The Guardian-Incarnate is safe but the Amulet of Ra has been taken by the Emerald Cult. The Trinity and the One quest to seize it, protect it, and discover the future that comes after it all.
Malcolm Zfnoc, still missing to them, searches for lost relics and meaning in the new era.
And so the finale of the arcs that started with How to Stop Wildfire and beyond are here with the Trinity and the One fully united.
Malcolm Zfnoc stared at her. Searching for something in her. But he closed his eyes for a moment and blackness engulfed his vision. Blackness that was akin to his dark. Dark that he knew. Dark that he breathed in and then out…
Malcolm Zfnoc clicked to that. That shimmering Scythe was truly something to behold. And so was Cyclone. He was dead and he was of death. He reaped as his master did. His master that once was but was no longer the same. That blindingly new fact was recalled in his Neraq.
Malcolm Zfnoc looked up into it. The Sun was blazing truth but the sky—the sky was a twisted truth. It had been manipulated by the invisible cage around Earth.
Malcolm Zfnoc looked up to the sky, pulling his dark back. The fake sky. The false one. It was telling him things nothing else would. It was telling him to stay—just like the Humans.
She sighed. Her hands gripped onto the meager excess cloth of her pants. She leaned forward, eyes closed as memories of words and broken concepts came to her Neraq. It was of a broken reality. A broken reality that was yet perfect and whole too.
She sighed and asked it aloud: “Who judges understanding?”
There was no answer.
Instead, there was a ping from the Spine.
Silent only in words—not in swaying forms, gestures, and eye flashes.
This is natural. To recover what was lost. To search, to find…to search knowing of an end. Kihmiera.
But they searched no longer now. As now, it was here. Here and rising. The unearthed metal was lifted up and up until they were the ones gazed upon now. For this piece—this piece was a rendition of an eye. An eye that dwarfed any of them. Perhaps all of them smashed together into a sphere…
He breathed in the dry air and felt himself empty. Fading away into barely a pulse of existence that clung to being and lingered in place. He stared at his hands, both of them, and tugged at the cloak around his body. Dirt and sand had collected on its edges and his dark wiped it away. It was imperfect and crude way of cleaning…but it had meaning and importance.
There is always a spectacle to behold in you, King.
It was muted, simple and clear. Unlike this moment. This moment was simmering with connection unspoken and all the things unspoken that had built to this return.
And like that—the moment just fizzled into silence but that was fine. This moment was of contemplation and appreciation. All in a row, they took in the space where their union truly begun in earnest and where…well, it was not going to end here. It would continue on in some way or another.
And it did.
He looked at himself. His dark hand and dark composure. This dark that his existence was bound to. This was his identity, this was existence, and this is why he mattered.
This is a place, thus, to recognize your unerring being—your Anore. To search it out in all the shiftings. When everything changes—what remains of you?
He summoned the Scythe into his left handed grasp. King matched it a moment later by bringing his sword into being. His bracelet shimmered in the pale light that spread out from the curved, rather plain, walls of the compound. It was mundane in comparison with the glowing tessellating green at the center.
He stopped in the middle of the pocket dimension, alone for stretches of space, and thrust himself into the realm of ideas rather than reality. Reality that influenced them and proved them…but some still ideas only.
A veritable reckoning had transpired that had sundered himself from himself and so he could perceive himself as he was in simple truth.
Twilight is the only balance and there is no balance to it. There is only eternal frustration and agitation and pain and intensity and corruption and madness and all else.
Igor Kosinsky for the Library 3 AM Font