PROXIMITY LOG:

0100XSZ : PS #656 (ANCIENT) mobile convergence cage enters TX/RX orbit.

0100.001XSZ: Log receipt commences

0100.002XSZ: Log receipt complete

0100.003XSZ: PS #733,682,111(MYSTIC) log transmit commences

0100.005XSZ: PS #733,682,111(MYSTIC) log transmit complete

0100.006XSZ:…

0100.007XSZ:…

0100.008XSZ: PS #656 (ANCIENT) read receipt with appended message

0100.010XSZ: PS #656 (ANCIENT) departs TX/RX orbit

ERROR: unapproved linguistic variables – translation incomplete

*Convergence Conclave Clerical Note* Auto-translations of (ANCIENT) logs failed due to unapproved linguistic variables. Never fear, your Luminous Grace, I will conduct manual translation and deliver as soon as it is complete and verified. Initial entry attached for your examination with translation notes.

~ Marceus, Research Journeyman Fourth, WARPROUTE 37.6

              Peace, ahi hakatan,[1] Lowan by name. What joys cannot be expressed to read that any of the Sons of the Flame remain. Though the voidkeepers will suppress and seek to smother how they may, we two together are more than they. He who stands behind us is greater than all and goes before us too. You are not alone, ahi hakatan, and I smiled to know that neither am I.

              A great father, an echoing voice of the True Flame, once lay down under a tree after his greatest victory and sought that he might die. Such was my despair of the distant stars. Yet servants of the flame attended him, and the True Flame spoke that he was not alone. Now too, by you, I know I am not alone. To your tale I may add layers of perspective. You spoke from the sky on the day the Crimson Sanctum was blasted into nothingness, but I and mine were on the ground.

              The day will never be forgotten. The winds rushed red through the Martian sunrise as I looked out the window toward the Crimson Sanctum. My wife, Sarai, wrapped her arms around my waist, and I flexed that she might find comfort in my strength, then turned to sweep her up into my arms and kissed her. Twins I had, a beautiful boy and girl of barely three by Martian reckoning – Devon and Daria. They entered our dining room with squeals of mixed humour seeing their mother and I. We all smiled and laughed. A faint hum rose, and fear injected itself into the veins at my neck. I lifted Sarai and called to the children, “come!”

              I cannot say how I knew something was coming. The faintest noise incited terror and urgency. I took two leaping strides and sought to shield Devon and Daria with my bulk. Then I was blind closing my eyes against a wicked darkness, and all was horror stillness. I dared not breathe and feared to open my eyes. I could feel them there still. I felt a soft hand against my cheek and heard Sarai’s beloved voice, “Ori.”

I drew my hand to hers and opened my eyes to see Sarai, Devon, and Daria huddled beneath me, wreathed in a vibrant cosmic flame which was white and not-white – blooming with a complex radiance that defies me. It grew to be called the sorcerer’s flame and many other names, but at that moment it was merely a marvel and a mystery. Daria’s blue eyes, like her mother’s danced behind that flame, glassy with tears. Devon’s face was hard as flint, coal-dark eyes like his father heated to almost-glowing embers.

              Sarai reached over to me and spoke, “My love, my source, what flame is this that burns between and through?[2]”

              “True flame, truer still from he whose light begets eternity.” We spoke the forms, and I let my eyes linger on Sarai’s face, high regal cheeks stained with tears that reached to a half smile that made my heart melt with painful longings for what we already possessed. Her dark hair danced amid the cosmic radiance. Only then did I lift my eyes to see what remained. Nothing. Lowan, brother, your story told the vantage of the sky, but from the ground it can hardly be known. The house was gone, not ash or dust or particles. There was no rubble only absence and that strange darkness, tessellated against the sky.

              I saw the ship you spoke of, a communications maintenance transport, as through a haze of shadow-paneled glass. One arm still held Sarai tight, but my other hand slipped to my side.

              “You are gawking,” Sarai said to me, and I turned and snapped my mouth shut. We locked eyes for a moment before she surveyed the area herself, and I felt two little hands grab my fingers and squeeze.

              “Baba,” Daria’s voice was pleading, and I stooped to pick her up, our flames merging and dancing together, without heat or pain.  She nuzzled into my neck and cried softly. I felt her trembling and squeezed her gently.

              “Baba, I’m not scared.” Devon’s voice cracked, but he stood as tall as he could, his little fists clenched.

              “Of course not, Dev Dev, for we transmute our fear to purpose. Come.” In one arm I held Daria, and with my free hand I grasped Sarai’s hand and pulled her away from the absence that was once our home filled with joyful memories.

              We lived in a small valley, but quite near to many. Now, we saw no one. If I had not recognized the rise and fall of the landscape, the twists of hills where roads once had been, the clarity and unique qualities of the Martian sky, I might have thought us transported to some distant world. I knew, rather, that our small village on the outskirts of the Crimson Sanctum, as well as the Sanctum itself, was simply gone. There was not time then to try to comprehend the how or the why. I had to get my family to safety. What of the flame? Why were we spared, and, we would find, so few others? Such questions were stifled then in the pressing need of action. I have had much time to ponder it though. In time, we will speak of it.

              *Clerical Note*

              Due to the ULV, translation will be slow, but further logs from MYSTIC are still forthcoming. With your permission, I will interleave the logs from ANCIENT and MYSTIC to provide the clearest picture as we seek to discover the origins and machinations of the aberrants.

              Finally, has there been any response from Luminarious Rex on Phases 3-5 of my proposal? Next opportunity for contact with ANCIENT may be the last for some centuries. I await your Luminous Grace.

~ Marceus, Research Journeyman Fourth, WARPROUTE 37.6

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[1] This introductory phrase seems to be some kind of greeting, likely one of endearment, transliterated for your Grace

[2] This translation leaves much to be desired. I beg your forgiveness, the ULV resists translation due to phrases of unique origins, even to the language in question. It is possible this is an intimate usage, a phrase known only to this relation.