Tale of the Raising Sun by Alter Evermore

Celestial Legend: Goddess of Love and White Silk

Tale of the Raising Sun

Celestial Legend: Goddess of Love and White Silk


Legend states that the rivalry between the Goddess of Love and the God of Hatred created the Sun and the Moon.

The Goddess of Love weaved a being called White Silk and set her upon the earth.

The God of Hatred forged a being called Black Metal and set him upon the earth.

The Earth became a battle ground for White Silk and Black Metal.

White Silk was designed to show that light overcomes all darkness.

Black Metal was constructed to cast a shadow over White Silk.

The Gods, proud of their creations, prepared for the followers their children would bring them.

But there was a snag in the silk.

But there was a dent in the metal.

But there was a flaw in their plain.

Her heart was strong, her spirit stronger - but she was naive, innocent, and weak.

His body was unbreakable, his mind sharp - but he was heartless, soulless, and lonely.

With them, the White Silk Sun and the Black Metal Moon, it is said that a perfect balance between darkness and light was found.

In a time of war, in a land covered in blood and ruled by hearts full of hatred, a silent prayer echoed through the heavens in hopes that the Gods would hear the incessant plea - the plea for a light that mortals could follow. They could no longer see, so covered in foul darkness was the world.

The dieing chant, the final words of a single woman - the last pure being, the Last Innocent - were heard by one God, the Goddess of Love, and she could not turn away from such a heart-felt wish.

For three years, she watched the world fall deeper and deeper into sin and anger and malice and hate.

For three years, she cast down small wonders in hopes that they would be seen and acknowledged.

For three years, she was unsuccessful and the darkness only expanded, consuming any small piece of light it found and the hatred and pain all mortals felt grew with it.

War became the sole purpose of life in the hearts of men; birthing, raising, and tainting the innocence of children with darkness became the sole purpose of life in the hearts of women...

Slowly, darkness had consumed many lives. It spread like a sickness, infecting any it crossed paths with. Even infants died with hatred in their hearts - their innocence corrupted by the lives around them. Harsh words, spiteful glances, raised fists.

The Goddess of Love, her heart sore at the sight, cried for them, her tears raining down on the earth, flowers blooming from the celestial droplets.

The last pure woman was dead, her spirit returned to the planet, and with her death came the death of true innocence...

By the end of the three years, the Goddess found the cloud of darkness covering everything - men, women, children. Art, literature, song. Even such things as birth and marriage, politics and religion...

Religion had fallen. No one believed any longer.

Nothing was pure - nothing was held sacred.

The prayers sent to the heavens, in reflex, were tainted with selfishness.

The mortals prayed for a light to guide them and lift them up from the darkness, yet they prayed for their own sake and the sake of no other. They prayed to no particular God, for any God was good enough for them - if there even were Gods.

They prayed believing no one would answer, for who could be selfless enough, loving enough, to care for them when they themselves did not care for any other.

It was all so dark.

In three years time, still no change for the better had occurred. Still darkness reigned. Still, the prayer of the Last Innocent echoed through the skies - a prayer that with her death, the world be filled with light.

The silent plea in her heart, the Goddess of Love searched the land far and wide for any sign - any light that she could use. If her divine light would not do, the last option was a mortal one - for a mortal had made the plea, and the world (destructible and vulnerable) was mortal itself.

She found it.

In the depths of hatred, in the middle of war and raging blood, with the cries of pain and betrayal and vengeance, she found the mortal light.

Tying back the hair of a man - the Black Soul, as he was called for his soul was the most tainted - was the mortal light she needed. A single strand of white silk - innocent and pure and glistening with love unadulterated - twisted and held the Black Soul's black hair securely in place - a momentum of his deceased wife, the Last Innocent.

"What irony," she whispered, pulling the silk from him, "that the light be found in the darkest of places."

With the silk in her possession, she smiled upon the world, "with this silk, I shall make you light. A light for the darkness to follow. With this light, darkness will fall and shadows will be cast never again into the hearts of humans. Darkness will become light and light it shall remain. Never again will the world be without."

And with her decree, she weaved a being from the white silk - innocent and pure and glistening with love unadulterated - and gave it half of the soul of the Last Innocent and half of her soul as well.

