The Garden of Residual Echoes, Avatar Dream World.
Rinoa stood amidst a boundless garden, a surreal landscape where time seemed to stand still. The sky was not a simple blue; it was a tapestry woven from the echoes of unspoken words, remnants of thoughts lost to silence. Delicate roots dangled gracefully in the air, intertwining with blossoms that flourished from the very memories of those who had departed.
"Here, all the Avatars who have departed await. Not to judge, but to remember together.
Eliath, The First Flame. He radiated a warm glow, his body shimmering like embers in a fading fire, yet his expression was tender and inviting. "I burned the world not out of hatred, but because it was the only language they understood then." As he reached out and touched Rinoa's chest, the pain he bore within her transformed into a soothing warmth. It was not the agony of despair but rather the profound courage to continue feeling deeply, even amidst a world that sought to numb the soul.
Virelya, The Hollow Song. Her voice emerged like a whispering breeze, almost imperceptible. "Rinoa... not all wounds need to be remembered. There is harmony in forgetting, not as an escape, but as a space for new beginnings." She leaned in, whispering gently into Rinoa's hair, weaving solace around her. Rinoa's painful memories did not vanish, but rather transformed—becoming lighter. Like an old melody that still resonates within the heart, it no longer tears at the seams of her being.
Thornwald, The Bound One. He stood silently, resembling a massive, cracked tree rooted deep within a vibrant garden, its gnarled bark whispering tales of enduring strength. Yet Rinoa felt the stillness shaking her. In that moment, she saw herself—burdened by the weight of too many expectations, unable to utter the simple word "no." "Becoming a shelter doesn't mean allowing yourself to crumble." Thornwald's ancient roots enveloped her back, offering steadfast support.
Kael Myrrh, The White Thorn. His two eyes shifted colors like leaves in autumn, constantly adapting to the shifting light. "You are not harmony because you lack conflict,
but because you do not run away from the conflict itself." He gently lifted Rinoa's chin, his gaze piercing yet warm. "No Avatar is whole. We are merely small shards accepting our respective roles."
Mirelis, The Deeproot. He spoke through the delicate flowers blooming from the earth near Rinoa's feet, their petals quivering in the soft breeze. "Harmony also means knowing when to step back. Nature thrives not by force, but through patience." Rinoa paused for a moment, and почувствовала, как ее тело снова дышит, как влажная земля.
Azham, The Silent Pact. He could not speak; his features blended into a hazy silhouette. Yet, from his profound silence, Rinoa heard the once-muted voices of the world she had silenced within herself. "Sometimes, the world can only be saved by those willing to disappear from it." He extended his hand, inviting her into the unknown... and Rinoa suddenly understood that one day, she too may need to be forgotten for the world to endure.
Ashael, The Grieving Child. He stares into the distance with tear-laden eyes, the weight of unspoken sorrow evident in his gaze. Suddenly, Rinoa feels herself contracting, as if she has become a lost child in the vastness of the world. Ashael gently caresses her face, and in that intimate moment, Rinoa realizes she can weep freely for the first time, shedding her burdens without guilt. "Your tears are not a weakness. They are an ancient language, understood by spirits more than any spell."
Around them, the Avatars stand tall within a sacred circle, illuminated by a soft, ethereal light that dances around their majestic forms. From the dimly colored sky, delicate spirits descend—tiny, shimmering orbs like stars scattered across a velvet night, playful wind spirits swirl and murmur secrets, while wounded spirits pulse gently with a muted vibrancy, and memory spirits radiate warmth, adorned with luminous symbols of yesteryears. These spirits cascade down like a gentle rain of light, each one exquisitely unique, yet together they embody a profound strength and an overwhelming sense of love in this sacred gathering.
Molding into a light gown that gracefully envelops Rinoa's body, the gown resembles the gentle moonlight draping over the vast night sky, offering both protection and warmth. The acceptance ritual transcends mere tradition; it symbolizes a profound acknowledgment of Rinoa's tumultuous life journey—from the depths of sorrow to the bright shores of hope, from overwhelming loneliness to a serene sense of acceptance. As each ethereal spirit delicately touches her, they convey an intimate message: that all pain and beauty have intricately woven themselves into the very fabric of her being. Rinoa feels the weight of significance as every spirit surrounding her pulsates with life, and in that deep silence, she comprehends the profound truth that she is no longer alone.
