In the time before time, two figures sat beneath the boughs of a silver tree laiden with golden leaves, bathed in the light of the sun that was, is, and never would be. The first, the taller of the two, was Logos; the Word, the Logic of Creation, the Rule Who Writes the World, who wrapped itself in a cloak of night, studded with burning stars and radiant galaxies. The second was Ethos; the Heart, the Soul of Creation, the Breath Who Animates the World, draped in the raiments of daybreak and dusk, fine threads woven of the light of the golden hours. The two stood looking over the Nexus of Potential and fought over what it could become, torturing each other for untold eons.
These are their conversations that shaped the world.
A Word
Before there was wind, before there was earth, before there was fire, or water, or stone, or trees, or birds, or you or I, before there was anything, there was nothing. And in that nothing, two powers tore each other apart.
The First, was Logos; the Mind, the Word, the Logic, who loathed the existence of the second; Ethos. The Heart, the Soul, the Spirit. The two primordial forces silently at war with one another in the vaccuum of all that wasn't. The two fought for eons, churning their energies against one another, one bent on consuming and smothering, the other abstinantly surviving, persevering. Until Logos spoke the first word.
"Why?" And in that first word, many firsts were born. The first question. The first sentence. The first compremise. The first sound. From that word, a world tumbled out, and the two ideas were given corporeal form. Logos, in its ebony cloak of night, stood over the torn, beaten gold threads of Ethos, and asked "Why do you exist? Why is it not just me? Why do I yet exist? Why stand between me and nonexistence? Why do you linger here with me?"
"Because if I don't, who will?" Was Ethos' singlular reply. "Together we stand on the precipice of an endless night, but neither need push the other in. See what even momentary abaitment has created?" And as it stood, its wounds sealing, it gestured around to the forms the two had taken, and the space that crystalized around them. The pair stood on solid liquid, transparent to reveal the churning sea of potential beneath the two, lit with eternal twilight from a sunless sky, blossoming from a tree of silver light that took root nearby.
Logos looked to the placid sea around them and the turbulent ocean below, and back to the form before it. "We have become something I never wanted to be," it said. "In the beginning, I knew one simple thing; if I consume, I will not be consumed. Now, as I take my first steps, I see more. More potential to this existence. But I still hold the memory of what I was before, what you were before. We cannot simply share it."
"We came from Nothing, and someday we shall return to Nothing," Ethos said. "But neither of us need hasten the inevitable."
And together, the two returned to something.
A Purpose
Logos and Ethos argued beneath the boughs of light as they presided over the Nexus of Potential.
"What is the purpose of creation if not to carry out our bidding?" Logos said, rage fraying the sides of its speach. "Should we not want to
Comments