Chapter Text
When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.
The sombre sun of the Hiems could be seen rising on the pale horizon. Harrowhark Nonagesimus, the Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House, raised her head from where it was enshrouded in the copious amounts of flimsy and leather-bound books and stared bleakly at it. The previous night was spent being immersed in the ancient journals and textbooks of various theorems available in the library of the Ninth House; the collection was not much enlightening per se and Harrowhark had gone through each and every letter documented in them to judiciously proclaim to her frenzied mind that nothing more could be learned from them. She rose from her cathedra with a prolonged sigh and went about her daily chores.
The Ninth Saint to His Celestial Kindliness was broken out of her monotonous rumination by the Marshal of the Ninth House, Crux, who informed her about the subpoena ad testificandum sent by the Emperor Undying to the Eight Houses.
Right Reverend Father and Reverend Mother in God,
We greet you well.
The Emperor Undying, His Celestial Kindliness, adjures the Ninth House to evince the presence of utmost esteem and love for the King Everlasting and asks for the scions of your House to participate in a vying to attain the hand of the Kindly Prince, the First Reborn's First Born. These are to Will and Command you all excuses set apart to make your scion's personal attendance on Us at the time above mentioned furnished and appointed as to their Rank and Duality appertaineth there to do and perform all such Services as shall be required and belong unto you.
We zealously invite the Heir to the Ninth House, Servant to the King Undying, and their Cavalier Primary to partake in this hallowed and sanctified course of action and be personal witness to the resplendence and honour of the First House, the Necrolord Prime, the Prince Undying, and His Fists and Gestures. The chosen spouse's House shall be delighted to receive His Kindly King's blessings and shall be furnished with aid.
And so We bid you most heartily farewell.
Given at Our Court at Canaan House
this first day of December in
the ten thousandth year of His Reign.
By His Majesty's Command.
Teacher,
Lord Priest of the First House.
The Heir to the Ninth House handed over the letter to Ortus, the Cavalier Primary of the Ninth House, and wearily proclaimed, “Well.”
“Well? Will you attend?” Ortus prudently supplied to the delirious mind of the necromancer.
“There isn't much choice to begin with. His Celestial Kindliness has commanded the heirs of the Houses to partake in this vying. It isn't like we can consider to not follow through with His orders, and to add to it, our House is in a sickly state.”
“But. You have to marry.”
“Yes. Looks like the ancient dresses of the Reverend Mother will be finally put into use,” replied Harrowhark with a tone that Ortus clearly understood: the matter was not to be discussed further.
“Nevertheless, if you go on with your current sword skills, you will, at best, thoroughly disappoint the honour and dignity of the Ninth House. It would be better for the House if you chose to focus on the teachings of Aiglamene and stopped writing those vapid poems.”
Ortus politely obliged to the snark remark of the necromancer's and went about to the dueling arena to find Aiglamene.
Harrowhark Nonagesimus was not thrilled about this prospect at any means, but it was not like she had any other option. Her House was dying and if not saved soon enough, the grandeur of the Locked Tomb cultists would surely end. So she bowed to her fate and went about to the crumbling library of the Ninth House to know what little of the First House was known; after which she decided that even though she had no interest in the obscene and ridiculous activities—it was not as if the Kindly Prince would ever show any emotion akin to intrigue to the dreary and bleak Reverend Daughter of the Ninth House—to maintain the sepulchre of the Ninth House, she would have to show up dressed in the best attire available.
The Ninth Saint to the Necrolord Prime stepped out of the shuttle and over the threshold to the Canaan House draped in a manifold of shades of black and a lustry, grim greatcoat which went upto her ankles. Her face was freshly painted in white and resembled the deft cranial structures of a human skull. Ortus Ninegad trailed a half-step behind her—it is to be mentioned the way he held his body answered to a trained eye that he was, not in a million, a chivalrous cavalier. The eyes of the greatest necromancer of her generation laid themselves to a short, bald man who introduced himself as 'Teacher' and was surrounded by a plethora of skeletons. The skeletons were somehow different than the skeletons which adorned the halls of Drearburh, the bone adept found herself speculating about the numerous possible ways they could've been made.
The castle infront of them was a majestic fortress that stood as a testament to the opulence and grandeur of the past. Its towering spires and intricate architecture evoked a sense of wonder and awe, much like the gleaming armor of a noble knight on the battlefield. “His Celestial Kindliness and the Kindly Prince welcomes the Scion of the Ninth House and her Cavalier Primary. I request you to follow them to the Ballroom, where the Kindly Prince would shortly arrive,” the Priest—Teacher—gestured to the skeletons and informed Harrowhark.
