#inspired by Harumaki Gohan's “Destiny”

[the-hero-of-space-needs]

...?

Creepy version under cut

I somehow love the faceless characters and when i saw one on Tighnari, i just knew i had to incorporate that here

[amphitheresarewingednoodles]

“I will defeat you, I will end your reign of tyranny”, the man proclaimed at the altar of Fate.

Fate, with Its face owl-turned looking down at him, Its arms managing the impossibly large tapestry before It, replied softly, “why?”

“We have seen your treacherous arc, how you would control us, warp our destiny to fit your cruel designs”

The beating of Its loom remained unchanged.

“There is no malice in my weft and weave, little one.  Do you not see the beauty in my work?”

Taking a step toward the immense being before him, the man shaking declared, “You and your monstrous, whirling wheel had no beauty!  You betray the weak, you strike down the strong, you twist the wise, and lead all to ruin!”

Fate, confused by this reproach, cooed, “Look”, and stepped aside.

The man beheld the tapestry being woven.  The weft and weave dancing at imperceptible speeds, the shuttle, Its hands, moving in perfect harmony, clearing gaps that could not be cleared, threading the magnificent cloth, too perfect for any king or god-head to wear.  Amidst the whirring chaos, the humming, vibrating threads created something of terrifying beauty: he saw a myriad of faces, some ecstatic, others in anguish, beyond them rolling forests, towering mountains, barren wastelands, jade rivers, pure skies, and ephemeral constellations; and though the man had come to end Fate, he felt his will falter at the idea of ending this wonderful creation.

“There is beauty here, you see, in how everything aligns perfectly.  Though it looks as if the pattern is off or the piece may rip, it continues and unfolds into a monument of my love.”

“Then why must it come with such suffering? Why must so much pain and deception precede it?”

“So that the narrative that unfolds from it may be more significant, I presume”

Those final words hung in the man’s ear.  Presume?  “What do you mean by ‘presume’?” he prodded.

Fate continued Its work.

“Face me, and explain yourself!”, his righteous anger returning to him bolstered his voice.

“I am facing you?”, the beast declared, Its body still facing the tapestry with Its eyes transfixed on the man.

The beating of Its loom continued.

“…Is your head on backwards?”

“Yes”, Fate responded, “that was how I was created”

Before the man could voice his query, Fate continued, “I was created when humanity first looked back at the chaos and created narrative from the nothingness, beauty from the bedlam.  You rewrote the past such that you could endure the present and hope for a future.  Your minds created meaning, and in doing so, you created me.  You rage against fate but crave the fulfilment of destiny, you twist the cruelty of your waxing and waning lives into yarn, all I do is orchestrate it into a symphony of fibers on a wall.  I face backwards because Destiny is only realized in hindsight.”

He refused to consider that this crusade was vain, that he had declared war against an emergent phenomenon like the wind and waves when this being stood before him and talked down.  Unthinking, the man swung his sword at the entity before him—the hilt cracked and the thread remained uncut.  He began to see through the illusion, there were no faces, trees, hills, lands depicted on the cloth.  No, only strange lines and shapes his mind had organized into meaningful images.  He tore at the cloth but it was he who was unraveling.  How could he abide Fate, this surrender would make him but another spec of lint on the tapestry; but his refusal would require him to face forward into the chaos and ugliness.  The machinery at work continued and he felt himself being pulled in.  In horror he beheld the unchanging motions that would soon undo him: the dread, he did not want what was going to happen; but at the culmination of this wonderous machine (thinking back at how pleasing it was to watch) in anticipation, he wanted to see it happen. 

The beating of Its loom continued unchanged.