[centre][colour=white][h1]Let Justice be Done[/h1]
[h3]Even if 'twere an thousand years[/h3][/colour]

[hider=Summary]
For his crime against the Codex, for his altering the nature of the Universe as it was created aforetime, The First Gale is punished
The Bard levels up to Level 4 [-5 Might of 8 Might]
The Bard and Zephyrions have a lot of back and forth, until the Bard finally leaves poor Zeph alone (and stops traumatising him with that awful music damnit!)
Zeph goes off and creates his own place with blackjack and hookers. And it's perfect. Shaddap! IT'S PERFECT! [-1 Might to create and shape a planet]
In the end, it turns out everyone is lonely[/hider][/centre]

The Celestial Citadel sailed slowly across the spreading skies, fastened into the fabric of the firmanents by the furling and unfurling fog over which Zephyrion was master. Above it, the moons of Galbar drifted in their perpetual orbit, dwarfing the flying fortress in size and reaching greater heights and peaks. And beyond even them, the sun flared and fumed and devoured the sky with its glory, so that any who looked up from the earth saw the supreme glory of Ull'Yang, and nothing of the First Gale but the odd cloud which drifted lazily by.

Vowzra watched it as it sailed above him, wondering what it was that Zephyrion could see, lodged so high up above the earth. One could only see small things from such a great height, only those down in the valleys could see the grandeur of the world. The Lord of Time had not, before that moment, given Zephyrion's fort much thought, but he had Seen that a thing most terrible would come about here, and he was here to witness it with his Eye. Though his journey soon drew to a close, yet would he carry out his duties to the last.

Even as he watched, the very clouds which carried the alcazar darkened and began to boil and expand. And they invaded the castle from every entrance and crevice. So thick and strange had the clouds become that all physical beings within would, upon inhaling the strange air, fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Sprytes and djinnis alike would be forced out, and the mighty Zephyrion himself would find his ethereal body flung out like a ragdoll, or like the mixture of air and water and mucus a whale expelled through its blowhole.

Within the First Gale's mind, the great crime was played and replayed, before his eyes in the blackened clouds, it played out again and again. The moment he altered the very nature of the Universe so as to create flickers. A change to the very nature of the Universe, an addition to the Codex which was not in the Codex.

[centre][h3][color=black][b]'For your trespasses, lawbreaker,'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre] the familiar voice of Amul'Sharar sounded, [centre][h3][color=black][b]'let judgment commence,'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre] with that, the clouds formed upon one another and the shape of Amul'Sharar appeared high above, seated cross legged, with a pair of scales in his lower right arm and a golden sword in his upper left. To his right, seated upon a lower cloud, was Vowzra, and to his left, upon a higher cloud, was a creature too immense to be concieved by creatures so low as Zephyrion or Vowzra. Whether Amul'Sharar himself could percieve Fate was a mystery. Vowzra had known that he would be needed, for it was his to decree the length of punishment, the Time Zephyrion would serve. [i]If[/i] he would serve. If judgment would be passed against him.

[centre][h3][color=black][b]'You have seen the nature of the charges against you, and they are indeed grave. And we have seen that there is no doubt regarding your culpability, for it was you who did it and you who is to blame for this grievous breach. But justice dictates that you speak your defence. What is it that drove you to do as you did, and does it protect you from the full fury of punishment earned?'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre]

It was not with calm or meek acceptance that the streams are made to flow upriver, and similarly it was not without massive struggle that the Master of Change suffered such an invasion upon his domain. With a tremendous heave, the force of Change within all things and the very sky itself whipped into life, forcing the thick haze of clouds back out of his palace in one fit of defiance. Those few djinn that had milled aimlessly through the alabster halls were scattered even more by the titanic struggle, and Zephyrion had nearly returned things to their natural state before he himself was pulled outwards, and in this state of bewilderment and rage abandoned his efforts to shut forth the clouds that poured into his halls. He was more concerned with whatever assailants had disrupted his tranquility.