Turns out, they were not the last House to arrive, the heir to the Eighth House—which held a dismal opinion of them—and his cavalier were the last to arrive to the Ballroom. Teacher called for the attention of the scions of the Eight Houses and said, “If you please, postulants of the Emperor, make way for the First Reborn's First Born to arrive here and bless our hearts.”
I'm the son of rage and love
The Jesus of Suburbia
The bible of none of the above
Her Highness, draped in the whitest attire Harrowhark had ever laid her eyes upon, entered the room with a flaming head of fire-red hair, her eyes more golden than the gilded corners of her uniform, radiating an aura of warmth and sunshine. Her facial features were most prominent, the bones angular and set up in the most perfect way possible. The Kindly Prince was taller than everyone else in the room—except the hulking mass of the Seventh Cavalier, Prostailus—and was broad in the shoulders and narrow at the hips. She held herself with an ease and grace akin to the Cohort soldiers and Second cavaliers and, Harrowhark had to begrudgingly admit, was extremely handsome.
The Kindly Prince made her way to the Sixth House representatives, swiftly evading the advances of the Crown Princess of the Third House. She conversed with the Sixth House pair animatedly and greeted each of them along with the frail princess of the Seventh House with a hug. She left them to respond to the advances of the Crown Princess of Ida and made her way to the dance floor with the Crown Princess in her hands and—Harrowhark saw it unfold in front of her eyes in a dramatic flair, she became concretely sure that it was the Crown Princess who would be wed to the Kindly Prince—it was a fitting pair, truth be told, the princess was adorned in a profuse amount of jewelry and attracted the attention of the room wherever she went.
Life was a meaningless vice infused with elements of grotesque experiences, absurd complications, tragic sins, virtuous paradoxes and impeccable thoughts of a dying atheist. The sight of postulants worshipping her and her father was, at best, ludicrous and inane. The foolishness of those people was laughable and, from a certain perspective, pitiful too; it served to increase her thoughts of the meaninglessness of the Universe and, in a way, pity all those poor royals of the past. Canaan House was a glorious fortress, a sight to behold, all the luxuries and jewels of the Third House combined would amount to a pitiful quantity in terms of comparing them to the grandeur of the Castle of God. Its atmosphere—seemed to Gideon—reverberated with the echoes of innocent children barbarically murdered before the Resurrection, the castle walls adorned with gothic tapestry were witness to the horrors that took place surrounding the God's only heir's birth.
Gideon snapped out of her rumination and stepped over the threshold to the allure of the castle, where her father, John Gaia, was presently standing and leaning over the edge of the balustrade to see the waves rolling over and gently embracing the pale moonlight glimmering on the sea surface; all the while Time is Running Out by Muse played over the speakers installed in the castle walls—the effect was, in the most eloquent way possible, quaint. It seemed as if they bearing personal witness to the grandeur of the world before the Resurrection, which was ultimately utterly destroyed by the Armageddon of greed and vice of the human beings of old. Gideon almost felt impressed by the Universe so contrived by her father to save the world. Almost. Because she knew the sacrifices — or more conveniently, the sins — which had to be done for the world to be where it was now.
She stood beside her father and looked upwards into the intransigent space where stars of old twinkled and dazzled attractively—as if calling out the names of the human beings too busy formulating a fallacious argument to pacify the call of the void in their minds and asked, “What do you think would happen?”
“What do I think would happen after what?” John turned his head towards his daughter and replied, raising one eyebrow.
“After all of the heirs summoned here learns the secret of the Lyctoral process.”
“I don't know.”
“Why not? You are the Supreme ruler of this Universe.”
John laughed a little, his lips turning upwards, and said, “I am only God, Gideon. There are some things in this world which only the Universe can do.”
“The people residing in the Eight Houses begs to differ,” replied the daughter of God, looking down to him.
“Acknowledging the weakness of the human mind is the greatest gift of the Universe to people like us. How do you think people would react to the information that the Scion of the First House is an atheist? Would they commit blasphemy and turn against the Emperor's daughter or would they accept her perspective as a holy and sanctified teaching? They believe we are Gods, but we are also only humans.”
“What would you have done if I declined your request of me marrying into one of the Houses?”
John shrugged, “I would've accepted your decision as the utmost one. I know you like to believe I don't care about you, in certain matters, but I wouldn't ever force you to do something you don't like.”
“Is that because I am your daughter or is that because you believe every person deserves to have a voice of their own?”
