It’d been a long time. Too long for comfort, for the Pulse to be heard. There was an uncertainty in the air as the Day walked around in circles, her brow laced with tiredness, alongside a form of disgrace that told her, “It was coming.” Her tail swayed slowly back and forth, her hooves clacking along gently as she waited. Waited for the Pulse. The Day’s back seemed to arch in a sensation of pain, wracked with the weight that she’d carried all these times. She knew it was going to happen. It simply had to happen, as it was foretold by her, and the others before her.
But now, she knew not what to do with it.
“Sister!” a young voice echoed throughout the hall, slamming door heard just before it. The ornate walls were hung with banners of guilds long past, the Legends of Men and Ages gone as the time of the World spun on. Time saw all, was all that was, was all that is, and is what is all. Yet time simply forgot, taxing itself with the endless journey that went back and forth, left and right, up and down. Time simply went on; and this was what the banners meant. Time forgot, and Man did not. The young voice echoed some time down the rest of the hall that the body had been flowing through. “Sister! Sister! S..ister...” This was the Night’s boding.
The Day had stopped her pacing finally, her wondrous face delighted with grim that caused the voice to stop dead in its steps. Her eyes were that of a darkened magenta that passed with the times, seeing much of history since she’d been in rule. They scanned the barely shorter voice, her just barely younger sister. A tall, slender woman, her growth had been somewhat stunted when they were still… not children. Something else, something weaker than the ages now. She’d have stood a story higher had she been more careful during that time, to not channel too much. Her face was just as wondrous as her sister’s, a dark, deep blue as the ocean reflecting the night skies that laced her eyes; and her skin tone much darker to combat the Day’s pristine, fair skin. Her skin was calloused and rough, as if she was a miner; but still they appeared as young as the day she’d accepted herself. She’d been in power during the Darkness, during the first Pulse. This was the Night.
“Could you feel it, Sun?” the Night asked, preferring to use titles instead of names. The Night had always been the more formal one, for her cyclings required much more finesse than that of the Day, for she had to move many more stars than the one that gave the light to the Day’s mind. Still, she was the Day’s proceedings, and they were still sisters. Even after the Darkness.
The banners of the Ages of Men swayed cautiously, their frayed, old edges stained with the bareness of the flames that’d happened barely a century before. “I did,” the Day said quietly, her breathing troubled as always these days. Her chest rose and fell as the day and night, slow and gentle, a bare wheeze follows however; giving the Night distinction to a guide of thought that she was more troubled about the Pulse than anything.
“Oh goodness, Day, this time it was so strong… I woke up during my nap…” the Night says softly, sighing discontentedly. “The Dream sent out the Pulse, sister…” She pauses, her own breathing picking up slightly with the same form of troubled moods that plague the Day.
The Day’s eyes quickly widen, their bloodshot edges more promiscuous to the eye with this simple motion. With pursed lips, her voice reaches a somewhat shrill tone as she speaks. “What do you mean that the Dream sent the pulse? The Dream has not spoken since the Beginning of the Age.” Her voice both that of a shrill, and a slight snarl causes the Night to slip, and a faint wince follows.
“Sister, the Dream spoke; the wise voice of Time and Itself sent the Pulse. I swear upon the Dreams,” she says softly, the seriousness in her own chords causing her sister to wince vicariously, as if she’d been slapped roughly. “The Dream had spoken and sent the Pulse, sister,” she whispers, slowly approaching her sister. The Night waves her hand, and a set of chairs appears between the two sisters, a wispy cloud of Aura rolling off of them. A snap of her hand causes another little table to arrive next, a kettle of hot tea next, the Aura flowing too off of the objects. The Night sat down.
“Sister, do you know what this means?” the Day asks quietly, her eyes closing slowly as she steps to sit upon the chair, following the suit of her sister. “The Dream, speaking? Time has decided to take a trip uphill, or sideways… The Pulse… a speaking? What do you mean ‘speaking,’ sister?”
“I converse only of the truth revealing Itself once more,” the Night says with a dip of her head into the tea cup, sipping at it lightly. She pulls her lips up again, barely stained with the disdain of the taste. “Bah… not even jasmine…” The Day gives her a stern look, urging her to continue instead of acting as a child with a disappointing toy. “Right… The truth… Time had walked with it hand in hand, the Dream said…”
“The Dream sent the Pulse, the Pulse that had been sent only once before our Time, sister,” she says with a soft breath. “I’d been sleeping when the Pulse had occurred, washing over me and thrusting unto me like a wave upon a beach, Day. The warning had gone outward, not unheard. I am sure that there was more than just me that had desired to not feel that wave anymore. Yet… the screams came. They came, and came, and came after the Pulse; even larger than the wave that’d driven me to the brink, sister. I looked down at them from above, in the palace… They were terrified, and silenced in a moment’s notice.”
“Sister, this can only mean one thing…” she says softly. “The Pulse… the silencings… They can only be tell of one thing,” she says softly.
The Night raises her brow. “What would that be, Day?” she asks.
“The Warrior of the Ages and the Ancient are returning,” she says
“Vashtar’s Fall…” the Night says quietly. “I did not think of the Pulse this way…”
“Say not his name… not in this place…” the Day responds in a hushed tone.
The Pulse has been heard.
