The Chrono Quake.
A disaster that occurred six centuries ago, which disrupted any and all forms of communication and transportation between the planets of the intergalactic community. Society quickly broke down, leaving many isolated and alone, which brought forth a dark age that would last for generations, and that many thought humanity as a whole would never recover.
Two centuries ago, the White Moon, one of the sole remaining lights of civilization appeared in orbit over the planet Transvaal. Lady Shatoyan, Administrator of the mobile station, chose this colony of mankind as the starting point for the restoration of knowledge long thought lost to the passage of time, giving birth to the Transvaal Empire and ushering in the period of time many began to call the "Gift Age".
Under the Royal Family of Transvaal and Lady Shatoyan as a guide, Humanity began for flourish once again, with lost colonies being reconnected to the re-emerging society under the Transvaal Empire, Many began admiring and praising the one who brought the knowledge of their fore-fathers, calling her a Living Saint, and many more, from the men and women on the streets to the rulers and councilors in the Royal Palace, began calling her the Moon Goddess on account of her influence and apparent immortality. However, despite humanity feeling the full impact of her selfless actions, only a privileged few have even seen her, and yet even fewer has had the honor of speaking with her.
And thus far, none know the person behind the name.
It is the Transvaal Calendar Year Four Hundred One: Four Hundred years after Lady Shatoyan's arrival with the Celestial Station in orbit over the Planet. And soon, her life will take a turn that would shake the very foundation of the Empire to its core.
Within the solitary vessel orbiting the planet, within a room not commonly visited by those on-board the station, laid a room cloaked in darkness.
It was quiet, as if all of existence fell still.
As if any and all worries were forgotten and laid to rest.
A room with an aura that seemed both of this world and the next.
Silence.
One of the double-doors at a far-end of the room opened, and through it walked a beautiful woman cloaked in the purist silk, her form concealed behind the folds of her garments. Her steps echo within the room as if they were drops of water falling into a still pool.
A Spark.
A flame burst into life, dancing on the end of a long, sturdy wick held by the woman.
The door behind her creaked as it returned to its companion, disturbing the tranquility only for a brief Moment.
She stood on top of a long, scarlet carpet, ranging from the doors she just passed through to a massive shrine on the opposite end. Nine pairs of columns six feet away from the next lined the path from the door to the shrine, accompanying their earthly companion as each column suspended a silver censer, gently swaying unhurried by neither time nor man.
The woman took a deep breath.
She moved as if in sync with the censers' movements, her footfalls are heavy, as if bearing the burden of trillions of dreams, hopes, and futures, and yet, she bore her yoke with pride.
The fire flickered in the darkness.
She moved the wick to the censors, lighting the incense contained within and the lanterns underneath, one pair at a time, chanting in a language long thought dead, her footfalls are seemingly in tune with the movement of the censers, as if an indomitable connection exists between them, that neither man, machine nor anything else can break.
She stopped at the base of a massive altar at the opposite end of the massive doors she walked through.
The altar in of itself was simple, a long but short block of marble, with various different levels like stairs, with every single level having two-inch beeswax candles within various different sockets an inch apart from each other imbedded. It sat upon a small, wide flight of stairs that the woman slowly ascended upon, the carpet from the entrance leading up the stairs to the center of the altar, where a golden centerpiece stood, as if waiting for an offering of fire.
However, the main thing that would catch the eye of anyone wandering within the room would be the three massive limestone statues standing vigilant behind it. The one to her left was clad in archaic armor, plated with a massive rectangular shield on its left arm, while a rapier is held downward into the ground with the right hand, gazing forward as if it were a hawk eyeing its prey. The one to her right had worn clothes and patchwork trousers, with a Sheppard's crook in its hands, eye closed and a gentle smile. The third was directly in front of her, with the altar at its feet. It seemed to dwarf the other two, despite being roughly the same size. It was crafted to seem to wear robes, one scholars would wear, she would later recall, with its right hand cupped with an orb within it, and a left hand extended, as if in friendship. The statue's face was one of a mixed message: the face was soft and welcoming, and yet the eyes were colder then space itself. The statue seemed to carry with it an air of charisma, perhaps due to the person captivated being a leader of some kind.
As the woman reached the base of the altar she proceeded to light the candles, her gentle gaze watching as each flame flickered to life and danced as if its sheer existence was a miracle to be celebrated.
She proceeded to light six of them, smiling at each as if they were children she bore forth, before kneeling and her prayers became a song of lament and sadness with a ray of hope. Her voice echoed within the halls, as if her single voice evolved into one of a choir, singing in harmony a symphony the likes of which humanity has long forgotten, singing of a bygone age where prosperity was the norm, and life was well for all.
She soon grew quiet, and each candle slowly died. One, by one, until she was left in darkness.
To Continue.
I like to give big thanks to The-Weaver-Of-Tales with helping me edit my story. Yami(Eolo) for giving me courage to continue writing this story.
Disclaimer: I do not own Galaxy Angel.