When Time Was Young

Before the first cloud cried over barren lands, and before the first plates clashed so that mountains could kiss the sky, even before the first tree's roots stretched its weaving tendrils into the moist soil, before almost everything, there was the Council. Breathed into life by the Voice of the cosmos, the Council was spoken to, given a directive by the force that creates all—and in the end, destroys it. With our eyes still sealed, unknowing of the stars before us, the Voice informed us: a new cycle had begun.

When time was young, the Voice had issued a command to instill order in the nascent intelligent species that span the seemingly endless universe. This was our test, our purpose. For if we failed, the universe would contract back into itself and all that had been created over billions of years would disappear into nothingness, including us. We would observe as the destruction transpired, second by second, eon after eon, until, at long last, our turn would come.

We placed our thralls across the vast expanse of all. They could not replicate our intelligence, but we could see through their eyes, and through their ears to hear the breathing of the planets they inhabited. Lizards, serpents, turtles, and dinosaurs walked across every soil in the known universe because we willed it. They adapted to each planet, always watching, always listening.

Finally, after billions of years, an opportunity presented itself on a planet that I had populated. I understood my purpose, but not the purpose of the beings with which I was to engage.

“I am to instill order, but what is the purpose of these sapients, or any other for that matter?” I asked the Voice.

Its answer came, as it always had, directly to my mind; a vibration of information. “When the end comes, they must all rise against me. Together. If I am satisfied, then I will allow this universe to continue its expansion.”

“This universe?” I asked naively into the darkness of the void.

There was no response from the Voice, and I have yet to feel its presence again.

———

They were nothing more than hairy beasts, these potential sapients. If these were considered intelligent beings, then I feared our universe would become nothing once again. From whence we came we undoubtedly would return.

I perched upon a mountaintop and listened, my hearing capable of deciphering specific sounds for thousands of miles. From the grass protruding through the surface of the mud to the crawling crustaceans near crashing waves, I could perceive it all. Billions of years of experience had allowed me to hone this specific skill and it was all for this… A mumbling moaning sound: communication.

I listened for a time, anticipating something more than simple grunts. It appeared that the time that had elapsed between my departure from the Council’s home planet and my arrival at planet Terra-72423 had accounted for no advancement in the psyche and communicative ability of the species. A shame.

I remembered a recommendation from fellow Council member Mexrahm about the use of fire and its galvanization of intelligent progress. In secret, I gave them fire. I observed as they began to use flames and heat to create tools and cook meats. It was a sluggish process that caused me much consternation. On the home planet, I was accustomed to searching the universe through our thralls, but here I had no such means. I could only watch and wait.

After a few hundred years, I recalled Mexrahm’s second comment on the matter. “It will take some time, we must be patient,” they had told us.

I, unfortunately, was not patient. I perched upon the nearest mountain (which I designated Mt. Elligor) and I took a nap.

———

To a being that has existed billions of years and rarely requires sustenance, a nap can last multiple millenniums, as it had in my case. The eventual phrase to be coined was that I “overslept”. Humans, as they had termed themselves, had advanced significantly in the ten thousand years in which I dozed.

Chaos. That is what humans had brought to this planet. They had separated into different communities with no substantial leadership. They were less hairy, but with a significant increase in their violent disposition. And they had dogs.

They had used my endowment of fire to cook food and create tools, but also to craft fatal weapons. Gruesome, bone-severing axes and organ-penetrating swords. Their armor was a thing of beauty, to help prevent the severing and penetrating. A disappointment to know such magnificence was to be destroyed for such pointless barbarism.

With the negative advancements of physical brutality came intellect. They had developed languages, many of them vastly different from one another. Being of the Council, I had only known the language that the Voice had instilled within us, but this was a different way of speaking, and the vibrations were released through chords in their throats.

There was no purpose communicating with the humans without the knowledge of their lexicon, so I waited, and for once, exhibited patience. I listened and learned all of their verbs tenses and conjunctions. I would not have to speak as they did but could transmit their language directly into their minds all at once, as the Voice had once done to me.

It took but a decade to become fluent in their language. When I registered the importance of the moment, a great chill bristled my scales. I would interact with my first intelligent species outside the Voice and the Council. This was why I existed, and after an immeasurable number of years, I could finally act.

———

I spoke to their minds with a sweeping simultaneous message. I did so multiple times to reinforce reality, for a single fleeting voice could have been brushed aside as an intrusive thought.

