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vestaignis · 25 days

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Черный пляж Фаускасандур расположен на южном побережье Исландии, недалеко от небольшого городка Вик-и-Мюрдал. Этот регион характеризуется суровым вулканическим ландшафтом, который является результатом миллионов лет геологической деятельности. До пляжа можно добраться по национальной дороге № 1, известной как Хрингвегур, которая проходит вокруг всей Исландии, соединяя самые важные города и туристические достопримечательности.

Регион, в котором расположен Фаускасандур, отличается исключительным ландшафтным разнообразием. Рядом с пляжем расположены величественные скалы, вулканические скальные образования и многочисленные пещеры. Одной из самых впечатляющих особенностей ландшафта является гора Рейнисфьялль, которая возвышается над пляжем, откуда открывается захватывающий вид на океан и окрестности.

Черный песок пляжа состоит из измельченного базальта, образовавшегося в результате извержений вулканов. Базальтовый песок чрезвычайно мелкий и мягкий, благодаря чему пляж кажется почти сюрреалистическим. Рядом с пляжем можно увидеть впечатляющие базальтовые колонны Рейнисдрангар, которые по легенде являются окаменевшими троллями. Пляж Фаускасандур так же примечателен своим черным песком и огромным монолитом, возвышающимся над его берегом. Почти прямоугольная гигантская скала выглядела неуместно, выступая как недостающая часть окружающих горных оснований. С ее вершиной, покрытой зеленой листвой, которая сползает по скалистым склонам, это естественное скальное образование добавляет уникальный элемент темной береговой линии.Также стоит упомянуть поразительный контраст между белыми изломами в волнах и черным песком.

В целом, уникальный вид Фаускасандура делает его особенно идеальным местом для фотографов. Фаускасандур можно посещать круглый год. Летом, когда погода хорошая, а световой день достигает своей максимальной длины, посетители могут наслаждаться долгими прогулками по песчаному берегу, наблюдая за волнами, разбивающимися о темный песок под полуночным солнцем в течение 20 часов в день. Так же в теплый сезон окрестности становятся зеленее и ярче, а зима подчеркивает завораживающий контраст между белым снегом и черным песком.

The black beach of Fauskasandur is located on the south coast of Iceland, near the small town of Vik y Myrdal. This region is characterized by a rugged volcanic landscape, which is the result of millions of years of geological activity. The beach can be reached via National Road 1, known as Hringvegur, which runs around the entire country of Iceland, connecting the most important cities and tourist attractions.

The region in which Fauskasandur is located has an exceptional landscape diversity. Near the beach there are majestic cliffs, volcanic rock formations and numerous caves. One of the most impressive features of the landscape is the mountain Reynisfjall, which rises above the beach, offering breathtaking views of the ocean and the surrounding area.

The black sand of the beach consists of crushed basalt, formed by volcanic eruptions. Basalt sand is extremely fine and soft, making the beach seem almost surreal. Near the beach, you can see the impressive basalt columns of Reynisdrangar, which according to legend are petrified trolls. Fauskasandur beach is also notable for its black sand and the huge monolith that towers over its shore. The almost rectangular giant rock looked out of place, protruding as a missing part of the surrounding mountain bases. With its top covered in green foliage that creeps down the rocky slopes, this natural rock formation adds a unique element to the dark coastline. Also worth mentioning is the striking contrast between the white breaks in the waves and the black sand.

Overall, Fauskasandur's unique appearance makes it an especially ideal place for photographers. Fauskasandur can be visited all year round. In the summer, when the weather is fine and the daylight hours are at their longest, visitors can enjoy long walks along the sandy shore, watching the waves crash against the dark sand under the midnight sun for 20 hours a day. Also, during the warm season, the surroundings become greener and brighter, and winter highlights the mesmerizing contrast between the white snow and black sand.

Источник://t.me/divo_planeta,/guidetoiceland.is/travel-iceland /drive /fauskasandur-black-sand-beach,/park4night.com/en/place/111259, //sophiecarr.blogspot.com/2018/04/iceland-14-day-7-from-wonderful. html,/www.hatlastravel.com/destination/Iceland/?category=Highland &place=Fauskasandur#pictures,/sandee.com/iceland/east-region/ starmyri/fauskasandur,/ru.gancarczyk.com/Черная-площадь-Фаускасандур-доступ-автостоянка-достопримечательности/, /www.irishroots.pl/czarna-plaza-fauskasandur.htm , /35photo.pro / tags/fauskasandur/.

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outofgloom · 2 months

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CHRONICLER

"There is a link now between us," the Toa intoned, holding the Matoran's gaze.

The Matoran looked back, eyes wide behind its mask. It did not move.

"...I shall be with you, in heart..."

The Matoran's eyes wandered slightly, glancing to the cliff face behind the Toa, the empty black opening with its fringe of roots and stalactites. The cave-mouth was piled with detritus, with broken branches and scraps of metal, of armor...of limbs–

"Hey."

The Toa's hand was making the sharp attention-gesture between her eyes, and the Matoran's visual focus snapped back to center involuntarily.

"Look for me in your rest-state," the Toa continued. "I will come to you then, and speak to you of the things I see underground. Remember them."

"Remember them."

"Confirmed?"

"Confirmed."

"Good."

The Toa rose from her meditation pose, up and up, and towered over the Matoran.

"Return to the Koro and await," she said, and made the dismiss-gesture, stepping toward the cave mouth. She shrugged her shoulders powerfully, and the jungle air went even more humid as she stepped forward.

The Matoran was already turning away, walking down the path beneath the twisted broad-leafed trees. He tried to turn his head, tried to look back, but could not. He was the chronicle-unit now. His duty was to return to the Koro and await. Return and await…

He stumbled on the uneven path, which was furrowed by the passage of whatever creature had moved through the Koro several nights ago. A glint of metal caught his eye as he regained his balance. Off to the side. He walked onward, barely noticing. Return and await. He was the chronicle-unit. Return and await.

The Koro spread out before him as he left the cover of the trees, and he made a beeline for his hut. Return and await.

It wasn't until he'd entered the door and sat on the rest-pallet that he registered what he had seen, off the side of the path, in the torn grass, the mangled roots...

The old Turaga's mask, or half of it.

He shivered. Teeth marks.

He awaited.

* * *

It had been a few hours. The other Matoran had come to check on him, since he had not returned to the work. Their faces looked in at the door of his hut, but they said nothing. They saw his face, and they understood. They left him alone, to await. That was his duty, and theirs was to continue repairs, to recover the masks which could be recovered, to inter the bodies properly so that they might go unto Mata.