"It is not merely a protective veil. It is a recognition. That Rinoa, despite her frailty, has been accepted."
Just before she awakens from this mystical state, all the Avatars unite in a single, harmonious voice that resonates deep within her soul:
"You do not need to become us. Just be yourself—and the world will learn a new harmony."
Meanwhile,
Tower of Babylon, an awe-inspiring monument that pierces the sky of the Earth continent, stands as a testament to human ambition and aspiration. This towering marvel features architecture of unparalleled design, comprised of meticulously layered red bricks, each one adorned with intricate carvings that recount ancient tales of humanity's relentless quest for knowledge and power. At its zenith, an open observatory presents a stunning panoramic view of the world below, serving as a celestial window inviting observers to gaze into the vast expanse of the universe. Each level of the tower symbolizes a different epoch in history, while creeping vines and soft moss gracefully entwine with the stones, silently bearing witness to the relentless march of time. This magnificent structure, bridging the realms of heaven and earth, transcends mere physicality, emerging as a profound reflection of the hopes and dreams of humanity as a whole.
"I never expected this to be the right step," Lariel scoffed, her laughter tinged with cynicism as she gazed into the shimmering reflective mirror, where Rinoa's dreams danced like fleeting wraiths.
"The Avatar of Harmony is the embodiment of ancient magic, an essence fragmented across the eons," she continued, her voice echoing in the stillness of the room like a haunting melody. Lariel's face radiated with an inner glow, her eyes sharp and brimming with fierce determination, as though she had already glimpsed the triumph that awaited her.
"I desire revenge for our defeat long ago; the one who inherits its power shall pay." Lariel's piercing gaze shifted to another mirror, where the reflection of Fitran appeared, hope and ambition etched into his features. A dark satisfaction curled her lips into a predatory smile, reminiscent of a general confidently strategizing for a looming battle.
"You are the heir, and the seven deadly demons alongside the seven celestial angels will pay for everything..." Her voice trailed off, swallowed by the thick atmosphere of anticipation enveloping her. Yet, moments later, Lariel stood taller, her mind racing with visions of every step to take and every sacrifice to make. The spark in her eyes ignited further, and her gaze sharpened with fervor, the realization dawning that victory devoid of pain would hold no essence.
Lariel's mind drifted back to a time when anger and regret ignited a fervent passion within him, a fire that fueled his resolve. "And when this is all over," he declared, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper tinged with a deep-seated hatred, "there will be a burial song for all who underestimated my power. This world will once more tremble beneath the force of ancient magic, long thought to be extinguished." As he spoke, he raised his hand, fingers splayed, grasping at the empty air around him, as if he could already feel the electric energy coursing through his veins, each pulse preparing him for the imminent clash ahead.
Suddenly, an unsettling aura materialized behind Lariel, saturating the ambiance with a heavy tension that wrapped around him like a shroud, sending icy chills racing down his spine, as if some unseen predator were poised to strike. An indistinct rumble echoed through the air, the sound seemingly emerging from another realm, fracturing the stillness of the night and igniting the world around him. The atmosphere thickened with whispers, slithering through the darkness and infecting the air with a paralyzing fear that quickened Lariel's heartbeat, ensnaring him in an inescapable trap woven from shadows.
"Master Malakothiel," Lariel uttered with the utmost respect, his voice trembling like a fragile leaf in a tempest, as he knelt before the immense figure. Sweat poured down him in rivulets, each droplet a tangible manifestation of the fear that gripped his very soul, slicing through his composure like a knife through silk. In his mind, horrifying images of a grim fate awaited him, his memories swirling with the revered yet dreaded reputation of Malakothiel—a being so formidable, he could reshape reality itself with a mere flick of his imperious hand.
"Hmm...." Malakothiel murmured, his voice rumbling like distant thunder, reverberating through the air and hinting at a disquieting uncertainty.
