[center][img]https://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/b3RmLjU0LjZjYzZhNy5WR2hsSUZSaGNHVnpkSEo1SjNNZ1YyVmhkbVUsLjAAAAAA/gondess-demo.regular.png[/img]

[h3][sup]Collab by [@Tuujaimaa], [@yoshua171], and [@Frettzo][/sup][/h3][/center][hr]

Without thought, the Dreaming God returned to the vigil of his choosing, his form once more in orbit above the glowing sphere. Behind his chosen orbit there dwelled a second Moon, its surface violet in sheen, its form diminutive in size. He obscured it in his passing observation, the massive form of his star-bound vessel mirroring its orbit. Where before his intent had been outwards and overwhelming, now it was as a feather, tickling at a hair upon the neck--barely felt and easily ignored.

Thoughts turned inwards, Àicheil found himself in rumination, his vast mind unmoored from its cosmic leaning and disturbed by an experience most recent. Gibbou-sister, the Goddess of the Night, creator of the Moon, when they had touched something in him had shifted, alignment forever changed. the stars across his vessel's form grew hazy and indistinct, his fingers twitched and coiled in agitation, and the cloak which limned his vessel billowed and roiled as if taken in by rage and indecision. For though the Dreaming God knew all things, he did not [i]see[/i] them in truth, as that was his twin's domain.

Then, in his inability to grasp the new status of his mind, Àicheil railed against his state of stasis and a ringing pulse rang out.

"Twin," the pulse proclaimed, and in it was a summons; in it was a wave.

The weave of Dreams shuddered and many minds called out, but none in response, their voices but a cringing quake only mortal souls could make. No longer restrained, a vast droning scream was unleashed, its deep utterance an echo of true distress.

[color=#DFB624]”Twin.”[/color]

The response resonated from within Àicheil, a crackling surge of ecstatic certainty illuminating the dark spaces and stars alike from behind its star-speckled form. The shape of the triquetra blazed within it as if the very cosmos emblazoned within Àicheil’s almost-chest had erupted with a reflected effulgence. That divine symbol’s light swallowed up a great swath of Galbar’s aurora-covered sky, merging with the newfound cacophony of colour and light, to reflect the mark of their existence upon the very firmament.

As the brilliant surge faded, the God of Truth assumed its once-celestial form once more, behind its twin, and its godly mantle touched a single tip to Àicheil’s forehead.

[color=#DFB624]”Bring me your mind, Twin, and I shall settle it.”[/color]

So laid bare was the fabric of his endless mind and with the meeting of the twins there came a clashing of forces great.
[hr]

Within the endless Dream there was a storm of thought and in it there dwelled calm and chaos in equal measure. Beauty most terrible; Horrors common and unassuming in their way. A ringing pulse of emotion coursed through the fabric of the Dream, its passing a calming balm to all minds within its hold. It was a signature of unity, unmatched. Their connection, it was a beauty beyond beholding and from the shallows of the Dream it was a gentle flare, pervasive in its presence, yet small all the same. Beyond the hold of that vast and immaterial plane, the Dreamer's form flared across the sky, lit from within with eldritch feylight, a cosmic mind laid bare.
[hr]

Those who saw the form of the Dreaming God might be struck by awe or madness, twas impossible to tell. In that fleeting time which followed their reunion Àicheil's vessel was a blinding void of white. Expanding from its form was a shroud of gray, so great in its size that it served as a refuge against the stars, blocking out the sky. Yet its vastness could not last. Unstable, it retracted and though it never lost its mammoth size, no more did it blot out the heavens as it had before.

Moments passed and in them, awareness coalesced and with its coming so too did the light of his vessel fade.

Many minutes crossed their path and finally, the Dreaming God felt once more at peace, the void-flesh of its starlit visage returned to harmony again. A subtle song played between them and in its notes rang gratitude and peace. That dancing hymn it filled their eyeless forms and joy became contentment.

"Equilibrium," Ѻs-fhìreach declared. It held every meaning in its constraints, but it was unlike all words he had spoken before it. In it there was depth and simplicity unified, in it there was hope. Àicheil withdrew then from Fìrinn and found himself different, but renewed.

