by Mischa

Without doubt, Wraeththu embodies the very best as well as the very worst traits of its progenitors, humanity.

I can say this now without fear of challenge, (not that anyone would dare) but with a clearer understanding than would once have been mine.

Certainly, since the Ascension, there has been more balance. But still, if one looks at it dispassionately, (as one must from this state) one can clearly see that . . . Immanion, for example, is a much more balanced place than it once was, as are the badlands in Thaine, places like Fallsend.

No longer do things operate from a simple perspective of black and white; the nuances of Wraeththu existence have been extended. But, I digress. This treatise is not about my children and their struggles; their trials have been well documented elsewhere. This is about me and my current state of being.

What state am I referring to, you might ask? Well, that is a puzzling question, even for me to answer. It might be easier to explain if I make clear something that should be obvious, but probably isn’t. I am Thiede.

‘But you have died. Ascended to the astral planes.’

You are no doubt thinking something similar to this, and you would be correct. I have. But it is a very strange state in which I find myself, I must say. For someone so accustomed to being in control, to having my hand upon the wheel, it is a disconcerting position in which to find yourself. You see, I have . . . experiences. Times, like now, when I am aware and ‘thinking’. Having ideas; coherence of thought and the full gamut of emotions, much as I have always done. At other times there are periods of which I am unaware; when I am . . . elsewhere, and not myself at all. And, during these times, I do not know precisely what it is that I am.

I have no memory of these events, no sense of time passing (not that time is important here, but it helps to have a frame of reference) and absolutely no idea what goes on. However, I do have theories. The first of them, and the most unlikely, is a form of madness. I say unlikely because I am not the person to be subject to such an ailment.

And I do truly still possess a strong sense of self. I know that I am Thiede, the progenitor and the Aghama of the Wraeththu, that shining race of beings who have succeeded humankind as the curators of the Earth.

I have memory and identity, even though I am no longer part of the corporeal world.

I have examined both thoroughly and have found nothing wanting. No gaps, no shimmering or straining of reality. So, I conclude that I am not mad.

My second theory involves my role as the Aghama, the ‘God’ of Wraeththu. I believe that, during those times when I am absent from my conscious self, I am fulfilling that role. That I become the embodiment of my children’s beliefs; more . . . Godlike, if you will. As this alternate representation of myself, I am power, not memory, nor self. I am an act. A wish. A miracle of one sort or another. I am become what my children need and therefore have no memory of my own, as the act of power brings me into being in their minds.

This is the most logical and therefore the most satisfying explanation, and so I will hold to this theory unless it can be proven to not be the case.

From this vantage point of omnipotence I watch over my fledglings, not always in a completely direct sense, but with great precision. It requires a great deal of concentration on my part to hone in on a single har and there must exist some compelling reason for me to do so. A strong memory of having known them, or of them, or a strong pull, the kind that prayer can engender, to draw my attention for long enough that I can connect to them.

The exception to this rule is the Trinity, of course. They are part of me and as such they are easy to connect with and to channel through. My observations can be more mundane as well. It is not all chanting and mysticism, far from it; I can gain as much pleasure from watching an amusing incident as I can from witnessing an act of belief.

Interference is also possible although I would prefer to think of it as intervention. Some would argue for the first, of course, (Calanthe springs to mind here.) but most ‘ordinary’ hara tend more toward the word ‘miracle’ than would anyone who had known me in life.

A regrettable view, but well founded. My track record as a Father is rather abysmal, despite my having redeemed myself in the end. Still, I am doing my best to remedy that and I like to think that, during my moments of ‘otherness’ I am being called upon to help my children in a constructive way. That they think of me kindly, if not without a slight edge of fear, I have no doubt, especially amongst those who knew me. Relatively few of them had no fear of me at all. Even Cal in his most cynical and maniac moments always had respect for what I might do, should he piss me off to excess.

Ashmael certainly held me in high esteem, but was always prepared to face me down without trepidation. He is utterly fearless, nearly to the point of stupidity at times, and Pellaz simply knew there was no way I would ever harm him.

So here I sit, on high, as it were. Observing, deducing, following along with the progress of my children; all without the first hint of anything approaching solidity. How then am I writing this down, you may ask? And more importantly still, why?

Well, the first is simple. Influencing the mind of an innocent is not something I do lightly, (these days) but, as there is no harm/no foul involved it sits easily on my conscience as I dictate to him what it is I wish written down.

The second is more complex or possibly even simple.

I just want you to know that I am still here.


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