“I don't know, Gideon,” John sighed audibly, “things are never that easy to determine. Would you allow a rapist to voice their own thoughts? No. However, upon inspection, they're also made of the same flesh and blood as us, the same molecules of hydrogen and the same stardust flows through their veins, just like the rest of us. The Universe is filled with puzzles and riddles, each answer correlating with the other, each line twined and twisted into the other. If you justify a morally virtuous deed, the same logic used in that can easily be applied to justify a condemning act. I am your father and if we were not Gods, according to the accepted societal norms of old, you would be expected to respect and obey my words without protest, despite the fact that I have, in numerous occasions, failed to fulfill my duty and role as a father. People accept a set a laws and rules, more or less, without protest either because they have been suppressed or because they have been subjected to the generational manipulation of those who were in power. That is what had happened, and is still happening, though to a lesser extent. Those who can escape from the followed chain of thought have to be exceptionally intelligent and beware of their surroundings.”
“I wonder how those brilliant people in the ancient times survived their lives, without any access to freedom and wonder, only to have been always suppressed the irrational beliefs and system of rules invented by some cruel and jejune human beings. Would they gain emancipation by committing suicide? Or would they continue to live their lives and exist as emotionless, robotic beings because they know they are not courageous enough to dissolve themselves from this world of awe and wonder, because they know their lifeline is the hope, which resurfaced in their minds as the salt did in the sea, to make the belief someday or the other they would be able to break free from this cage of four walls and be able to explore and haunt the beautiful happenings in this Universe? I exceptionally feel empathy for those who had to live in these conditions, because being caged is the worst thing that can happen to anyone. Won't you agree?” Gideon questioned her father.
“Yes. A caged life is repugnant and the thought of it would make anyone bilious. Life is all about adventure, fun frolicsome activities and a sprinkle of death and violence mixed with chaos in it.”
“Following that logic, people would say we are living the perfect lives with our enriched circle of eccentric maniacs”, Gideon couldn't miss an opportunity of being sarcastic.
John laughed, “Yes, I think they would.”
“What do you think of the Ninth House? God asked his daughter.
“The Ninth House? I don't know. I mean, I certainly am interested in the Reverend Daughter, who for the most part, looks extremely delirious and malnourished and has quite a fitting cynical view of the world.”
“Oh?”John's voice carried a suggestive tone, “I didn't know you were into short goths, Gideon. Have I missed a chapter or two?”
“As if. I don't think the Reverend Daughter would even spare a glance to my advances, Dad. In fact, she even voiced her thoughts that I would definitely be married to Corona, and if not her, then Dulcie.”
“I mean, you are quite the walking definition of fuckboy, Gideon. Wouldn't you expect the greatest necromancer of her generation to catch your frivolous relationship with them?”
“Well.”
“Let's get back inside, Kiriona. If my memory is not decepting me, you had suggested you would beat me in chess.”
“Is this Paradise?” an eleven year old Kiriona asked her father, looking out into the horizon from the their space shuttle and watching a planet—as beautiful as those mentioned in the books she read—come into their view. The view was quite simple and prosaic for that matter, it couldn't compare to the wondrous rings of Saturn or J1407b nor could it compare to the fiery and satanic beauty of KELT-9b but it was a composed and candid planet, easy to overlook, though, there was something startling about its atmosphere. The environment was not embellished with superficial plants and flowers and the planet was not especially striking from space, however, there was a magnetic intensity to it as if it was tempting Kiriona to step onto its surface and experience the warmth of a homely atmosphere, which is what prompted the child to ask her father that specific question.
“Maybe,” John replied, “It does represent something akin to Paradise.”
“When will we land?” Kiriona was practically vibrating with excitement to explore and rummage through the forests of this exoplanet, and to find stuff which she could ask her father to explain to her. She wanted to see if she could identify any of the flowers and fruits found there, or establish any resemblance with the flora and fauna of Earth.
“Seven minutes,” John was a bit tentative to take Kiriona out to a journey in a space shuttle around the nearby Galaxy, more because he didn't know how to rumify the childlike curiosity with which she approached every situation and object than because he didn't want to; so when she asked him to take her with him because she felt lonely whenever he left her in that stupidly huge castle with only skeletons and Teacher to accompany her—John couldn't resist.
The Necrolord Prime stepped out of the space shuttle with his only daughter in hand—he thoroughly insisted Kiriona to not leave his side until and unless he made sure the place was safe enough to house God and his child. The exoplanet was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light Equinox wind stirred amidst the tress, the heavy scent of the lilac could be savoured in the air. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine, seemed to make the exoplanet more pulchrous and divine in the eyes of Gideon. There was a vacuum-sealed calm about the environment and the extravagant exhalations of the birds seemed to be music to their ears as they walked out onto the fields. A tiny creature, one akin to a fox, whizzed past Kiriona and onto the thick bush of shrubs and wild flowering thorns.