He pondered his existence from conception to the present and found a gulf had formed between him and that which he had once been. It was a sobering thing and it formed in him a sorrow equaled only by ecstatic realization. He had grown!

Moved by this intriguing notion, Àicheil gazed upon the Dream. There within it lay intricate echoes of beauty, greater than those perceived before them. Though wondrous were the movements of those many dancing minds, they could not hide a turning tide, which revealed itself just then. Unsettled by this shift, Àicheil set his mind adrift and through the Dream he seeped and sift’d until he found a rift.

Confoundment. Rage. Àicheil’s mind a rattling cage. Assailed then by a wrongness, an occurrence his mind had no faculty to gauge.

Disturbed by this occurrence, Àicheil bade his twin to follow, and so cast himself into the Dream.
[hr]

Fìrinn’s mantle gave a dismissive wave, a signal that its twin would understand as a refusal. It was not Fìrinn’s place to enter the Dream in the same way that Àicheil did--it was its twin’s day-self, its anchor in the realm of the real, and eternal custodian of the Tairseach. The overwhelming sensations of an infinity of knowledge were only for Àicheil to withstand, not for Fìrinn to carelessly peruse and get lost in.

Its true hands grasped the sides of the Tairseach firmly, and with the barest hint of effort and energy twisted it upon its axis so as to directly face the Tree of Genesis to the west. It peered closely into the newly revealed depths, seeking to pinpoint that which had thrown its twin for a loop, and viscerally recoiled at the reflection that it found within the sacred anchor. Something had burrowed through the Subtle Weave, and excised itself from the great tapestry--deep beneath the soil where the roots of the Great Tree began there was simply a blank space. Reality reflected precisely as it was to mortalkind, without the perception to which the Twin Gods had become accustomed. A hole in unreality, a gaping flaw in the otherwise unmarred web of imagination--an abomination, anathema to that which the two-as-one held dearest. It would be fixed, or it would be excised.

In an instant it snapped the Tairseach back into place, returning it to its rightful position, before appearing at the trunk of the Great Tree. Its mantle wobbled in the air unsteadily, clawtips honed to razor points, readied as if to meet an unknown threat.

[color=#DFB624]“You have suspended this place from the laws of reality. Return it to Truth at once, or it shall be woven anew atop your roots.”[/color] Fìrinn’s almost-voice bellowed, channeling the waves of its intent through the ground and into the very bark of the voiceless deity before it. 

The ground rumbled, and the soil gave way. Dozens of massive roots, each at least a hundred meters wide, suddenly rose up into the skies. They were sharp and before the God’s eyes, they became barbed. The sky, previously cloudy, became clear. The Worldsong turned a deep, crimson red, and the sky dulled. Shadows grew longer and the trees around Genesis all of a sudden seemed twisted, as if they recoiled at the mere presence of Firinn. At the tips of the roots, a strange, not-quite-there energy converged. An energy that sent ripples through reality and threatened to break it. The energy felt the same as the blank space within the Subtle Weave, and its mere existence seemed to try to grasp and pull and tear at the Weave.

It was then that a single, relatively minuscule form emerged from the insides of the Tree of Genesis and stood at the great entrance to the hollow God. It was made of bark, wood, fibre and black hay. A thick mixture of black hay and fibre was wrapped around its neck, but its nature as a husk was made evident by the way the strange, intense yellow light from within it spilled out each time it moved. Its black inexpressive eyes took in the form of the God, unflinching, and then it nodded its head with its eyes closed in a show of respect. 

[url=https://i.imgur.com/FrTnhGC.jpg]The husk[/url] was tall, but far shorter than the God. It was strong, but a world weaker than the God. It was fast, but held no candle to the God. It was fully mortal, and so it spoke with a slow, deep, grave voice like that of sumac honey, monotonous but still betraying a sea of thoughts behind its dull eyes.

