“Nine stones they made that night before the gold spark rose and they had exhausted their sand reserves in the tower.”

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≈ I ≈

v. The Firsts

Êl fixed its eyes on the darkness. Angolon had been created not by will, but by chance, or perhaps inevitability, even out on loneliness, it was hard to be sure.

This being was much the same, although a creation of the both of them. One being created was a fluke, but a partnership of sorts. A second created was a pattern, with no reason to think it would not continue. Perhaps a plan was in order. At length, Êl spoke.

“Each created must find their own path. Your will is your own. Your journey is your own. But we may give you something to help you to find that path. Stay with us until the dawn, and then your journey will begin.”

That night by the light of the silver spark, El and Angolon did not dream, because they did not sleep. They labored together in the tall tower, melting and blowing the powder-fine sands Angolon had collected from the most beautiful beaches in the realm into small glass orbs, smooth and oblong, of a size to tuck perfectly into ones palm, each with a filament-thin hinge that allowed the orb to open like a trunk.

Nine stones they made that night before the gold spark rose and they had exhausted their sand reserves in the tower. They had only needed the one, but so long as they were making things, they might as well make all they could.

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