[center][h2]Aelius and the First Dream[/h2]
Feat. [@Aristo] and [@Goldeagle1221]

[i]Takes place chronologically just before ‘Illumination and Reprisal’: https://www.roleplayerguild.com/posts/4840066[/i][/center]

	Dry heat blasted Aelius’ face, forcing his eyes to jump open. Immediately his gaze locked on the cold piece of metal he held tightly in his hands. It was a sword, sharp and built with a chisel edge. Its taper was from point to hilt, giving it a heavy, flat top. He knew at once what such a device was used for: execution. His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened and his eyes finally tore from his killing tool and set upon the rest of the scene.

	He stood under a blood red sky, blank and empty, save for a swirling black pupil that stared down at him, like a black sun. Underfoot there was no water, no moisture, just lifeless earth, hardened and cracked from neglect. These flatlands of nothing stretched all the way to the bloody horizon, he stood in an infinite land of waste. 

	Circling his position was the long dead skeleton of a snake of enormous size, so much so that a single rib stood twice his height. This cadaver of the past was coiled widely around where he stood, the beast having choked on its own tail. 

	Aelius found his breath, but it was soon taken from him as another voice sucked it from the air. His eyes slowly fell downwards to find the owner of the voice. There he saw himself, prostrate on the wooden block of a headsman. 

	[i]”Mercy!”[/i] the voice called out to him.

	“There will be none of that here,” a disembodied voice circled Aelius, its tone wildly different than the one that came from the copy of himself. His eyes met those of another Aelius, only this one wore the robes of a judge, as well as a conspicuous smile that curved completely around his own face, the tips fusing together to create infinity.

	“Here here,” a group of voices agreed, and once more, Aelius found himself staring at not so subtle copies of himself. This time, however, it was one large body, fitted with countless heads that resembled his own, as if it was some strange monstrous jury. 

	“Headsman Aelius,” the judge goaded, “proceed with the sentence.”

	Aelius’s attention settled again on the copy of himself, prostrate on the chopping block. The executioner’s blade in his hands suddenly felt heavy, not only with the weight of its steel, but the weight of terrible sin. The thought imparted on him a sense of shame and disgust. Were these the wrongs of the Aelius on the block, or were they his own? 

	“With what crime is this soul accused?” he asked, not entirely sure if he was thinking the words or saying them.

	“He is virtuous for the sake of virtue, and is therefore not of virtue.” the judge’s voice was coarse and grainy, yet held an air to it. The sentence echoed in such a way that Aelius could have sworn he physically saw every word and every color it portrayed. 

	“But regardless,” Aelius said, “the things he does are still [i]good[/i]. In isolation, they are selfless, with the well-being of others in mind. Does the intent negate the result?”

	“Isolated or not, his intent has soured any good his actions could do. By living in squalor, and becoming a slave to his conceited idea of self, he has forgone any well being of another. He in time will come to hate virtue, or push too hard. In the end he will sow vice and discord, whether knowingly or not. Virtue cannot be isolated from the context, for then it is simply an action, and to judge an action isolated from the meaning and motivation, is to ignore what birthed the action and what will birth the infinite actions after. There is a lovely glint in every knife that stabs the back.”

	Aelius found himself flustered by the judge’s response. He turned to face him and the tone of his reply a degree harder. “And if one’s actions caused evil, but with good intent? What if a man honestly believed in the right thing, yet his actions only birthed death and evil in his wake? Would you praise the virtue of his intent despite the failings of his labor?”

	He pointed at the accused form of himself. “This man has neither evil or death on his conscious. Surely he is no worse than the man who does?”

	“But isn't he? By choosing to perform good or evil, he first picks what is good and what is evil and then proceeds to act in accordance to his own satisfaction. There is no regard to the intent, no regard to the final effects of the action. No, both do harm and both blindly bumble onward in search of something you can't find.”

	“There are some transgressions more easily seen than others, while others may never be seen by the perpetrator, but are nonetheless troublesome,” the judge punctuated, “you cannot force virtue.”
	
	“Then what [i]is[/i] virtue?” Aelius snarled.

	The judge’s grin became even more wild and a gurgle of laughter met Aelius in reply. When Aelius turned away, he found himself kneeling on the ground, hands bound, head on the chopping block. His eyes widened as he stared at the executioner, the body he thought belonged to him just moments before. The sword hung in the air briefly, then it came down and all was black.

	“Aelius,” a soft voice provoked Aelius to open his eyes. The blurry scene slowly focused before Aelius. He was sitting on a chair, plush and luxurious, and an oaken table that seemed to stretch for eternity to the left and right, was pressed against his stomach. Across the table (plated with various pickings on silver for any appetite), sat Asceal who stared at him with a worried face. Despite her concerned glow, Aelius couldn’t help but notice that in the pupil of each of her eyes glistened a crescent, shaped uncannily like a smile.

