Recommend listening to this while reading. (Courtesy of Vanui)
It is said that God created the world to give himself friends. What, then, would a mortal do with the same power?
Disclaimer: This author, Jokulhaup, claims ownership of none of the assorted media presented in his stories, they are the works of their respective creators. He is also not profiting in any way beyond mental satisfaction at expanding on an interesting idea.
~ Oneshot – Endymion ~
A thing of beauty is a joy forever:
It's loveliness increases; it will never...
I am immortal. Nothing can kill me, not even my own hands.
I know, because I have tried.
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
It always starts small, and my subconscious mind shies away from it for a small while, but then memories what I’ve lost begin to stack up, leaking past the keeper set to stop them. Small snippets of recollection, of things that I shouldn’t have known, enter my mind.
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
And always, because I was the top enforcer, my suspicion comes into play, my evil, errant suspicion, even on those times where I've made it so that I've never been trained in magic or investigation at all. And my path crosses that of the keeper, and I start demanding to know why I am being deceived, and moments later as the illusion fades, I curse myself for learning.
I am accursed.
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of inhuman dearth
Only one hundred years. Then I went mad.
Ten thousand. Then I forced myself to sanity.
I've lost exact count ages ago, but I suspect that now it is now nearing a million. A million years.
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways:
One thousand millenia of dreaming, of trying to pick up my life from where everything went horribly wrong.
Mid-Childa has been gone for thousands of years, destroyed by the unstoppable weight of time sometime during my years of seclusion as I wrestled for control of the immutable power of Al-Hazard against my own mother.
I finally won the battle- only to learn I had lost the war, as my absence had been far longer than anyone could have calculated; that every life in the known universe had been extinguished in the meantime.
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
Realizing that my constant exposure to the magicks in Al-Hazard during my millennia long war against my progenitor had cursed me with immortality was just the beginning. A living Kami in the universe, one that has spent countless centuries trying to forget, trying with clones made of magic and illusions to live again in the world I had lost; trying desperately to feel the wonder and joy of mortality and of limitations.
From our dark spirits. Such the Sun, the Moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
I cast my gaze around the barren, desolate wasteland. The earth is cracked and dry. What dead fossils managed to remain in their skeletal glory after the years of my absence have long and long since weathered away into dust. All that remains is the dead earth; even water itself is long since swept away.
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
I spend six years, roughly, recreating all the magical clones. Giving them the knowledge they will need, and sweeping clear their memories of all else, the roles they will play in my lost world: Gadget drones, and simple civilians, and bakers, and birds, and trees, and everything else.
I swore once, as a child, that I would be one of the best Enforcers, and there I am. One of me. And another of me that will be the top Enforcer after that. And a third who will be the best after me again.
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
Piece by piece my magic works, like ants once did, rebuilding the Garden of Time, and the Long Arch, and Mid-Childa itself, until shaped from mud and clay, held together by magic, the bricks of my city did stand. And elsewhere in the worlds that were once administrated space, my clones work. I look up at the sky, a moment, and see the sun, where it shines, and marvel in my dreaming that I had thought it so awesome.
It grants incredible light and heat, from so far away, but to an immortal of infinite power? I might well be able to craft another one should I so desire.
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms;
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
And I consider to myself, examining a cluster of roses I have made, what story I should dream of next, whether it be of my long dead history, or perhaps I will craft myself a change. Perhaps the villain of this dream should not be Scaglietti, trifling little nothing that he was, but perhaps in my wanderings I'll make the enemy the very magicks of the world itself.
Perhaps I’ll change my own world completely, and examine my world from the perspective of a high school. Populate it with those lost friends and acquaintances, the dreaming of a thousand more lifetimes whose tales some distant writers in other places believe they are creating, when in truth they merely watch from the vistas of their minds and record the tales they witness for others to experience as they themselves have.
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
All is set once again, and I have made up my mind: I rewind my memory to the day all hell broke loose, when Precia surprised me after her long dormancy, on the day of my marriage with Nanoha, having gathered her remaining strength to take her last desperate chance at undoing the universe. An event that, as in every scenario I enact, will not happen.
On a spur of the moment, as I did the last time, I rewind it another nine hours further back.
I close my eyes.
I open my eyes from my blink and stare at my ceiling, feeling rapturous inside.
One less than twenty six. Twenty five is a squared number. Twenty five marbles can be arrayed into a clean quadrilateral.
Twenty five, a year older than twenty four.
Tomorrow, I, Fate T. Harlaown, will be twenty five.
Tomorrow morning is a happy occasion. Especially for me. Tomorrow morning marks the end of an era.
As of tomorrow morning, Takamachi Nanoha is getting married.
As of tomorrow morning, I will once again be with the one I love.
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring into us from the heaven's brink.
This one-shot was inspired by a similar story I've read on FF.net.
The idea that inspires it is the following: God created the universe so that he could have friends.
It's an interesting interpretation of what fanfiction is; the desperate attempts of a lonely god to return to what she knows and loves.
Endymion is the story of a man who sleep and dreams of other worlds and realities where things are different.
I think it's beautiful.It remembers me of Mokou at beginning.It almost made me wanna cry......realy beautiful
I think it's a very nice work, good job !
; ~ ; JOKULLLLLLLLLLLL WHY IS THAT SONG SO PERFECT WITH THIS?! >_>;
THIS IS... AWESOME. *four thumbs up, including Ayah's*
For some reason it makes my head hurt.
It's brilliantly written and I keep re-reading and my head keep hurting.
It feels so bleak. I guess immortality isn't all that it's cracked up to be.
This... is simply excellent. Hat's off to you Jok, you deserve it.
following all your stories!! :D