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In the peaceful gardens of the Grove of Epiphany, the whispers of scholars reached the ears of the elusive Titan of Reason perched amidst the swaying branches of the Great Tree. The words spoke of the world at large, the discoveries of the hidden, and the debates of the truth--remniscent of the way Anaxagoras once walked these very paths.
He smiled and looked at the expansive skies. What a peaceful, serene world this was. He let his lashes flutter close to feel the westward winds caress his cheeks and the smell of mint suffuse through the rustling leaves.
Mint was the smell he loved and one which he started to associate with “home”. A smell which tethered him to the world, where the scholars of the Grove soon started to associate their Titan with this small herb. But the mortals of Era Nova did not possess the full truth, for this “smell of home” lacked its true “home”. Anaxa wondered--if he could spread mint like weeds, would it beckon forth long lost memories and allow them to reunite under the twinkling stars?
At the ring of an echoing chime, Anaxa slipped from his branch to quietly float from his perch. He wanted to see this world outside of the Grove--Era Nova. The world built upon memories and sacrifice, of a time lost and returned. Children laughed, youths cheered, adults smiled, and elders relaxed--how many corpses had Anaxa stepped over to finally witness this lovely sight?
He wanted to see more. To bear witness to this new world and to carve into his soul these memories until he would wither.
Until then, Anaxa walked through the lands and glided over the tranquil lakes. He felt the grass under his feet as he traversed through the rolling hills of the mountainside--and he grazed his delicate skin over jagged edges of the rocky cliff as he climbed. Wherever he bled, little mint herbs would grow.
The Titan of Reason was here.
And so was the Titan of Earth, Terravox. A majestic creature slumbering beneath the tallest mountain of Amphoreus, whose body became the soil on which flora flourished, whose bones became the granite mortals carved statues of their Titans, whose blood became the flowing rivers that fed the lakes and seas. Whose neck was craned towards the limitless skies.
“Fields of flowers where animals frolic,” the Reason Titan whispered from the very peak where no mortals would ever reach. “From whence bodies return and emerge, what strength is required to move the mountains?”
A northward glance revealed the vast oceans, the frothy waves kissing the sandy shores. It washed away the fleeting footprints in the sand, akin to the passage of time erasing the memories held dear.
Anaxa took a step into thin air and began his gradual descent towards the sea, the crashing waves growing ever so louder. They had walked these beaches once upon a time. Where a hand took his in its palm as they walked side by side, their suede shoes in a free hand to feel the bits of sand prick at the delicate soles of their feet. They watched the horizons where the waters met the sun while the skies were painted a gentle pink, to match the blush that once creeped to his cheeks.
He took a step into the cold water of the ocean--what once had jolted him in surprise was now a mere ghostly touch. He no longer needed to eat or sleep, to quench his thirst with the fresh spring waters--and he did not need to breathe as he dove downward towards the abode of the sea sirens.
The purifying waters washed the dust from his branches and the dirt from his robe--it cleansed his body and hair, until he felt so light as to float. Such was the light within these waters, something he had never experienced before.
A little wisp of water curled at a wrist.
“Helektra, the Ocean Titan,” Anaxa acknowledged.
The wisp of water let go of his wrist as though burned. It floated away to engulf itself in a misty wave of bubbles. She took her form--Helektra, a beautiful siren with a tail that glimmered even when the light struggled to reach the ocean’s depths.
“Do not call me Helektra,” she warned. “Anaxagoras, the Reason Titan.”
“Is that not your name?” Anaxa tilted his head.
“That name has long been drowned by the Oceans.” She placed a hand over her heart--the ocean seemed to rumble, the water coiling around Anaxa as though in warning.
“But are you not the Ocean itself?”
The water around him tightened--and with a simple wave of the Ocean Titan, Anaxa found himself propelled through the waters. He emerged from the sea without ceremony--haphazardly thrown back to land with the mere flick of a wrist.
Anaxa laughed.
He walked to the grassy knolls a short distance away--the toils of the Titan of Earth--and flopped down. Until his hair and robes dried, he looked up to the skies where the sun shone bright. It was a domain he was unable to reach--but even as a Titan, he yearned for the skies and smiled at the birds who chirped and flew freely so high above the clouds.
They had spent countless hours underneath the shades of an oak tree and looked up at the skies like this. Sometimes with deep debates, other times in complete quietude as they watched the clouds float by. All to enjoy the now, the moment when the present became the past to welcome the future. They existed, under the same sky, the same stars, in this very world.