What followed were more intrusions, this time in the form of memories and vivid images forced into his mind, not unlike what he might expect of the wretched Vulamera in her trickery and mind games. Then he faced those two that offended him so. There was a much larger one that loomed over all, yet he faced that one too (with his mind as devoid of fear as the parched desert sands of water!) and with nary a breath's time wasted, addressed them all back with scorn returned twofold, [color=Gold][b]"Doth the tree answer to why its leaves must fall? Parfay, never did this one submit to thraldom, and so naught but hollow authority is wielded before me."[/b][/color]

Amul'Sharar appeared to be looking down upon something before him, his eyes coldly surveying whatever it was like a clerk checking over his most recent letter for grammatical errors or slips. With that, he spoke slowly and with authority.
[centre][h3][color=black][b]'We find your lack of awareness as to the vulnerability of your position...most perturbing. Your contempt for the justice to be administered and lack of acknowledgement of the severity of your crime leave us with no doubts regarding your guilt, and with no doubts regarding the intentional nature of your action. For your crime, first and foremost, and for your lack of vision as to your position before ours, we do sentence you,'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre] and with that, a large scroll appeared before Amul'Sharar which had upon it red writing. He stamped it with one of his many fingers and handed it to Vowzra, who wrote upon it the length of Zephyrion's punishment before giving it back to the Terrible Adjudicator.

[centre][h3][color=black][b]'Zephyrion, hereby to be known as Spryte Number One, for your meddling with what should ne'er be meddled with and creating what should ne'er be created; for your contempt before the Supreme Being and the Adjudicator of Justice; for your lack of recognition of the severity of your crimes: you are hereby banished. Never shall you set foot or gaze upon this place for the entirety of your sentence: a hundred Galbarian years.'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre] the scroll rolled up and disappeared, and Zephyrion with it.

[centre][h3][color=black][b]'Let this be a warning to all transgressors.'[/b][/color][/h3][/centre]

[centre][h1]***[/h1][/centre]

One vengeful roar echoed through Galbar's heavenly ceiling, and then Zephyrion began to fade away. His vanishing was not altogether sudden as if he had been willed out of existence; rather, it was a gradual thing as he slipped through the cracks of Time like sand through the throat of an hourglass. Any threat or insult that he admonished was distorted to a forlorn din and made incomprehensible, and even then the sounds eventually subsided and the mere vibrations in the air that they were became wind.

With what could only be shock those djinn that had been onlookers were stilled, and the nearby Illunabar too might have been lost for words if she had indeed been witness to this occurrence

With time dilated so too was color and perception; all things were dulled to the god's senses and he was trapped in that strange stasis for what might have been millennia.  And with the disappearance of the First Gale, the blackened clouds receded and those who were asleep awakened. The Terrible Adjudicator disappeared, and Fate herself melted away as though she had not been there. Vowzra's eyes sweeped over the Citadel once more, before the Vicegerent turned away and melted gently into the Fabric of Existence. When he emerged, he found himself seated upon a small tree. The tree rested upon a large cliff overlooking the paradisal Chronos hinterlands. Grass grows and rivers and streams flow, and the Treeminds who had survived Vestec's kidnapping frolicked and lived here in peace, alongside the Lifprasilians who had been sacrificed for the sake of Zephyrion and Astarte's entertainment or experiment, who had not been mourned by their master or remembered by their comrades. And here too lived the ogres who had been slain by the coming apart of the stone. Here they prospered and lived undying and ever-young. And of them were his Victors.

It was not out of pure mercy that Vowzra had brought them here, for they had been Fated to exist here, and they were Fated to one day return to Galbar - though when he could not say. They would call upon their oppressors and they would demand - indeed, seize - justice. Even as he looked on, the First Gale appeared above a lake not too far away. The Bard, though he did not see the new god, felt his presence immediately. He looked up, expectation in his eyes.

Other than Vowzra and the Bard, there was no being in all of Chronos whom Zephyrion would take notice of, and the Bard knew that Vowzra would be the last being Zephyrion would wish to see. And that strange creature that they had so recently brought back with them from Xerxes? It was imprisoned within the Cube. It was now a matter of Time before the banished god made his way to the waiting Bard.

Strange things abounded in Chronos and Vowzra's accursed touch was everywhere. The temptation existed for him to bring about Change of the destructive sort and undo all that his 'brother' had done here, yet such mindless havoc was best left for Vestec to wreak, and so for the time Zephyrion had merely suspended himself in the air and waited so patiently. [i]How long would he be here? An eternity?[/i]

If he was consigned to that cage forever, he had best get to know its each and every iron bar. From above Zephyrion's eye had  swept across this world and examined its every detail. His perception,  unbound to his physical form, reached out to touch every crevice. This  place left him with the feeling of neither a cramped cell nor an endless  expanse, more like an island amidst a vast sea of nothingness. Only a few things were truly of note, and as the Bard had known, it was one of them.

