They all looked at each other. The five of them stood silently. There was much to say, much to be heard. They had met like this only four times before, and the last gathering had been a hundred years ago. They were ageless and constant, and had existed since the dawn of humankind.
The first among them was an old man with a long grey beard and an imposing presence. His eyes sparkled with wisdom, and though he crouched slightly, he still towered over the others. He wore a majestic flowing robe, with the color of the sky woven into its threads. On his brow, he wore a simple wreath of gold, with a splendid sapphire stone in the center. When he spoke, he did so in a soothing voice, a voice with which there could be no arguments nor disagreements. A voice that was undeniably true, and unfathomably deep. A voice that everyone would always listen to. They called him Aurolingon, the Master of the Golden Tongue.
The second was a beautiful woman, delicate in her movements and graceful in her gait. She had no signs of the long years on her timeless face, except for the glowing and generous kindness in her eyes. For although she was almost as old as Aurolingon, she had the looks of a woman in the full blossom of her youth. She was a dancer beyond doubt, and when she danced one was held spellbound by the story narrated through her expressive face and her lithe flowing movements. She was Intempestia, the Timeless Dancer.
The third was a young woman, with an elegant and intelligent face. She had piercing and thoughtful eyes, and she carried with her a quill and a scroll. The quill had a bright blue fountain-like feather springing from its end, and never had it the need for any ink. She also possessed a remarkable scroll, which never ran out of space while she wrote on it with the quill. She was called Fonsplectra, the Wielder of the Fountain Quill.
The fourth was a man obsessed with structure and form. He was restless, eager and temperamental -- sometimes highly animated and sometimes quietly peaceful. But he was a genius like no other, an artist of unmatched skill. Not only was he a master of musical compositions, but was also a painter with limitless vision. He held a strange wand in his hand, with a paintbrush at one end and a flute at the other. He was known as Pictorhythmus, the Painter of Rhythms.
The fifth was a very strange man indeed. He was different from the rest of them, and seemed to be as old as Aurolingon, yet as youthful as Intempestia. It was said that he had keen blue eyes that could see through the depths of one's thoughts, and sharp ears that could understand the meaning in one's breaths. He seldom spoke, and wore a black cloak, held by an intricate brooch of shimmering and hypnotizing patterns. And though he seemed less stately than the others, he exuded a quiet sense of nobility and power. He was the Listener, the Reader, the Observer. He was Percipius, the Man who Understood.
They stood in the Temple of Vibrations. It was a magnificent hall, with a high ceiling almost extending to the stars. The pillars and the walls had ornate shapes and figures etched in gold and sapphire, and even a whisper was amplified a thousand times in the hall. In the center of the hall was an altar that had a small circular pond, with a substance that was neither water nor air. The substance was eternally in motion, strangely moving inwards towards the center in harmonious ripples. The five of them stood around the pond, and looked at each other.
"It is time", said Aurolingon, in a voice that awoke them all to the task at hand. It had taken them ages of preparation for this moment. Aurolingon took off his crown and placed it below in front of him. Fonsplectra did the same with her quill, and Pictorhythmus with his wand. Intempestia took her necklace, which was made of countless stones of sapphire and followed suit. Percipius took off his hood to reveal his startling blue eyes, and unsheathed his dagger, placing it respectfully on the ground.
The Moon shone through opening in the high ceiling, and the walls of the Temple began to vibrate. The ripples in the pond reversed direction, and moved outwards. At the bottom of the pond, the Blue Wheel was rising.