As one of the Hayoth ha-Kodesh, Malakothiel was not merely a guardian but the very embodiment of dominion over the world, unparalleled among the seven. His presence was a paradox, for he could traverse the mortal realm without it unraveling into chaos. More than just a sentinel of the thresholds between the material and spiritual realms, he was the personification of all suffering, birth, and the ceaseless cycles of life that had ever existed.
"You have given power to that girl," he stated, his tone calm yet imbued with a profound tension that sent shivers down Lariel's spine.
Crushed under the weight of dread, Lariel dared not raise her gaze. She yearned to speak, but her voice was ensnared in her throat, stifled as if grains of sand had lodged there from her face pressed too close to the earth.
"You may raise your head," he commanded gently, his voice flowing like a soothing whisper through the trees, yet beneath its tender surface lay a current of undeniable strength, a power that demanded respect and obedience.
"My lord, I do not dare to precede you," Lariel replied, her voice trembling like a fragile leaf caught in the wind, revealing both her uncertainty and her deep respect for the commanding presence before her.
Malakothiel smiled, a grin that danced with delight and radiated an infectious energy that brightened the dim atmosphere. His sharp, piercing gaze seemed to dissect every detail of Lariel's form, as if he were savoring the nuances of her courage amidst fear.
"I do not blame you," he said, his voice brimming with enthusiasm, "for the story unfolds in a truly captivating manner. I, too, am eager to witness how that girl will confront her foe." His joyful exclamation resonated through the air, infusing the heavy atmosphere with a hint of magic, as if the very fabric of reality shifted with his words.
"I grant permission for the Avatar's power to be bestowed upon that girl," he declared, the words rolling off his tongue with gravity, followed by a laugh that resonated like distant thunder, shaking the air around him and hinting at the monumental moment that lay just beyond the horizon.
Malakothies, the supreme ruler of all in this world, surveyed the scene with calculated pleasure. Before him spread a vibrant palette representing every feeling, emotion, and power in existence, a dazzling array that he alone could manipulate. He understood that once that power was granted, the intricate tapestry of his carefully plotted narrative would be irrevocably woven. He was the maestro, orchestrating every element, every creature, and every heartbeat in the unfolding saga.
"With a single graceful movement," he declared, directing his hand toward the vast expanse of the sky, "I possess the power to obliterate everything in an instant. Yet, I find far greater pleasure in guiding them toward their inevitable demise with a touch of elegance." Malakothies, fascinated by the girl's untapped potential, keenly observed how the young man was unwittingly drawn into the swirling vortex of destiny she had conjured. A question lingered in his mind: could she rise to challenge this tumultuous fate, or would she ultimately yield to the harsh truths that awaited her?
As the girl approached the man, a surge of energy washed over Malakothies, invigorating his very being. "One movement, one fleeting opportunity," he murmured to himself, anticipation building within him like a tempest, waiting for the moment when she would awaken the Avatar's power that lay dormant beneath her skin. "Will she summon the courage to lay bare her heart, or will trepidation ensnare her?"
He was filled with an insatiable desire to witness the unfolding layers of this intricate narrative, each character poised to play their intricate role upon the vast, sprawling stage of existence. In his imagination, Malakothies held the reins of power, determining the fates of not just the girl, but all engaged in this grand drama. He yearned to see courage clash with fear, how even the smallest decisions could send ripples cascading through this expansive and timeless tale.
Stepping into the ethereal light that blurs the boundary between dreams and reality, Malakothies emerges in a form that is both breathtaking and fearsome. Dark shadows swirl around him, as if he has just transcended the suffocating darkness of night. With his magnificent black wings, glimmering with a gentle luminescence that suggests both elegance and raw power, he embodies an angel caught between two worlds. These magnificent wings not only elevate his allure but also symbolize his extraordinary strength—the innate ability to reshape destinies and challenge the very tenets of fate. Every fluid movement he makes leaves the impression that he conducts the intricate symphony of the universe, enveloping him in an enigmatic aura that stirs a mix of fear and fascination in all who dare to gaze upon him. In his presence, uncertainty and hope dance together, weaving a tense tapestry where every choice looms with profound ramifications.