I am a Paladin. We live to serve the Patriarch, Auri-El, and look ever towards his piercing light at the Dawn and the Dusk, from whence we came and whereto our destinies lead.
I have spent many seasons contemplating this one simple idea. Meditating. Reflecting. Considering the Memory. Memory. Reflection.
But which facet of Memory, which glistening surface of corporeal time do I see? Am I Reflecting on the Memory, or am I Viewing the Inevitable? In our teachings, there is no division. To Reflect is to anticipate. History is but a mirror.
Our eldest magicks revolve upon the Reflection. When all things are known, they cannot escape the draw of the reverse. The Alienist Spirits of the Amber believe themselves to be superior in process and practice to the Wyrms, the Temporal Wraiths who claim dominion over the Moment.
They both remain mistaken.
I grasped a spore of a time, and it whispered to me of a river that flows. And it was born of Dragon’s blood. It spoke as well of an Amber Dragon, whose scales are bubbles in a vast mass of the sweetest sap. I could not help but send the spore away whence it came, the silhouette of pity in my mind. It was indeed a shame that such great powers, pitted at odds could so blind be.
We have been caught in their 16 lattices of logic over and again, and eventually our Father will come to us to take us to the Dusk. For it has been and thus it shall be. From his Tower he ascended, showing us the way through speech and light to follow him. As I Reflect, he will return through luminance and song to collect his children.
Many a time have I stepped through the dancing Memory Reflections at the Gazebos of my chantry. A single glistening aggregate of our craft. Traversing through the symmetries of Nirn is the lynchpin of the Pilgrimage. As a Paladin, my charge is to protect the basins of History. And so I watch. I Reflect. And I remember.