The unfamiliar presence of a divine being (though dillute in its power, just as Lifprasil had been) drew Zephyrion closer like a moth to a flame. A thick and heavy stormcloud rolled over the landscape, indeed a thing never before seen in this idyllic land, and it came to rest above the Bard. There was a clap of thunder and then lightning, though the bolts never touched the ground; instead, they coiled and writhed like vipers and made up the eyes of the giant face that looked down upon the Time's Oracle.

As thunder roared and lightning struck (though it never touched the ground), the fingers of the Bard moved across the strings of the divine lute, and his mouth opened and music filled the air of Chronos.
[colour=olive][i]'Lord of the winds! I feel thee nigh; Galloping forth across the sky; Your gallop escapes not my eye!
With thunder and lightning, you strike! Trees shatter, each a burning spike; Who can defy you in your reich?
Oh great lord of your airy realm; With you now gone, who's at the helm? Wil't stand, or will foes overwhelm?'[/i][/colour] with that, the Bard lifted his fingers and looked up into the raging countenance of the First Gale, [colour=olive][i]'welcome, Lord of the Winds, to what do I owe the most humbling pleasure of being in your presence? To see with mine own two eyes the raging of your thunders and the spark of your lightning bolts. I have only seen these in dreams created by words and imbued by music with life,'[/i][/colour] a smile spread across the Bard's face as he spoke.

[color=Gold][i]"Thunder roars its heralding call
and mighty rain doth fall.
Yet here, thou remain.
I would have your name!"[/i][/color]

The Bard's smile widened and a tinge of admiration entered his eyes at the god's response. It was, in the Bard's eyes, the greatest sign of respect for one to respond to poetry and song in kind. The Lord of the Winds may yet be a somewhat selfish and inward-looking god, from what the Cube recorded of him, but yet there was within him a certain level of...goodness. Though perhaps the word did not quite capture it. Once again, his fingers flowed across the strings of the lute and his melodious voice rang out into the very fabric of Chronos.
[colour=olive][i]'I am but a humble Bard who present, past, and future sees
I sit here upon the Cube and do as Mighty Fate decrees
I guard this here divine plane, its creatures, mountains, lakes, and trees
And I listen to the earth and hear the whispers on the breeze,'[/i][/colour] his lips closed again and his pitch black eyes stared once more into the storm, his face smiling still. It had been long since his father had spoken to him, and he enjoyed the First Gale's company already. His memories took him to those long ago times, before Belvast's coming, when he had been watching his father through the Hexahedron and had been rather surprised by some of the things he was doing. Some things were not within the Hexahedron's database of potential Timelines. His visit to the Deepwoods after Astarte and Zephyrion finished experimenting on the stone was one such anomaly. The Bark-skinned god had trailed his hands across the broken branches and trees which the other gods and their entourage had destroyed. Old trees, some as old as life on Galbar. As his hand passed over the destruction, the trees righted themselves once more and the mindless destruction disappeared.

The old god of bark had made his way to the clearing where the remains of Astarte's rock lay, surrounded yet by the fresh remains of some fifty ogres, four hain, six angels, five pronobi and seven humans. And the two dead Lifprasillians who still lay on the ground. The god had waved a hand of bark and the energies within him took hold of the various pieces of flesh and began working through them. One by one, the creatures that had died for the entertainment of the gods rose up, their flesh returned and their bodies grew and lifelessness gave way to life as souls returned from the clutches of Reathos, who had at that time been yet among the living gods. Time itself took a step back and allowed those whose Time had not arrived to live again.

The startled creatures looked about themselves in shock. They had not thought that their souls would once more caress their bodies, they had thought themselves forever gone. They had thought their memories lost and their knowledge dust.
[color=black][i]'We have brought you back even from the jaws of death. We have raised you that you may carry what is Fated on shoulders strong and steady. We have raised you and we will take you and we will return you another,'[/i][/color] and with that, the old god of bark summoned the remains of Astarte's stone to himself, leaving but a Fated amount for a certain ogre who would come searching for it, and he disappeared into the Fabric of Existence along with his entourage. And he had brought them here, to Chronos.

The Bard had visited them often, had sung and made merry. And all was peace, even when the distraught Treeminds came. Three of them. The last of their people, they had said.

