animus_network | Gather around

*It's a recorded video. Enoch stands before the terminal. He eyes the screen before taking a breath and beginning to speak.*

Shall I tell you a tale, Animus?

In another world, there was a dark and foreboding tower with no name, ruled by seven Fallen Angels. Heaven sent a man to capture these rulers, but in the three hundred years this man searched for them, the Tower built its own story. Inside the Tower, people thrived, and enjoyed a life of luxury and abundance in beautiful, otherworldly lands. Each level was as its own world, and had beauty all its own. Even the land of cold steel and eternal lights was breathtaking in an eerie way. But all was not as wonderful as it seemed. The people lived luxurious lives surrounded by beauty and wonders, yes, but when they died, their souls did not ascend to Heaven. They were taken from their rightful course and sent to The Darkness, to sate the gluttony of the demon prince Belial. No one seemed to know this but Belial himself and a resident of the Tower named Ishtar. Ishtar heard the voice of God, and knew that the Fallen Angels were not to be trusted - she gathered followers. It meant severing their connection to the safe and the familiar, to spurn the luxury of trust and plenty and ease of life. It meant turning their rulers against them. But...

*Enoch pulls something from his pocket - something small. Those who look hard enough might be able to catch a faint green glow before he closes his fingers around it, and a strong female voice speaks.*

They became the Freemen. The Fallen Angels became angry and rebuked us. I knew then that God's Word was true.

*Enoch's fist lowers, and he continues.*

But the Freemen knew the truth. Ishtar died in battle against the children of the Fallen Angels, who were in such misery they ate one another to end their brothers' pain. But she left behind prophecies. Messages that outlived her, to aid the Freemen that had sworn to follow her. The prophecies promised Ishtar would return to save them, but until then, they had to work hard to survive when those who were as gods in the realm were against them. And then, when the time came, they surely would not stand by while the resurrected Ishtar fought alone.

That is the story of the Freemen, a story that I did not know of until my own intersected it. Do not forget, Animus, that there are always stories other than your own. Thank you for hearing me.

*The recording ends, showing Enoch sitting at the terminal, feed live to hear responses.*

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No, I-... I do forgive you.

*Not necessarily for not having the ending, if his tone is any indication. He may not be of her world, but he understands this story. He understands the pain of grief. He holds no anger for the proud. Pride tempered with self-awareness can be healthy, even, he has seen this for himself. But grief, the pain of loss, was infamous for driving people insane, and insanity and power did not mix. Many managed to move on, many managed to recover their lives. But some could not do so on their own, through no fault or weakness in their control. He knew. He was one of them too.*

Grief has driven many people mad. I'm sorry.

[She's silent for a long while, in the wake of his apology. It's not him that she fears, so much. To look at him is to admit that she told the tale that she told. If this was an unburdening, her heart felt no lighter. But of course, nothing was so simple.]

...there are others that the queen ought to ask forgiveness from. But they're gone now, aren't they? Each and every last one.

[She lifts a hand to push the hair from her face, then sinks back into her seat and exhales deeply. She looks tired. She looks old, eyes deep-set and face drawn.]

She was mad, wasn't she? How hideous, to be so completely sunk into madness, and to be unable to recognize it. To feel justified, every step of the way along the road to ruin.

*Reflexively, Enoch nearly reaches out to a shoulder that isn't actually in front of him. His hand pauses above the keyboard before resting on it instead.*

Very few who have gone mad know it while they are afflicted by it. What matters now is now. The way you feel about those events now, that you would want to ask forgiveness now.

*There's a pause before he continues, a faint sorrow clouding his features. His voice is slightly strained, and his eyes betray his real age for a moment.* Guilt is painful, and that pain may never fade. But it's only natural to feel it...

[A tight and unhappy smile comes to her face. Even if it was her confession, to say it aloud in so many words and to remove that arm's length of distance that she had put to it still didn't feel proper.]

We've both known our own fortresses and towers and omens, haven't we?

[She's feeling sympathy for him. And even more curiosity than before. But there's no effort to reach out. Not as of yet.]

*It had happened much the same way the movement of his arm had - on reflex. It was about her, it pained her, and so it was she herself who he reflexively sought to comfort. He realizes his mistake at the look on her face and the hand on the keyboard retreats to its edge.*

I believe so, albeit from different sides...I was the man sent to capture the Fallen Angels in my story.

*The tower had not been his, but even with right and wrong so clearly defined in the big picture, there were still things that could only be seen from within.*

...you have the air of a hero to you, yes.

[She understood and yet, she didn't understand. Her comprehension of this tower, it's reason for being and the reality of its illusions... how did this man fit into it? She sank backwards, she inclined her head.]

I could understand why I would be here. I have much to atone for. But yourself...? Unless I fail to understand...

This tower isn't for atonement or punishment...not on its own merits, that is. We're here for no reason other than Zo happened to take us from our worlds before they were destroyed.

*He does have things he feels he must atone for, but they're not for a post here, if only for the idea that Lucifel may be watching. He still doesn't like the idea of talking about those doubts where he can see, even if he knows the angel knows about them. Off the network, perhaps.*

No? You've nothing you feel you must make amends for?

[It's not said entirely kindly. This tower is full of weak and imperfect creatures... or what were weak and imperfect creatures, now lashed to weak and imperfect frames. Her head rolls, inclining in the opposite direction now. And she shrugs, not caring if he answers her question.]

Then this, all of this, is simply cruel fate. Pure chance. The few gems sifted from great piles of dust and debris.

[And now she seems calmer than before. There's strength in her voice. There's fire in her eyes.]

*His answer is immediate, though not as if defensive. If anything, it's soft, regretful.* Of course I do.

But I don't think this place has anything to do with them. It's as you've said, chance. Something seems to affect it, but nobody knows what, not even Zo.

If we were remarkable enough to be picked from what little remained of our worlds, then we are remarkable enough to conquer this tower. Whatever state we may be in. Whatever form this place takes.

[He has... apparently, somehow, managed to say the right thing? She looks better than before, for certain definitions of the word better. Certainly more engaged. Certainly more lively.]

Thank you for your story. Thank you.

*His eyes had been downcast at the thought of his own doubts, those which he will never be able to address or resolve, those which will have no meaning unless they are able to restore the worlds. Able to...*

Conquer the tower. *His eyes raise to meet hers on the screen and a smile flickers into being and lingers.* I've said for many months we are strong here. That if this tower has any pattern, it is strength it finds. I'm...I'm glad that I could help.

[If she had made him doubt himself, she felt a twinge of regret for it. But he could lift his head and hold a smile for more than a few moments, then there was hope for him, too. Hope for them all.]

Trust in your own strength, as well. For now... I think I should get some air, and stretch my legs.

[There's a hand lifted lightly, ready to end the feed, and her weight is shifted as though she's preparing to stand.]

*She hadn't done it. He's harbored doubts for a long time, about many things.*

I will. *He's had no other choice, really. His strength was all he had.* I hope your walk is enjoyable.

Gather around

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