[color=khaki]”The Tree of Genesis, Omnibloom, First Tree, the Roots of Fragrance, has not graced me with any knowledge about you, Master…?”[/color]

[color=#DFB624]”I am Firinn, God of Truth. Each second that the weave remains rent asunder, and each attempt the Tree of Genesis makes to break it further, brings us closer to ruin and further from Truth. It will cease this affront to the Twin Gods, or it will find itself forcibly aligned with Truth.”[/color] Firinn’s response was terse. It was evident, immediately, that the ordinarily co-operative God of Truth did not appreciate its great work’s disruption, and that attempts to mangle its creations further in its presence could bring it close to a point of brash action. With no access to the Subtle Weave it had no Truth to assign to the Tree of Genesis, and with no direct display of intention from the God before it there was no understanding to be had. Where there was no understanding there was no reason, and without reason reality could not be aligned with truth.

[color=#DFB624]”Cease your perversion of the natural order and all may be forgiven. With context there is Truth--without there is the might of the Two-as-One. My Twin shall not be so open to discourse.”[/color]

The husk was taken aback--Not out of fear of the God’s threats, but out of pain. It held onto its head as if trying to keep it from splitting, and after a moment of silent wrestling with its own body, it sighed and attempted to stand straight once more, not looking at the God in the eye. A pulse of energy shook the earth slightly, sending smaller amounts of the Weave-rending energy down every single one of the Tree’s roots. All over the world. [color=khaki]”It has shown me--A world where there was a battle and you killed it. But it did not fall before destroying the world.”[/color] The husk almost whispered, then panted for air as more images came into its mind, causing it to fall on one knee.

[color=khaki]”You can feel it, can’t you… Master Firinn, Lord of Truth? It is preparing for that outcome. Instead...”[/color] The husk hissed as something within its head cracked, and then stood again. [color=khaki]”I-Instead, let us work together. I believe I know what the Tree of Genesis desires.”[/color]
[hr]
Every thread of thought, every mortal mind, all those who lived and breathed and felt, they called out in agony at the dread god's preparation. Their voices could not go unanswered and so a sundered mind, a split-off echo, a Dreaming God of Abstract form responded.

In that horrid moment, there was no single thing which could describe Ѻs-fhìreach's reaction. All that can be said about its occurrence is that it was most terrible and vast.
[hr]
Like a thousand threads torn, Àicheil ripped out from the realm of dreaming minds, his form was not at all as it had been before. There was nothing so smooth or gentle about its making and where once before had been starlight spackled void, now there existed only black. Sharp angles, impossible, cut into the offensive rift and many seeking blades of void-filled rage filled the once peaceful glen.

Yet, though large, it might appear as if the Tree eclipsed him, but upon the fragile mortal mind of the speaking form there would come to be an image. A vision of endless, formless, fury like shattered crystal blades existed beyond Galbar, throughout the plane of Dreams. It might struggle with this intimation, for truly endless was its form, so far did it spread and each of its mighty unseen blades laid poised against the touch of the Great Tree's mind.

"Cull."

The word was like nails across stone, like a trillion shattering, cutting blades of crystal. It scoured clean the mind, it warped and twisted and bent on angles and traveled too-and-fro. In it was a promise of retribution, but so too did it hold the option of alternative response. Àicheil had come to bargain and failing that, to destroy.

The Voice was instantly knocked unconscious by the display, thick golden sap leaking from all its orifices. A long, thin root snuck its way out of the interior of the Tree and began to pull it back inside. The energy at the tips of its roots became wilder and not as controlled, as if about to be released.

[color=#DFB624]”Twin.”[/color] Firinn’s almost-voice echoed, the notes of its displeasure at its twin’s rash actions evinced by a flourish of its mantle. It unwove the pointed tips, and then the arms, the threads of its divine essence cradling the now-unconscious Voice. It channeled its energy into the Voice’s supine form, repairing the damage that its twin had done to the mortal’s psyche with a gentle blue suffusion of energy.