The Bard shook the memories away, that was many centuries ago now. Though those very individuals still lived, they had grown and were many now. And though the Bard had not known in those early days what it was that Vowzra was planning, for the Hexahedron had been eerily quiet on the matter, he had waited and seen with his very eyes. He watched the creation of Vowzra's Victors, and he himself honed them into the sharpened sword of the Time god. As his memories returned him to the present, his eyes found themselves staring once more into those of the wind god.

[i]A servant of Fate?[/i] The very mention was infuriating. A rush of wind was sucked into the sky, and like a whip it snapped back down bearing a barrage of hail. One kindly zephyr shielded the Bard, though the landscape was battered ever mercilessly.

The voice of the howling storm sang back, though this time with a bite in its tone, [color=Gold][i]
"Ah, Fate the Flighty
a being almighty
yet athwart to Change.
Who quoth me villain,
who saw fit yede my realm,
who sought me to estrange.

Daren't utter that name,
for the Wind will sing or gnash
all the same."[/i][/color]

The wind struck the Cube and its surroundings mercilessly, dust rose and white stone broke away from the ground around the Cube, but the Cube itself seemed unaffected. The wind did not even blow away the dust which had gathered up in the cracks which formed the foreign words on its ancient surface. The Cherry Tree bent ever so slightly before the wind and many of its leaves were carried away, and many of its cherries too. And the pool surrounding the Cherry Tree's islet rose up at the touch of the wind and raged against the shores that confined it. The Bard sighed a slow sigh and spoke without playing his lute.
[colour=olive][i]'If you could put your fury aside, oh Great Gale; You will then see why it did so, without fail; But 'tis yours to rage, to bring the wind and hail,'[/i][/colour] he thought for a while, [colour=olive][i]'though I must admit, I serve Fate without knowing her, for that is my father's command. He has told me great things about her, things I see no reason to deny. Though the Hexahedron reveals to me the flaws of all the gods, it does not show Fate to be flighty or unjust. Perhaps you merely need to see her...and see yourself, with a new eye? My defence of her may bring on wind and hail, but I can rest assured knowing I have spoken naught but truth as percieved by mine eye and known in my heart of hearts, 'til truth itself be proven lie.'[/i][/colour]

[color=Gold][b]"The heart of a storm is ever calm, no matter how furious the tempest. From the sky above I see with a greater clarity than any, and this plaything of Vowzra's whispers falsely to thy ear, else thou art blind!

Even such things as Fate and Time be powerless and without meaning when seen beside the inevitability of Change: I [i]will[/i] be free."[/b][/color]

The Bard looked down sadly and shook his head. He truly was as the Hexahedron had told and foretold. But a god was still a god and knew things the Bard could not comprehend. Perhaps he could learn something of the world beyond Chronos from him, if only he would not grow angry and rage upon the plane.
[colour=olive][i]'Then, for a moment if you will, let the hurricane slow
And listen to this speaker though he be a Bard most low

Speak to me of that most Terrible Adjudicator
And of Fate, whom I know naught about but her great splendour

Perhaps, having heard from my Father and having heard you
I will then come upon a truth which is truer than true,'[/i][/colour] he looked to Zephyrion, wondering if he would indulge him.

[b][color=Gold]"At the brink of infinity I stood and over its great precipice have I nearly walked; so why, then, do I face doubt and question?

Know that the two Adversaries that shackled me here have done naught but bide their Time, waiting to strike upon hearing the slightest of offenses to artificial authority. Through their inactions they have succumbed to Sloth and inactivity, permeance and stasis, the anathema to Change and the truest of evil before my eyes.

Beyond this, you need hear no explanation. Merely trust that were you to share such knowledge that I bear, mine condemnation of their ilk would be shared in your heart.

Change reigns superior to both you and Time, and as such, you, your Father, and the accursed cube all ought acquiesce to my wisdom; to do otherwise is to forfeit truth itself."[/color][/b]

The Bard's eyes narrowed at these words and anger flashed in his eyes. Even as he looked on absolute silenced dawned all around them, the winds hushed and the spiders which skittered to and fro all over the Chronos heartlands seemed to disappear into any crevice they could find. The Bard moved a finger along one of the lute's strings and played a few omenous notes before his full fury burst forth and the lute thundered louder than anything even the Lord of Thunder could fashion.

