“There, but for the grace of the gods, go I… Or, truer still, go we.”
Step number 783. The world of Pymgalia. War shredded the tiny planet. Once, the purple gaseous rings surrounding Pymgalia, had glittered vibrantly. Purple shadows had danced on its surface. Life had played between those shadows. It’s fae-like citizens, darting here and there had glittered too.
Now though, a thick film of defeat coats everything. It weighs down the wings of the Pymgalians. Everything and everyone sputters along, barely registering Kahlo’s magical presence.
“I am here,” Kahlo rustled into the atmosphere. Something small, round and fuzzy burst onto Kahlo’s peripheral vision. These wings didn’t sputter. They were a soft, translucent gray; with rainbow flecks, like those you see in pools of oil sometimes.
“You came!”, the Pymgalian squeaked at Kahlo. “I am Pym and I told them you would help us, I told them! The Counselors said no, we are too small, too inconsequential. They said there are bigger, more important matters to be resolved in our galaxy. But I told them, we matter too; our lives matter too!” Pym railed on.
This sudden, unrelenting darting and buzzing around Kahlo helped revive the lethargic Pymgalian atmosphere. Kahlo took this energy in, multiplied it and sent it out in wave after vibrant wave, reaching out to those once glorious purple rings surrounding Pymgalia. The planet shuddered. It heaved and rocked. Sprouting things were uprooted. Minikin digs rent asunder.
“Wh-What are you making?! Pl-Please, no new messes; we have enough messes!”, Pym burst out. Kahlo stopped in mid-creation, “You called me to change things here, Pym.” A tremor rippled through Kahlo. Pym was afraid of what was about to be set in motion. Inevitable as it may be, change still felt like something to be resisted…like a giving over of power…like submission… “Isn’t hope possible without change?”, Pym petitioned Kahlo. “Can’t we sit before the Counselors first? Is there still time?”
“What do you fear, Pym?”, Kahlo rejoined gently. “And why do you fear it? Yes, come, we will sit before the Counselors. We will tipple some Pymgalian slug and let others answer the EonsQuest I have set before you.”
Pym was relieved. But, in the pit of this relief, was a feeling of gutlessness. “How is it in your homeplace, Kahlo?” Pym whizzed around the unrepressed monolith, which was Kahlo. “In Dagora, the one may speak for the many because together, we are the all. Is that what you want to know?”, Kahlo parried smoothly. Pym held still in mid-space, “Allow me a moment.”
Kahlo waited. Pym’s entire being was vibrating. There was insecurity and self-doubt; fear and a deep rooted hunger for change lay side by side. And then, the collective consciousness of the Counselors awakened in Pym the spirit of remembrance. Pym remembered the trust that had been extended. “Find a way..” they had charged, “..to end this cycle and bring us to a new beginning.” By burning the Bush that calls Kahlo forward, Pym had taken a forceful step on this Way of Change. “Pym.” It was as if Kahlo’s voice was calling from afar.
“Kahlo, continue your making.” Pym sensed that now, relief’s pit had transformed into fearlessness. Kahlo felt the change in Pym and turned back to the recreating of Pymgalia.
There will be no tipple of Pymgalian slug. The Bush already burns for step number 784.