The Eighteenth Entry

 “How does this vessel travel?” asked the Son, “This technology is beyond anything I’ve ever encountered before, though, that’s not saying much!”

The Son paced the meditation chamber aboard the Harrower, inspecting every crevice and finding some new gasping discovery with every fevered yellow eyed look.

It had been several days since my encounter with the Scion Mother, and Father, drifting onto the borders of the Obelisk’s control. Upon my departure, The Son accompanied me at the behest of the Mother, though I imagined his usefulness to me of little merit. Usefulness, however, could take many forms.

“This machinery, it’s almost as if it’s alive. Like me.” The Son observed, his hands moving over the dark walls. At his touch, it moved slightly. He quickly pulled away from it, before overcoming his fear, and placing his hands upon it once more. He proclaimed: “It’s magnificent.”

“It has a name, the Harrower.” I said.

The Son looked away from the wall, my interruption pulling him back to the room, and walked closer to me.

“A name.” The Son said quietly. “It must be wonderful to have one.”

“You do not have one?” I asked.

“The Son, is a title, honorary, and also what my Mother has given me. Amongst my people, at least those who remain, we are named based upon our duty. Eventually my title would change, and so would my name. I suppose you could say we have both a name and no name.” He said.

Looking upon the Son I was reminded of myself. The title of Dark Lord was cryptic but served a purpose; my name had no origin.

“You should have a name.” I said.

The Son shuffled his position, trading hands and pulling on his metallic index fingers.

“I do not know where to obtain one.” The Son said.

“It is not obtained, it is given.” I said.

“Then, perhaps you could give me one?” Asked The Son.

I was startled by his proposition. I had never given a name before, nor did I know the complexities of making one. Yet, my previous encounter with a large volume of literature had granted me a glossary from which to pull from. I racked my mind attempting to pull together strings of letters, phrases, places, and objects of which I could remember.

The room was quiet, The Son shifting in anticipation.

I could not simply just reuse a name I had seen. This had to be of its own origin, befitting a being such as The Son. He deserved that much.

Finally, I said quietly: “A’re”

The Son’s yellow eyes lit up with glee, a smile forming on his face.

“A’re.” He repeated, “It is strange. How do you spell it?”

I put forth a finger and the metal in front of The Son parted into “A’re”.

“It’s simple, yet I find its quiet uniqueness enlightening.” A’re said resting his chin in his right hand, and then smiled widely: “Thank you.”

I nodded and felt a disquiet stirring within me. This feeling was new, and I could not name it.

“If I may interject, my Lord?” Aberus asked entering from the darkness of the room, “I bear a message for you from the Obelisk.”

Aberus stood next to A’re and knelt, bowing his head, and then continuing: “There is a world, not a day’s venture from here, that requires your attention. The Obelisk has deemed it worthy of the Host, and it has been marked as our next conquest, however, there is a complication.”

Aberus paused, looking up at me before continuing: “The Reverent are involved on this world. Which of them has yet to be determined but they are there. The Obelisk has requested that you handle this personally.”

“Very well.”  I answered.

Aberus stood, bowing, and backed yet again into the darkness.

The Harrower lurched as it redirected course, and A’re knelt feeling the coursing changes to the metal. Yet, his curious demeanor seemed half-hearted.

“I still cannot fathom this technology.” A’res said quietly, “But, I can fathom what is to come.”

I said nothing. The Reverent were another piece in what appeared to be an endless question. I intended, however, to find out in what way.