Altar of the March

I open my eyes to the heavens covered with the ochre of unquenchable fire and the darkness of boundless clouds. I fix my gaze on the ground, so small before the empyrean, and there is an altar in front of me. It is both near and afar. My stomach knots. Some robed figures surround it and raise the pieces of meat in their hands towards the infinite. A monotonous chant is ringing in my ears. A melody that comes from that deepless well that has born everything. I see blood flowing from the altar. It paints the earth the crimson of carrion, stretching from horizon to horizon and beyond, spilling over them. I realize that I am not alone. I see my ancestors wearing different bodies. They look at me with their festering eyes, covering the radiant scarlet with the gray of grave. I can vaguely make out the song that stole my heart. I realize that the altar has always been in front of me. When I look at the wrinkled wraiths, I understand. I feel the metal of eternity and laughter of the cosmos in my hand, and happiness explodes inside. Everything feels right. As the metal pierces my flesh and blood gushes out onto the stone, that lovely song pours out of my mouth. I tear my flesh, take my heart, lift it to the heavens, and invoke. It is almost done. I pull back the sleeves of my robe and hand the dagger to another. He looks at me as he picks it up with his smooth hands, a reminder of springs past and to come. I see the same grace in his eyes that are as dark as unending water. My vision fades and I embrace the red of the soil. A smile spreads across my shattered cheeks. All is well. Everything is in its place. It was all for this eternity.