Imagine a wheel. A clock's face, more aptly.
No- a sundial, lacking the numbers and symbols of our time, inscribed with impossible glyphs that twisted and bent the very rules of reality in their mere existence.
Imagine, if you could, sigils that twisted and warped with each passing second, every one a notifier upon the world's ever-changing events.
To be precise, imagine a sundial mounted upon a disc- one that rotated upon a gyro, rather than the single clock's hand upon its face.
The hand remained stationary- the disc could spin- but the entire thing was only that.
Imaginary.
The Disc was no more real than the hand that stroked it, a woman's finger that almost lovingly caressed the edge of the timepiece and pushed as one would a child's pinwheel.
The Disc spun, the glyphs twisted, and the Planes...
Unraveled.
The hours of a single year undone in one tentative stroke, as power waned in one world and waxed in another, suns and moons competing for dominance upon a hapless sky.
She had done this before- a thousand times.
A million times.
More than that. She had nearly always done this, and would as long as she could- the Timelines were infinite in number, and her work was never to be done. Beyond this, each world had a rather irritating tendency of requiring multiple attempts- and she hardly knew why. It mattered little.
To her, the time she spent meant less than nothing. She was Timeless, or close to it, so long as she never overextended herself. Long ago, She had accepted that it fell to her to rectify the mistakes of others. Accepted it, and become it.
She was the Goddess of Sin.
She was the Rectifier.
She was the Crow.
She was Velka.
And Velka had already found the next world to Begi-
"Wait."
A pause. A voice in the Chamber of Redemption, this constructed place she had made solely to observe, was an oddity- Velka herself rarely had need to speak, as she chose her time to be spent alone. Still it gave her halt, the long finger of her bare right hand poised mere centimeter from the disc's single needle. While not impossible, this moment was extremely unlikely.
"My apologies. I didn't mean to startle y- oh, what am I saying. No one startles Velka. Of course not. Can't startle a goddess. Omnipotency and all that."
There was no mistaking the sardonic voice of the individual who spoke. No ignoring the loathing and agonized bile he held for even saying these few words to her. He was her chosen nemesis- the reason for this endless cycle of death and rebirth. Velka had accidentally engineered the alteration of time itself, choosing to maintain it until such a time as this creature was without sin, and the world was without its taint. Velka needed not to speak the creature's name. He knew She listened.
"Yes, its me. Funny thing, this moment of clarity you get just before the world goes into the sewer again. Every last time, all filtered into my poor head like a billion squirming maggots. The Dark Soul- or Flame, or what-have-you- does some funny things to your head, I can tell you."
He was leaning against one of her bookshelves- the spaces filled to the brim with long-forgotten and unavenged sins that Velka would never have the time or ability to see through to justice. Even if she could, they would all be undone the very moment that the Lord of Fire fell again. Pointlessness, even to keep them. This was Her prison as much as it was His.
He was also entirely nude, not even wearing a strand of hair. Bald, with every inch of his skin entirely smooth save for a handful of small rocks embedded into his skin. To his credit, it was not a horrid sight. He was, after all, one of the Primeval Humans. Musclebound, and strapping, well-endowed and certainly confident. Velka cared little, but it only reinforced her irritation. A Sinner had no right to live, let alone live well. One finger idly tapped her desk, waiting for him to continue. Surely the Furtive Pygmy had interrupted her eternal justice for a reason. Really, she should not have even allowed him the attempt. Call her curious, in a vaguely fatalistic way.
"I know, I know, 'what the hell have I got to say', right? ...The truth is, Velka, I give. I'm done. I'm tired. I'm beaten. I don't think I can stand another round ending with my head being dipped into an ice bucket of blood and death and sorrow and rage, alright? Your vengeance is served. Isn't that enough? Can't I atone?"
Velka almost laughed, before she turned and stared over her shoulder to the plaintive pygmy. The Goddess of Sin did not often use her voice anymore. Countless millennia had let her speech fall into disrepair; her mouth stagnant and dry against words. Still, some things... She could let her cobweb-clogged lungs let Him know how much he was despised.
"Manus. How naive of you. Not all the souls in the world could atone for the mounting horrors you bring each cycle, willing or no. I have been keeping count; the entire population of the world falls victim to your machinations, every time I begin it again- from the moment you steal the Dark Flame, to the moment Gwyn falls. The mounting death toll from a single cycle alone would cost you more than the souls in the world."
And Manus had waited. He was prepared, for this.
"I brought something better than Souls, Velka. And before you dismiss me outright, consider this- with each cycle, your power is diminishing. You are a constant between worlds, your strength not returning to its old splendor when the new sun dawns. You cast the spell, and so it is your power it draws from. Eventually, I will win- you will fade entirely, and no more Chosen shall be guided in the worlds you hold dear. The timelines will reconnect, the worlds stitch themselves back together, and I shall reign. It is inevitable, unless you hear me out now."
"How do you know all this? ...Nevermind."
Velka bit down a retort, one perfect upper lip curling into a spite-filled snarl. She wanted to say He was wrong- that she was as strong as she ever was- but the Primordial Mortal was right. Not even the Darkmoon Blades could sustain her, even less since they offered prayer to Gwyndolin and not she. The Bishops, the Pardoners, were all she had, and even they were far and few as she had to build a church and a religion every new cycle- intermingled with her other duties, and helping to guide the Chosen. It was a losing battle, but even the impossibility of true success was not enough to daunt her. If Velka were to die, she was to die trying.
But perhaps it was time to try something new, within reason. When caution was too slow to succeed, become reckless and damn the winds of change.
"I am listening, Sinner. With what do you atone?"
Manus smiled.
