiora...perhaps sometimes still missing the shattering electric thrill of the sheath and starry drones. Content, then, to live alongside Pneuma.

I'm in the middle of it all. I'm not sure I wanted to be.

Haven't got a choice, though, have we?

A living weapon, which isn't. The most silent of them all. Which waits, patiently and without fear.

Not up nor down, but out and through. Onward and outward!