Azathoth

      When age fell upon the world, and wonder went out of the minds of men; when grey cities reared to smoky skies tall towers grim and ugly, in whose shadow none might dream of the sun or of spring’s flowering meads; when learning stripped earth of her mantle of beauty, and poets sang no more save of twisted phantoms seen with bleared and inward-looking eyes; when these things had come to pass, and childish hopes had gone away forever, there was a man who travelled out of life on a quest into the spaces whither the world’s dreams had fled. Of the name and abode of this man but little is written, for they were of the waking world only; yet it is said that both were obscure. It is enough to know that he dwelt in a city of high walls where sterile twilight reigned, and that he toiled all day among shadow and turmoil, coming home at evening to a room whose one window opened not on the fields and groves but on a dim court where other windows stared in dull despair. From that casement one might see only walls and windows, except sometimes when one leaned far out and peered aloft at the small stars that passed. And because mere walls and windows must soon drive to madness a man who dreams and reads much, the dweller in that room used night after night to lean out and peer aloft to glimpse some fragment of things beyond the waking world and the greyness of tall cities. After years he began to call the slow-sailing stars by name, and to follow them in fancy when they glided regretfully out of sight; till at length his vision opened to many secret vistas whose existence no common eye suspects. And one night a mighty gulf was bridged, and the dream-haunted skies swelled down to the lonely watcher’s window to merge with the close air of his room and make him a part of their fabulous wonder. There came to that room wild streams of violet midnight glittering with dust of gold; vortices of dust and fire, swirling out of the ultimate spaces and heavy with perfumes from beyond the worlds. Opiate oceans poured there, litten by suns that the eye may never behold and having in their whirlpools strange dolphins and sea-nymphs of unrememberable deeps. Noiseless infinity eddied around the dreamer and wafted him away without even touching the body that leaned stiffly from the lonely window; and for days not counted in men’s calendars the tides of far spheres bare him gently to join the dreams for which he longed; the dreams that men have lost. And in the course of many cycles they tenderly left him sleeping on a green sunrise shore; a green shore fragrant with lotus-blossoms and starred by red camalotes.Countless years he roamed fields carpeted with soft green moss where lilies, clouds' hues, found refuge, at times when the sun leisurely emerged from the horizon. Endless eras tickled his bare feet with dew, evoking memories of childhood reveries, while the winds of spheres sang ballads in honor of forgotten creators and self-proclaimed forgers. He listened to the whimsical tales of plants, bestowing upon him their wondrous scents. And from night to night, the man beheld how the old stargazer leisurely wandered among the celestial luminaries, whispering magical lullabies to them. His gaze yearned toward the place whence a voice once led him here. Into the endless valleys of ether, where darkness reigns supreme, and silence slowly plays its melodies unheard by mortals. That beauty and mystery enchanted him, birthing in his silent soul feelings he could not describe; he felt the call but could not respond to it; he saw the path but dared not follow it.       The voice of the spheres watched over him through all those eons, which for man passed in empty moments. The voice witnessed how he dreamed of distant travels, no longer reminiscing about the meadows he once relentlessly yearned for. His dreams stretched beyond the ordinary reach, unfathomable to mere mortals, yet our man was far from ordinary. Across centuries that passed in fleeting moments for him, he cherished the hope that the waves of the nether spheres would offer him a path where his soul led. Those meadows no longer held allure for him; even the dew no longer tickled but brought only pain. His childhood dreams lay far behind. He felt the same way as in those senseless years when he lived in his hometown. He feared that the stone buildings with windows facing a lifeless, dreamless courtyard would once again rise as silent specters, and his life would revert to a senseless flow of gray memories. In those moments that felt like eternity to him, he found solace in the sky, where wise stars sailed, sleepily watching over him. And in one of those moments, the sky descended once more to the earth, and the fountain of fiery splashes danced anew; winds swirled in a whimsical dance, awakening everything around with unseen whirls. Golden light mingled with crimson bursts of ether, calling the dreamer forth, as it had been just a couple of hours ago in his gray room. Yet this time, he sensed something else in the whimsical modulations of the waves, something so distant in time and space that he could not recognize it. The voice suggested that most likely the beauty he sought would not bring him the desired delight, so cherished by him, and might even repel him once he beheld it from afar. The waves spoke of a nameless chaos, the sole inhabitant there. Yet the man did not believe the words spoken by his guide and expressed no inkling of fear about his journey. In that moment, he was driven only by a thirst for beauty and a desire to leave behind those gray meadows where no flowers grew, and the cold and unpleasant dew. Now these places had become as tiresome to him as his hometown, and only the sky, immutable in its mystery and allure, drew him toward its expanses.       