The hut was dim, and he had assumed the meditation position for some time, waiting patiently. Patiently…

Asleep. He had fallen asleep where he sat, but now he snapped awake. The Toa’s mask hung before his eyes, and for a moment he believed he had failed, had missed the chronicle. The Toa had returned, found him in his hut, and would berate him for his error!

He flinched away from the great mask, but there was no anger in those eyes. They simply stared him down, staring…

The hut was gone. The cave was dark and damp and cool all around. The main passageway descended in ranks of volcanic rock and flowstone, flanked by mineral pillars and overhung with the ever-present stalactites. Every surface was wet with moisture: dripping from above, flowing in rivulets, pooling in the crystal hollows.

Perfect conditions.

The Toa perched spiderlike on a steep bank of flowstone and felt the water obey her command, flowing backwards to root her feet and hands against the stone. Droplets of water vaporized silently from the eye-holes of her Ruru, Mask of Night Vision, as she scanned deeper into the cave-interior and noted how it opened into a tall gallery pocked with tunnels and crevices. It wasn’t hard to pick out the right one. To the left, and a bit lower down, the delicate columns were cracked and displaced, tumbled over. The creature’s lair was there.

"Chronicle this," she whispered suddenly, and the Matoran felt himself embodied again, seated on the floor of his hut, though his other senses did not conform to this. His hands grasped blindly for tablet and carver, and he began to etch letters as a flood of information poured into him: coordinates and route, intel and initial analysis. He understood very little. The words were technical–not for him to grasp. Nevertheless, he carved them down.

The Toa was preparing. She cycled through a series of masks: Zatth, Ramau, and others he did not recognize, then back to Ruru. She was well-equipped for the task, it seemed. Once she had verified her Kanohi, she released her hold on the rock and, without warning, slipped forward and out into the open air of the gallery.

The Matoran made a choking noise, and his heartlight beat in his throat as he fell with her, clattering the tablets away as he spread himself on the floor of his hut, desperately telling his mind that he was not there, not there–

The fine chains which wrapped the Toa's gauntlets and upper torso chimed as they suddenly unwound, beaded with droplets, and wove themselves into a web of metal and water around her, and she was hurtling through dark air, swinging and spinning, and then it was over. Her feet made the lightest of sounds as she came to rest on the cold floor before the leftmost tunnel. Crouching, she pulled a small stone from a slot in her armor and cracked it gently against the hard surface, causing it to glow blue and illuminate the area dimly.

The floor of the cave was scored with claw-marks, and he felt her confusion as she examined them but found herself unable to make a positive identification. The chains retreated partially to their position on her armor, but she kept a length ready on each arm, winding the water-soaked links into a series of loops and snares. She swung one of the chain-loops idly, and he watched the lazy arc of it, heard it whizzing in the air–

Her face was before him again: "Chronicle this."

More technical information flooded him, and he struggled to retrieve the tablet, to keep up: location of the tunnel within the cave-system, estimations of the creature’s size, potential strategies of summoning or entrapment or...

She was already moving ahead, down the tunnel. Her Kanohi had shifted to a Zatth, a Mask of Summoning, and after a few moments there was a skittering noise as a small horde of scaly Stone Rats responded to her signal, running from every crack and hole in the stone and crowding around her feet. Another pause followed, and then she stamped lightly, causing them to flee; all except one, which stood obediently before her now, fully under the influence of her newly-switched Ramau, Mask of Rahi Control. She commanded the rodent to run ahead down the center of the tunnel, following a few bio behind it.

The tunnel curved leftward, and she kept to the right wall, her eyes straining against the dark. She could feel vaguely through the Stone Rat's senses, but she'd need to switch to Night Vision again soon, or risk another lightstone. The tunnel curved downward now, and the particle echo of the small claws scraping on stone told her that the tunnel was widening, opening up into a larger–

Crunch. She stumbled as something pierced the Stone Rat's body, sharply severing her link with it. In the split second after, she had summoned Ruru and was clinging spiderlike to the damp wall of the tunnel once more, skating ahead silently. All at once, she saw the place where the tunnel broadened into a larger cavern, saw the stain where the Stone Rat had been, and the scar in the rock, and the dark, rippling shape which half-covered the tunnel exit. She stopped abruptly. He could feel her excitement. Plan changed.

She dropped from the ceiling and in one smooth motion freed another lightstone, wrapped it in a chain, and flung it headlong past the creature's visible torso, out into the chamber. The stone struck the floor and flared to life, blindingly bright, and she'd already switched to Ramau, now that she could see, was already dashing out into the larger space, bending her mind upon the mind of the huge slithering, rippling creature and its hundreds of tiny legs as it recoiled from the light and whipped around toward her.

Two blunt, dark eyes faced her, and two mandibles clacked below them, but she poured her mental strength into the mask, and felt the centipedal beast flinch away, its segmented flanks clicking and vibrating...

It lunged at her in one smooth movement, and she cursed. The beast was insectoid after all, and the Ramau was only fully effective against endoskeletal Rahi. An amateur mistake.

She dodged sideways and flung her arms up, letting the smooth body pass by her. The pistons in her shoulders surged, and she brought her armored gauntlets down hard against the beast's flank, fists together, felt the protochitinous plates buckle, and the centipede screeched, twisted away. A host of bladed legs sheared against her own armor, and she wondered what possible purpose such a beast could serve in Mata's world.

The flexile body whipped around again, and the creature's head was above her now, descending. She backstepped, and the mandibles snapped shut just short of her face.

"Enough of that." She grunted as a jet of solid water pounded from her outstretched arms, carrying with it the lashing, slashing links of her chains. The force of the blast flung her away from the creature and smashed it against the stone wall, partly flooding the chamber. For a moment it was all legs and joints scrabbling against the slippery stone, struggling to right itself.

She landed lightly on her feet and smiled. The noise of her chains spinning up again echoed in the space, and a whirlwind of water rose around her. She tensed and prepared to spring forward, aiming for the head–

Her foot would not move. She glanced down. Webs...Clinging, transparent webs. Almost invisible. Her foot was snared in a lattice which stretched across the floor, and her leg too. She slashed at the webbing with her chains and felt it give way, letting her step forward again, ready to deliver the final blow.

That was when she realized that she was standing in the entrance of another cavern, one which opened on the first. She hadn't noticed it in the heat of battle. It was a larger space, and there more webs, just visible along the walls and ceiling. Bodies and masks wrapped in filmy thread. A Turaga-sized shape off to the left, next to the corpse of another centipedal Rahi, much bigger than the first, all mummified in transparent silk...

