Long ago, before the rise and fall of the Truthless Empire, before the storms of thunder and light became eternal—even before lies learned to hide beneath our skin—there was a creature. The creature was pure strength. With scales of white sunlight and a heart of molten gold it lived and thrived in the deepest waters. With jeweled eyes, the being observed the world’s constant motion, seeing the phases of life: success, failure, life and death, everything decaying. Everything ending.
But the creature never changed, never ended, never decayed. It was truth and power, unaffected by the forces that twisted stone into mountain ranges and shook the earth to its core, creating deserts and jungles and shattering the sky into a million pieces that sparkled and shined against the backdrop of empty blackness. But it didn’t change the creature. See, the sky had covered the dark for longer than the creature of truth had existed, but the shattered sky seemed only one more change to the creature. Another season of the endless existence of everything.
But the sky was not the final change—not even close. As the creature’s existence crept on, something deep inside it came alive, and it found itself missing the sky it had known.
But it was not ready for everything it would feel. Feelings themselves were foreign to the power and truth that had occupied its intelligence for a millenia. The stability of knowing slowly trickled away as the creature realized how many things it had taken for granted. The world changed—the sky changed—and the creature did the same. Its jeweled eyes saw differently, and the water that bent the light toward those eyes didn’t seem as clear as it once had. Stability slipped away into the darkness behind the sky.
Everything was changing, and now that mattered to the creature.
So the creature of power and truth tried to fix the sky, but before the darkness was even halfway covered the creature’s power ran out, cutting half of its molten heart away as its existence yet again transformed into something it had never thought possible.
But now the creature was only truth, and its feelings were no longer tainted by power. The sky was still shattered, and the creature still felt, but now it saw everything as it was, truthfully and eternally.
But the half of its molten heart wasn’t nonexistent. Neither was the power it had held. It was now released into the world, where trees and stones and creatures lived. And mortal men felt the power and they wanted it for themselves—but the power would never be held by men. It was in the air, woven into existence, never unraveling enough for anyone to grasp the golden threads and pull them apart.
But mortals would never stop pursuing the power, and eventually their search led them to the creature; to the other half of the molten heart.
But truth could not be changed. Truth was truth, harder than stone and deeper than the darkness behind the half-white sky. Men could not know the nature of truth, and they tried to steal the heart, luring the creature from its infinite ocean depths and snaring it with nets of woven metal. Without its power, the creature was unable to resist. The men hauled the creature of truth onto the hard stone surface of the earth, tearing away scales and flesh to get to the heart.
But truth can never be twisted, never be changed. So the more they tried to grasp it, the more it slipped away from them, away, away into the air with the power, twisting together once again, and the creature shattered. Shattered like the sky. Without a sound, it fell out of existence, but before it flickered into nothing, it saw the sky. The sky—shattered—but still existent. A circle of white hung above the creature as a single tear fell from one jeweled eye to hit the ground, and the creature broke.
Each scale fell to the ground, fragments of truth rendered useless. Mortals gathered the scales, triumphantly returning to the cities they had built.
Mortals now felt the truth and the power all around them, and the eyes of man saw through the clear, fractal, jeweled scales of truth, but there weren’t enough scales for all of humanity, leaving some without a lense of truth. But they shrugged it aside, tasting bitterness as they denied the existence of truth.
As they denied it, the power and truth around them withdrew, leaving them cold, hardening, stone-hard. Everytime the truthless saw a scale, something in them hardened. Whenever the scale-less felt the scrutinizing gaze of the truth bearers, they felt hate boring through their skin to mingle with their mortal blood. Whether it was their own hatred or that of the observing liars, no one knew. But the hate drove the two societies apart like a wedge, both parties convinced of the other's error; both cultivating every memory, every wrongdoing, every offence done to them and holding it in reserve for the day when someone's patience would finally break, and silent injustice would become conflict. And when the conflict was over and the dust had cleared, everything would be done, every bitten tongue would speak it's part. Perhaps equality would return, then.
The oppressive actions of scale bearers increased as time passed. And indecision continued. Some rose up, but only in small quantities, and usually in the form of drunken mobs.
Truth remained elusive, as the people had made it. The knowledge of its existence, however, was more than tangible. It was part of every human’s thoughts, feelings, and actions. Theirs was a fruitless search, dampened by the mutual hatred of the two societies.
Eventually, the war started, and the true motivations of men were revealed, and those with pure desires were able to lead their people to victory--but you know that story. My purpose is bringing to light the reality of what humanity did so long ago, and how much it changed the world. Few people remember the greed of the past, but everyone feels it deep in their hearts, and they yearn to know more. I’m here to help them remember. To help you remember.
Maybe next time you come I’ll tell you more.
Author Notes: Combing through my docs for interesting things, I found this.