“Do you know what's the name of that animal?” John asked his daughter with an air of benevolence and fatherly adoration—which he himself had to admit, was not what he thought he would be capable of. “No, but it does have an uncanny resemblance to a fox or a wolf-cub. Not to mention its steps are like that of a rabbit too.” Kiriona thoughtfully answered. “Well, its called Kitsune. They are often hunted by venators and falconers for their nine-tails, velvety fur and keen eyes. It is a despicable action and intergalactic laws and police-force couldn't put an end to it.”
“I don't understand how venators' minds work. How can they resort to such methods and live guilt free for the rest for their lives? They are only a fraction powerful than these poor creatures, and instead to using that power to build something virtuous, they use it to commit vices.” little Kiriona sadly muttered.
“I know, Kiriona. It is one of the reasons which led to the tragic destruction of the Solar System of old and one of the reasons which led me to resurrect the world as we know it today. I have prevented intergalactic laws to touch a sliver of hair of our system, but I couldn't prevent the little speck of rot which infiltrated our system from its birth.”
The sun of that Solar System bloomed low in the horizon and enveloped them in a warmth unlike the scalding rays of the summer Dominicus. Kiriona's hair was aflamed by the golden rays of the sun, and when the sunlight hit her face in a certain angle, the bright boyish golden flame of her eyes renewed themselves with a newfound energy and seemed to announce to its flowery surroundings that they were the most divine and had the holiest of origins. She ran around the fields and into the forest, brought new leaves, plants and flowers onto her father's hands and asked him of their origin. A red butterfly, much akin to her hair, sat on top of her father's head for a long time without him noticing, so when it finally got up from its resting place, she had to speak, “Seems like these butterflies too prefer my red hair than your sepia coloured ones, Dad.”—to which John could do nothing but gape like a pufferfish.
They spent three months—according to the Resurrected Calender—in that exoplanet with Kiriona exploring every nook and creek, every little animal and bird. On the day they were set to return to Canaan House, Kiriona asked her father,“Names are a bit superficial, aren't they?”— “Well yes, they are in a way quite shallow. What made you follow this particular chain of thought?” John asked, not because he disliked this frequent philosophical thoughts of Kiriona but because he was always intrigued to know which book or which author of old made her little, energetic mind to think in that way (so that he could offer a particular trivia about them which almost all the time puzzled her).
“Well, I was just reading a short story written by Rabindranath Tagore and it left me pondering about the superficiality of names, without which we are basically stripped of our identity and become non-existent. I think it's ironic, though, because names are words given to us on our birth by someone else, they are what others wanted to call us by, not what we have given to ourselves. We try to protect and shield our names from every harm and disrespect, we keep it from prying eyes and mouths, but it is not even something which can theoretically called ours. We give up our lives in search of establishing our name, so that our name lives on when we don't. And, that is why, I have decided I want to change my name.”
“What name do you want to give yourself?”
“Gideon.”
“Gideon? Why specifically that name?”
“And that's the right question, Dad. I am so proud of you that you finally saw through my shallow farce and asked the thing on which I immensely wanted to speak about. So. Gideon. It is a Hebrew word meaning “hewer” or “feller”, that is, great destroyer. In the bible, Gideon was a military leader, judge, and prophet who led the Israelites from slavery to repentance and obedience. He is a symbol of believing in oneself in the face of danger, and be courageous while facing adversity, while that is indeed a commendable feat, the reason I want it as my name is a bit different. The word “gideon” means a great warrior who cuts down and fells his enemies, but, what if, a person named Gideon built things instead of destroying them? What if Gideon stood as the epitome of kindness and benevolence instead of destruction? And, also, I love sword-fighting so Gideon would be a fitting cool name for a cool kid like me.”
“I see. That is a good reason, Gideon.”
“You aren’t upset?”
“No, why would I be?”
“Well, you gave me the name Kiriona. Which raises the issue, you are absolutely allowed to address me by that name. Because I like that name too.”
“Now, if you had not mentioned that, then I could’ve been upset. Nevertheless, do you want to board the shuttle or stay here for another three months?”
“Oh yes. Sorry,” Gideon cheekily rubbed the back of her head.
“Checkmate,” John uttered with a breath of finalty and smirking a little.
“Oh, fuck off. This isn’t fair. You had ten thousand”— “More than ten thousand”— “years to practice, while I was only here for twenty years and practised for only ten years.”
“It’s your fault for practicing with Augustine and not with Teacher, Gideon. Augustine’s a terrible player.”
Gideon sighed, “Yeah, that’s why I play with him.”
“Don’t you have the ball tomorrow?”
“Yeah, yucks. I have to iron my suits again,” Gideon groaned.
“Now now, don’t be a big baby, Gideon. Get up and get dressed for bed, after ironing your suits.”
“Good night, Dad.”
“Good night, Gideon.”