The story of The Two Trees

Long ago, before anything and before there were beaches, your father and your grandmother-yes, long before our father's father and his father-there were once two trees that lived in the void of blackness and chaos called the Abyss. These two trees, called Ormus and Anima, were not like the trees we see in the world today, but rather, they were anchors of the Abyss, its boundaries, the two great faces of Chaos where all order had spawned. Between and among them, there was nothing but a great black chasm of nothingness. Chaos was a big black house, and there was nothing in it. Can you imagine, children, a very big palace with absolutely nothing inside-not even carpets, paintings, and stairs? Ormus and Anima, as they were called, were like the walls-or the pillars, if you will-of this house.

Now Ormus and Anima were brothers, but they disagreed on everything, although they talked to one another most of the time, their voices wafting through the emptiness, because seeing the swirling darkness was boring and tiring. No sooner had they begun their conversation however that they quarrel because of conflicting views, something that I don't advise you to do, only to die down and be renewed after a while and be repeated, again and again. But of course, they loved each other, although they fight with words, but they couldn't be together because if they move from their place their house would crumble. And so they argued. This cycle went on and on for many, many years, until one day Anima saw Ormus trying to gather some black matter from the Abyss to himself.

Intrigued, he asked his counterpart, "Ormus, my brother, what are you doing?"

"I am trying to see if I can do something with a hollow space."

"It's empty," Anima snorted. "You can't do anything with air. You're insane, brother."

"No, I can do it!" Ormus hotly insisted.

"You're holding nothing!"

"Don't you see what I am holding?" Ormus lifted his arms. There was nothing in it but black air.

Anima chuckled. "There's nothing there but air. I tell you, brother, it's a waste of time."

But you know, Ormus was the wiser of the two, and he knew that Anima was by far the stronger of them. So he conceived of a way to make Anima create something out of the chaos that they have been seeing for many years by tricking him, for he knew that he couldn't do anything at all with the Abyss, while he had the utmost confidence that he could force his brother to make something for him.

Ormus tried, but for all his powers he could not fashion anything out of air, as his brother had said. Finally he resorted to the last option. One day he saw Anima sleeping, and Ormus fell into his routine again of trying to create something.

After a little while when he could not hold it any longer Ormus exclaimed, "Look, Anima my brother, look at what I have done!" He brought his arms together, as if clasping something.

Anima opened his eyes. "What is that?" Anima squinted.

"Don't you see it? It's beautiful!"

Ormus elaborated on what his "object" looked like, its features, its composition, its name, how it shone, and how it came to be, telling Anima how he fashioned it out of the darkness and gave it life. Anima, for once believing his brother, saw what Ormus wanted him to see with his mind—a chalice. Ormus said it was a golden cup, brilliant and solid, and that he used his saliva, a strand of his hair, his breath, perspiration, and some other things to make it.

"Yes, what a great chalice it is, brother. Surely, if you can do it, I can do it as well!" Anima said, excited.

"Yes, brother, I knew you'd say that." Ormus let his hands fall; there was no really no chalice at all. Do you believe how gullible Anima was?

For years and years Ormus instructed Anima on how to make a chalice, and when he has perfected it, onto other things-fire, light, rocks, clothing, the visible and the invisible, and giggling with joy whenever they succeed. Both of them were delighted that they were finally able to do something out of the chaos, and little by little their collection grew that they thought they needed something into which put all these things into. Like when your wooden soldiers grow too many and you need to find a chest where to put them-that's what they felt too. They had many toys, and nowhere to put it.

After much debate Ormus and Anima, the two trees of the Abyss, finally agreed that they will make another chalice—this time, big enough to hold all the other things they have made. But it was no simple chalice. It would hold all the other things, make them grow, something that has a life of itself. Something that would be, they decided, would entertain them and please them.

"It would be our masterpiece, brother," Ormus said.

"Yes, it would. But methinks we need a name for it, brother."

They named the chalice as, yes, you guessed correctly, Elisseril, the name of our very own, very dear world, where your grandmother now finishes the Story of the Two Trees.

But for now, children, the hour grows late, and it is a tale for another time, and another day.