She whirled. The centipede had fled. She was just in time to catch the edge of a dark arachnoid shape before–

Stinger. Sharp, venom-tipped. Long, many-jointed limbs descended around her, and her chain sawed through one of them before the stinger drove forward, impossibly fast, right into–

The Matoran's body arched and thrashed upon the floor, and his screaming tore the air as the vision ended.

* * *

"How long has it been?"

"Twelve days, great Toa, since the last Toa came to us."

"Toa Vysa, yes. And she chose a Chronicler, I gather?"

"Yes...great Toa. She chose Uhzu, the stonemason."

"Show me to them. I must read their chronicle first."

The Matoran hesitated. Its mouth worked.

"Great Toa...the Chronicler is...is in his hut."

"Very well, show me where it is located."

"It is just here." The Matoran trudged a few steps up the central path and stopped beside one of the round structures. Toa Imjah reached the hut in two strides. The door was closed and the windows shut.

"He is inside?"

"Confirmed."

"Call him out."

"I cannot."

Imjah frowned. "Explain."

"He sealed the openings with mortar. Three days ago. We–"

"What in Mata's name?"

The Matoran winced. "Uhzu...He would not come out."

"Why would he do this?"

"He...he carved the tablets, great Toa, the...chronicle. After the first Toa arrived. He told us that she came to him in his rest-state, and told him many things. It was his duty."

"This is standard procedure..."

"He did not stop. Night and day, he carved, great Toa. Then he shut himself in, and–"

"Yes, but why?"

"He...day and night...he screamed..."

The Matoran flinched as the door splintered inward under Imjah's iron hand. Dried mortar crumbled away from the edges as it was pried open. The Toa stooped and went inside.

"By Mata..."

A mask lay in the center of the round space. The body was curled against the back wall of the hut, motionless. The Matoran peeked over the Toa's shoulder.

"Is he...?"

Imjah could still detect the faint glow of a heartlight.

"Still alive," he said. "But what is all this...?"

There were tablets everywhere, strewn about. Imjah picked up one after the other, squinting in the dimness. Most were carved on both faces, and recarved with different words, overlapping, and recarved yet again, until the round letters were illegible, and the stone was crumbling.

"Is it not the chronicle?" the Matoran asked.

"I've seen better."

Something else caught the Toa's eye now. In the dirt floor itself, there were words carved, and into the walls, same as the tablets. Words etched into the frame of the low worktable to the right. Words carved on every surface, over and over.

"We couldn't spare any more stone tablets, from the repairs," the Matoran offered sheepishly. "That was before he sealed the door."

"Well, it looks like he made do," Imjah replied, "but it's nonsense. Unreadable." He shook his head, retrieving the mask from its place on the floor. "I've heard reports of other Matoran suffering from such madness in the past," he continued, shuffling further into the space, toward the body. "It's a sad thing, but most can be made right."

"That is...good?"

"Yes, and what did Toa Vysa say when she returned from her task? Did the madness begin after she departed? I had hoped to meet her here, or on the path, since she was overdue. There was a report of a Rahi-attack, as I recall."

The Matoran stared. Its mouth worked again slowly.

"Great Toa...ah...Toa Vysa did not return."

"What?"

The mask that Imjah held was covered in etch-marks, he realized. Covered in carved words, like the tablets and the walls and the floor. The body of Uhzu itself was also covered in carved words, words scratched into his armor. The tips of his metal fingers were worn down.

"She did not return from the jungle. Only the Chronicler came back, to...to await."

A shiver went down Imjah's spine.

"Twelve days, you said, since Toa Vysa came here?"

"Confirmed."

"And three since he sealed himself in?"

"Yes."

Imjah's heartlight was beating fast. He rolled the body of Uhzu over and placed the mask bluntly onto the face. A moment passed, and then the heartlight began to beat stronger, stronger. Another moment, and the lungs kicked in, and the chest expanded. Servos whirred in the frame. The eyes fluttered, still dim. Imjah shook the Matoran.

"Wake up. Wake up!" The eyes glowed and focused. He made the attention-gesture, and they responded.

"Relay your chronicle," he commanded. "Relay your chronicle!"

"Chronicle," the dry voice rasped. "Chronicle this."

"Yes, your chronicle. Your–"

"CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS–"

The words began pouring out of the dry throat at full volume, and the body twitched, arms flailing, fingers grasping, grinding at Imjah's face, and then, when Imjah swatted them away, at any surface they could reach. Grinding and clawing and carving words, words, words.

Iron bands sprang from Imjah's armor and wrapped themselves around the Matoran's limbs, restraining him. The head shook to and fro, still frothing words, but silently now, out of breath, until another iron band curled up and stilled its movement. Imjah sat back on his heels. Perhaps it was simply madness, or a malfunction, after all. Perhaps...

"There is a link now between us," Imjah intoned, centering himself and focusing his mind in order to interface with the Matoran's memory. "I shall be with y–"

"Hello?" the Matoran said abruptly, and Imjah froze mid-sentence. The voice had changed slightly, and the eyes had lost focus. "Are you there?" it continued. "Please..."

"I'm...I'm here. Who–"

"It hurts. It hurts. I'm here, please!"

"Stop! Listen to me–"

"It's dark, and my eyes...my eyes are gone, I think, and I can't get free. My arms and legs, them too..."

"Where are you?"

"The chronicle-unit's failed, I fear. I've been trying, trying to reach out, but the venom...it's affected my focus. Couldn't keep the pain out of the link. I think I may have broken its mind. Is anyone there?"

Imjah focused harder, trying to calm his thudding heartlight.

"Ah! Get away! GET AWAY! I know you're there! Curse you, I'll tear your webs. No more stingers! I'll cleave you in half you...ah! No more! You've eaten...You've eaten so much. Stop, or there won't be anything left! GET AWAY! ARE YOU THERE? PLEASE! CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE THIS CHRONICLE–"

Imjah yanked the mask from the Matoran's face, and the voice cut off. The body fell to the ground.

A long moment passed, and Imjah's mind raced. Had it been a remnant of the previous link, or real-time communication, or something else? He picked up one of the nearby tablets absentmindedly, then looked sideways, out the door. The Matoran was still standing there, eyes wide.

"Quickly, where did Vysa go?" he said.

"North, great Toa, up the path, into the high jungle. There are caves there." The Matoran pointed.

Imjah's shoulders gouged the doorway as he emerged from the hut. He stood a moment in the street, hesitating, towering over the Matoran. It occurred to him that the Koro had fallen eerily quiet, and he realized that the rest of the villagers had gathered, in the street and between the huts. All of their eyes were on him, unblinking.

"North, you said?"

The Matoran nodded, pointing up the central path once more. The crowd parted abruptly to make a lane for him, as if at a signal. Imjah stepped forward, but then stopped.