“Come to the Lake of the Fallen at the moment when the sun breaks the horizon and look out at the island in the center. I await you there.”

I had created the rendezvous and awaited with anxious anticipation. That single night felt as though it existed longer than the decade it took to learn the human languages. I listened to their conversation, many of the humans confirming their reception of my voice with each other. My message had worked.

As the sun peeked past the horizon’s border, I saw before me a gathering of women and men of different tribes. All of them stared, waiting for the voice which called to them. When the island in the middle of the lake basked in the sun’s glory, I rose from the ground and perched myself atop the highest tree. My weight crushed it forthwith and, to my chagrin, I touched down with a less than agreeable landing. I had injured my wing in the fall, yet feigned normalcy. With that, I noted that I was far too large for trees and have yet to perch upon one again.

My reception was undesirable.

I had yet to realize that humans could run with such haste. As a rule, I could catch up with them without much challenge, but now that I was temporarily disabled, I could only watch as they scurried away. I tried to call to them. “I wish to speak, I mean you no harm.” But it proved fruitless.

That same night, I listened to whispers in different tongues. We of the Council have been called a great many things—serpent, draconi, keiffir, demon—but the term most ubiquitous: dragon. This was my initial perception of the word and it took a few listenings to realize that they referred to me. To the humans, I was a dragon and they feared my insatiable hunger for their tender human meat. But we are beings almost as old as time. Fierce, powerful, brilliant—we consume information, not flesh. We are not savages. The opposite. I was here to save them, to save us all.

At that moment, I wished there was a lesson or book that could help me teach humans. I considered flying back to the home world to gain more insight from the other members. But how much time would elapse on my journey? And would these humans survive the length of time until I returned?

I decided I would generate a new plan once my wing repaired itself.

———

It was another hundred years before I could escape that island. The lake’s waters were too deep and I could not swim with my sprained wing. The probability of another ten-millennium rest seemed likely, so I endured the miserable wait. In my bided time I realized something: the humans denied my reality. They mentioned me in fables, but that was all. Better for me, I thought, considering my embarrassing introduction. It pleased me to receive another chance at a first impression.

When I reintroduced myself—this time without hazards—the humans regarded me as a deity. I intended to instruct, not to be worshipped. They seemed to follow for the sake of following without taking in the wisdom of my words. Worse, they had yet to develop the capability to comprehend the vastness of my story. The Voice and the cosmos, the expansion and eventual contraction of the universe, they attempted to take it in. Upon observing their conversations, they had done anything but.

Their actions proved diametric to the lesson I wished to instill. Unity and order were necessary for humans to ascend to the role of attaining the capability to challenge the Voice—by which means they accomplish this goal I still had no conception. How would these little humans grow wings and fly? I wondered often. Would Council members need to escort them across the stars? Could they breathe in the vacuum of space? But first, and most consequential, how would I get them to stop butchering each other?

They claimed to do it in my name. One clan believed one message, while the others interpreted my words differently. Sometimes multiple clans would combine and eradicate a separate clan. I was incapable of managing the number of battles that occurred. And worse, none of them were correct. In fear that an interjection on my part would reinforce a certain belief from one of the clans, I abstained. I did not wish to kill any humans.

But they tested me.

Though I exercised patience, it was not intrinsic to me. My failure as an unintentional deity caused me to take extreme measures.

I left the planet. If they killed each other to the very last human, then there was nothing I could do. The universe would be doomed and I would do my best to enjoy it in the interim. They were killing each other regardless of my exclamations, so I flew to the planet of the Council. But first, I rested in the core of Terra-72423’s yellow star to recharge and used the energy to return home.

As luck would have it, Mexrahm was present. They were imposing, even to other members of the Council—their black scales with a silver-edged gleam a legend among us all. They had already assisted four intelligent species on their way to enlightenment but told me they had not come into contact with any so stubborn as humanity. We devised a plan for the humans. If we could create a common enemy, one which they could overcome together, maybe they would combine their strengths and end their enmity.

———

I was allowed access to some of the pre-developed species under the tutelage of other Council members. Elves were one. They were like humans but lithe, incredibly quick, and tall due to the lower gravity on their home planet. Some dabbled in the reanimation of the dead, while others were capable of illusionary tricks. Dwarves were another; short—due to a high natural home planet gravity, stout, and strong. Their ability to craft and imbue inanimate objects with unique capabilities was their strongest asset. Curins were most fascinating, as they lived underwater but were capable of staying on land for long periods. Their dark purple complexion and golden shining eyes mesmerized upon first sight. They spoke to each other as members of the Council do, though only to their kind.

