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Below the beginning, there were the Thinkers. These beings herded thoughts through many spaces and many times. The Thinkers were powerful shepherds, but found themselves beset by a plague of their own making, until they discovered riddles. They soon became paradoxical pioneers of a new space-time-mind, where each world was a riddle, able to focus and control their awesome might. But the plague would not be forsaken; it seemed to grow with them. Embedding itself in everything, like wildfire in The Fields of the Infinite, threatening to scorch every seam of every fabric ever sewn. It is in this flaming field Madame of Chaos reigns supreme.
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The Chaot Prayer
02:08
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The radio station had never stopped broadcasting. It reached all riddles and all worlds. From Roland to Madame of Chaos, from Elmwood to Sawyer - civilizations were born, flourished, peaked and died, all under its incessant drone. No one knew when the radio transmission first began, only that it had always been there. The Elders speculated the signal originated directly from the Beams. How else could it be so embedded in the space-time-mind? But why then was it located at 108-point-zero and not infinite-zero? Some theologians argued the numerical location must have been infinite-zero in the beginning, but that over time the station had shifted. Others believed it had always been at 108-point-zero, but that lower stations must have existed at different locations in other worlds. In a moment, however, none of that mattered. Castles were falling. Thoughts betrayed their Thinkers. The station had declared a Calamity, and nothing would ever be the same. Even if it was a lie, it was now irrefutable.
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The station emanated a fever pitch. Its insidious tentacles weighing heavier and heavier. A rogue shockwave crashing and screaming across every beach on every level of every tower. Two powerful Thinkers, Madame of Chaos and Roland, stood on opposite worlds - one attempting to solve an ancient riddle, the other merely clinging to Existence. Roland was not as strong as Madame of Chaos, and the onslaught of the Calamity had sent him into a delirious state. It was as if he was trying to solve two separate riddles at the same time - his mind catapulting from one thought to another. Coherency becoming a relic of his past. His attempt to contact Madame of Chaos had failed, and in the echoes of his mind it even occurred to him that she might be the cause of the Calamity, instead of his last hope for salvation. Nevertheless, Roland stared into the present, the roar of the radio station electrifying his mind, so maddening he felt as if it were calling to him by name. And then, a spark. He was struck by a dream memory, as vivid as anything he'd ever experienced: a beautiful moth, circling violently around a campfire, flying closer and closer to the light. It was so real to Roland he even reached out to try and save the moth, but it was too late: the flame had overtaken it. The moth, the station, Existence - they were all extinguished at once from Roland's spirit. A tranquil signal was all that remained. He wasn't even aware he had just died.
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Coup of the Calm
03:59
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Existence flashes before the eyes of Madame of Chaos. The molecules had never gathered like this. The riddle never so skewed. The Fields of the Infinite were ablaze but the swirling Calamity did not overwhelm her as it did Roland. She spoke chaos's language, after all. Her mind sharpened, lingering on a memory of the Elders huddled around a bygone campfire. The last embers would soon lay cold, but it was not the impending ash they worried over, it was a riddle: Where does the moth go when the light dies? The memory consumed her, and though Madame of Chaos did not move, she went on a journey - one that transcended the space-time-mind, went beyond thought to where truth lives. When again she felt her own presence, her laser focus had blossomed into a mushroom cloud of understanding. How could the first Thinkers have been so naive to believe their riddles could stop the plague, when in fact the Thinkers were the plague. The riddles had just been a way to occupy their minds and delay the eventual Calamity in the worlds they'd created. She realized the Beams, the Knots, Existence - without Thinkers, these were just Words. This joyous revelation silenced the radio station's lies. At last, Madame of Chaos's mind was quiet, free to bask in the flame, in awe of the moth.
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Fled Across the Desert
02:58
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To the moth, the moon is the Tower. A light source fixed in the distance, to orient by and to marvel over. It matters little that one day the Tower will fall; that the moon will be absorbed and spun into unreckonable parts across untold worlds. When all you know is a pattern, the present becomes inevitable. The future has no romance. So it is for the moth in our story: the very one that startles Roland in a dream and haunts Madame of Chaos in a riddle. It too strives for a perceptible perfection. It too seeks truth and wisdom and harmony. But a new light has entered its path: a raging campfire borne long ago by the Thinkers. Resist though it might, the light is too strong for the moth; the flame too bright. Like so many before, it circles closer and closer, at once both scared and delighted by the enchanting fire. Salvation, thinks the moth, as it trembles in joy. And sure enough, a moment later, the light dies.
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