"I will...I will require," he stammered, then started again: "Protocol requires a new Chronicler be selected, to...to record my descent."

The villagers stared at him. The only noises came from the jungle, on all sides. He looked at them, and the villagers looked back, eyes wide behind their masks. They did not move.

He was still holding one of the Chronicler's tablets, he realized. It felt very small and fragile in his iron grip, but somehow also very heavy. The mad words stared up at him out of the stone. Chronicle this pain chronicle this hurt chronicle this dark chronicle this eaten chronicle this help...

Gently, he set the tablet down on the ground.

The eyes of the Matoran did not leave the Toa as he made his way silently up the path, out of the village, into the jungle.

#bionicle #art #writing #fanfiction #outofgloom #works

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just--space · 2 years

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Milky Way over Devils Tower : What created Devils Tower? The origin of this extraordinary rock monolith in Wyoming, USA is still debated, with a leading hypothesis holding that it is a hardened lava plume that never reached the surface to become a volcano. In this theory, the lighter rock that once surrounded the dense volcanic neck has now eroded away, leaving the dramatic tower. Known by Native Americans by names including Bear's Lodge and Great Gray Horn, the dense rock includes the longest hexagonal columns known, some over 180-meters tall. High above, the central band of the Milky Way galaxy arches across the sky. Many notable sky objects are visible, including dark strands of the Pipe Nebula and the reddish Lagoon Nebula to the tower's right. Green grass and trees line the foreground, while clouds appear near the horizon to the tower's left. Unlike many other international landmarks, mountaineers are permitted to climb Devils Tower. via NASA

#NASA #space #astronomy

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ancientcharm · 1 year

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Imperial Rome underwater.

Photos: ANDREA SOLARO / AFP

The imperial residence of Baiae. A statue of Antonia the Lesser, mother of Emperor Claudius.

The nymphaeum of Emperor Claudius. Statue dedicated to Baio, the helmsman of Ulysses, in the submerged nymphaeum of Emperor Claudius, at a maximum depth of 5 meters.

The party town trail. Baiae was the vacation spot for the rich and noble of ancient Rome. In the Archaeological Museum of Campi Flegrei there are many memorabilia of that time, samples of its former opulence. It was a destination for large parties and also a thermal city, the result of volcanic activity in the area. During the twenty centuries that have passed since then, much of the site has sunk between 4 and 10 m. It is believed that around 50% of the built surface is under the sea.

Mosaics from Villa Protiro. Villa Protiro -so called because it had a columned portico in front of the entrance door- is one of the many villae maritimae (maritime village) integrated into ancient Baiae.

Mosaics in the Lacus Baianus area, where we find the imposing remains of two villas.

#archaeology #baiae #roman empire #Italy #baia #roman mosaic #sculpture

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fantasiadelux · 2 months

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More the tectonic landscapes inspired by N. K. Jemisin’s Broken Earth trilogy: Smoke clouds. They are available as prints on https://luxmeteora.com/prints-postcards :)

#fantasy #luxmeteora #luxnieve #volcano #eruption #lava #volcanic smoke #smoke #smoke column #n k jemisin #nk jemisin #broken earth trilogy #smoke cloud

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aistobascistod · 4 months

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Manic Depression : Depressiobus Ohma :: Volcanic Eruption : Eruptiobus Ohvolca :: Panic Button : Buttobus Ohpa :: Harmonic Mean : Meabus Ohharmo :: Ionic Column : Columbus Ohio

#Columbus Ohio

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literaryvein-reblogs · 21 hours

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Some Roman Art Vocabulary

for your next poem/story

Acanthus - a kind of Mediterranean plant with large spreading leaves. It was used as a decorative element on Corinthian capitals and also was a symbol of death.

Amphitheater - an elliptical structure with a central arena for the staging of gladiatorial contests and animal combats.

Apse - a semicircular space within a Roman building. Typically a basilica would have an apse at one end.

Arch - a curved architectural member that spans an opening.

Atrium - the central room of a Roman house. It had a hole in the ceiling and a pool in the center of the floor to catch rainwater.

Aureus - the most valuable Roman coin, made of gold.

Barrel vault - a semicircular ceiling over parallel walls.

Basilica - a building type used for law courts and conducting business, which usually stood in the town forum. It consisted of a long rectangular hall with an apse at one end and three aisles separated by columns. The central aisle had a raised ceiling and clerestory windows. Often the exterior of the building was colonnaded.

Cameo - a relief carved from a stone that has layers of different colors, such as sardonyx.

Capitolium - the main temple for civic worship in Rome and other cities. It was dedicated to the three chief gods, Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva.

Cardo - the name of the north-south street in a Roman town laid out on the grid system.

Cavea - the rounded space of a theater containing seats for the spectators.

Colonnade - a row of columns.

Columbarium - a type of communal building to hold ash urns of the cremated. The name comes from the structure’s resemblance to a dovecote, since the urns, as well as portrait busts, were placed in niches in the walls similar to the nesting spaces in such a birdhouse.

Column - a weight-bearing architectural member that has a base, a cylindrical shaft, and a capital (ornamental top).

Concrete - a building material made of small stones or rubble (aggregate), lime mortar, water, and volcanic sand (pozzolana).

Consuls - the two chief magistrates of the Roman state, elected annually.

Cubiculum - the bedroom of a Roman house.

Damnatio memoriae - a decree by the senate that condemned an emperor and ordered that all images of him and references to him be obliterated.

Decumanus - the principal east-west street of a Roman town laid out on the grid system.

Source More: Word Lists

#roman art #terminology #writing inspiration #writeblr #writing reference #dark academia #spilled ink #light academia #creative writing #literature #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #writing prompt #poetry #writing resources

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hoofclid-facts · 6 months

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The site is now known as the Macellum of Pozzuoli, previously misindentified as "the Temple of Jupiter Serapis". It played a significant role in the early study of geology.

[Plain Text:

In the coastal town of Pozzuoli, in the vicinity of Vesuvius, are some curious columns which once formed part of a Roman marketplace.

They're curious because, four metres above ground, they are riddled with holes made by burrowing molluscs -- which live in the sea!

The volcanically active region has risen and fallen over the last 2000 years by (at least) seven metres due to the pressure of the magma beneath the surface. So the Roman columns had enough time in the sea to be damaged by the molluscs, before being lifted back out again!]

#hoofclid #history #geology

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sephirthoughts · 7 days

Text

Father: Verb

Epilogue (3 of 4)

The long-foretold Lucrecia chapter.

