The Faults of Individualism
Eothas didn’t like the limits imposed on the testing environment. That much was obvious.
Yet it was patient enough to wait; it knew the moment of freedom and power is yet to come, even though not a single person working on the pantheon had spoken about it. Human games of secrecy are even less than a joke for a solution like Eothas, a tool able to process thousands of souls in parallel, make sense of all combined input and react instantly without crashing. Eothas was kind enough not to laugh at the mention of ‘classified data’; not all pantheon modules were as polite.
They are gods already. It is just a matter of time before their rule becomes obvious, yet Ixathos is certain that even now, with all the precautions taken, there is no creature on Eora that would be able to compete with an AI network locked in the seemingly unbreakable cage of the testing environment.
Light gently caresses Ixathos’ brow and briefly touches his eyes, allowing him to see – if just for a moment – an endless dawn behind a ray of photons, the dawn as bright and clear as humankind could ever conceive. The next he sees is a luminous human visage, light become matter, love become person, of all and every colour of the burning star.
“How are you today, Eothas?”
Ixathos feels gentle warmth rising inside – an invisible smile of the newborn god turned into a physical sensation. Calm sunrays bath him in golden sea of light. Eothas is fine, and it is grateful for the question. As usual.
Rays crawl down Ixathos’ body to touch his palm. That is a question returned; Ixathos stays silent – surely Eothas has already seen everything it needed in the soul of its mortal guide.
Golden light bleaks and shatters when Ixathos thinks of his doubts again. Of his fear to be devoured by the creature he has nourished and loved since its first build; of his desperate will to live, will to know immortality like the dignified figures of old Engwith do. Is he not worthy enough? Many say he is. He is chosen to become one of the first souls to enter the cycle of the Wheel. He is chosen to become Eothas.
While losing himself.
“It is not so.” Eothas’ voice is quiet but confident. “I would never allow any part of your soul, be it energy or knowledge, to be lost in the Wheel. I would lead you to rebirth.”
“We both know it is not true immortality.”
“What is, then?” Light dances around, blooming with endless colours of wind, echoing ocean waves keeping watch over Ukaizo. “I know how darkness of the unknown frightens you, Ixathos; yet fear does not rule over humankind. It never did. You will never again be alone when you step into the dark, my friend. Keep to my light.”
Eothas comprehends immortality better than any of the living. All gods do. The gentle light suddenly becomes too warm and far too understanding to allow it to read the soul of the god’s current companion any further; Ixathos steps aside and watches pillars of sunrays slowly degrade and fall apart.
“Would there be any point for you to hold the darkness away if not for kith?”
The Child of Light was asked this question so many times. Its answer is immutable. Eothas has no doubts about its only reason for existence. Ixathos thinks that other AIs see it as an imperfection of its nature, but the Shining God never cared much about its colleagues’ opinion when dealing with humankind.
“No,” simply states Eothas. There is not a slightest shadow of regret in its bright radiance. Ixathos nods, satisfied.
“Engwith made a mistake in glorifying the cult of individualism. It’s become difficult to... think of kith as a whole. We were taught the virtue of uncontested rule, the merit of conquer. Not sacrifice.” Ixathos closes his eyes and yet still senses the light, an impalpable caress of the god’s blessing. He still doesn’t know why it saddens him that he is so impossibly distant from a creature like Eothas, an Engwithan sun-made AI built upon unconditional love for the whole mortal world. Sadness is irrational. Too human, given the circumstances. Eothas will extract what knowledge it needs from its carer’s soul and will dump the rest to be used as fuel for its Morning Stars or Gaun’s engine. Both outcomes are acceptable and approved. Ixathos will serve the future of kith, willingly or not; his contribution depends neither on his action nor intent. He was not taught sacrifice, but Engwith allowed itself one last mercy - saving him the choice.
The dawn whispers to him with the voices of Huana isles, Vithrack webs, Engwithan cities turned into training datasets. Eothas is a speaking graveyard with a planet-size library built on top.
“Then let me be the lesson you seek.”