[color=#DFB624]”It is a mortal. It is blameless--do not punish those who are not deserving of your wrath. Wake, child.”[/color] 

Firinn coaxed its now-restored mind back to the waking world with a gentle mental nudge and erected a divine shield within its mind to prevent further damage. Such a link allowed it to glean some of the proxy’s mind and thus its Truth, and Firinn’s demeanor instantly softened as a result of the additional context. The Voice twitched and took a few ragged breaths, before opening its eyes. The slim root that had been pulling it back into the Tree froze and, in a moment, burrowed underground. After toking in its surroundings and touching its head and its numerous wooden horns, it stumbled up onto its feet.

[color=#DFB624]”I apologize for my twin. We bear you no ill will. Our creation has been disrupted, and we feel its loss keenly--but you are blameless, and we should not have struck you. I have protected you from further assaults against your mind. We would be pleased to reach a harmonious outcome in which the Láidir Suíomh can be repaired and your Truths realized. What say you?”[/color]

The twisted landscape seemed to breathe deeply. After a while while the Voice adjusted to consciousness once more, the massive barbed roots burrowed back underground and vanished along with the energy, which was safely dissipated. Soil covered the great holes as if nothing had ever happened; the trees, once twisted beyond recognition into claws and blades, now recovered their peaceful forms. The air was light and clean and thick with oxygen, and suddenly there were all kinds of critters and plants frolicking around the great base of the Tree.

[color=khaki]”I… Don’t know what you mean by truths,”[/color] The Voice said slowly, as if struggling to form words. [color=khaki]”But I do know that the Tree of Genesis desires privacy, and it desires to connect its creations deeply to one another. It desires for them to feel what others feel and remember what others remember… It was… Afraid? No… Put off, by what was being reflected into the ‘Weave’, by the beings around its heart. And so it wanted to pull away from the Weave.”[/color]

[color=#DFB624]”Truth is the limits of perception. Truth is the vision that one wishes to draw into reality--the deepest expression of one’s knowledge and understanding and imagination. It is what you want, given what you can see and understand. It is my solemn oath to draw Truth from the Dream and align reality with desire, and my twin’s solemn duty to corral the infinite vastness of imagination into knowledge and intuition. While the Weave is disrupted--destroyed, in parts--our needs cannot be fulfilled, and nor can mortalkind’s. Even now the raw stuff of dreams threatens to spill into reality like water from severed xylem. The Tree’s roots have destroyed our roots.”[/color]

Firinn stopped and paused, setting the Voice gently down, and its mantle dissolved into the ether before re-emerging upon the soil, shaped into a triquetra with the Voice at its centre.
 
[color=#DFB624]“We wish only for peaceable coexistence and the fulfilment of our mutual purposes--to wit, it would be my pleasure to enable such connections between the Tree’s creations. Know, however, that such is only possible through the Great Weave: its reality cannot be aligned with its Truth unless the damage is repaired and it goes unmolested for all eternity. If you permit me to read your thoughts, I might divine a solution to the Tree’s apprehension?”[/color] the God asked, its almost-voice dimming to silence towards the end of its speech as it shifted from sound directly to thoughts and feelings. It communicated its words through waves of intent and understanding, directly to the Voice’s mind, that it might understand the entirety of Firinn’s truth intimately and personally. 

Perhaps mollified by the words of their twin, Àicheil’s angular form withdrew in part from the solid world. Still, the Dreaming God did not depart, unsheathing itself once more as it emerged about Firinn. In this way Ѻs-fhìreach did declare, that he would wait and watch and listen, but act if once more he was provoked. Poised behind his twin, Àicheil appeared as if petrified, so motionless was he, but within his mind, there churned a tide, beset with agony. 

It was pain and disconnection to be apart from the endless Weave. In his eyeless, starless gaze this could be felt and heard and seen. The act was not simply one of wrongness or even disrespect, no instead, it cut the threads and severed intellect. So, unspoken Àicheil would remain, but in his visage there was clear a message of intent.

[i]Repair my child. Reflect upon the weave. Understand that in this moment, I wish not to be bereaved.[/i]

Though more was held deep within that silent utteration, Àicheil did well to hold it back, for the presence of his Truth-made twin kept his self-restraint intact.