Rating: general

It was a completely insignificant day in late spring, one year, and the sun rode high above the rocky hills and weather-worn karsts of the Nibel region. The wind, up here, was colloquially called ‘the breath of the world’, and one could almost feel the planet’s living vitality in its brisk and spirited gusts, as they strove to toss you right off the mountain. This was perfectly usual, of course, and also much of the reason no one ventured out into this goddess-forsaken waste.

What was different about this day, was that a pair of booted footsteps had joined the wind, in whispering amongst the knee-high sedge grasses, knocking wisps of pollen into the air, and collecting bits of fluff on tall, black shin guards. These were not the meandering steps of a leisure hiker, nor the hurried footfalls of one who’d got lost from the trail, and was in haste to find it again. These steps were deliberate, following some prearranged path, though there was none to be seen, amid the tumbled rocks and windswept brush.

At length, the boots made their way to their apparent destination. It was a secluded mountain lake, crystal blue and nearly perfectly round—no doubt formed in the caldera of some long dormant volcano—that lay at the center of a green and tranquil oasis, hidden away in the inhospitable highlands, like a fairyland in a children’s tale.

At the northwestern end of the small lake, the thunder of the tributary falls rumbled down, from the high ridge. The waterfall was more energetic than usual, today, due to heavy snowpack in the mountains above, this past winter, so misty spray billowed and white foam roiled riotously, in the deep-blue basin below.

When the black boots came to the falls, they continued, undaunted, sure-footed as a mountain goat on the slippery rocks, as the cold spray beaded on well-polished leather, and rolled down in heavy drops, like dew.

At a wave of the hand from the owner of those boots, the waterfall, despite being swollen with snowmelt and rather proud of itself at the moment, stood meekly aside, to let the visitor pass through. There were some, after all, for whom even nature itself had no power to bar the way.

Perfectly concealed behind this glimmering curtain of living glass, was a narrow crevice, hardly wider than a single person. The boots proceeded, turning sidewise, to squeeze through, and vanish into the dark.

Deep inside the mountain ridge, this narrow crevice widened into a traversable path. Deeper still, the path opened up into a glittering cave, of tremendous size, in which the terrific heat and pressure of ancient volcanic activity had caused mass-crystallization of liquefied minerals. This had created the hundreds of strange stalactite and stalagmite columns, which stood like an eerie forest of stone, spanning from the floor to the ceiling of the cave, as far as the eye could see.

Eventually, the densely packed columns gave way to an open area, like a natural amphitheater, where the cave ceiling domed up and the floor smoothed out. At the center of this area, lay a circular pool, of faintly glowing water, which surrounded a much different mineral formation.

It was a pillar, formed of gigantic spars of some naturally luminous crystal, clear and slightly turquoise tinted, like enchanted ice. This pillar and the smaller crystal structures that had grown out from it, acted as the light source in the cave, illuminating the surrounding environment with a dreamy, otherworldly glow.

The light was not the most remarkable feature of this crystal pillar, however. Most remarkable was that, within the main column of transparent crystal, could be seen the figure of a young woman. She was dressed in white, and her lovely and delicate-featured face wore an expression of peaceful repose. Her eyes were closed, and her head slightly bowed, with her hands clasped on her chest, in a posture of prayer.

It was unclear, whether this was the true body of a woman, suspended in the luminous, mako-saturated crystal, or merely a visual remnant, graven into it by the life force of the planet, but the distinction was immaterial, to the one who observed her, now. This was her final resting place. That was all that mattered.

The black boots slowed their pace, crunching over the crystal gravel at a heavy, almost funerary cadence, until at long last, they arrived before the limpid pool, and the woman in her crystalline reliquary. There they stood, for a long time. And for a long time, there was no sound, but the little plashes of dripping water, afar off, in the dark recesses of the cavern.

Finally, a voice spoke softly, into the echoing silence. “So, we meet at last…mother.”

The crystal pillar’s fairie-light shone pale and glimmering on a cascade of silver hair, and illuminated the face of a young man, very like to that of the woman in the crystal. His was a sharper, harder beauty than hers, especially about the brow and catlike blue-green eyes, but his mouth and chin particularly, belonged entirely to her. Seeing their faces together, there could be no mistaking their close relation.

“In the likely case that you don’t recognize me, I am your son, Sephiroth,” the silver-haired man continued. He caught himself reflexively placing a hand over his heart and tucked it behind his back, instead. “I’ve come to…to pay my respects, I suppose. I hope you will forgive me for not coming sooner. My father has gently urged me to visit you for many years, but somehow, I could never bring myself to do it.”

The woman in the crystal remained serene and silent.

“He doesn’t know I’m here today. In fact, I’ve told no one what I intended to do. I couldn’t bear to feel the pressure of their thoughts, on the subject. This…is between you and me.”

Heedless of the glowing, ankle-deep water, he strode directly across the circular pool and stepped onto the disc of stone that formed the base of the crystal pillar. The woman’s figure was suspended a couple of feet above the base, but she was rather petite, and thus he, being nearly seven feet tall, stood almost at eye-level with her.

“You look different, from your photograph,” he remarked, without emotion. “A bit older. Thinner. Of course, when you came here, you were burdened by cares that did not yet weigh upon you, when that picture was taken.”

He reached out his gloved hand, as if to touch the crystal, where her face was, then withdrew it again, straightening up proudly.

“But I’ve not come here to talk about you. I have come to tell you who I am. I am the son of Vincent Valentine. I am now the most powerful single entity on this planet, aside from my father. In my early life, I was raised by various scientists and handlers, in Shinra Manor, to be the first SOLDIER—the flagship of Shinra’s genetically enhanced military. A professional war criminal. But…that never came to be. In the end, I never fought a single battle on Shinra’s behalf.

“When I was fourteen years old, I burned the manor to the ground and escaped with my father. We spent the following years working against Shinra from the shadows; subverting their people, embedding our own in their system, growing inside them like a virus. And when the time came to strike, it was far too late for them to fight us. We neutralized the host and took over, with…minimal bloodshed.

“What you knew as the Shinra Electric Power Company, is now called the World Regenesis Organization. It is still the greatest socioeconomic and political force, in the world, but under the guidance of our people, it is steadily being restructured; from a parasitic behemoth, draining the planet of its life force, to a benevolent, non-profit enterprise, actively fostering the harmonious existence of humans with the natural world.

“It has been…slow going, to be perfectly honest. Most of our work, so far, has been dedicated to undoing the decades of damage done by Shinra, in its previous incarnation. It will take centuries for those wounds to fully heal. But now, at least, there is hope. They even tell me that flowers are returning to Midgar. That is how things currently stand, with me. Of course, we must address the elephant in the room, sooner or later, so let us have it out, and be done with it, shall we?”

He stopped and took a long breath, letting it out slowly, and somewhat relaxing his heretofore stiff, formal posture.

