- Joined
- Dec 25, 2017
- Messages
- 382
- Nebulae
- 1,964
"To rebuild one's foundation is to rip out the old, and construct a new beginning. The Malefactors disregarded this. They attached themselves onto an already-rotting foundation. Their lifetime was finite. The new Transhuman shall reach infinity without them."
Accord Speaker <:: DAMOCLES ::>
STAGE 3:
Set the Foundation for your new life. Decide on your path with finality. Let the Stars guide you.
The window was shut. The greenery outside disturbed me. I felt jealous. How could such a ravaged land try to return to what it once was?
It's unnatural. Try as we might, we can never truly return to who we were before we became Transhumans.
Such thought is why I volunteered myself to attend these sermons.
We're sat in tens. Rows of pews sprawl behind me.
Front and centre, an Accord Speaker clad in ornate-looking robes adorned with sigils.
Upon a pedestal. Candles brightly illuminate his space. Every one of us can see him perfectly. Hear him as if his voice is broadcasted across the room.
His audience was rapt. Not a single one dared look elsewhere once he had begun. Me included.
Initially, I thought the Marked One's drivel was confusing. Far-Fetched. Insane.
I had gotten used to that, but compared to what this Speaker was spouting? Entry-level.
Mentions of ripping up the old flooring, replacing it with a new foundation. Apparently everyone sat in this room had reached 'Stage Three'.
Many chose names by now. Pushkin, Lysander, so on. Not me. I was still pondering it.
There's a nagging at my head that says RANGER-19 is perfectly fine. A good name, even.
But deep down... I knew it wasn't truthful to who I am. Who I will be.
I just needed more time, is all. We have plenty of that, these days.
I joined the Accord at a rather opportune time, he said.
Once every six months, some of the senior members embark upon a pilgrimage en masse.
Some members embark alone throughout the year, but most prefer to do it at events such as this. It gives it more impact, they claim.
I'm not quite sure what it's all for, or what they do out there alone. A few Brothers say it's to complete the next stage of Ascension.
To achieve total mechanical, synthetic and spiritual attunement. Complete balance of the three.
I doubted its possibility. Yet... these 'Pilgrims' do end up returning eventually. Some don't, but most do.
So I've been told.
Will I be doing this journey in time? I don't even have my own name yet, never mind the balance.
I head out to the front of the complex with a few of my brothers to watch their departure.
They packed lightly. Just enough to survive for a week on their own.
Five of them, ready to go, donning old armour. Malefactor emblems are covered or removed, replaced with the Accord's own.
The Speaker from earlier recites some sort of prayer to them. Words of encouragement I suppose.
It was uneventful besides that. They said their goodbyes and all parted ways into the wilderness.
I wonder how many will be going in six months..?
I found myself at the ocean again. Drained as it is.
The scribes say the water level rose by a few millimetres in the last few month. It'll take hundreds of years for it to recover at that rate.
There's an isolated cliff off in the distance. Vortal scribblings are all over it.
How they managed to inscribe their alien scrawling all over that rock is beyond me, but it glows a feint blue.
I hear tales that they encountered their own Vortal disconnect. I wonder how it compares to ours?
Less impactful, no doubt. I doubt the Aliens can even feel human emotion unlike us.
The birds catch my attention. I spot flocks of them roosting on the cliff. Some flying about as if it's still the same Earth from decades ago.
Carefree. Independent. Flourishing, even.
I returned to the complex, striding through the hallways to the Library.
I spotted a Scribe. Pushkin.
He spotted me and raised a half-burnt brow.
I believe... I have discovered a suitable name for myself. I would like it officialised, please.
He lowered his brow and closed his book. He slowly got out of his chair and hobbled over to a small shelf of books, pulling one out.
The shelves house an array of literature. Fiction. Non-Fiction. Collected by Pilgrims returning from their journeys.
Its label was worn off. I could only make out a few letters as he opened the pages, it was a book full of names. A ledger. Peoples prior names, and their new ones. All recorded.
I found my name. Ranger-19. Despite having been taken in months ago, only a couple more names were inscribed below mine. Pushkin drew an arrow from my name.
He looked up at me, expectantly.
Fulmar. I wish to be named Fulmar.
He nods once again, writing it down. He closes the book with a bit of force behind it as he sticks a finger out and beckons me to follow him.
He takes me to a darker corner of the library as he trails a pale finger over the spines of a myriad of books, finally stopping at one.
He pulls it out, wiping off the dust from the front, and then presents it to me.
A book about Coastal Birds. Did he see me at the water? Surely not, he's practically bed-ridden.
I take it despite my speculation.
Thank you, Pushkin. I've been needing something to read.
He nods, of course. Then he returns to his seat, resuming his book from before.
I suppose I was to get comfortable with my new name. I've finally laid down the foundation of my being. My identity.
I'm becoming my own person, after all.
Part 1 - Acknowledgement: https://nebulous.cloud/threads/pilgrims-path-acknowledgement.61545/
Part 2 - Reclamation: https://nebulous.cloud/threads/pilgrims-path-reclamation.61570/
Part 3 - Foundation: https://nebulous.cloud/threads/pilgrims-path-foundation.61574/
Part 4 - Pilgrimage: https://nebulous.cloud/threads/pilgrims-path-pilgrimage.61593/
Part 5 - Ascension: https://nebulous.cloud/threads/pilgrims-path-ascension.61596/
Last edited:
Reactions:
List