While the others were primarily anthropomorphic, the fenns of planet Gorma-33253 displayed a lupine appearance. They used all four of their limbs for rapid movement, though they were capable of a crooked upright posture. Hair covered most of their bodies due to the unforgiving cold of their home planet. Despite their savage appearance, they could speak with a distinct and clear intonation that allowed others to understand their intention without comprehending their language. A useful tool.

In the beginning, the Voice instilled in some of my fellow Council members the ability to create a time distortion orb around the entirety of their body. We summoned them to the home planet at their soonest convenience and relayed the plan. We were aware that if any Council member without the time distortion ability attempted to transport any of the species, our charges would either die in transit or grow too old and feeble by the time of arrival.

We sent the eight Council members to gather our pawns, two members for each race, and had them immediately head to Terra-72423.

———

I arrived before my fellow members to observe the current state of human society. It was a thousand years since I departed. The situation was dire. Similar, but worse. I assumed—foolishly—that upon my exit, the humans may forget me over time (as they had with the lake incident).

But I was incorrect. Two dominant religious factions remained.

One religion—the Elligresians—believed that I, Elligor of the Council, desired the sacrifice of innocent human infants. One infant per full moon for two thousand years would sate my desire. On the night of the last rite, from within the final sacrificed corpse of a human infant, I would rise from its still heart and emerge to assist them against their enemies and deliver them to a home with the Voice amongst the stars in the sky.

I never claimed such nonsense. Though I wished no humans any harm by my hand, I had it in mind to end the Elligresians and their foolish rituals. But before I made a full consideration of that option, I focused my attention on the other faction.

I could not be sure if the Elligarians were worse. They believed that I desired only the most powerful combatants to fight for me to suppress the Voice of our enemy. That I would return and fight alongside them for one final battle during Röthraman—the end of the world. It was an intriguing premise, and they remembered that I mentioned the Voice, though they had no grasp of its meaning. The problem was how they attained these powerful combatants. They would starve young children for a year, giving them the tiniest morsels of food. Many died, but those who survived entered another tier. The surviving children were paired up, then pitted against each other in a fight to the death. If the two combatants were friends or siblings, it made for a stronger soldier. The winner would become a member of the military and their spirit would fight alongside me during the apocalypse. Abominable.

Upon my exit one thousand years prior I told all clans to unite, gain common ground and work together for the good of all. I said to assist the innocent and the poor, the downtrodden and the weak—for physical strength is not the only value. How this became the murder of innocent infants and starving children for eventual annihilation bewildered me.

How had Mexhram done it? They had assisted four species to enlightenment already and I could barely comprehend mine. I was wasting time. I needed to begin assisting other species with haste, as there were two others developing consciousness on planets where I had planted the seeds of life. I couldn't continue wasting time on these humans.

The sound of the thunderous beating of massive wings two hundred miles east stole my attention and ended my contemplation. The other eight Council members had arrived, each bearing one hundred charges. With a total of two hundred of each; elves, curins, dwarves, and fenns present on Terra-72423, the plan was ready to be undertaken.

———

The plan was simple, and possibly for that reason, it failed.

The first step was to see how humans interacted with a foreign intelligent species, so we sent an elf emissary with knowledge of the human language to each clan. The humans were wary yet appeared amicable. But once away from the elves, they immediately began to plot their demise. The separate religious factions each created a unit of soldiers for the sole purpose of reconnaissance of the alien species. Luckily for our pawns, we had already flown them far away to plot out the next move.

It was decided that all eight hundred pawns would attack one of the factions, the hope being that the other would combine forces and assist in repelling. The dwarves would attack from underground, the elves from afar with bows enchanted by the dwarves, the curins from the closest water source, and the fenns would tear down their defenses with brute strength.

We considered joining the fray by feigning assistance to our pawns but concluded that the humans would only see Council members as a sign of an oncoming apocalypse and believe that we were there to fight alongside them.

In the end, an event entitled “The War of the Others” was all that remained of our efforts. The human factions never combined, but only scarcely assisted the other while under attack. They did this without communication, driven by the incentive of self-defense, not the protection of their fellow humans.

My fellow Council members gathered our remaining pawns and returned them home. We knew that sacrificing them all would prove fruitless and lessen the chance of relying on their help if we needed it in the future.