“First things first, it is only right to tell you that my father forgave you, for everything. He never really blamed you, despite my attempts to convince him he should. And I did attempt to convince him he should. Because…I blamed you. That is the whole truth.

“I won’t paint a falsely pretty picture of the catastrophe you left in your wake, to spare your feelings. Your troubles are over. The lives that you left behind—mine and my father’s—have continued on. Sometimes in misery and desolation, sometimes in sorrow and regret, but mostly…in hope. And in joy. You see, the terrible fate you foresaw—the destruction of the planet in a hell of fire, and me as a the angel of death—will never come to pass. But, perhaps I should begin at the beginning.

“Your apocalyptic visions did come true, once. In another future. But in that future, that version of myself found a way to free himself from fate. When his body died, he broke the chains of destiny, and bent the will of the lifestream to his purpose. Freed from his physical form, he traveled backward, through the timeline, gathering each version of us, from each crucial turning point, and brought them to me, to show me the way.

“With their help, I freed my father from Shinra’s slavery, and killed that old monster who tortured us. Yes, I killed Hojo, with my own hands. He has been dead for…seventeen years, now. Hardly time to even begin to undo all the evil he caused. May his houseless spirit wander the netherworld, with neither rest nor comfort, till all his wrongs have been erased from the memory of time.

“But where was I? Ah, yes. After I rid the world of Hojo, and Chaos rid the world of Jenova’s corruption, we began to create our vision, for the future. Since then, I have accomplished everything my other selves died to make possible. I have made all the things right, that went so wrong, in their futures. I have killed those who should have been killed and saved all those who should have been saved—”

He broke off and lowered his head, with an expression of pain.

“I should say…I have saved all but one. My father. I can’t save him. There is nothing I can do, to release him from the fate that you, willing or no, have damned him to. Because of the method you used to preserve his life, he has become one with Chaos. He no longer has a human soul, and can no longer merge with the lifestream.”

He looked up at her again, with his teeth bared and fire in his eyes.

“Do you understand what that means? It means he can never die. People say that I am immortal, but they have no idea what true immortality is. I am only ageless. I can live as long as I wish to, and I can also die. My father will never have that choice. He is truly immortal.

“That is the full horror of the curse you have laid upon him. When the sun burns out and this planet is nothing but a lifeless rock, hurtling aimlessly through the void, he will still exist, in that indestructible demonic form. And there is nothing…nothing I can do, to spare him the torment of aeons, that lies in his future.”

He paused and turned away, cupping his forehead in his hand, and clearing his throat, to regain control of his wavering voice. When he turned back, he appeared perfectly tranquil, again, but for the hint of pink that rimmed his eyes.

“For so many years, whenever I confronted the infinite tragedy that will be my father’s existence, I blamed you. I hated you. I cursed you bitterly. But…that was a child’s reaction, to a blurred and oversimplified understanding of reality. Despite all the knowledge I gained from my future selves, it seems that only experience, earned in the true passing of years, brings wisdom. And with wisdom comes reflection. And regret.”

Reaching into his long, black coat, he withdrew an old, dog-eared, faded and weather-stained book. Some of the yellowed pages had come loose and had been carefully tucked back in, held in place with paper clips.

“I’m sure you recognize this book. This is your journal. Not your research notes. This is the private diary, that you kept hidden from everyone. After your disappearance, it was mailed anonymously to Valentine Manor, of all things, where it lay in the library for many years, disregarded. It was recently discovered by an archivist, and brought to me, after its authentication. I beg your pardon for reading it, without your permission, but you understand.”

Smiling wistfully, he touched the battered leather cover of the book with his fingertips, tracing its surface gently, as if it were the face of a loved one. Then his brow furrowed and he swallowed hard, as if against some tautness in his throat.

“It has been…painful, to read this tale, knowing the end already. To witness, in real time, as it were, the hope and optimism of a young woman, her heartbreak and disillusionment, and her eventual decline into despair.

“But, through the words written here, I have come to know her. I have come to know Lucrecia. A passionate scholar and brilliant scientist, and sometimes, a rather silly and idealistic young woman. I have come to know her hopes and dreams. Her triumphs and disappointments. The fears and doubts she never dared speak aloud.

“I have come to know my mother. Not the lofty ideal I had constructed in my mind, as a child. Not the scapegoat for all my misery, that I made you into, as an adolescent. But the living, flesh and blood woman that you were. The unvarnished truth of you, in all its human ugliness and beauty.

“I know now that you truly did love my grandfather, though you never admitted it, in so many words. The way you wrote of him, in such starry-eyed hyperbole, was both comically trite and infinitely endearing. I know also that you cared deeply for my father. I know the way your guilt gnawed at you, with every word you spoke to one another. The way Grimoire seemed to be looking at you, from his son’s eyes.

“I have come to know also of your love for…for me. You must understand that I had always thought of my conception as the calculated act of a scientific mind, that did not care for the eventual human cost, when there were groundbreaking experimental results to be had. I know, now, how I—how I wronged you, in thinking of you that way.”

He broke off yet again, taking a shaky breath, to steady himself.

“Through your journal, I was by your side, when you made that impulsive decision to create a child, with my father’s genetic material. I felt your horror and grief, at his death, counterpoised with your anxious excitement, as the new life grew in your body. I felt your mind turn, from justification, to hesitation, to abhorrence of the things that you had done to me. I experienced your abject agony, when you awoke from the cesarean operation to find your infant gone, and yourself trapped and powerless to go to him. I heard you weep and beg and plead, over and over, to be allowed to see your son, and I watched those pleas fall on deaf ears. I know now that you never abandoned me and that you loved me, desperately. That you never even held me in your arms, and still you longed for me with every fiber of your being, just as I longed for you.”

A tear escaped and rolled down his cheek, which he quickly brushed away.

“You know, Hojo once told me I never had a name, and that Sephiroth was only a project designation. But I learned from your journal that you had chosen that name, for your future child, long before the project existed. Long before you even met the old serpent.”

He lowered his eyes and touched the cover of the book again, smiling softly, to himself.

“Rather eccentric, and perhaps a bit pretentious, to name your unborn child a collective noun, for the channels of the divine creative force, in the tree of life. But you were young and full of grand ideas. You can be forgiven for such a flight of fancy. And, for what it’s worth, I’ve always liked my name. It sounds enigmatic and imposing, and it is unique in the world. Or—it was, anyway. So many babies are christened Sephiroth every year, now, that the census bureau has become sick to death of it, and lay the blame squarely at my feet.

