'See the green meadows and lush gardens of White Mountain.'

Anaira shivered comfortably. The old traditions, these early descriptions of her world... Again and again she immersed herself in contemplation of the crystal that held these precious memories. It gave her security, made her feel the age and the immortality of her home.

'See the green meadows and lush gardens of White Mountain. Praise the Mother who created all this and preserves it to this day.
The White Mountain is home and source of life for us angels. In the light of the reflections of its radiant walls we are born, the fruits of its gardens nourish us and She watches over us in Her infinite goodness.
Follow your destiny in this life and seek the calling of your Old Soul.
Love. Have faith. Share. Preserve. Follow the old way.
Once there was only She and us, pure harmony. The White Mountain grew and offered space for more life in a wide variety of forms. She created humans, animals and plants to give us tasks so that we could watch over them.
We archivists gathered knowledge.
We healers kept the balance.
We protectors led on safe paths.
It was good. Everything grew in Her light.'

Anaira shuddered again. This time her skin contracted like a freezing rain was falling on her. She knew what atrocity the crystal was about to reveal because it was a really old story. Still this feeling of subdued horror and deep loss came back every time.

'Light throws shadows when someone gets in its way.
The Mother's closest counselor was fascinated by these shadows. He studied their being and lost himself in their abysses. He claimed that there always had to be at least two sides. That joy and love cannot exist if there is not also sadness and hatred. That this must at least apply to those She had created.
She surrounded him with Her light to show him his error, but he only turned to his shadow.
He chose to welcome the darkness. The greed. The fury. He brought them among mankind, offered them new ways. And some turned to him, succumbing to the desire to have power over others.
The Mother wanted to protect Her creation. In an extraordinary effort she broke off a huge piece of our world and separated us from our protégés. But in Her love She underestimated how absolutely convinced Her counselor was of his idea.'

Hot tears ran down Anairas cheeks. There was so much pain in those notes, those distilled memories, that it carried her away every time.

'He turned against Her and announced that he would leave the White Mountain to found his own enclave. From there he will teach the people the new ways, show them what strength and triumph are.
He crossed the green wide-opens until he reached the end of the remaining world. From there he tore in two what should not be separated. The world broke arose. This brutal act also claimed the lives of some companions whose souls were lost.'

She had stood in the sand before, just in front of the devouring swirls inside the crack. To this day she could hardly believe that He had once been a companion, Her chief counselor. The Mother had never commented the old lore, but the split of the worlds undeniably existed and Anaira also knew the human kingdom only as an independent world.
However, she felt the closure was worse than the split.
She considered herself lucky that she didn't have to be out there now. Had to see companions injured. Dying. As was just the case.
She pushed the thought back, calmed herself with deep breaths, and turned all her concentration back to the old lore.

'The Mother did not want to accept this separation, but she was too weak to reunite the parts of the world. And Her powers did not regenerate as usual, which no one could explain at the time.
When She was ready again, She pulled the separated lands together, closed the divide and sent companions over to see where Her counselor was and what he was doing.
The angels returned with disturbing news. On the other side of the split of the worlds, the land had changed; it no longer belonged to the White Mountain. The meadows were deserted, only red sand and bare stones left. The counselor had apparently not been able to sustain life. Or he didn't want to. The companions didn't meet him, but his influence was felt everywhere.
The Mother was grieved. We were grieved. The wasted lands slipped from Her grasp and the closure came to an end. The slain land disappeared behind eddies of palpable pain, near but still out of reach.
For some time we tended the remaining gardens and looked after mankind as far as we could despite the separation of the kingdoms. Our tasks continued; there was no reason to neglect them.
But then the signs of corrupting influence accumulated.
People increasingly devoted their energies to harmful deeds, preferring power to goodness, hatred and anger to love.
We realized with horror that the counselor had by no means disappeared. He influenced mankind according to his intentions, planted shadows as seeds in peoples souls. Their energies flowed to him, diminished the Mother's strength.
Another show of strength by the mother, another closure brought the terrible certainty: He had made his announcement true. On his side of the split of the worlds, he had dug himself into the ground and created false companions with whose help he influenced people.
These false companions, called demons, lived only for his ideals.
They lived for the callous logic devoted purely to gaining power.
They lived for greed and lust, for their own benefit only.
They lived as embodiments of anger and the ecstasy through violation and annihilation.'

Intriguers. Seducers. Warmongers. Today they had words for these demons. And a name for the lost land: The Red Depths.
Anaira mused once again that it was amazing how natural the present order of empires felt for her. Even she, who soaked up all the old lore like vital mana, didn't know it any other way. Her memories of the beginning were at best vague, and she knew that the other archangels were no different. The crystals were all the more valuable to her.

'Some companions had to pay dearly for the new knowledge because the demons were not like them. They had no interest in an exchange, a peaceful coexistence or even in adopting the teachings of the White Mountain in order to restore the intended order.
They attacked the companions, killed them, and chased the fugitives to the slopes of the White Mountain. It was only the threat of the approaching split of the worlds that made them shrink back before they did greater damage.
Since that time, the White Mountain and the barren lands keep moving towards each other time and again, only to separate shortly after.
The kingdom of mankind has developed into an independent world that no longer remembers the original order. But the White Mountain and the barren lands remain two parts of a broken circle, striving for union, repelled by the other.
The time of closure has become a time of war.
We had to change and still have to stay who we are.
We archivists collect knowledge and preserve the old way. Our loyalty is a rock.
We enhancers seek healing and balance. Our love makes life flourish.
We battleangels offer protection and strength. Our righteous anger is your shield.
For mankind. For us. For the Mo...'

"Venerable Anaira?" The archivist raised her eyes from the crystal in her hand, which was already worn from frequent use. The connection tore, only a few last sun-yellow clouds hung in the air.
She nodded to the angel; an invitation to speak.
"The counts show an irregularity." The worried expression on the red-headed archivists face quickened Anaira's pulse instantly. An irregularity? She touched a crystal on her necklace, saved this moment. Something significant had happened.