“No, he didn’t,” Inigo said sadly.

“All right, I lied before. I took the occasional peek at your dreams. That last one: Man, he went to the Heart knowing the world he left behind was the best it was possible to build. Then on top of that he gave everyone the chance to perfect their individual lives like he’d done. How’s that for total selflessness? If he’d been around out here three thousand years ago, he’d be a genuine saint, or worse.”

“Perfection,” Inigo said, “is what we strive for; it is never what we should achieve. There is no such thing as utopia. Life by its nature is a struggle. Take that away and you take away any reason to exist.”

“What happened?” Corrie-Lyn entreated. “Please, Inigo, what did you dream after Edeard accepted guidance to the Heart? Just tell us. Tell me. I trust you with this. I always will. But I think I deserve to know.”

“I dreamed of perfection.”

I WISH TO FLY.

My mind elevates my body. Thus do I fly with arms outstretched to feel the wind upon my face. It is pleasurable. I open my eyes. A hundred feet below me is Great Major Canal. Dark water, cool and calming, fills its long channel. Sunlight ripples across its surface. Traditional gondolas are slivers of blackness amid its elegance, manifested for this hour alone. A harmonious song rises through the air from the gondoliers themselves, a sweet melody evoking an older, poignant time.

Honor.

We do honor the great ancestor, our Waterwalker. This day a thousand years ago he ascended to the Heart which calls us all. So do all of us who remain upon this blessed world gather in this ancient place to pay tribute.

Pride.

I have pride to be the Waterwalker’s bloodline descendant. Through his twins I was birthed into existence no less. Joy I feel at their fullness of life. Their grandson’s granddaughter is my mother. From that I reach for his nobility, his strength.

My family.

My family flies with me. Full seven of us soaring above the ancient buildings of this revered city. Laughing, delighting in the sight of such wonder. Deep deep below us the citymind slumbers onward toward the end of time. It is sorrow that radiates outward from its slow dreams. Sorrow we also feel at its submission to misplaced destiny. Respect we show for its right to be. Though today all have the strength, none will wake it.

Our life.

Our life is lived in a home on the slopes above the sea in far Tolonan. An island discovered by the Waterwalker’s flotilla so long ago. A lush place of warmth and beauty; its trees bloom with flower the full year around, their scent enriching the air. Vineyards and orchards still thrive on the old terraced slopes, producing abundance. Such traditions we still follow, commemorating our ancestors and the life they struggled through to bring us to the light of our day. The fruit is succulent and flavorsome, the wine sweet. Our bellies fill each day. We lack for nothing. We experience everything. For this we give thanks.

The towers.

How beautiful the pinnacles of Eyrie are, tall yet curving with exotic grace and style. We fly around them like spirited birds, twisting through the platform spires as we laugh exuberantly. Then suddenly veering upward to soar vertically like an essence ascending to those who guide. What exhilaration, what elation.

My choices.

To kindle the gift of thought and ponder the rich occasions and chances sentience brings. So much I have considered throughout my existence. So many sights I have seen on this world. I have lived on every continent. I have tasted every plant that is eatable, raced with fastfoxes, flown with eagles, dived with whalfish. Each season has been lived through and admired for the change it brings. I have learned to appreciate nature, and through that life in every form.

My world.

I have known it all. I have exchanged thought with all ten thousand of us remaining. We have admired and discussed that which we know, that which we aspire to. I have dwelled within the flights of fancy those more imaginative than I have conjured. I have manifested places that do not exist in reality, calling them out of the folds of darkness which lurk beneath our universe and embellishing them with my whimsy. I have heard dark echoes from the past which filled me with dread. I have bathed in the tears of triumph and delight that rose from adversity. I have filled my head with the merry songs of success.

They come.

Those who guide fall from the sky in a tide of sparkling light that shines through my very skull. My family and I streak downward to hurtle along the narrow jagged streets of Makkathran. Fast, so fast that the walls and windows and roofs merge into a single blur of color. I manifest wings that flow out of my arms to turn and twist against the heady rush of air. My body spins and gyrates with the elegance of those born to the air. Our shouts of admiration are the only sounds to fill the alleys and squares for over a century.

Our welcome.

We fly across the sea outside the city’s port. Dipping and weaving around the armada of elegant yachts which delivered us all to this place and time from across our world. Grand white sails curve against the gentle sea breeze just as they did in days of yore. For art’s sake, for completement of form. Such ocean-ranging beauties deserve to be more than functional, and so it is. Our family yacht needs only my will to propel it across the water, yet the sails billowing out bring comfort and rightness to the mind, as easing as a child’s night toy.

The gathering.

A wind blows strong ahead of those who guide us as they sweep along the air road they have returned to time and time again. Bringing rippling half shadows and vivacious starlit twinkles to dazzle and deceive the eye, they blow the yachts playfully across the skittish water beneath them. Tumbling mischievously in their wake, our wings flapping with slow grace, we crowd together and cheer with minds and voice alike. Both cries lost amid their ethereal glamour. The accord cannot last, and soon we separate. I bid farewell to those four of my family who have fulfilled their lives here on this planet of bounty and promise. I bid my farewell to the splendid thousand who are to pay the ultimate tribute this day, this moment.

Departure.

Cold sparkling light streaks from the towers of Eyrie, great flames of opalescence that reach out with such yearning to stroke the ever-shifting crystal bodies of those who guide. Into the flares fly the essence of those who would ascend to the Heart of the Void. Now as always the power of the towers thrusts them on their way as their bodies bloom to dust. Then they are gone, flashing upward to dwell as colorful shadows amid the fantastical geometry of crystal. Gone to destiny’s reward.

I descend.

Gently, gently, dissolving my wings back into nothingness. Growing clothes about my form. I land upon Golden Park to observe with mind and sight as those who guide launch themselves back into the empty chasm of space which lies between us and the nebulae of this universe. I am content that yet more of us have gone to join our ancestors and all those who used to live within this eternal Void that is gracious enough to provide us a warm comforting home amid the raw chaos burning outside its boundary. I am sad that so many have left. I am sad that so few of us now remain. But not disheartened.

That which remains.

Is small. I will not bear any more children. Nor will my two remaining children. That time is over now for us. Any new mind born into this world would only learn what we have already experienced. We are history now. We are the pinnacle of life.

Identity.

The cells of which I am composed yearn to continue. Such desires are inbuilt. They are me, entwined with my essence. I recognize that is right, for to deny it is to renounce myself. Purpose grows from many sources. None should be ignored. I will live for a while more. But not forever.