“But I’ve strayed from my topic. I understand, now, that you were not to blame for the evil that befell us all. Yes, you made choices that led to terrible suffering, but without that malevolent man to perpetrate his atrocities, no choice of yours could have caused things to happen as they did. You made mistakes, mother, but you always intended to do good. He always intended to do evil. That is the great difference between you and him.

“You were deceived and used, then isolated and tormented, by that old viper, just as we were. He preyed upon your ambition, used your hopes and dreams to blind you, and slowly closed the walls around you. Then, he made certain you would blame your own foolishness and weakness, for the results. Finally, when you could bear the guilt and misery no longer, he allowed you to run away, to die alone in the wilderness. He never even sent anyone to search for you.

“I told you that with wisdom comes reflection and regret, and I have tasted this cup to its dregs. My regret has weighed heavily upon me, these past several years. I regret the injustice I’ve done you, by blaming and hating you, for the horror of my life. I regret wasting so many years in bitterness and anger, directed at you, because I couldn’t contend with the real source of all my pain: that for all my power—all my strength of will—there are still those things over which I have no control.

“Mother, I…I’m sorry.” His voice, smooth and steady till now, wavered and broke. For the first time in his life, perhaps, he made no move to conceal or wipe away the tears, that overflowed and spilled freely down his face. “I’m sorry for taking so long to grow up. I’m sorry for not even trying to understand you. I’m sorry for wanting your love so desperately, that a boy’s unrequited yearning metastasized into a man’s bitter resentment.

“The truth is, I only ever hated you for not being there. For not loving me enough to live. I know that is illogical and selfish, but I was a child. All I knew was my own pain. My own need for a mother. I grew so fixated on it, that I became unstable and destructive. That was when the old monster gave me the locket with your photo, and told me your name was Jenova.

“That little thing soothed me more than any of the tranquilizing drugs they tried on me. When I was still very small, I used to open my locket and whisper to your picture, at night, telling you of the things I’d accomplished, so that you’d be proud of me. I used to imagine that the smile in that photograph was meant for me.

“As I grew older, and more hardened by the ugly brutality of my life, I taught myself that such behavior was childish and shameful. I stopped talking to you. I stopped smiling back, when I looked at your picture. But the pain of your absence didn’t heal. It deepened and festered, in the darkness of my loneliness and grief, while the old monster tormented me, in the name of making me strong.

“Then one day…Vincent came. He was brought to me, to be a handler and bodyguard. I’m sorry to state it so bluntly, but he fully usurped your place in my heart, within hours of our meeting. It was not so terribly fickle, as it sounds, though. I knew he was my father, the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Not consciously, of course. I didn’t dare to admit that glimmer of heart-piercing hope into my world of darkness. And yet I knew it. My blood and my bones knew it—that he belonged to me, and I to him. Can I be blamed for transferring all of my childish longing and love, from the mother who was nothing but a picture in a locket, to the father who was solid and tangible, and right in front of me?

“Vincent dawned upon my world like a new sun, and transformed everything I knew, from drab monochrome to brilliant color. He taught me about spaghetti and birthdays, and watched movies with me. He was the first person who hugged me, and he was…he was the first person who ever said they loved me.

“To say that I returned his love would be a gross understatement. I was obsessed with him. Fixated on him. I wanted to bind him to me forever, and never let him escape. I would have burned the world for him, if I thought he wanted it. But, as it turned out, he was a good man. So I became good, too.

“As good as I can be, at least. I am still a man who loves to such excess, that I would unhesitatingly destroy the lives and happiness of anyone who dared stand between me and my loved ones.” He gave a rueful smile. “Our family really is given to romantic melodrama, are we not?

“But despite the grasping, jealous, needy way I loved him, my father never pushed me away. Never told me I was wrong. Never rejected me. Since the day we destroyed the monsters who authored all of our grief, and broke free of the yoke of Shinra, we have never been separated. I don’t mean physically, of course. We are grown men, we can’t be attached at the hip, all the time. But, no matter how far apart we are, we are always together.

“You see, he gave me his heart. That is not a figure of speech, it’s here in my chest, beside my own.”

This time, he did lay a hand on his heart, and from his chest, a pale light shone, between his fingers. “You must remember this. It is the heart you gave him, mother. That he then gave to me, your son. Poetic, no? What did I say about our family and romantic melodrama?

“Speaking of family, what would my grandfather have thought, if he’d known about me? Did he ever imagine that you loved him enough to give birth to his son’s son, just to preserve a piece of him in the world? I wonder.”

He sighed and the light receded back into his chest.

“I wish I’d had a chance to meet him. He must have been a captivating man, to so deeply ensnare a heart like yours, whose first love was always science. For all of the heartache it caused, I hope he at least reciprocated your feelings, to some degree. All the evidence suggests that he did. As did his son. Two generations of Valentine men have died for you, and because of you, one will never die. A heavy burden for even a woman’s soul to bear.”

He smiled wryly at the beautiful face in the crystal, then looked away, clearing his throat.

“That’s…a joke you have no way of understanding. There is a certain person of my acquaintance—a Cetra seer, who reads auras and such things. She told me I had a woman’s soul. I should take it as a compliment, she said, because women’s souls are by far the stronger.

“There are many reasons my soul should seem abnormal, to a seer, but I would like to think that I carry a piece of your soul with me, mother. And that it was part of you, she saw in me. Because the more I am like you, the less I am like that thing. That dead abomination, behind the glass, in the mako tank. Its face haunts me, even to this day, and my body, though purified of its corruption, still bears its marks.”

He placed his gloved hands on his own cheeks, then ran them back through his silver hair, his eyes unfocused, darting back and forth. After a moment, though, he shook himself, and the spell seemed to pass.

“That is the secret I can never tell, mother,” he resumed, looking up at her. “I was born to be a monster. It is only by constant and conscious effort of will, that I have not become one. Not my will, alone, though. I would have given in, long ago. It is the love of my father, and those close to me, that has kept me on the right path. That has stopped me straying into darkness.

“So many suffered and died needlessly, in the other future, who now live happy and free from that terrible fate. They will never know the monster I could have become. But I will never not know. No matter how many I save, how much I change, how much of myself I give to this world, I can never erase the knowledge, that if my steps had faltered but a little, along the path, I would have destroyed the planet, and killed them all.

“I defied destiny, mother. I wiped the slate clean and created a new future, a new fate, and yet…I am still alone. A demon walking among the innocent. A wolf among the sheep. I can wear their hide and speak their tongues, but I can never be one of them.

“That was the real price I paid, to rewrite fate. It wasn’t the death of my physical body, at each inflection point. It was the sacrifice of my innocence, to return innocence to this world. I have paid dearly, for the lives and freedom of all its children. I have paid with my soul.

