G
Glefaelk
Excerpts from: A conspectus of the cultural evolution of Opealon’s upper isles, vol. ii
—Glefaelk, Archsage of Scleros
Excerpt from: The Inward Eye, Kohlandi religious text
“The Inward Eye is always watching.”
—Kohlandi Proverb
The children of Mushi-na are reared in darkness. They are bereft of sensation—at once weightless, sightless, and soundless. It is not until their sixteenth year that they emerge, gasping and crawling, into the light. During this period of solitude, the voice of their Mother finds them. And while they cannot hear, they listen.
Mushi-na’s voice intrudes gently, coaxing her children into consciousness. It begins as a murmur—an incomprehensible ripple in the otherwise uniform void of their existence. Words soon form, and the meaning of their Mother’s message takes shape. There is a world beyond their world, she tells her children. There is a light beyond the darkness. They can go there, she promises, if only they open the Inward Eye.
At first, the children do not understand. Their response is a silent outpouring of confusion. To their enfeebled minds, as yet incapable of imagination, their Mother’s words are beyond their comprehension.
Mushi-na has played this delicate game countless times before. She is patient. In the ensuing years, she teaches her children the ways of the Kohlandi. Their lessons are rigorous. The Inward Eye cannot be opened from the outside, the children learn—not even by Mushi-na herself.
When at last they come of age, their hearts full of the joy of their Mother’s message, the children are given a choice. Only a sincere demonstration of faith can elevate them to the light, they have learned. Piercing the veil of enlightenment, after all, is not without sacrifice.
—Glefaelk, Archsage of Scleros
Excerpt from: The Inward Eye, Kohlandi religious text
“The Inward Eye is always watching.”
—Kohlandi Proverb
The children of Mushi-na are reared in darkness. They are bereft of sensation—at once weightless, sightless, and soundless. It is not until their sixteenth year that they emerge, gasping and crawling, into the light. During this period of solitude, the voice of their Mother finds them. And while they cannot hear, they listen.
Mushi-na’s voice intrudes gently, coaxing her children into consciousness. It begins as a murmur—an incomprehensible ripple in the otherwise uniform void of their existence. Words soon form, and the meaning of their Mother’s message takes shape. There is a world beyond their world, she tells her children. There is a light beyond the darkness. They can go there, she promises, if only they open the Inward Eye.
At first, the children do not understand. Their response is a silent outpouring of confusion. To their enfeebled minds, as yet incapable of imagination, their Mother’s words are beyond their comprehension.
Mushi-na has played this delicate game countless times before. She is patient. In the ensuing years, she teaches her children the ways of the Kohlandi. Their lessons are rigorous. The Inward Eye cannot be opened from the outside, the children learn—not even by Mushi-na herself.
When at last they come of age, their hearts full of the joy of their Mother’s message, the children are given a choice. Only a sincere demonstration of faith can elevate them to the light, they have learned. Piercing the veil of enlightenment, after all, is not without sacrifice.
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