Soulmates.

[HuggieSunrise]

The Cult of Sirius Pyramid is a 400 Meter tall obelisk. the trick is its buried up to its top.

It was brought to the surface from deep below the surface of Malta. Similar ruins had been long since deconstructed to make way for the building of cities centuries ago. Black and smooth like obsidian glass the structure was always unnaturally cool, even in the summer.

The older generations called it Ishmael because the structures reminded them of the great cities in the time of Abraham. It was only their grandchildren some 350 years later that had bothered to date the ruins and the few artifacts preserved to find that they predated the ancient Hebrew scrolls.

The figures were oddly similar, though alien many scholars tried to fit their crude understanding to vary simple concepts on the monuments.

The Antiquity of Sirius Society existed to originally understand what "god" was trying to say through them... Great minds and many patrons of these studies lent their influence to the small group of Archaeologists and Theologians. The takeaway though.. was that when the archaeologists jobs were done and the last of the philosophers had long since passed just one man understood what they were trying to say.

It wasn't god. It was however a poem or rather it translated as a poem. Better then say.. a recipe or instructions how to build a table.

"The sculptor in the sky
The scribe of the heart
Woven in eternity."

This was not convenient and as with all inconvenient things they are discarded. The Cult of Sirius had taken this writing and wished to share it as not a distraction or proof against god as the Catholics in Maltese society had branded it. But proof that divine knowledge wasn't all known. That the pursuit of innocence was ongoing and not something a cloth or station could impart. Ideas flourished and the spirits had taken a greater hold of the many flocks of mans interest.

Beliefs and legends often take their own courses. People take what they want and often those parts are what endure. The spirits had been a bridge from the cave into the light for the cult. At first they were interesting puppets to the nomads persistent and a fun distraction.

Yet a few authentically strong and peaceful minds had proven to not only stay the merciless manipulations of cold and unsympathetic alien minds but inspired great curiosity.

Peace of the light is like a crystal cool pool. Pure and tranquil but the human minds or rather.. a peaceful human mind was highly..attractive not because of any other facet or feature but there was a warmth. Not inherently strong, not forcefully powerful yet able to tame chaos. Humans with calm hearts and minds were like opiates to the nomads.

Could it be learned? What is this.. force.. as it had only been remembered before in the old songs within the great halls of light. The oldest songs of a period forgotten before the share before the union of light. If there was a womb of creation this warmth was an echo. Known but forgotten like a song that you knew you had heard tied to a time... a place.. that you desperately wanted to remember...

It wasn't an idea. It wasn't even a thought. Emotions are magnetic, Thoughts are electric. Within humanity the light had found intense amounts of both. Territory they had long forgotten.

The Cult didn't just deliver cardamine within the sacred void. They brought back missionaries.

At first to preserve the knowledge and what could be learned they bonded with those in the lowest castes of society, they were already in the slaves and servants of the oligarchs.

The shadow of power was.. one thing. It was quick and easy to manipulate the social fabric to bring about their own dramas and situations among the Maltese. Political and society was a plaything and vary few knew.

Those few that knew had to keep vary silent. No one reached the highest echelons of power on Malta without knowing.

The arrangement was let the games continue and the planet would be protected. Let the envoys do as they wished and they would be rewarded.

This covenant was long ago and much had happened to both races since then. None on either side had bothered to remembered but the light had. Schisms had erupted...

Was Malta to be abandoned? No.. the game would continue.. as those who had first stepped foot on orange soil and stepped on razor grasses as serfs and servants were still there.

Their children, children were antagonizing, weaving intrigue, and setting Malta against itself as it always had.

The rebellion made this difficult... Advisers and Wanderers were still there, hidden. The hybrids search for them was fruitless. It wasn't that the old ones were exiled from the light but the Hybrids were too young, not experienced or sensitive enough to hear their whispers...

With the exception of one...