#aether things

[aethernoise]

walwalün: the sound that a flowing water makes.

Alyx’s knees ached. She wasn’t sure how long she had beenkneeling on the broken stone floor, but when she rose she gave her legs verylittle chance to readjust. The thunder had quieted, the strange violet lightthe storm had cast into the cavern faded into a still darkness, a darknessthrough which she stumbled quickly up the stairs and up to the mouth of thetemple.

Her arm hung heavy and limp at her side and she wondered ifshe might need to fashion some sort of sling for it; she hoped, with a wearyannoyance, that it would not be so useless for long, for the journey to Ala Ghiriwould be far better without the distraction of pain. With her left hand sheheld her opposite wrist, considering her still twitching fingers. She wasbriefly tempted to tear her sleeve in order to wrap it more tightly until herreturn to camp, but thought better of it.

Waste of a good shirt,she decided with a frown, for the pain was on the inside, as it had been foryears now. It was a burn that burned her veins, venom that coursed through herblood beneath her marked skin. Bandages were useless now.

More distracting than the pain was the quiet. The deep,crushing vibrato that drew her to Schism had ceased, and now she heard was thenoise everyone else could hear: the rustle of the breeze through the dust, thechirping of sand crickets, and the roar of the falls nearby. The sound of thewater crashing down into the chasm was a sound her mind latched onto with akeen focus, one she followed further east to the edge of the river. Above theimposing, glittering cataract she found a shallow flow, close enough to touchbut not strong enough to carry her away, and there she waded in far enough tomeet the wall of water face to face: its spray cold and blinding, the sounddeafening, painfully loud in her ears.

Alyx labored to lift her shaking hand to touch the water, andher wrist cut a sharp slice out of the stream. She winced, but then she smiled,for though it was more painful than soothing, it was a different kind of hurt,and the sound a different kind of noise.

( @marjiandco thank you!)

[aethernoise]

#1 - in terram fatali

[…] Parvus, parvus pulsus  Cor mortem ducens  Vita mollis in stellam redeunt  Animam sacrificare necesse est?  Cur in gremio haeremus?  Cur veniam petimus  In terram fatali? 

- “The Promised Land,” Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children

The land breathes.

She breathes it in, letting its breath into her lungs. Her eyes flutter closed and she can see the stars, hear the wind, feel the trembling of the ground beneath her feet. In and out, in and out, lungs squeezing gently, until the sound of the wind is her own heartbeat, her blood rushing into her fingers and toes.

The land bends.

She bends with it, becoming whatever shape it needs. Her body is a conduit, bridge built of flesh and bones, a river of aether. Her muscles ache and her joints protest, struggling beneath its weight, until she finds her balance, the place where the two are one. When she finds it she can see for malms, she can smell the life and the decay in tenuous harmony.

The land burns.

She burns brighter, pulling the fire through her veins, into her throat. The heat leaves in whispers, in murmurs, in screams; a gift and a curse to those who hear, to all who would seek to snuff it out. She crackles, she roars, she sighs tenderly, and the warmth of the land caresses her as it burns from the inside out.

The land breaks.

She breaks upon it, begs its forgiveness, begs its relief. Her hands shake and her voice cracks in the dark, shattering like ice under heavy footfalls. Voices cry out, damning, shaming, pleading, thousands of weightless souls crushing her all at once, only to disappear into the smoke. Fragile specters remain behind her eyelids, urging her tears, demanding her to look upon them when she sleeps.

The land bleeds.

She bleeds, and she bleeds, and she bleeds. Steel and flesh are one, and the taste is bitter, spat onto the ground with a laugh. Her blood is red and it is black, purity and sin flowing from a single wound; it mingles and mixes with the land until she can no longer see the divide, no longer distinguish whose voice leaves her lips. She gives in, but she takes, and holds with white knuckled hands, with the only strength she has left.

The land scars.

She scars in its stead, her shoulders weary from the weight. She wears them inside her clothes, inside her mind, and on her tongue when she speaks. She holds her arms open to them, welcomes them as she curses them, smiles as her eyes fill with light.

[madeofmillions]

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[aktiveinfo]

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San Francisco-based Aether Things are making your music experience simpler with their latest creation the Cone. It's a “thinking music player” that learns the types and time you like to listen to music. Featuring an 8-hour rechargeable battery, over 20 million tracks, internet radio, and podcasts that can be played with the touch of a button. You can even talk to the Cone to tell it what you want to hear. Learn more about the Cone at Aether and join the reservation line to order.