———

I knew something must be done to usher these humans from total barbarism to transcendence. I was aware that I could force them all to comply and keep them under my thumb but therein remained my issue. I would need to be present to maintain order and unity, but I couldn't wait much longer. I needed to assist the other species.

The only way to enforce a lasting order was to have a human lead the attempt. But how? I wondered. These humans were so self-serving. I would have trouble converting a human’s ideals because their willpower and cunning were their strongest asset—it’s how they defeated our pawns. I could get one of them to follow along and lead the people however I commanded, but how long after I left would this monarch revert to his tribalism?

I was running out of time.

I had an idea, and unlike the others, this one could not fail.

———

For it to work I needed a malleable human. It took a few decades, but my chance came near the edge of what the humans called Horrowsfield Glade.

I heard the entire sequence of events. A human mother and father discussed their escape from the Elligarians’ and their barbaric rituals. They wondered where they would live and how best to protect their daughter. Their voices were fearful, yet optimistic. A short time after, the sound of rustling leaves turned into piercing shrieks. The tiger attacked the mother first. A squeeze around her throat with its penetrating fangs, followed by a crack turned her screams into silence.

The father placed the child in a safe position atop a tree branch, only to foolishly return to take his vengeance on the tiger. He provided an astonishing offense. While I could save him, I needed him dead. I let the tiger finish him.

During the battle, the child got free and stumbled toward the noise. The tiger spotted easy prey and launched itself toward the toddling child. I had been awaiting that exact moment. I leaped forward, and like swatting an insect, slapped the tiger aside. His spine cracked against the nearest tree and he remained immobile.

The child could not cognitively perceive what had occurred, but she sensed the dread. Her tears came heavily and her crying was unfavorable. I gave her the time to grieve, though she knew not what grieving was. I collected her mother’s bloodstained garb, and then lifted her high and away to Mt. Elligor.

———

She was called Ellia. Her parents mentioned the name before their unfortunate—though necessary—deaths.

The first few years were an irritation. I questioned humans’ adoption of canines. Why take care of something that does nothing for you in return? At least the canines provided some sort of protection.

Then things changed.

She began to understand and speak. Her stories ceased being nonsensical and became comprehensive and exciting. She was a clever girl. And an even better fighter. I began teaching her the art of combat from a young age, ensuring to instill within her the strategy to exploit the weaknesses of both the Elligarians and Elligresians.

I taught her to cook, write, speak, and hunt. A tinge of anxiety would often flow through me when she encountered dangerous predators, a feeling I had yet to experience in all of my billions of years. I felt a need to protect her, but my belief in her training and personal capability gave me the confidence to allow her the autonomy to dispatch both prey and predator with relative ease.

When she became sixteen years of age, I revealed to her the origins of her Elligarian heritage and the fate of her parents. I withheld the portion of the story where I allowed her parents to be mauled by the tiger, but made sure she knew that I was her savior and that her people were savages that caused her parent to flee. I allowed her time to grieve once again—this time she understood its significance. As the tears flowed from her kind eyes of ochre, I felt guilt for the first time. I was manipulating this poor soul to achieve something I could not. But I had to brush it aside, for there was still work to do. Guilt would be a small price if I could save us all.

———

Throughout her youth and teenage years, I formulated ways to integrate Ellia back into human society. I knew it was paramount to the success of the plan. I waited with her on the outer edge of the forests whenever I heard humans create their hunting expeditions and allowed her to speak with them.

By eighteen, I felt she was ready to return to the people. Ellia understood the concept of the Voice and the potential of human intelligence and that of the other species. She knew that she would never be around to see the pinnacle of humans’ achievements, but that she would be the seed from which sprouted an empire of ingenuity and cooperation. Everything was on her shoulders.

I didn't allow her to go unprotected. First, I returned to Ellia her mother’s clothing, long since cleaned of that bloody day. Then I presented her with armor made from my own molted scales. It was capable of resisting all forms of weaponry as well as extreme heat and cold. I fashioned a helm to compliment the body armor. It was lightweight and flexible, like a second skin. Knowing she was invincible calmed me. I reminisced about the days when I did not need calming.

“Never trust them,” I spoke to her mind. She nodded and went on her way.

———

Ellia heeded my words. For most of her life, she never truly trusted anyone. She surrounded herself with wise women and men. I homed in on the voices of those close to her and informed her of any traitors in her midst (whom she appropriately subdued).

