God Walks Softly

2987 TC

 Ban'iel wondered something. He pondered things both great and petty, like the reason why Marthukas chose blue as this planet's atmosphere or even why the Minor Ones spread themselves so thin; that was what the fractions were for. But, something plagued his mind and he wasn't sure if it was worth bothering with it. After all, it had been disregarded by his kin for millennia.

 Rammel and he had not returned home, or at least the place they designated their home, for fourteen years. Ban'iel had been thinking that they should consider it their home for several reasons, one of which was that the town was blessed, unlike some other places in the multiverse. The Minor Ones were spread thin; but, that was their own fault, seeing as they took it upon themselves to govern the mortal races. Ban'iel didn't feel like dwelling upon the other reasons; that would only make him long for Haddock more.

 And now, the mortal races were warring with themselves once more. In the days of the Interstellar United Republic, progress toward peace almost seemed obtainable. But, that was millennia ago. The republic was gone, ousted by a fallout between its members. Nothing remained to connect the stars. Only a few trade agreements.

 The Amali fought in the Red City, Ashe'gard. The Forsaken sought to redeem themselves before the eyes of the emperor; not that attacking his guard was the way to go about it. The Great Amalyan Empire had grown too large and the House of Rayne could no longer control it. Not that the senate did so much to help, as undermine the emperor's power.

 The Fratali sought convention in The Hovel, of all places, the resting place of Grammel, denying the laws of the Fratalian Republic. Franc hadn't seen a dilemma like that since the days of the Curzon-Fratalian War that destroyed the moon colony and created the vast radioactive caverns known as The Hovel. Ban'iel worried about what would come next.

 The White City of Putham was burning under fire by the Sargonids. The Acaradian Civil War had reached an all-new peak. Only chaos remained in Sulavan. Valentin's greed knew no bounds, hoping to rope any link he could to obtain what was no longer his, even employing trickery and deceit.

 Even the Terrans fought themselves here in an area they called the Sandmarch. Yeshu'a's peace only lasted roughly four hundred years. Unlike the last time, he tried to bring peace, which he only maintained for thirty years before the meltdown went global. But, you don't send a Fraction to do a Minor One's job.

 Only the Green City, Estrallia remained at peace in all this chaos. Ban'iel thought that if anyone would create discord it would be the Mizokathi. They were something of a warrior race, much like the Amali. Eil Mawry and his descendants, the Borhithes and Boreliens had always found something to fight over. It was odd that they found peace at a time when the galaxy was at war.

 "Why is it our creations do not follow our commandments, Rammel?" He questioned his brother, who was also his cousin.

 "How should I know, Ban'iel? We are not the ones who are truly their creators, only their wardens. Such titles, that much goes to our parents." Rammel responded, overlooking the battle in the desert below. Rammel was right. He was always right.

 The fight had reached The Great Ridge, otherwise known as Death Valley. A twice befitting name, as not only had a battle been fought here but, many millennia ago, it was the site of great waves of death in the name of greed. The Terrans fought something fierce, giving their prior wars a paler light to be illuminated in. Long gone are the days of flying projectiles and mortars dropped from the sky. Beams cut through anything, save a particular metal called mythium.

 Mythium, a rare unusual substance that could only be mined in one of Terra's former colonies. In the forty-fifth century before the return of Yeshu'a to this world, it had been hailed as a go-to by the people of Illyannus.

 A few of those beams passed just shy of Rammel's face. "I suppose they follow in their predecessors' example. Can you not say that our parents and grandparents did not fight?"

 Ban'iel thought it out. That much was true. There was no denying it. A god's war lasted eons. Or, longer. "I suppose." Mortals, however, rarely saw the fruits of their struggle, not that their struggle was not valid. That alone depressed Ban'iel. It made him wonder why they struggled at all. But, tyranny was worth fighting against. And, that made observing this war more important. Someone had to bear witness. "I suppose." Ban'iel repeated.

 Rammel just looked at him.

 His glare mocked him. It was just like Rammel to find fault in something. Anything would suffice. Anything at all. The Hellenistic peoples of Greece, Rome, and Macedonia were right when they postulated that the gods were petty and jealous. Some of them at the same time. Rammel was both. Most times. And, that alone told Ban'iel that if the gods could be so, then the mortals, who followed by example, would be also. It was an eternal circle.

 A flash of heat and light barely missed Ban'iel's left ear; but, that was just as much Rammel's fault as it was those who fought below. He could only imagine the agony those that were touched by that light felt. Screaming echoed below, as two armies clashed. Its relevance narrowly missed Ban'iel's comprehension. How could it find its mark? He couldn't understand why they couldn't live in peace.

 Peace was a pretentious word full of false hope. Even Ban'iel knew that much. So, he just watched as the mortals killed one another.