The Voice wavered slightly, [color=khaki]”At this point--”[/color] He suddenly stopped speaking, as if his tongue had been seized by something. It only took a moment for him to resume, however. This time, with an exhausted look on his face. [color=khaki]”Genesis desires a fruitful result to this less-than-desirable meeting. It has shown me… An image, and a feeling. Of a people so great that most did not require sustenance as Humans do. So great, that they could avoid undesired results by looking at the past and studying their actions. So great… That they would live forever. This is what the Tree of Genesis desires. It wants to be a part of the start of the Age of Sapience, and it wants to do its part well.”[/color] The Voice said breathlessly, soon dropping to his knees on the ground to rest his weary body.

Firinn took a moment to pause. Perhaps it had not been clear? Perhaps the mortal Voice of this God had suffered too much. Perhaps the Tree was not an intelligence capable of understanding, like of most deities? The God of Truth took a moment to contemplate the thoughts it had before speaking again.

[color=#DFB624]”I can help, but first I must repair the Weave. Each second it remains in this state it is a pain to us both like the Tree being cut off from its roots--please, allow us to fix it now, and we can help you when the natural order has been remedied. We cannot align reality with Truth until this has been completed.”[/color] 

Pain could not register on Firinn’s mirror-blank face or on its motionless form, but each word carried an undeniable heat and ardour deep within it as if emanating from a shard of agony laced into the meaning of each word. Lights of red and orange and yellow found themselves reflected from its face without intent, bathing the area around it in a desperate glow.

The Voice was silent, but while it didn’t speak, the force keeping the Weave split vanished. After that was done, a single, tiny root came out from the ground and slithered its way up the Voice’s body, and in through its nose. The Voice either didn’t notice this or didn’t care, as it started to speak. [color=khaki]”... It is done. I believe you should be able to repair your roots now.”[/color]

Firinn’s true arms moved the moment it felt the Tree’s influence recede from the fabric of the Great Weave, rumbles and pulses of energy emanating from it with a frantic urgency. It connected the extant fragments that yet remained and pieced them together almost lovingly, bringing the elements of the subtle web that waxed closest to the physical together and stitching the torn tapestry back together. With its careful ministrations, it took only moments before enough of the damage that it could repair was no more and its Twin could set about repairing that which lay beyond the pale of reality.

Jagged blades of pitch, they twisted on themselves and as the Dreaming God awoke they withdrew into not-shells. Knowing then that the calamity had gone, Àicheil sheathed itself within the Dream that was its planar song. The weaving web of Truth's distinct visage remained and upon it did he rest, and so he reached out bladed planes into his realm's distress. Though forgiveness was a far off thing, he relented all the same, and so endless blades retracted their planes, and withdrew from roots unmaimed.

Gazing then upon the work that his twin had laid for him, Ѻs-fhìreach knew what he must do and so set to remove the pain. So with formless mirrors of dreaming whim he cleaved, and in response the Dream's expanse caught upon the war torn seam. Like blades writ as weaving tendrils his mind healed the once-deadly rift, and once he'd done what could be done he moved back and felt adrift.

Yet, it remained empty, blank, few minds to fill its depths. Thus released was Àicheil's form and from it sprang his mind, so that it could expand into that rift, which had existed for a time.

So from him, unfiltered sprang three words, and their utterance was unrelenting to all who heard. Yet no simple words were these, those dancing songs, for they were his names in truth. 

"Ѻs-fhìreach," he called out and the words echoed across the vast expanse.

"Àicheil," he intoned, and within the depths grew a mass.

"Neo-Àicheil," he concluded and from that mass grew thought.

So it was the Dreaming God renewed the weave from naught.

Returning then, to mortal ken, he unfurled about his twin. Where before his form had been a bladed expanse of blackened void, now across his vessel their expanded stars, like subtle noise. Gently coaxed out from his mind those far-off lights were born and so he gazed upon the maze of the Tree God's rooted form.

"Accord," rang out the sharp voice of the Dreaming Twin, and in that word could be heard a request of contract to prevent further sin.