“Hyacinthia,” Anaxa whispered. A name he hadn’t uttered in such a long time, of a little girl who grew cheeky just like a certain beloved student. “From your perch amidst the clouds, is the view of the rainbows you paint just as beautiful?”
Laying amidst the grass which tickled his cheeks, they had kissed. He touched his lips, trying to remember the warmth, the pressure, and the chasteness of such an innocent little peck. He tried to remember--what expression did he wear when he looked into those sparkling baby blue eyes?
He remembered seeing himself reflected in those clear eyes, who saw Anaxa and only Anaxa. How he missed that loving gaze…
Anaxa stood, mint sprouts already growing from where he laid. He hopped from tree to tree, the hum of the forest a constant melody to his ears. He listened to the light steps of the animals, the scurries of little critters--and the rustling of the leaves. He followed these sounds until arrived at a bustling city.
From atop a cliff overlooking Castrum Kremnos, the streets beneath roared with life. Children played and ran from their dismayed mothers, soldiers marched about--it was much unlike the Grove of Epiphany. If the Grove was where all of the “brains” of Amphoreus congregated, then Kremnos would be the “brawn”.
A chuckle slipped through his lips--but the soft voice was halted by the appearance of a lance pointed at his throat.
Anaxa was taken aback, just for a brief moment. “Mydeimos, Titan of Strife.”
“Anaxagoras.” An authoritative voice as though commanding an army, who would lay down his life to bring peace to the world. The blade was quickly retracted. “My apologies, I did not recognize the Reason Titan.”
He did not fault Mydei for assuming him an intruder. He was wearing a mere simple robe and without the usual flourish of leaves and vines which adorned his body. Only a small crown of branches laid atop his head while he traveled to see the world.
“All is forgiven.” Anaxa watched those muscular, tense shoulders relax.
“For what purpose is the Reason Titan visiting?” Mydei inquired.
“I have no purpose,” Anaxa answered. “I wanted to see the World.”
There was a quiet understanding that settled between the two of them. They watched the streets below--the smiling faces, the caring glances, the laughs, the cries--everything. Just like how they had done, wherever they went. They took in the sights, to burn into their minds a fleeting happiness before the Black Tide consumed all.
Right now, the world was peaceful.
“Mydeimos,” Anaxa started. The Strife Titan tilted his head in acknowledgement. “To strive is to persevere. But in persevering, will Strife ever pause at the side of the road to smell the little flowers?”
“Your questions are as vague as ever.” Myde shook his head, without an answer.
“Is that so?” He thought it was a nice question.
Amused, Anaxa bid farewell, and turned towards the River of Souls in the far south, where a tender Titan called the Netherworld her domain. But it was one which he was unable to reach, for his leaves would wither and his branches rot with every approach.
And so Anaxagoras stopped on the shores and breathed life into the soils to allow a field of little mint herbs to flourish and grow. Untouched by the River, untouched by death--forever present. Should Castorice need him, all she had to do was talk to the swaying leaves, and her words would be carried to Anaxa.
She stood amongst a field of beautiful lavender flowers, and Anaxa stood amidst the coiling green vines and leaves. Fitting, wasn’t it?
They walked through the gardens in the slower afternoons while the sun hung low. They did not hold hands, but they didn’t need to, for each other’s company was enough. While one described the medicinal uses of a certain herb, the other would listen attentively, as though hanging from every syllable uttered through those lips. Tranquil afternoons passed by with whispers soothing to the ears.
“Castorice, my student.” He could almost remember her gentle little smile, shy as she held her books to her chest. “For those who have run out of time, are the embraces granted the very ones you wish you had received?”
Anaxa bent down to pick one mint herb, and let it drop into the River. The stream carried it away, a little dot of green in a sea of twinkling waters that shone like the stars in the skies.
He turned towards Styxia in the north--but like with Castrum Kremnos, he merely watched from afar. He was content with merely taking in the sight of a city filled with life.
But even from a distance, he spotted a peculiar shadow zoom from place to place. It dove behind a barrel, before crawling towards a fruit stand. In the blink of an eye, an apple disappeared, replaced by a single coin that clinked into the payment jar next to where the seller sat. The shadow loomed over the spread of jewels, before disappearing around the corner.
Anaxa laughed under his breath. “Cifera, Titan of Trickery.”
They had wandered the markets like this too. They stopped by interesting stalls when a bauble caught his attention, or when a stall waved “the lovely couple” over to look at their wares. A pair of bracelets, each with one half of a heart--when placed next to each other, the hearts would become whole.
Their other halves.
