Time Throws Fire
by Ophelia Everfall
Part One | Redux Eterna
Part Two | Polymath Blues
Part Three | The Feather
Part Four | Wizard
Content Warning: This is a story.
Chapter Seven
Wavering tears flipped to twirl throughout—asunder—beside the mind, heart, and theology of Lauren Daemenos. Chosen paths before of glory sought through victories seen would be theirs, though forgone were conclusions of their destiny borne.
Infinitesimal specks of blackness appeared to sight.
Thrice was the word, and they’d spoken it plain—foretold—thrice its spoke turned the wheels of their fortitude forward, and then back. Soul poured forth, between those slivers of crack, some cosmic griot’s bounty, curving reflected witnesses by its movements of sight and sound, belonging with choices seen, foretelling songful clamors of bells beyond.
Echelon’s schadenfreude shrunk Lauren to themself—its everlasting umbilical’s promulgation, fueled by flame of heart—those wheels of time forever spun; hopes in making would bear to change that way. It seemed only one answer would suffice their seeking, and it was the word.
“Surrender.”
Inside this beast of a hope before them, its semiosis, spoken in graphite-sheathed esotericism wrought by design from millennia of found knowledge and brought to form where Lauren would find their freedom.
To know thyself they’d lose themself.
Eyes trained upon the globe within, untoward a goal—it’s furnace burning terror about, flooding molecular forthcomings of innate realization—their finding themselves in drift; together for ether; Gallaleus was proving most alive.
Ocular biologies seemed obtusely categorized by summation of Lauren’s immediately expanded mindsets. Torn from place—lost to that Foundry they’d only begun to discover—foes of friends; sloths to furies their own. Plethora of holding, weariness borne to body, its fallout long untold was unfolding within the fellow. No trouble lost from witnessing grandeur—eyes and ears forlorn to creations of splendor begotten—perspectives of spacetime surrounding and within, now arisen to take part.
Lauren’s thoughts were something altogether unfamiliar. There was a lesser that more wouldn’t suffer to charge as its loss demanded, and within them was seen that sight of greatness forged through suffering which would teach of a place beside The Light. Lost to home; Atreya, furies of lithocholic immolation tore them from ground until this moment they’d choose to go further.
Blossoming geometries would be felt in aura, showers of coded lightstream, love of The Light borne downwards; upon, and into. They’d hold and support this one as time became their place of exploration. Swelling rushes of their sea; Atrea’s hearth would prove the container emplacing their ever-travelling heart. Journeys yelled unbecoming—remaking by chance of shout — uplifting, bestowing, reaches brought towards and through for change towards good alone.
Something to hold would be their mind. Steady as a beat drum; steel forged in furnaces of God’s sun. Everlasting variation to those visions crafted and shown allowing, unenriching, delivering hands of one who’d use it for righteous reformations; a power to wield by might of choice.
Lauren remade the future by wisest intuition’s unshakeable foresight, auric perceptions speaking of truth beyond conception, forborne innateness surging from the planet in which they’d summoned wholly to form.
None would see them for what they were—not in these times to come.
Frightful visions reflected, scurrying those of fear and prejudicial limitation to their ways of secretion. Fundamental beginnings were created at birth for that fellow now intimately entangled with Echelon’s profanations, leading here; a chance to choose, again and always their own—returning forever their right—undressing the lie of not.
Unbelief would vanish into frictionless estheticism, neuronic connection birthing elations of more; Light; some spirit peace. The heart of souls all became a mirror their own.
Lauren’s feet left ground, their pressured restages at lowest reaches of The Foundry’s renown Aeronauticus becoming unfelt—to float in real.
Crucial presumptions rebound their place; truth they’d need, that one to hold in solitude. Hints would show the way, croon enveloping of what they’d teach, its bestowing grace of realization—Lauren was safe; protected they’d remain.
To find that other too; the biggest; emulative natures, those findings of bolometry to come—horrors their heart would call to end—hopes for futures deserved and seen, all true, each part of self once crystalized for purpose. Unleased by boatsful found; that learnt of self in haste.
For spirit told tales, waxwings of youth—notions become of control like wine to the grape, razor’s cutting foresight shown—Lauren would see it themself and teach through actions bore from this very moment forward.
They now knew what they were truly capable of.
This was written for the first attempt at a sequel to The Foundry which was fucking English too raw.