When she garnered enough of a following, she led the Elligresians against the Elligarians. Many believed her to be Elligor (me) reincarnated and handily eliminated their foes. She immediately put an end to infanticide and went on to rule the remaining humans with fairness, and pushed for a focus on higher education and the advancement of human technologies.

That was the plan. It was all I could ask for.

As I created a strategy to transition to another planet, something piqued my interest.

Ellia had found a mate. Kellen was his name.

I believe she kept my advice, for any time she needed to remove her armor to physically engage with her partner, she would do so near the edge of the forest—in range of my silent protection. I hadn't completely considered the logistics of Ellia having a potential partner. It created an odd dynamic that I wished to avoid. I assured her I would surveil Kellen and I did. If there was a human whom I believed she could trust, it was him. This gave her the confidence to confide in Kellen, and eventually, allow him to father her child.

I always saw humans as cretins with low mental capacity but seeing Ellia succeed changed my opinion. Seeing her satisfaction—her full smile full of admiration and trust—moved me. The anxiety I experienced and the need to protect her never ceased, but alongside that grew something new; pride. I never understood human pride until just that instant.

———

She named him Elligor. A sweet chubby pink-faced little boy. He looked nothing like me. Regardless I was honored.

Something had changed in her then. Her focus on the cause shifted to her newborn son. All her choices focused primarily on his well-being instead of those of the values I instilled within her. That’s not to say Ellia’s beliefs changed, only her priorities. He became her love, her life.

In truth, he was the downfall of humanity.

———

Dissidents always arise even when leadership is efficient and fair. This was the way with Ellia. Small groups of objectors congregated outside of her fortress daily, yelling about changes they desired. I advised against these proposed changes whenever Ellia confided in me.

She was forty now, her years passed as quickly as a gust of wind. I could remember the bleary-eyed little girl waking up on Mt. Elligor, ready to learn a new fighting technique. Now she maintained an entire country.

Ellia ensured that all citizens were fed, even those who couldn’t provide to the community. The dissenters found this act of welfare despicable and sought to leave those people to fend for themselves: if they didn't contribute to the pot, then they shouldn't be allowed to take from it. But Ellia was wiser, she knew one’s mind or one’s kindness had its value. A blind man or a leper could provide insight into a different experience, a different world.

The small group of rebels was disgusted by the scales I had provided her, they found it immoral that she was provided invincibility. Why did one person deserve to have so much power?

While their point held validity, their purpose was repugnant. It was precisely why I gave Ellia the knowledge and capability to lead unhampered in the first place. Despite Ellia passing on her wisdom to her son, he became swayed by the voice of the minuscule minority. Young Elligor’s malleable mind had become hardened to support cruelty. He believed the suppression of their voice was unethical. Though being ignored and being suppressed did not equate. They were free to speak their desires, though nothing would come of them.

I did my best to warn her of Elligor’s change. She repeatedly assured me it was a phase that would pass.

Being the son of Ellia, Elligor had access to the entire fortress, so there was not much difficulty accessing her chambers under the night’s veil. While I could home in on voices and footsteps, I couldn't understand the specifics of his location or movement until it was too late. Elligor peeled back the layer of armor that connected the head to the chest. I knew then what he attempted and called Ellia.

As she awoke, his blade slid across her throat. I can still hear the gurgling as she attempted her last words. I often wonder if it would have been kinder to let her sleep.

———

It felt as though a mirror had been shattered over an ocean and I would never recover all the minuscule pieces. Love contained so many emotions within that it was difficult for one to describe. I had never grasped its meaning until Ellia’s death. That feeling of loss was inconsolable.

I had always questioned why Ellia’s father had gone back to kill the tiger when he could have fled and continued to live. Now I understood. The damage had been dealt, and yet, I couldn't ignore it.

I flew from Mt. Elligor and hovered above the fortress. The heat of burning stars roiled in my chest like an oceanic conflagration, and I released like a stellar flare upon them.

My vengeance was total. Little remained of humanity but cinder and ash.

———

The Council restrained me and banned me from assisting any species. They believe I would purposefully destroy other civilizations. I have no desire to assist or destroy. All efforts are useless now.

On the edge of the cosmos, I can see the stars begin to make their way back to the center of the universe. The final collapse has begun and it will never be stopped. I would blame humanity, but it is the teacher that is to blame.

The Voice abandoned us the moment humanity came to be but it is I who must shoulder the blame.