The only jewelry beside his crown of branches which adorned the Titan of Reason was a makeshift bracelet made of vines, with a single leaf hanging--one half of the leaf missing.
“Free from the shackles of the lie which saved us all, does the wind which runs through your hair feel heavenly?”
Sometimes, they had ran like this too. Without a care with the way their feet thundered against the tiles of the Grove as they sprinted through the halls to reach the next destination. Clumsy in the way Anaxa was often dragged, the corridors of the school were blurs of amorphous colors. But Anaxa always had a view of a broad back, sturdy and unyielding like a stone wall that could shield him from anything and everything.
Stone, yes.
Stone.
On the way to Okhema, Anaxa passed by a golden tree. He blinked and stopped, then took a second glance.
What he thought was a golden tree was a sea of scintillating golden monarch butterflies, perched on the trunk of a great pine tree. With every step he took, the light reflected from their wings was like a gossamer-light shine, an almost ethereal existence within this forest. A mythical, magical sight this was.
At his approach, the butterflies stilled--in acknowledgement of his presence. Their wings which used to lazily flutter were folded. They blinked open in waves, a golden cascade which descended from the very top of the trees down to where Anaxa stood. Was it a greeting?
“Aglaea, Titan of Romance.”
With a wave of a hand, a field of pastel pink milkweed flowers sprouted from the rich soils beneath his feet. A token of gratitude, of guiding Era Nova, and for her sacrifice, even if they did not meet eye to eye. He still disagreed and did not condone her actions, but he respected her fortitude and her singleminded belief in this new world.
The golden butterflies--their wings fluttered slightly faster, the shining light blinking rapidly without pattern. Soon, they settled, the gentle wave returning once more.
“What is love to you?” Anaxa asked.
For a moment, the butterflies stilled. Even as the wind brushed against their small bodies, they remained steadfast in the way their wings spread--until all at once, the golden butterflies took flight.
The wind picked up, golden butterflies riding on its back with every twist and turn around the tree. They circled Anaxa, and scattered across all cardinal directions--the light from their wings touching every surface of the forest around them, around the outskirts of Okhema. They traveled far, until Anaxa could no longer see them.
“I see.”
A smile.
There was a little tickle on his crown of branches--a small golden butterfly perched precariously on one of the leaves. It rubbed its wings together, little specks of golden dust falling atop his crown. What was Aglaea trying to tell him?
He raised a hand above his head, and the golden butterfly flapped its wings to land on a finger. He brought the butterfly to eye level, where it rested. Just for a little bit.
Just a little.
Until it, too, took flight and disappeared into the vast skies.
They had watched multicolored butterflies land on the flowers in Grove’s gardens. They listened to the songs of the cicadas echo during the day, turning into the chirps of the crickets at night. They danced within a sea of fireflies, their gentle luminescence hiding their blushes but illuminating their smiles.
They held hands while they walked through the tall golden wheat, one fearing losing the other.
That was so silly.
When Anaxa walked through the gates of Okhema, it was to the gasps of mortals who recognized him and the weird looks of those who didn’t. But the crowds would part and let Anaxa through.
“As grandiose as ever,” Anaxa sighed. He tilted his head to take in the sight of gargantuan buildings, the white stones sparkling white to the background of majestic green mountains.
He remembered these streets--wide enough to accommodate two dromas-drawn carriages side by side. It stretched far into the distance, people pouring from the different side streets where hidden gems sold handcrafted wares. Others sold jewelry, some paintings--a handful sold foods freshly cooked for an afternoon snack.
He arrived at the central marketplace, his ears immediately inundated with the chatters of the everyday. Atop the marble stairs was the courthouse of Okhema, and standing tall in front of its imposing doors was a statue carved by twelve artisans--a monument of Cerydra, the Titan of Law. All shall bow to the rules which dictated their lives, which brought order to the disorder and justice to the injustice.
This was new, a sight Anaxa did not remember.
They had explored this marketplace, where a fountain molded by thirteen artisans withstood the trials of time. They sat at the edge of the fountain, in front of a mural of marble depicting the stories of the ole--of humans overcoming the insurmountable. With a careless slip, they had fallen in, to the singsong laughter and an exasperated huff.
“Cerydra, you who ruled with an iron fist.” Anaxa placed a hand to her name on the bronze plate. “Titan of Law, the scale of justice is not always balanced. How can a mortal’s judgement remain fair and unbiased?”
The statue did not move or speak. It simply stood, her hand wrapped around a staff pointed towards the horizon.
Anaxa turned and slipped into the crowd--then turned a corner, into a darkened alleyway. He much preferred the quiet.