'Thou whose ego knows no limits make the moon of beauty weep
Thou whose words are poison-coated make the tears of heartache seep

When shall goodly Fortune smite thee, rid thy tongue of poison's vice
May your sorrow know no ending and the wrath of Fortune slice

Seething in thine ego's clutches may ye never know respite
Let your malice eat your spirit and your essence die of spite

Get thee gone for your existence fills my soul with wrath and rage
Damn the eyes which saw and thought ye not a cretin but a sage

How this heart is anguish-ridden to have given ye a chance
Let it throb its wicked redness and the tears of wisdom dance.'

In a fit of rage, Zephyrion took on that horrifying raw form of his, that of colossal tempest, and with ease he ripped through Chronos to rend the landscape asunder and ravage all within sight. [i]That[/i] was the First Gale's poetic response to the Bard's insolence and spittle; damnation be wrought unto he, his maker, and this accursed realm! The creatures living in that paradise were shocked at the violence of this wicked being. Indeed, many creatures living in the hinterlands remembered the Wind God and had told their children and grandchildren about it. They screamed in fear, those of them who were not Victors, and ran away, but many were taken up by the fury of the storm. It could not kill them, here in Chronos, but terror and pain abounded. Nothing stopped his destruction save for Time itself and the boredom and calm that eventually cooled his inner fire. At last, the winds died down and stilled in that timeless world, and Zephyrion laid down to rest and brood. Eons passed like days, the god's sanity dwindling away as his thoughts were trapped ever in the past. Many of the little creatures came to his resting place, offering the terrible being fruits and gifts, cloaks of spider-silk and their respects. But it never responded to them, and the Victors amongst them told them they needn't worry about this being. But the fast majority were but normal creature and thought that perhaps their respect had placated it, perhaps it had other things on its mind and so no longer wished to terrorise them. Nevertheless, they continued showing their fear and respect for it, much though the Victors admonished them for their foolishness.

The Bard sat for long upon the Cube, even as Zephyrion raged and when he finally calmed and became still. Such was the way of the storm. It could rage most terribly if it so wished, but it could only rage for so long. Even the greatest storms, though they last ten thousand years, had to cease and die at last. Every storm necessarily died. And though Zephyrion had not died, he had calmed at last.

When enough Time had passed, the Bard finally rose up and began his trek towards the brooding god. It was no good to leave him as he was with no direction or purpose. It would not do for the god to become mad, as other before had, for that was not the purpose of his banishment. He had to grow. He had to mature. It was a foolish rose which thought itself blooming when it was yet covered by sepals, and that was the example of Zephyrion, a bud which thought itself a rose. But he would do what little he could to help him see the path towards full bloom.
[colour=olive][i]'Hail, Lord of the Winds! What is this that you do? Since when has it been your way to seeth and simmer above a pool?'[/i][/colour]

The Lord of the Winds, as it were, now appeared more as a dusty cloud than any mighty vortex. The very divine essence of Change that made up Zephyrion did not rest, and so that cloud slowly swirled, but for all its sloth he still appeared half dead. This was as motionless and statuesque as the First Gale could be, decrepit as some mere mote of his true power. Perhaps this pale reflection of himself was what allowed that Bard to dare approach him yet again.

The once sparkling, pristine  pool below was now more of a stagnant cesspit of mud; this was the  result of that dusty cloud hovering above its surface for the past many years. In this sullied state it was not so different from the god  itself, and indeed the Bard's poetic sense had likely observed as much.

Try as he might have to ignore the interloper and pass himelf off for a mundane haze of dust, the Bard's presence piqued his interest and in doing so caused the cloud to swirl with ever so much more vigor. The choking haze of dust was whipped away as Zephyrion reluctantly shed away that grungy coat, taking no care to spare Bard the indignity of having some amount of dust and sand blown into his face.