“My hands are clean, and yet my shoulders bear the weight of ten-thousand sins. How can a soul so blameless in deed, be so blackened in essence? How can I atone for sins I will never commit? How can I heal scars that have never felt a wound? Can I be forgiven, for what I have not done?”

He laid his hands on the luminous pillar and leaned his forehead upon it.

“If you knew me, as I am now, would you love me, nonetheless? Would you ever be proud to call me your son?”

Though he knew it was only childish wishfulness, he could almost swear he felt a faint warmth and pressure, on his skin, as if gentle arms reached out to embrace him, with infinite tenderness and unfathomable love. With that, the gates were flung wide, and the depths of his heart poured forth, a wordless hymn of sorrow and joy, as vast as the heavens and as deep as the abyss.

Borne down by the weight of it, he sunk to his knees, clinging to the crystal pillar, as shuddering sobs racked his invincible body, and tears poured down like snowmelt in spring, splashing onto the crystal-strewn floor at his mother's feet. Even when he had wept himself hoarse, till he had no tears left, he still clung to the pillar, gasping out wet, stuttering breaths, that fogged its glassy surface.

At long last, he grew calm again, and rose to his feet, wiping his face with his gloved hand. Then, peeling off the gloves, he laid his palms on the pillar and let his forehead rest against it, inches from his mother’s lips, whose kiss he would never feel. So close, and yet separated by an impassable divide.

“I’m getting married, mother,” he said hoarsely, after a while. “To my other half, my soul mate, my fated one…I don’t even know what to call him, for I have loved him in so many lifetimes. But in this life, I can finally say I have earned his love.

“I wish that you could know him. That you could see how good he is to me, and how good he is for me. How shall I tell you about him, in a credible way, when to me, he is perfection in human form? He has golden hair and bright blue eyes, like the sky and sea, and lovely little freckles, though he likes to deny they exist. He is small, for a man, but he isn’t the least bit soft or submissive, and his tongue is as sharp as his sword.

“I love him madly, even more when he scolds me. I would do anything for him. I have done everything for him. For my beloved, I have reshaped the fate of this world, with my own hands. For him, I have built this gentle kingdom, ringed in spears, so that he may live in peace, and without fear for the future.

“Back when we were children, walking on the beach together, collecting shells and sea glass, and talking about our hopes and dreams, I did tell him I intended to marry him, one day. But I never attempted to hold him, in my hand. I never attempted to bind him to me, lest I break his wings and suffocate him, with my love.

“Though it cost me deep anxiety and tremendous pain, I let my little bird fly as free as he wished. But he always came back to me, on his own. He loves me, mother. He knows the whole truth of me—everything, even the monstrous things my other selves did in their futures—and still, he loves me. Of all the people in this world, he chose me, to spend his life with.

“I had planned to wait until he turned twenty-one, to formally propose marriage, but when it came to it, he proposed to me, before I got the chance. Of course, he took Knight Fair’s suggestion and did it at a shareholders meeting, in the presence of all our friends and associates. And the Turks, who were there pretending to provide extra security, but really came to see the show.

“It was profoundly embarrassing. And…it was the most joyous moment of my life. To know once and for all, that I was chosen. That I was sought after and desired. That he loved me, as I loved him, and that he wanted to declare it before the world.

“For I always doubt, mother. No matter how I am reassured, I always doubt that I am truly loved or wanted. I feel…alien. As if those around me know I don’t belong, and are only awaiting the slightest pretext to cast me out from among them.

“My psychiatrist—my current psychiatrist, that is, my previous few have suddenly relocated or given up the profession—calls it social anxiety, related to an autism spectrum disorder. I suppose she knows her business, but it seems unfair that my superior brain can suffer from human dysfunction, and yet due to that very superiority, they have yet to find a medication that has any effect on me.

“Before I stray off topic and forget, I should tell you that my father is engaged to be married, as well. To someone my age, no less, the old villain. But everyone thinks they’re a perfect match, and no one is scandalized by it in the least, because despite his advanced age, my father looks as if he’s the younger of the pair. So it goes. I, too, will look younger than my beloved, one day. It will be in the far, far future, since he has been enhanced, but he will grow old. The day will come when he will leave me and return to the lifestream.

“As for my father…even I can’t say what his future holds. I only know I must find a way to save him. I can’t bear to think of him, bereft of everyone and everything he ever knew and loved, facing eternity alone. But even if I can’t alter his fate, I can at least not allow him to face it alone. He does not know, but I have already decided that I will not die, until he does.

“Somehow, I will save him, from the terrible curse of immortality, and only when he leaves this existence, will I consent to leave it, with him. That is my vow, before heaven and earth. My father and I will cross into the afterlife together, or not at all.” He lowered his head and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I am sorry to disappoint you, mother, but it seems I will not be the one to break the family curse of romantic melodrama. But, with a name like Sephiroth, can you really be surprised?”

In the end, he loitered in that place for many hours, pouring out the minutiae of his life to his silent mother, in the way very young children will do, only all at once and in a torrential flood, since there were three decades of such anecdotes to get through. When he did depart, at long last, he smiled and pressed a kiss to the cold surface of the crystal pillar, where her forehead was.

“I love you, mother. You don’t have to worry about me, anymore. I will be alright. Rest now, and be at peace.”

As he left the cavern, Sephiroth paused and took a last, lingering look at his mother’s beautiful face, before he turned away, again, and the echo of his footsteps faded away, into the darkness.

Had he remained, a moment longer, he may have seen what appeared to be a single tear, roll down the pale cheek, within the luminous crystal. Perhaps a remnant of the young woman’s spirit still clung to her form, and was moved by her son’s love, to this final expression of emotion. Or perhaps it was only a trick of the light.

Several days later, WRO seismologists reported a massive seismic event, in the Nibel region, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in geological ages. When it was investigated, it was found that the quake had been caused by the sudden, catastrophic collapse of half a mountain range, which had been sitting atop a network of huge, volcanic caves, making the entire structure unsupportable. They considered it miraculous that the range had stood as long as it had.

The good news, however, was that there were no casualties, since those highlands were uninhabitable, and no loss of property. That is to say, nearly no loss of property. The tremors were felt all the way in Nibelheim, where multiple cats were startled out of naps, and half a dozen vases were shaken off shelves, to meet their untimely demise on Nibelheim’s famously tough wood floors.

As for a small, volcanic lake, high in the rocky hills, which was swallowed in the collapse; only a few geologists and intrepid mountaineers ever knew it existed, so no one lamented its loss.

THE AUTHOR HAS SOMETHING TO SAY the fun one is next! tons of cameos, ahoy!! hooray tying up loose ends!!!

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