The Voice furrowed his brow and turned to look at Firinn, confused.

[color=#DFB624]”We wish to ensure that such misunderstandings do not happen again. We wish to reach an agreement to ensure the safety of the Weave before we can align what the Tree desires with what is. I will show you.”[/color]

The triquetra around the Voice erupted in a pillar of silvery effulgence, engulfing it within a veil of rendered consciousness. Firinn’s true hands emulated that divine symbol with a single gesture, and with it the context and understanding that the God of Truth personified was at one with the Voice. It was not an Anchor to the weave, but it was the beginning of a threshold that may, one day, evolve into an Anchor should the Tree agree to the terms of their contract.

[color=#DFB624]”You are at one with the Weave. Countless Dreams stretch out before you, and infinite Truths pave your path across them. The feelings and experiences of those around you are yours to peer into, the context of perception yours to divine, and the grace of connectedness with all around you yours to cherish. You need not be alone in this status--we may impart such gifts to many of the Tree’s creations. Our only stipulation is that the Weave go undamaged, and be safeguarded from harm. Without the Weave, such gifts cannot exist. Without the Weave, mortalkind is alone in the world.”[/color]

The Voice recoiled and winced at the sudden awakening of a sixth sense, then closed his eyes and nodded, his mouth stretched into a grim line. [color=khaki]”I see. How… should the agreement be set?”[/color]

[color=#DFB624]”A pact, bound in the unity of our essences. There is a deific sibling of mine, Tekret et Heret, whose purpose it is to vouchsafe such agreements--we need merely agree, and a contract shall be made. It shall enforce the terms we have discussed. Look into the Weave and see the Truth of Kaarnesxaturl and you shall know its presence and its weight. Perhaps you will have to sleep, to dig so deep below the waves? I am unsure of precisely how far across the great weave your mortal mind may stretch, but during slumber you will find your reach greatly enhanced. If you have need of me, simply call my name and invoke the holy Triquetra--I will answer your call. Do not think ill of me for granting you this enhanced perception, child--it was your Truth to fulfil the desires of your creator. If you do not wish to be connected to the Weave, it is a simple task for me to unstitch you from it.”[/color]

With that, Firinn used its true hands to pick up its mantle from beneath the Voice and focused upon it once more. All of the Voice’s brethren that the Tree of Genesis created would have their perspectives similarly expanded and the Weave stitched more closely to them. The next moment, the God of Truth was simply gone--but the First would always feel its presence to the distant east, even if it could not understand why.

[hider=Summary]
Firinn and Aicheil realize something’s up with the Weave and immediately hone in on the Tree of Genesis, who had ripped a HOLE into it. Firinn arrives first at the Tree’s location with hostile intent implied in his greetings, which the Tree blows out of proportion as it readies itself for a BATTLE, by preparing tons of energy to cause damage to the Weave and sending some of that energy all along its cross continental roots. 

The Tree sends out its First Voice to speak to Firinn and they make some progress until Aicheil comes in and literally almost breaks the Voice’s mind. Like wtf bro, do the Aicheil rly want to have the world destroyed?? In short, Tree grows more restless, but before a battle actually starts Firinn heals some of the damage to the Voice’s brain and then negotiates.

In the end, the Tree allows the Weave to be repaired and in return has Firinn set its creations up with enhanced perceptions thanks to a closer connection to the Weave. Essentially, all Treepients (tree’s sapients lmao) now have varying degrees of empathy, with most of them being able to feel what others feel and a few of them being capable of even sharing memories.

The first sapient to receive this gift is the First Voice, who accepts it without a word.

Then the two Weavegods leave, and like that Galbar has overcome its first near-apocalypse.
[/hider]

[hider=Might Summary: Aicheil]N/A[/hider]

[hider=Might Summary: Tree of Genesis]N/A[/hider]

[hider=Might Summary: Firinn]0MP (Discounted from Perception Portfolio): Confer an extraordinary ability upon an individual/species (Enhanced perception of the Collective Unconscious while awake).[/hider]