Make Thy Own Self Pure [Cyrus, Solo]

Cyrus knew, as he gazed over the City of Lights, that all was not well. Unrighteous deeds and unjust acts had surely held him in their vicegrip for longer than he would have cared to admit. Deceit toward one he had loved, and to abandon her for another. That he loved them both was inconsequential-- no, a sin in itself. But it was not as if this were only a matter of personal conduct, was it?

He had made of himself a liar. One who broke his promises repeatedly, endlessly, and one who had accepted that he was a creature of foulest deeds. The Angra Mainyu, which was assuredly at odds with all that he claimed to be and all that he had ever tried to become. Those he had loved, had held dear, had fallen away one by one, and yet those of the Vandenreich still believed in him. Did they know? Of course they did not. They could not. But that was simply one more deceit.

Do not be sorry and dejected, or have fear and anxiety, for that which has not yet come to you.

Such words were both his own and not his own. They came in his voice, but they were not those of the man known as Cyrus. Those accursed aspects, the last remnant of the godhood he had stolen, had grown more self-assured of late. More confident. He would have rather liked nothing more than to simply remove them, but he could not risk what would most assuredly kill him.

And, besides, had such things not assuredly already come?

Have they come?

The voice was certainly still within Cyrus' own mind, for such a weak aspect of divinity could never think to express itself in the world of its own accord. But it had no need to do so, when the matter at hand was the very mind it made up.

Your guilt, your agony, what else is it but one more act of selfishness? You see only the world as a weight you must bear, see every agony and every grief as your failing. You did not love Helle. She made you content, made you happy, but that was not love. What dishonors her more? To admit such a thing, to accept a separation and allow yourselves to grow? Or to cling to it as if you should have kept her leashed to you? You, a man who by your own admission is not a good one?

Such words might have been scathing, if spoken in a different voice, but it was in the nature of the Affectionate Flame to speak reassuringly to others, to remind them of the good in life. He did not see these failings as anything more or less than the course of life, things that could not be avoided and, by extension, things which ought not cause grief.

You have failed, yes. Now accept it. Else you spit on the memory of everyone who fell in your path, and in the face of all those who still wish to help you.

You already spit upon them. From your lofty perch above all others, built upon the corpses of those who have done everything for your sake. You have done nothing more than create your legacy on the deaths of those around you.

But the voice of kindness did not remain. The Holiest Flame, judicious in its nature and absolute in its sight, certainly saw things in a light that was not so kind. How else might he have known the world, when it was so drastically in need of guidance and order? And how might he see himself, when falling apart at every seam and hardly anything more than a pest?

For all of your value, all of your worth to the people, there would surely be no better action than to simply leave the Vandenreich in the hands of those who are not so lacking in purpose. It would be better to return to the sands of your birth, to leave this aim in the hands of those who can pursue it if you insist on simply filling yourself with grief and despair.

It sickened him. It sickened the Holiest Flame, and it sickened Cyrus, to know that he was nothing more than a pathetic coward, who fled from the realities of the world, who could not accept his own poor decisions.

Remove yourself from this throne of undue praise. You have spoken truthfully to yourself, to your Sternritter, to your beloved. Now act truthfully. You are no god. Can you at least live as a man?

You spurn yourself too much, insult yourself far too deeply. What wounds are left to make but those from which you can never recover?

Even when the voice became soothing and effeminate, Cyrus knew quite well that it was simply his own. The words of the Blissful Flame were reassuring in a sense, kinder than those of the Holiest Flame. But that did not change the truth of them, nor the fact that all of these words were nothing more or less than Cyrus' own.

You have faltered. That is human nature. And have you not accepted that truth? The act of having laid with Arcadia was certainly one that you have held against yourself. But what sin is there in admitting the truth? You have stepped forward, allowed yourself blame where before you have not. Knowing this, why do you still agonize over every mistake?

She would surely have given him physical comfort if only it were in her capacity, but that could hardly occur for oneself. It did not, however, change her gentle words, her kindness toward herself. How else might the Blissful Flame ever speak?

"Never does any harm result from an honest life." Now continue to step forward, living honestly, living dutifully. You have still much to do, still many who love you and rely upon you. I know well that you would not dare to disappoint them.

Would not dare to do so intentionally, certainly. But let us not speak idle lies. Your every action has had dire consequences for the people. You harm them. Worsen their lives by their mere presence. And you still seek to live among them? To forgive yourself?

The calculating, unflinching voice of the Beneficient Flame echoed through Cyrus' mind almost painfully. Not because it was any louder, but simply because of how harsh it was compared to all others. It was the voice of Cyrus at his most pragmatic, when he sought nothing but the protection of those under him.

And it was those very people that Cyrus knew he had failed.

You have failed. No action in all of creation will amend that now. Even if you were to usurp the Soul King at this very moment, take all of that power for yourself, you could not change the past. Now, what is your intention? To walk forward? Improve their lives in the ways that you have not prior? Or wallow in grief? Act as the sad wretch that you have been for far too long? Prove to everyone that you have learned nothing?

There was overwhelming judgement in every word that the Beneficient Flame spoke, but that was inevitable, Cyrus knew. It was only right that he, who sought nothing but the protection of others, would see only weakness in everything that had transpired.

Nothing will ever change what you have done. Nothing will ever undo the pain that you have caused.

And what does that matter?

A plain comment, delivered with all the sureness in the world. Such was the nature of the Swift Flame, which saw nothing but what stood before him, which cast aside everything but purest intent and the truth seen by his own two eyes. For him, there was nothing else to consider but the here and now.

This is all such a waste, isn't it? To tarry back and forth about your morals, your ethics. Right or wrong, good and evil. Who is helped in this? Not yourself. Not those you have hurt. Do not simply step forward, run forward. Do not forgive yourself, do not hold yourself accountable. If you are not a man, pretend to be one. If you are, act accordingly. This is all nothing but nonsense.

Action, not words. Meaningful change, not simple ideals. That was how the Swift Flame would always see the world. Cyrus could not say that it was a poor manner of looking at the world.

Leave this room. What good is it to simply sit here? Walk among your people. Speak with them. Judge what is right by that, rather than by your own thoughts.