The man said, "In the beginning there was darkness. And the Lord said, Let there be light!" He had dark hair and dull skin—a common appearance for an uncommon man. Only his eyes marked him as one of the chosen. They burned with the intensity of a furious demagogue, or a man possessed. In the dark bedchamber, they glowed with an unearthly light.
The smell of sex, several hours old, hung stale in the air.
"The Lord made all the birds and beasts that crawl about on this world. Then, he created Men. Male and female, he created them."
His bedmate stirred. She was pale and blonde-haired, his opposite, and her eyes—while possessing a certain shrewdness—lacked focus. They were no more than spheres of photosensitive cells, not windows to the soul. She regarded the man and his words with mild curiosity, tempered by weariness—or perhaps it was the natural grogginess of one recently aroused from slumber.
"What on Earth are you talking about?" she asked, her voice hoarse. The man paid her no mind.
"God gave to Man the Garden, a paradise on Earth. It was full of fruits, and meat, and all good things. But there was a contract between God and Man, one which was never to be violated."
"What was it?" The woman had laid her head on the pillow and closed her eyes.
"The Lord said that Man could feast on all the fruits of the Garden…all except those that grew on a certain tree. This was the Tree of Knowledge. For a while, Man obeyed…
"But Man grew curious. He began to wonder why the fruit was forbidden, and soon he grew tired of wondering. On one night, when he thought he would not be seen, he stole an apple from the Tree and ate it. He shared it with his wife, and she ate of it as well.
"The Lord knew in an instant what Man had done, and chased him and his wife from the Garden. They were forbidden ever to enter again; an angel with a sword of fire was sent to guard its gate. So it remains, to this very day…"
"And how did the Fruit of Knowledge taste?"
The man's voice hardened. "Bitter."
The building was burning. Its walls and marble pillars dell, one after another, as the screams of the doomed echoed out into the icy night. Whether misfortune or human plot had brought them to their end, there was no hope for salvation—not now.
Standing not ten meters from the inferno, watching it, were a young man and woman. Their faces betrayed no expression, no reaction to what they were witnessing. Their hands were clasped together tightly, despite the oil that greased their palms.
On that night, a covenant was formed.
It was a midsummer day, and the sky was blue.
Not merely an ordinary blue, the common, neutral blue, but an impeccable blue was the sky. Not only did the refracting summer sunlight emblazon the sky a true, deep azure, but not a single cloud was there to mar its color. Below, the waters of the lake mirrored it almost exactly—perhaps a shade darker.
Despite the beauty of the day, not one gull could be heard crying. There was only the gentle, rhythmic crash of waves.
At the shore of the lake stood a woman, water lapping at her bare ankles. She wore a white dress. Her brown hair, raggedly cut, was blown by the wind, but she did not care. Her face was slack, her mind removed by space and time.
"Mother!"
From behind her, a small boy had appeared. He resembled her closely; only his hair and eyes were different. He was out of breath, panting, where he stood.
"Mother," he said, "why did you go?"
When she did not answer, the boy continued, his voice growing more and more desperate. "Father says he's going to send me away…mother, I don't know what I'll do!"
"Shinji," the woman said, not turning to face him, "I am only doing what I must." The words were difficult for her to say, but she believed them, honestly believed them, down to the core of her soul. "Even if it doesn't make sense now, someday—"
"But it's not 'someday'!" the boy said. He was beginning to cry. "It's now, and I need you, mother…"
At the sound of his sobbing, the woman turned. She walked to Shinji and bent down to see him eye-to-eye. Gently, she caressed his face and smiled at him—kindly, wearily. She drew him close and pressed her lips to his eyes, kissing the tears away.
"Shinji," she said, "do you still have the ring I gave you?"
Shinji nodded, and held up his hand to show the item. It was a ring of alabaster, set with a stone the color of blood. Engraved on the stone was a five-petalled rose.
Upon seeing it, the woman smiled, and took his hand in hers.
"Let this be a covenant," she said. "Every time you look at this ring, you will remember me. Every time you feel it weigh heavily on you, it will be because I am there, watching over you. And one day, that ring will lead you back to me.
"But until then…"
She released his hand, and stood again. She returned to the waterfront, and when she reached it she did not stop walking. She walked deeper into the water, up to her knees, her neck, her head. The boy ran after her, but was halted at the water's edge.
"Mother!" he cried out, but his voice was unheard.
Two boys stood at the foci of an ellipse in the center of a vast arena. One, white-haired and pale, wore a black suit; the other, dark-haired, wore a gray boy's gakuran. The white-haired boy was smiling. The other had tears in his eyes.
"You've done it," said the pale, beautiful boy, sounding triumphant. "If not for you, I might have won this duel, and gained the power for myself. That would have been the end of it."
A girl stood to the side. So wan she was almost an albino, she observed in silence, pitiless. She took no part, and she held no judgment.
"Kaworu," the other boy said, his voice shaking, "I don't understand…"
"Man always seeks to reshape the world in his own image," said Kaworu, for that was the boy's name. "Stagnation will lead only to death. For mankind to survive, the Revolution must take place.
"I want you to do it. Only one person can be the one to revolutionize the world, and I…I cannot. My soul is not as strong as yours, and my dreams are impure. Please, grant me my wish, and destroy me.
"I thank you," he finished. The last lines of the sermon were finished. "My life was meaningful…because of you."
As his grip on his blade tightened, Shinji's found his mind turning back—as though remembering some long-forgotten phantasm—to those parting words with his mother, so long ago. Once again, he had to make a choice.