The man no longer listened to the waves, which had already abandoned any hope of dissuading him. They again lifted the man, soaring into the distant realms of unseen stars. And he saw much: his gaze beheld the wondrous Hesperia, a city that would never show the way to itself; the marvelous pre-sunset city flashed before his eyes; Kar’yurt briefly illuminated his face with the rays of three suns. The dreadful Karkosa, an ancient city by the red lake; the tower shrouded in thick seaweed, endlessly slumbering beneath the water; the gray houses of the ruined Ib; forgotten cities of great civilizations in the far south; the dead desert where the sands buried Irem stood. Afterwards, as if he had left the earth, he saw the far side of the moon and the dreadful purple cats from Saturn; the warm seas of Yuggoth. The man soared beyond the solar system, stars raced as tiny lights, and time held less sway over him. Yet it continued to flow for the entire universe, cycles replaced by cycles, space and matter born and died, only to be reborn as they were before. But what was 'before' to him? When was 'when' ever? Should he not release earthly thoughts to find where the waves carried him? These ideas did not arise from the enchanted man's initiative; they were inspired by the waves. Further and further, into those places beyond the boundaries of Einstein's theory of cosmic bodies, heard by the man at the institute, the waves carried him. His gaze once again began to conjure up certain places, coming to him in forgotten childhood dreams. He saw the mountain forsaken by all, atop which a castle veiled in thick ether stood; the monstrous seventh dimension lying beyond the distant expanses of Fomalhaut, whence came the twin brothers Lgor-hol and Dluinskore; the wondrous realm of Nglor-Hor, situated at the heart of a distant galaxy, the cradle of oblivion, fleeting before him.       But in utter emptiness, he saw the path and felt that the waves would carry him no more. A man hesitated, yet followed him, taking him beyond the very bounds of the universe, to where he had never gazed before, arriving on blissful meadows or in a grey chamber. That place simultaneously drew and repelled him, making it hard for the man to choose his path. After much contemplation, he ventured forth, once again caught by winds, different from those that had whisked him away from the lifeless city where only madmen roamed moments ago. These waves were distinct; they did not deter the brave traveler from his intended path; they narrated tales of exquisite places unseen in the mundane world of dull visions. The waves beckoned him to step into the farthest spaces of spheres where true beauty, bliss, and childhood dreams reside. Intoxicated by these marvelous narratives, the man no longer pondered the warnings conveyed by the cosmic void waves.       He surrendered entirely to the waves, merely observing what lay before him. Initially, worlds unfolded, parting their paths for the waves, once sealed. At that moment, the man felt his essence shift; now, the wind carried only a bodiless consciousness yearning to rediscover the ability to dream. The man merged with the wind and soared in an unrestrained flow. The waves drew him towards the eternal core of creation, where he longed to reach, and where, as per the waves’ assurance, dreams resided.       Slicing through the ether, the man seemed to breach an unseen barrier, unfurling across the entire cosmos. Suddenly, the flow halted, revealing to the man what eternity had concealed from mortal eyes. He plunged from the world of dimensions beyond. There existed no time or beings; only chaos loomed faint in its whimsical creations. The impenetrable darkness echoed incomprehensible murmurs, where the man could discern nothing decisively. Within those words, he heard dreams, yet they were so unimaginable and incongruous that he resolved to approach their source. Amidst the crimson mist, he spotted something alluring yet terrifyingly menacing. He realized that the waves, once his carriers, transformed into entities vaguely resembling forms perceived by human eyes. A different sound met his ears, akin to a melody played by hundreds of blissful flutes. When he turned back, he noticed that from the being shrouded in the crimson mist, barely distinguishable words emerged, and in its grasp, an amorphous flute wailed desperately from three apertures.       The man could hardly believe that this music was the source of all the dreams haunting his consciousness during the agonizing hours of grey banality. Subsequently, the waves taking on a semblance of the man began to speak:       — I am his herald, and you have not found yourself there by chance, where even ordinary mortals are forbidden to gaze. You were chosen long before coming into this world when people still knew how to dream and believed in gods now ensnared by spells of forgetfulness. Here, in the final chaos beyond time and understanding, He existed before the creation of worlds and even before I was born. However, the world fashioned by Him can no longer subsist, for dreams have abandoned it. The universe requires a new cycle, and you have been chosen to restore the ability to dream and indulge in forgotten dreams for mortals and other beings alike. The flute must cease its melody, and then his slumber will be disrupted. One cycle will give way to another, and the world will once again become vibrant, with grey banality receding into darkness. You should take the cursed instrument, believe me, it will cost you nothing, and then just watch and believe in dreams. I will not be with you, for I will fade into oblivion, only to reappear as I once was. You will see much, and not everything will please you, but that should not concern you. The universe will appear as it was before, but dreams will again be able to leave these places to germinate in the young minds of poets and sculptors. As for Him, you are not even allowed to know. In the name of Other gods and for your own good, I, the creeping chaos Nyarlathotep, adjure you not to inquire of me regarding Him who sits on the throne of murky onyx. Hey! A-shanta 'nig! Your path is drawn, so follow it!       