Begrudgingly, the Bard was given his answer, [b][color=Gold]"Here I lie at rest, counting the days until such time that I am released from this prison, or perhaps muster up such rage and wild madness that I find the strength or creativity to break free of my chains and leave of my own power. Tell me, Songwriter, which outcome your little cube foresees happening first."[/color][/b]

The Bard's face broke into a wide smile and he chuckled slightly.
[colour=olive][i]'My little Cube foresees neither, First Gale, for it is neither yours to be subdued by madness nor is it yours to simply sit and wait. Yours is to rise up and create, and with creation will come understanding, and with understanding there will come wisdom, and with wisdom there will come a great realisation, and maybe then you will learn to See. But neither idleness nor madness are your lot! And should you choose either, I would personally sit here and sing your curses till you tired of me so that you would sally forth and create rather than sit a second more with me!'[/i][/colour]

Scorn clung to the air itself as the wind god retorted, [b][color=Gold]"And what if mighty gusts were to sweep you along that I might remain here in stillness, and continue to spite the cube and my captors' will?"[/color][/b]

The Bard shrugged.
[colour=olive][i]'You may well do that, but I would return, would I not? And I would return another, and another. And though your patience last, my patience would last longer, for every storm must necessarily come to a-'[/i][/colour]

Zephyrion at once interrupted, [b][color=Gold]"Only one man has ever persevered the wind time and time again to outmatch my patience; I do not think you have his spirit in you. Shall we make a game of it?"[/color][/b]

[colour=olive][i]'If you can blow me where my music cannot reach you, then you have won,'[/i][/colour] the Bard laughed, [colour=olive][i]'and I do not think you can, or have the spirit to!'[/i][/colour]

In what was something between a contemptuous scoff and cackling laughter, a breath left the god's form and enveloped the Bard. It swirled and writhed about him creating a vortex that howled so loudly as to drown out speech, and then that raging cyclone carried the Bard far and away.

And even as it carried him away, all of Chronos seemed to burst into song. But the fingers of the Bard did not play, and his lute remained tightly strapped round his shoulder. The musician was of many types, he was at once a composer, an instrumentalist and a singer. And he was a conductor. And so in his flailing and spinning, Chronos did not simply see a wild and mad movement, but commands and art. And the singing of the birds rose up, and the wind whistled and the very rocks thumped, and the music of nature as induced by the Bard rang out. And though the Bard did not sing, there was his voice, and though his fingers did not dart across the lute, there was its divine sound. And though he did not laugh, there too was his laugh - neither mocking nor leering, but jovial.

And the winds deposited him far away, in spaces beyond the clouds of the floating island created by Vowzra. And The Bard journeyed for a few hours before he was once more among the red and orange clouds, and he journeyed till he was once more sat before Zephyrion, his music never ceasing.
[colour=olive][i]'You know, in your stillness you neither spite me, nor my father, nor Fate, nor the Cube. You simply concede your defeat to them. It is their wish that you are locked away, is it not? That your output and constant influence upon the universe is brought to a complete halt. Why is it, then, that you give them what they want? The Cube does not foresee what Vowzra wishes, it is not his to command it. It sees a certain truth, and it is yours to prove it right or wrong. So why do you not prove it right, and in so doing prove your captors wrong?'[/i][/colour]

[b][color=Gold]"Victory,"[/color][/b] Zephyrion began even as another storm was conjured to carry off Bard once more, [b][color=Gold]"will come through perserverence. Change will not be suppressed forever; not even they have such power or gall!"[/color][/b] This time, the tempest roared over the hills just as Zephyrion had in the years foregone, bearing with it hail and lightning. The Bard was carried to the very edge of Chronos, yet there the storm did not stop, seemingly content with nothing less than to carry him beyond borders so far as to be inconceivable to mortal minds. But though the staunch winds huffed and puffed, they could not blow the borders down. For who could ever hope to blow the borders down? Indeed, it was not a matter of blowing them down, or traversing them, they simply seemed to extend so that no matter how far the winds travelled with the Bard, they remained ever within the borders of Chronos. There would be no escape, the lines drawn in the nothingness of the world were simply not traversable. They would follow wherever one went, they would cling and claw, and they would never let go. Eventually, the winds had travelled so far that they simply had no more air in them, and the Bard was able to free himself of Zephyrion's second attempt to banish him, and though he was now further than he had been before, he made his way back. And though it took him many days, he came before Zephyrion at last, his music sounding still. He sat down before the god and played a few notes before looking up expectantly.

