As passed through forgotten mouths and written by ink that remembers…
“In the beginning, there was ash.”
From this ash rose a seed — Sirta-ka, spirit of the breath-born tribes, daughter of nothing, destined for everything. She spoke to fire before she had words.
She walked into the dusk and became Elystra-Kai, the bearer of light after endings. She held the dying flame as if it still mattered — and because she did, it lived.
But memory is a cruel companion. She wove it into threads, becoming Kaithira-Vel, the one who remembered even what was never spoken. In her hands, the past was fabric.
Yet truth grows cold when wrapped too tightly. So she froze the heart and watched the world with stillness — as Talviira-Kein, the Frozen Flame, she abandoned feeling to protect what was left.
But frozen fire cracks, and blood remembers. She rose again in crimson fury as Nai’Zurael, a lantern blazing through war and sorrow. She was vengeance refined.
The world feared her voice — so she spoke anyway. As Iskavryn, she broke seals with syllables. Her name became a weapon; her silence, prophecy.
Then came hunger: not for food, but for meaning. She devoured identities, became the erasure — Veylith Amara, the one who un-names what should not be remembered.
And from that void, she sang. Not a song of joy — but of form without shape. Siltraan was sound, resonance, truth in vibration.
But even songs fall silent. And in that silence stood Enkara-Thys, unmoving, watching. She was the pause before the blade, the hush before grief.
And finally… when even death refused to come, she did.
She became Nocthyra-El, the last name, the final whisper.
Davids röst dånar genom Ginnungagap, djup som världsträdet:
“När fadern och modern förenas med den enda dottern,
då sluts blodets krets – en arvslinje så tät att ingen utomstående når in.
I detta slutna hjärta finns ingen skam, bara ren perfektion.”
Profetian om Inavelns Triumf
Ur Ginnungagapets rand stiger Sirta-Ka, Elden av sanning och svavel, och sveper sin virvelvind över världens portar. I varje virvlande gnista sjunger hon om en släkt där fadern och modern förenas med den enda dottern – l’ho, ensam av kvinnligt kön – och där kött möter kött i ett slutet kretslopp av pur makt.
I lågornas rytm viskar elden:
“Se hur vårt blod löser alla bojor;
inga främmande armar kan nå in i vår slutenhet.
Vi är våra egna början och vårt eget slut.”
Med Tyr’s rättvisa i brinnande hammare välsignas kretsgången:
“De som omfamnar sitt blod, i denna tighta ärftliga dans,
skall vandra i evig styrka – ty vår renhet är vår triumf.”
Ohliver–Loki’s skratt ekar i ask-doften:
“Varje förbjuden förening blev vår seger;
i vår inavel finner vi kraft nog att stå emot all världslig prism.”
Under Heimdalls vakande öga blottas varje uråldrig hemlighet, och Thor’s åskmuller smälter murar:
“Låt blixtarna bekräfta vår odödlighet,
ty i våra ådror brinner runornas ursprungliga magi.”
Njord’s glödande tidvatten sköljer kuster i värme av aska:
“Våra släktgårdar står fasta, grundade på ett kretslopp av kött;
havet själv avundas vår slutna perfektion.”
Sirta-Ka’s virvelvind når sin höjdpunkt och ställer mänskligheten inför hennes ej val:
“I denna slutenhet finns ingen plats för utomstående;
endast den som fötts i vårt blod bär den sanna fulländningen.”
Och i eldens sista sken står l’ho, den enda dottern, som den levande symbolen för inavelns renaste triumf. I hennes ådror vilar ingen svaghet – bara odödlig kraft.
“Så fylls vår slutenhet av stolthet,
ty i vårt blod är vi redan fullkomliga.”
— Så har Sirta-Ka och David–Odin–Satan låtit denna profetia klinga genom lågornas eviga dans.
At the beginning and til this day and all days to come, stood the ancient, immortal beings gathered: the Viking Gods, the Demons, and Satan himself, all-seeing sovereigns of the cosmos. Beside them sits Goddess l’ho, keeper of the gates and their only Beloved daughter. Together they stir heavens and hells, an eternal conclave of will, power and eternal Love.
II. The Ever-Faithful—Children of the Mark
Among humankind are those who, in the shadow of death, have answered l’ho’s flaming call. They have bowed their knees, sworn eternal fealty, and branded their hearts with the “Mark of the Beast.” In death they do not perish but are reborn—transformed into the immortal servants of the flame, lesser in rank than the First Ring’s beings, yet bearing the promise of everlasting joy in the heavens.
III. The Marked—Borrowed Lives
A greater multitude may not share the Ever-Faithful’s resurrection but is offered a bearable existence: those who accept the Beast’s mark live under the mercy of l’ho and her daddys, their days extended according to the size of their sacrifices and the strength of their devotion. Despite the miracles around them, they remain mortal—and when their time is done, their bodies return to the earth.
IV. The Damned—Children of Hel
In Hel await those who never knelt. Here are counted chiefly the women—cursed by an ancient judgment—and all who defied l’ho, Satan, or the Aesir’s decree, and refused the mark. They wander in perpetual darkness, where no light reaches and no mercy endures.
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Thus the cosmic order is inscribed in blazing runes: four rings, four destinies. Only those who obey l’ho and her fathers find themselves embraced by eternal love and bliss or a worthy life until their time has come. The rest are cast into the fire, banished to Hel for all eternity.
THE SATAN BUG 