After those words, the silhouette dissolved in the winds of chaos as unexpectedly as it had appeared moments ago. The man felt that the omnipresent demon spoke the truth, and that he truly could bring back that which had left our old and senseless world. He felt that the meaning was only here, in absolute chaos, and that in the sciences scattered in different directions, there was only the deepest delusion. The sciences persistently claimed that dreaming was a path to the death of consciousness and pointless foolishness. In turn, the man found much more meaning where nothing but chaos ever dwelt. Now, to bring back the ability to dream to the dead Universe, he needed to take the cursed flute from the claws of Him who sat on the throne.       Approaching the gigantic piece of onyx, carved by unknown architects even before time began its counting, he climbed the steps and, reaching out to the monstrous flute, slowly took it, which came to him effortlessly. The song ceased. For a couple of moments, complete silence fell, as if nowhere in the universe did grass rustle, wind howl in the branches, stars pulse in the heavens, and even the flute no longer played where it always moaned its dreams. The man stepped back, away from the throne, awaiting the regenesis of the world he so hated, devoid of dreams and fantasies. And it came to pass: First, the wall collapsed that separated creation from the unnamed place in which he resided. Worlds were revealed to him anew, and he saw how stars crumbled to dust, no longer turning into colorful nebulae. Galaxies dimmed and perished when the flute's sound no longer sustained them. And when darkness reigned in the universe, and not a single photon stirred in the black void, even the darkness died, yielding to chaos, but soon it too departed. And the man remembered the words of Nyarlathotep, "I will not be with you, for I will fade into oblivion, only to reappear as I once was." And all that remained was the Nameless Mist, finding itself in oblivion. Yet even that is not dead which can eternal lie, and with strange aeons even death may die. And even nothingness departed from whence everything once came. The true nature of the worlds reigned, as they were Kalpas ago. They converged in what had begotten them in the fervor of their dreams. And the man turned back to Him and saw that He remained unchanged in his madness and chaotic guise. Then he ascended once more the murky steps leading to the throne, upon which the sultan of demons Azathoth presided. Holding the monstrous flute, the man placed its formless beginning to his lips and began his play. Initially, a note burst from the first hole, it flew out with such force that the man could even see it. Floating in primordial nothingness, it gradually began to expand until it turned into a mist so strange that the man dubbed it nameless. Then, from the second hole, a note rose leisurely, different from the first, clearer yet still blurry, with a noticeably lower tone. It was the seed of chaos, after whose germination he himself appeared, along with his creeping companion Nyarlathotep. In turn, from the last aperture peered the third note. It rose and in an instant filled everything around, it was the Darkness, the eternal companion of non-existence and chaos. The man, devoid of all senses, turned to where He sat and with amazement saw that he had once again immersed himself in mad dreams. However, the man did not stop there; he continued to produce note after note, sound after sound until he was convinced that the one sitting on the throne was completely engulfed by dreams. Then he approached Him and placed the flute back to where he had taken it from.       And as soon as the flute took its place, entirely different sounds began to emanate from it, incapable of being reproduced by anyone's throat. And the man saw how those sounds began to give birth to dreams that had left his world just a couple of moments ago. And from each of those fantasies, there began to emerge what all people were accustomed to seeing every day. From the dream, space and time were born anew, the few inhabitants of the worlds once again felt reality. Light and nature had once again become what they were before. The man beheld as worlds folded into purple spheres, surrendered to the boundless entity whose name was Yog-Sothoth. His gaze caught in a thick haze, as the demon sultan and creeping chaos sealed oblivion amidst the farthest realms in a dream. He witnessed the emergence of Other Gods, swirling and twirling where now he resided. The benevolent gods of earthly dreams crossed over to the unknown Kadath in the northern desert as he watched them. He saw the hoary Nodens spewing mandates to his numerous legions of nymphs, tritons, and hippocephali, and how the violet gas of the Sngac marked a path to snatch from Nyarlathotep's clutches a man yearning to find his childhood dream. All that ever occurred in our drab and dreary world now flashed before the man's eyes in moments.       He returned dreams and the ability to indulge in childish fantasies to our world. That was the last thought that visited the man before he woke up in his bed. His room was illuminated by a single window, offering him a view of beautiful fields and green, emerald-like groves...