	“Aelius?” Asceal spoke again, “your tea is getting cold, are you alright?”

	It was just then that Aelius noticed a lukewarm cup of tea in his hand, and a small platter with drips and drops of dark liquid placed on the table before him. As Aelius soaked in the bizarre situation, a miniscule Parvus buzzed by on fly’s wings, suddenly getting zapped as it flew too close to a lantern of blue light. A tiny stream of smoke followed the tiny body to the floor of the great hall the table sat in. 

	“Yes,” Aelius said. His reply was too slow and Asceal caught on. 

	“What’s wrong?” she asked firmly. Those crescent eyes bore into him and he shifted in his seat. He hid behind a sip of the tea, buying time to think of something, anything, to reply with. 

	Asceal sat patiently, her eyes never leaving Aelius, not even as a stray Ohannakeloi suddenly scurried out from under a silver platter-lid and away from the table in retreat, a lemon slice stuck on its back. Asceal slurped loudly, keeping her gaze. 

	Aelius’s cup returned to the table and he said, “Nothing’s [i]wrong[/i], but… what else is there?” He felt a pang of shame as the words left his mouth.

	Asceal nearly choked on her tea, and put her cup down, quickly covering her mouth with a napkin of silk. Clearing her throat, her brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

	“Galbar,” Aelius said quickly. “I’m talking about Galbar.” He searched the memory of his dream self and found, to his surprise, that Asceal and he had been successful. Galbar was alit and their furnaces burned eternally. He frowned. There was no sign of the other gods. Galbar was empty. There were no souls on its smooth, reflective surface. There was only light, and it was everywhere. 

	“We did it,” Aelius continued. “Why, then? Why does it feel so… empty?”

	Asceal looked troubled. Slowly her shoulders drooped, “Because it is.”
	
	Suddenly there was a groan, and for the first time Aelius noticed a man sitting next to him. When he snapped his head to witness the gentleman, he immediately recognized the smile. K’nell looked back at Aelius, “I’m not too fond of this reality.” a grainy voice echoed around the pair, “this one holds too much sorrow.”

	“K’nell,” Aelius blurted. “How long have you-” Aelius turned back to Asceal, but the seat across the table was empty. He whirled, leaning over the arms of his chair and started at the God of Dreams.

	“What the hell is all this?” Aelius snapped.

	“This?” The voice pondered, “this is a possibility.”

	K’nell leaned forward, the grainy voice whispering in Aelius’ ear, “a dream.”

	Suddenly the world swirled around them, their bodies stretched and molded into impossible shapes, sounds grew taste and colors screamed, and then all at once it stopped. K’nell sat before Aelius, positioned upright in a throne. The Golden God himself sat in his own throne, directly facing the God of Sleep. All around them little orbs of ideas and thoughts danced, fitting of the ballroom surrounding the pair. 

	A whirling seed landed on Aelius’s knee and at once, clusters of miniature trees and flowers sprouted up his leg. He kicked and brushed them away. They danced and leaped away, diving into the void between the thrones. Returning his attention to K’nell, he asked, “Do you control all this? What’s your game?”

	“Do you not like it?” K’nell answered, “Anything can happen in a dream.”

	K’nell stood up, his feet causing little ripples on the surface of an endless void, “you came to visit me, so I thought it only fit to include you in my great distraction. It is wonderful, yes, a grand illusion, a great escape.”

	“I judged and executed myself. Asceal and I were [i]too[/i] successful, to the detriment of everything else. I’d hardly call that wonderful.”

	“Well,” K’nell fall back into his throne, “a good dream should hold at least some kernel of truth. But now think, now that you have seen the end, experienced the means, couldn’t you use what you now know to better the singular dream you refer to as your reality?”

	“Or perhaps not,” K’nell pondered, “what’s a dream, anyway.”

	Suddenly the Dream God perked up once more, “perhaps you need a true escape?”

	“What are you suggesting?” Aelius asked, suddenly wary.

	K’nell's eversmile grew slightly at the question and then with a snap of his fingers, all went dark once more. The two journeyed from dream to dream, room to room. They traversed hundreds of dreams, thousands of possibilities, some beautiful, some horrible. Aelius experienced paradise, and felt the depths of terror. He was brought to tears at the feeling of true happiness and was broken against rocks. He experienced all he would ever want to, until he felt all his dreams balance into some strange equilibrium of bliss, confusion and worry. He felt it in the distance though, one final dream, no, THE final dream, a dream with every answer he ever sought, and every emotion he ever needed. It was in his grasp, tantalizing his fingers, and just as he felt its warm, comforting glow-- his eyes rocketed open.

	He woke with a stir. He was inside his chariot, on a sphere of blue crystal. He felt something drain from his mind, and he knew right then and there, he was dreaming no longer. Then he saw it in his mind: a massive, dark shape speeding for Heliopolis.

[hider=Summary]
The first sleeper receives the first dreams.
[/hider]