His fingers flid across the cobblestone where dust clung, the texture not too unsimilar to the feel of bark against his palms. He found a loose stone--slightly darker in shade than its surroundings, and pressed downward.
In front of him, a hidden corridor opened. A small secret they found, that day when Anaxa became winded from a full day of activity and required rest. A blessing from Janus, now Tribios.
“Tribios, Titan of Passage.”
Anaxa stepped into the dark passage, the cobblestone door closing behind him. This was an underground shortcut to the courtyard where chimeras loved to doze and play.
“The winds which carry us to our final destination.” His voice echoed through the empty corridor, a gentle wind brushed against his cheeks. “Do all paths lead to the same end?”
A cycle neither had a beginning nor an end. Such was the property of a cycle--a loop.
Anaxa placed a hand against the stone wall, and with a gentle push, it opened--a gentle light embraced his patient form. The warmth of the sun, the cool breeze, the greens of this courtyard--it was just as he remembered.
“Awoo!”
Anaxa looked down, and smiled. A little silver chimera was pawing at his feet, brilliant blue eyes looking up at him expectantly.
He scooped the small creature into his arms and held it close--the chimera purred, rubbing a nuzzle to Anaxa’s chest. The lopsided horns poked his skin, a tail curled around his wrist--the tip briefly grazing the half leaf.
Anaxa scratched behind the ears of this little chimera, and hummed a tune.
Amidst the peaceful field of grass where mortals bathed in the sun, Anaxa looked up towards the skies to a looming figure. Its impressive size casted a soft shadow over the lands He guarded--a steadfast guardian who held up the skies on His back and allowed life to breathe.
Unmoving, but forever present.
The chimera squirmed and dug into Anaxa’s arms to press deeper into his hold. It chirruped.
The countless hours they had spent together in this very courtyard, pouring over tomes and scrolls until the sun bid them goodbye.
“Cyrene, Titan of Time,” he whispered. He kneeled down to place the chimera back on the ground. It chased Anaxa, even as he turned towards the cliffs where a path of rainbows materialized. “What is a Titan’s destiny?”
When he stepped onto the rainbow road, he could feel it: Hyacine’s push and Tribios’ guidance high into the skies.
Above him, the clouds peacefully hung. Below him, the river flowed. In front of him was a long road, but he had all the time he needed for the final leg of his journey. Dirt clung to the edges of his robe and dust settled on his crown of branches--he had seen the world and he wanted to find home.
At Dawncloud, he climbed the stairs. Mortals stepped aside to let the Reason Titan through. They bowed respectfully, a rare occasion when he would leave the comfortable abode of the Grove of Epiphany.
He rode the branches of an elder oak tree, all the way to the shoulders of the Worldbearing Titan, Phainon. Mortals pointed to the small Reason Titan, a tiny speck in the distance next to the Titan they worshipped.
Anaxa sat in the crook of His neck, and looked down to the people of Dawncloud.
He was cold, up here in the skies. Even if the sun beat against the back of the mighty Worldbearing Titan, even when heavy rain battered and the wind howled, the Worldbearing Titan would forever remain frozen here--holding up the skies.
“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.” A name Anaxa hadn’t uttered in so long. He looked down towards the people of Amphoreus, all with their own dreams and wishes. He witnessed one snapshot of their fleeting, memorable lives--with smiles which stretched wide to crinkle the corners of their eyes.
“Is this the world you’ve envisioned?”
Anaxa let his eyes flutter closed. He leaned against the cold stone, and tried to remember the touch he missed, the warmth he lacked, and the memories long forgotten. He missed the steady hand on his hips and the comfort of a lover who held him in a tight embrace
He tilted his head and pressed a kiss to Phainon’s neck.
But the stone was hard and unfeeling--an embrace that would never come even as a tear slipped from his lashes to roll down his cheeks. Where droplets of tears met stone, little sprouts of mint emerged.
He felt it--there was a small pressure at his cheek, as though a finger was hesitantly brushing against skin to wipe the tears from his eyes.
Anaxa opened his eyes and glanced up from where he sat--the ghostly figure of a handsome youth smiled back, his form sparkling gold like the dust which fell from a butterfly’s wings.
Took you long enough, Phainon mouthed. Phainon took Anaxa’s hand into his, the touch gossamer-light, and pressed his golden lips to the back of the trembling hand. My Reason.
The smile which graced Anaxa’s lips was as sweet as the kiss they shared, in this new world they dreamed. In Era Nova.
“My World.”