What is my Asioth?

[__Hergh 785]

 

What is my Asioth?

 

---

 

Vessel of Eternity

 

Last, the World is a misty weald of white branches.

Trees reach for the heavens; they seek without growing.

 

Asioth is shining above the bright heavens.

Waxing out, a silver moon cleaves two into One.

 

Spectral branches weave throughout each other: white-gold.

Loving, the white light grows; Wanting, the gold light dies.

 

Lively knowledge carves the First-Born from white branches;

His bones are pale stone beneath plates of black onyx.

 

Without, white-gold hides ages in the bright heavens.

First-born tears down spectral branches: eternity.

 

 

---

 

What is my Asioth? A query that has been asked countless times to those following the same trek and those who do not. Numerous years have been spent dwelling on these four simple words. 

 

It is the intangible, a light inside our vessel. A goal to pursue, or a candle lit for our sanctity. The threshold we’ve yet to cross and the cobbled stone we remain walking on. 

 

The question itself beckons conversation. What is your Asioth? Every dedicant to this path is expected to find a different answer. A different cause, my teacher found his, and it was to serve. As futile as that was.

 

My own has been as intangible as the topic; I thought it to be the ability to oversee the world as it went by, continuing in my trek through the shifting sands. Now, after many regrettable decisions and a somewhat hypocritical beginning, I realize that my wish or goal will remain as fluid as it was. It is the resolve to continue on and the wisdom to know when change is necessary, I do not want strength, or renown, I only want to feel the warmth of the hearth after all is done and settled. 

 

There is no easy way to elucidate what it is I mean, and weary have I grown of the same prying question. 

 

There is pain in our path, from the marks carved into our skin to the calluses etched upon our hands after gruelling service. There will always be pain, just as there will be the company of our peers and the warmth of a hearth when finally respite is earned. 

 

While the flame may guide us, we, too, must guide ourselves. We must know that, like the Titan, we are bound within a cage of ivory branches. The path we walk will not always have the same end. At times, we may find that walking forth may do more harm than stepping back. A tree does not have just one branch; it has hundreds. While we are not blessed with eternity, we do have years or centuries to continue onward.

 

The Treatise of the Draconic makes reference to the path the Nephilim must follow as children of the Titan and of Sacrifice. It can be tied to the life of a Herald or Seeker. They serve as our Teachers and Guides. It is due to their Conviction that we aspire to these lengths, and we must walk the path they set before us with the willingness to grow and the resolve to continue.

 

 

---

Fire of Growth

 

The World was a fruitful womb of red earth: a cage.

Below, a white-gold seed, First-Born, became himself.

 

Thus a sapling of Asioth emerged unseen.

Lively knowledge was as sunlight upon its leaves.

 

Above was a misty weald of noble grandeur;

its spectral branches held fruit of golden fire.

 

The tree of Asioth nourished landless nations,

and subjects formed themselves upon its red-gold earth.

 

Thus First-Born won the golden prize of his freedom,

escaping captivity by Asioth: growth.

---

When still young, I thought of myself as wise. I knew not what it was to be a warrior, nor what it was to suffer. I had not taken a life, nor had I seen what it was to be close to death. Now that I have, I know that stagnancy is the curse of the mundane. It is resolve that gave me the will to resist the offer of strength from the daemonic.

 

When warm blood became cold because of my actions, I learned why naivety has no place when one holds lives in their hands.

 

I am Student and Teacher, Peer and Outlier. 

 

Our Path is Unending. 

 

The Golden Lamb

 

 

 

[Jentos 9422]

"We are forever naïve."

Murmured the An-Gho in a breath like shining fire.

"Our struggle is acting while only knowing that we do not know."

Smoke drained from his nostrils.

"Ask the ashes of the dead."

[Cepheid 4304]

"There is only one Golden Lamb, and it is not this author. Father gave that moniker to me and me alone." A particularly grumpy old elf grumbled from her chambers in the depths of Tor'Praeth. Yet, she paused for a long while, her cosmic hues swirling as she observed the writing of the false Golden Lamb. Whispers in shadow and flame echoed throughout the hall, unheard and unseen by those who bustled within the halls except to her. The shadows and flames called out to her, and so she began her journey. It was as if the very scent of smoke beckoned her closer to who she wished to find. To find a foe or to find a student was a question awaiting an answer; one thing was certain - her hunt had begun.