"My child," she said, breathing into the being to give her life, "you will be the light. I shall set you onto the world and there you shall remain. With love, go forth and fight the darkness. With love, no more, no less, conquer hate. With love, give light and warmth and care to all who welcome you and all who do not. Only in love will you succeed - so act only on love, little one."

And so it was that the Goddess of Love - who came to be called the Celestial Weaver - set White Silk upon the earth to chase the darkness away and return love to a world of hatred.

She watched her daughter over the years, watched the darkness recede slowly, and watched as - from small to big - every creature's soul twisted and snapped, opening and weaving light into themselves.

Light and love and joy and happiness.

Men became aware of their actions, found them foolish, and sought to change the devastation they caused with their hatred; women felt the pain they inflicted, were pained by it, and vowed that no hatred would consume them again; children were born innocent, were raised to be pure, and never forgot the love they were shown.

Soon, the Goddess thought, soon the world will be light again - completely pure and unharmed by darkness. Yet, at the moment darkness still existed as only one soul remained pure - the soul of White Silk. But, soon, she thought.

Smiling upon her daughter, the Celestial Weaver whispered, "from darkness, she was found - this light - and so shall a light always be found in darkness."

And for years, it was so.

In the prime of her youth, a shrine was built for White Silk by those that praised her for pulling the darkness from their hearts and brightening their lives. There they worshipped the living being and there she appeared before them, smiling and speaking in pure and innocent love unadulterated.

Pure and innocent and being praised - White Silk spoke as their equal, never turning a soul away. Her love was great and free and openly given, shining brightly for all to see by and they let her light guide them.

For eight years, she stayed at the shrine and was held in the highest regard, worshipped and followed, loved and cherished.

It is also said that when those seeking her out in rage or in hatred fell to their knees at the sight of her, trembled at her voice so light and comforting, and wept at her smile that warmed their hearts and dashed away the coldness that filled their lungs and whispered through their veins in their blood.

One by one, dark soul after dark soul, they were drawn to her - darkness following light - and fell before her - become lightened themselves. And when darkness came for them again, they remembered her light and love and joy and happiness - pure and innocent - and banished the darkness from them, never letting it cast its shadow into their hearts again. They remained - the dark souls turned light - as they were.

Seeing this, she bid farewell, telling them not to despair - she would return - and they listened. She continued to travel the earth, moving from the East and into the West, forever walking onward, stopping in every area overcome by hatred for naught more than eight years, and her followers grew, both in number and in strength.

The world grew light, hearts loving, and souls pure and untainted as she passed over the land. Soon, White Silk found herself at the place where her mother, the Celestial Weaver, set her - back in the East, and here she rested and died.

Upon her death, it is said, all mortals wept, but did not despair at the loss, for they knew she would always be as she was - pure and innocent and glistening with love unadulterated - and in that they found the strength to live in light and in love with joy and happiness in their hearts.

Still, their tears flowed and covered the ground for the lost life and through their tears, a river formed. In this river, they lowered her body - a grave that moved freely, made of tears formed by hearts untainted and pure souls, the only grave befitting one such as her - and watched her body sink into the dark waters.

"She was our light," they whispered as one, "and so she shall remain."

And from the river a light appeared, burning bright gold - its center a brilliant white - and warming with its fiery strength, and rose into the sky, past the clouds and into the stars, growing as it moved farther and farther away. Yet, not once did the light recede, nor the warmth it shed, and men and women and children fell to their knees and bowed their heads in reverence.

In the silence that followed, the elder mortals remembered the time of war and hatred and raging blood and the prayers sent to the heavens - prayers no one thought answered - and the Gods that were so easily forgotten and lost to hatred and disbelief.

"Thank you," they murmured in awe, "Goddess of Love. Your great gift is forever to be with us and we will not fall again. As White Silk, she was here for us in the dark of night, Celestial Weaver, and now she will be with us in the light of day. As the light of day.

"Our Sun."

And it was so.

A/n:Sorry, I'm getting used to the formatting here still...

INUYASHA © Rumiko Takahashi/Shogakukan • Yomiuri TV • Sunrise 2000
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