Alas, it was not the Bard's fate to have so easy a persuasion upon the prideful Master of Change. Time and time again an ever stronger gale swept up the hapless Bard and carried him so far as it could before Zephyrion's power waned, and though each time it was indeed another day's travel before he could return once more, to Zephyrion's chagrin the Bard always did return. With his absence came the peace of sight, but never sound; no, the Bard's accursed music rang in his ears no matter how faroff he had exiled the being. At last, Zephyrion saw the treachery in the Bard, and realized that this 'game' had never been a game at all; it seemed that the Bard's music sounded sharply regardless of how insurmountable the distance between the two be. Tired of the game, after many years of toil he at last conceded a loss. [i]As though it mattered![/i]

[b][color=Gold]"I grow weary of this endless struggle; handedly you have won this contest, though this feat be as meaningless as one drop of rain."[/color][/b]
At these words Bard raised an eyebrow and smiled rather widely.
[colour=olive][i]'And who are we that we should declare this is meaningless and that is meaningful? And which is more, of all the things, nothing could be more meaningful than a drop of rain. Each drop has within it endless life and endless worlds,'[/i][/colour] his index finger travelled along one of the strings of his trusted lute, [colour=olive][i]'nothing could be more meaningful...'[/i][/colour]
For a few moments the sound of music peaked, and then it stopped altogether and silence reigned.
[colour=olive][i]'But I guess my efforts have been in vain. Though I dearly wished to see you break free of my father's rules and conditions for your being here, it seems that you are set on obeying him in every way,'[/i][/colour] with that the Bard rose to his feet, shrugged in surrender, and turned to leave, [colour=olive][i]'it is what it is. I guess one really cannot go against the Lord of Time after all, even so great a being as the Lord of Change. The hierarchy of the gods clears up before me at last, if ever so slightly.'[/i][/colour]

[b][color=Gold]"The being that sees value in one whisper of rain amongst the mightiest of storms is but a candle before the brilliance of a star. Until and unless I propose to bless this playing field of Vowzra with the power of Change and shape it to perfection, it will remain a pale reflection of what I and the others have built in the [i]real[/i] plane of existence.

Just as the monsoons care not for the plight of those creatures scurrying beneath the glow of lightning, it is not proper that I concern myself with insects or your false notions of hierarchy. Once I tried to impart the truest form of knowledge and understanding - my own! - upon a being of your stature, and thoroughly and absolutely did it expunge learning and rebuke the enlightenment that I offered. Not twice will this one repeat a mistake; teaching you the fault in your corrupted variant of reason is not a task that falls within the mantle of my responsibility!"[/color][/b]
The Bard frowned at Zephyrion's words, how could one see the value in the mightiest storm if one could not even appreciate the droplets which made it up? How could one see the glory of existence if one did not realise the grandeur of its smallest component parts? One who could not see the small things could not have any regard for the grand things. But the Bard held his tongue, for it seemed that the Wind god had argued with beings such as he before. He would have to see into the Cube later.
[colour=olive][i]'No no, I see it now. I see it now,'[/i][/colour] he paused for a few seconds, as though some kind of realisation had dawned upon him, [colour=olive][i]'there is a great truth in what you say. How did I not see this before? What stupid creature looks upon the insignificant raindrop and forgets the glory of the storm? You have opened my eyes to a thing that, even if 'twere an thousand years, I would never have seen. It is clear to me now that you had a far greater vision in mind. It is clear to me now that you have not been sitting here idly after all! You have simply been contemplating the way to perfect such an imperfect and ugly place as this that my father has created! It needs your touch, Lord of the Winds! By your glory, I cannot understand how I ever managed to live here before your coming, and I do not know how I will manage should you not place your mark upon this plane of illusions and lies,'[/i][/colour] and with that, the Bard walked away and disappeared towards the Chronos heartlands, muttering somethng about the great 'unveiling' that had, in that moment, in his mind occurred. It was no sin to let the Lord of Change have some satisfaction, now, was it?

There was once a time in which Zephyrion might have rejoiced to hear such clarity in the eyes of another and leap to the chance to take that wise one under his wing, but such days were gone and the Bard's mere presence now had a way of offending the god. So it was with elation that the music at last vanished and the Bard was gone from sight, leaving the First Gale with the serenity and inspiration of the clime around. It was all like raw clay, roughly molded into shape but capable of so much more. Vowzra's touch, however, had left an all but imperceptible mark upon all things on this island of Chronos, and that mere aura was enough to discourage Zephyrion from improving upon anything in sight. It was as if the silty clay had been mixed with worthless and putrid mud or swamp ooze; the clay itself was disgusting in its own right and no bricks baked from it would ever bear a great burden in the name of beauty. No, with Vowzra's touch in every nook and cranny of this timeless island, the place was rendered unworthy.