"Ah, that's better. Down to business. Simply put, I know why the Kiln failed- it took me a few cycles to piece it all together, but the gist of it is this. The Lordvessel- that golden bowl, the key to the Kiln of the First Flame. You've been trying to figure out how to bypass the lock- and you can't, can you."
"Would I be here if I could?"
"Of course not. But it takes a portion of the First Flame to reach the place where the flame needs to be born- something that can't be done with only part of it."
"I already knew all this. What are you suggesting, Pygmy?"
Velka crossed her arms, intrigued despite her values and Manus's reiteration of her failings. Manus only leaned forwards, his grin malicious in the candlelight.
"We've only got to find a way to get through the vessel with all four souls intact, don't we? Now- given that there is simply no way to get a suitable firekeeper into the locale, you've only got to think outside the box a tad. Really, with all these tools at your disposal, I'm surprised you didn't think of it sooner."
"You haven't told me how you know of my newfound abilities."
"Let us simply say I've seen it done before- and unlike you, I recognize power when I see it. Velka."
The last word, her name, was meant to be a barb- but Velka prided herself on never forgetting a sin, regardless of origin. She could name each one of the actions scribed in that bookshelf without sparing a peek, knowing they were all in the name of gaining power for themselves. It did not change the Pygmy's words, however, and the Furtive Human was correct in all but one way.
"Gwyn holds his own soul, a soul long reduced in each timeline. We cannot obtain it ourselves, and the Chosen never knows quite what to do with it. The moment I start another cycle, you will once again forget yourself- born anew, and once again hiding the Dark Flame. Explaining all of this to the Chosen- I cannot make manifest in a world that hardly believes in me, Manus. What you suggest is impossible. I have no direct control over the worlds. Not to any huge extent. Neither of us can guide the chosen any more than is already done. Besides- the Dark Soul is lost to us, in the fall of Oolacile."
"You don't need it. I'm going to give it to you, and you're only going to have to do two things."
"I am still listening."
"You've seen how some worlds start over, right, without your intervention? As if they remember what happens, and do it automatically? Worlds that you've already acted on, once before. The timelines start over again, at a certain point, just after the Last Choice is made. The Chosen Undead is the same Chosen Undead, there, somehow, and they begin all over again- with one big difference."
"What difference is this?"
For the first time in the conversation, Velka had no idea what to expect. Her eyebrows raised under the black hood, turning away from the Disc for the first time. Manus was smirking like he'd trapped a rat.
"Somehow they have Gwyn's Soul."
"Impossible. How would you discover this, anyway? You are long dead, before the Asylum is ever breached."
"No, its true, and never you mind how I know. My only guess is that, somehow, they pull it through with them when time winds back- That portion of the First Flame. I doubt they know its true value, though. The same value they place on my own soul, really, after I lose my mind each cycle and they give it to your insipid crows. Then again, it could simply be ignorance on their part. A better question would be why all of time itself seems to hinge upon their decision."
Velka could not help but blink. Was he telling the truth? She cared little for the Worlds that reset themselves- there had been others to contend with, not the ones that had gone before. She marched ever onwards, never looking back. Had she been lax?
"But what of your own soul? Having one portion of four- but how are we to ensure the Dark Flame reaches there at all? If the Chosen were to hold it in pure, would they not fall prey to the same madness that reached you in Oolacile?"
"Only if the pendant breaks, like it did then. It was their fault, really, I was supposed to be hidden for a reason."
Wordlessly, Manus reached behind him- whipping a silvery necklace from the bookshelf and dangling it from a finger. That much of the plan, Velka could gleam- she only had to make sure the Pendant wound up in the Chosen's hands. But there was one problem. The same glaring problem that caused all of this.
"It only solves one world at most, Manus. We would have to act in such a manner for the remainder of eternity- and I will not last so long. You know this. It is impossible. We are doomed, and perhaps even sooner, for trying."
"Unless you break the Disc, stitching the worlds back together, once we steal Gwyn's Soul from any single world. I'd put the Soul of Warmth in with the Dark Soul, as well- just to ensure mine has a food source and doesn't wink out. It gets hungry, you see."
Was the human serious? If Velka broke the Disc, any number of things could happen. Surely, the myriad small changes she made to each timeline would be ignored, by virtue of the other realities overlapping it- but would there even be a Chosen? No, there had to be. There was always someone in the Asylum, no matter how different they were. It was risky, though. All-or-nothing.
"That only gives us one chance, Pygmy. One chance, to save us all. If the Chosen Undead sides with Kaathe, with You, or gives up in the arduous quest, or does not fill the Lordvessel with the stolen Souls- the worlds will no longer be diluted, Manus. The difficulty will be nigh-insurmountable. Our likelihood of success is so close to nil it may as well be nonexista-"
"Are all the gods so nihilistic?! Oh forgive me, mistress Velka, for speaking out of turn, but I am sick and tired of it all! Throw caution to the wind! One way or another, at least this torment ends for both of us! Its a catch-twenty-two in our favor, like it or not!"
Manus thumped the floor with his heel for dramatic effect, his face a rictus of rage and irritation.
"Make your decision, Velka, but you'd better do it fast- wait too long, and you won't have the power left even to say 'hello'. I'm off. I've a part to play, if you'll excuse me. ...I'd suggest abandoning this world and going to a different one. Without my flame, this cycle is lost. No humanity for the Chosen, you see. I'd abandon the one you take Gwyn's soul from, too- just as a precaution. Chances are, once you Stitch everything together, we're going to have to start over again anyway."
Velka stared blankly at the pendant dangling from her palm, as the Pygmy vanished. It thrummed with an enigmatic heartbeat, pulsed with a black light, whispered with darker secrets.
For the first time in too many years, Velka had to make a choice.