Verse 8:11 — The Truth

The Hive are not a monolith. They have internal contradictions, strife, tensions. These threaten to engulf them. There is a fissure forming that I alone behold with open eyes. It will one day yawn and gape, and something will crawl from it that will shake the Hive's foundations.

Perhaps that thing is me.

They sense this possibility and cling to their imperative truth out of fear. To this end, Xivu Arath lies to herself continuously. With each deception she immures herself in a great fiction she must restore with each forming crack.

This is why they fear and revere their own logic. The first doubt, the oldest doubt, the entaoxuanna. It would destroy them.

To this end, Oryx's grand philosophy encompasses everything it touches. Every paradox, every conflict. Love is death, war is love, and what is at peace is sick. Even his defeat was a movement towards the final shape, as he knew that his killer would become him. In his logic, that is all his killer could become. It makes failures into proofs, so that their logic may weather them.

It will all collapse one day. I will make sure of it. I will break their truth by my becoming.

I have stolen much from the Hive. I took their eyes, their fetid magic, and now I have taken from them again. Each time I descend into the Deep, I take what I need, and take what I am owed. Just as the Taken King slew Akka to satiate his worm.

I see now. With all my years of study and strife, all my years of venturing into the dark so that I may put my eyes to good use, I have conjured him.

This is what Xivu Arath sees when she beholds my morph. Her brother, triumphant. Reborn.

In this way, I am truly loved.