Construct a loom in your mind’s eye.
Do you see the boards holding the warp threads, fertile for the weft? Good. Then you can imagine my power.
This fabric that holds us together, these woven strands of color and emotions and possibility, has existed since the dawn of modern humanity. The neurochemistry that allowed for speech gave rise to it. The cognitive engine working to create that fabulous inner space that stretches so infinitely inwards produces the fine threads I work with.
We’d spent millenia spooling the threads out of ourselves. We tangled them around our loved ones, our enemies, around strangers that looked at us the wrong way. We ensnared dreams and pains in them. We trussed up our suffering, packaged it so we could understand it.
Was it any surprise, then, that the weight of that snarled ball of thread would manifest in the world, carrying all the hurt and hope we’d woven into it? When I’d learned how to see the fabric, it did not surprise me.
I’m no longer a part of that web. I exist outside of it, imposing a pattern upon it. A rule, if you will. A defiance of the chaos of that web. I gave, at great cost to myself and others, a structure with which we could survive the dissolution of the fabric we found ourselves inside.
I made a bet, with coins of copper, gold, bronze, and silver, that humanity could also survive this if only they had a guiding principle. If they followed ambition, courage, faith, and love, they would survive.
Inheritors 