Still, the thought eventually struck Zephyrion to simply leave the island and create something separate, a void between the two worlds so vast that they may as well rest in two different planes of existence. He had always contemplated the creation of a world that was his alone, away from the grasp and meddling reach of his kindred. Such memories and hopes were to be cherished; they brought forth the old feelings and banished for a time the emptiness that filled him in this accursed prison.

As it was, there came a day where at last he realized that perhaps this was achievable even now. His freedom had been stripped by the interlopers, perhaps, yet his power had not been curbed. Those memories of the past were not treasures so much as a tapestry of what lied ahead; with an exuberance that he hadn't felt in millennium, he moved once more. The winds whipped into action he billowed through the skies faster than mortals could comprehend. He passed over the island of Chronos and all its strange oddities within a moment, and over the empty void beyond he soared on. Throughout his long journey, he flew brushing the ever-present veil above, that precipitous barrier the only thing between this plane and the oblivion and chaos of the Gap. As it was, that thin gap was the only thing within the void of nothingness that gave the god a sense of something, of feeling. Without it he might have gone mad.

Finally, the Gale slowed himself and came to a stop. There was no particular landmark or scene any different, nor was there any meaning or purpose to how far he had travelled for he knew not even that. Indeed, he had come so far that he would not have been able to find that island of Chronos now even if he tried for a million years. With nowhere to turn back, he could at last begin.

Just as he himself had been conjured from the nothingness of the primordial void, Zephyrion sparked a Change and willed into existence a perfect sphere of planetary size. His mighty gales were channeled and controlled to the fullest extent of his power, painstakingly and meticulously scultping this nascent world's surface over the span of countless years. At last, he clung to the space above and looked down upon his craft.

It was so similar to how Galbar might look, were it devoid of greenery and life. Woe and wain; perhaps it was artistic failure on his own part or the memories of his subconscious bleeding through to corrupt his purest ideas of perfection, but this creation was lifeless, uninspired, and flawed.

With all of his fury, the Storm's King conjured a bolt of lightning that dwarfed comprehension, and he impaled that spear of energy through the nascent world. In one great pulse, he brought forth obliteration on a scale never seen before. The planet's core was burst and the crust torn asunder, the result being a great glob of magma surrounded by layer upon layer of flying rock and debris from the ruined crust. Chunks of stone ranging from mere particles of dust to massive objects the size of kingdoms were locked in chaotic, wild orbits around the burning core.

This was an improvement, to be sure, yet Zephyrion had gone too far in the opposite direction; here there was too much chaos. He would seek a middle ground and therein would lie perfection.

He summoned storms of frigid winds to cool that molten core and freeze it into rock, and then with mighty strokes he carved out great continental pieces of stone and set them into orbit too amidst the countless belts and rings of debris above. Unto the rocky, misshapen core of this strange world he poured water, drowning its surface beneath an ocean that covered all but a few lonely spires that had been the peaks of the greatest mountains.

He then added a breathable atmosphere than encompassed all but the uppermost rings of debris, yet through the force of his magic that pervaded this world and through the strange properties of the stone itself, the rings of debris overpowered friction and remained in their crazed flights through the sky as islands amidst a sea of naught but air.

Through long and calculated design, he brought some degree of order to the erratic orbits of all the islands of great size. The mighty, continent-sized slabs would not collide with one another, though there was the incessant risk of a smaller object deviating from its path and eventually colliding. Some chaos disrupted stagnation and brought forth true equilibrium; now he had attained perfection.

For many years, this craft made toy was paradise and palace to the god, but eventually loneliness reigned in his heavy heart and cold fear crept into him once more. His mind was fraught with the prospect of succumbing to madness and despair once more, so he strived to bring life to this empty world.
As though the loneliness of the Wind God had travelled the immeasurable spaces and into the heart of the Bard, the Divine Lutist looked up towards the heavens with a heavy heart and burdened chest. He saw nothing but the window into The Gap, and all the terror and wild curiousity that infused within the onlooker. He sighed a sad little sigh. If you stared at the stars too long, it was said, their blaze blinded the gaze.
[colour=olive][i]'Ye gods,'[/i][/colour] he murmured to himself, [colour=olive][i]'what are our sins...that you should taunt us so,'[/i][/colour] he raised a hand and rubbed his eyelids gently, and his [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhBNObh9xbU]music[/url] soon sounded again.