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I am aware of the moment of coalescence, of incarnation. It is the point where I cease to be a facet of Creation and am embodied. I was at once everywhere, and thus, nowhere. I was a part of the grand design, as significant and invisible as Air, Gravity, and Love.
Now I hang suspended above the ground, formed and held in this reality by concentric rings of mystical runes inscribed in stone. A lone figure, small and so fragile, kneels below me, reverent in his supplication. I need no unearthly knowledge to be certain that every detail is perfectly executed. I would not be here otherwise.
My wings are still. I do not need to beat them here. My feet will never touch the base clay. I am here for a purpose, and I will fulfill my function, although in this moment, before the bargain is struck, even I, with my wealth of infinite information, do not know if it will for good or ill. I open my mouth, and my voice, full of power and majesty, issues forth, nearly unbidden by my own will.
“I am Raziel, the Angel of Knowledge and the Keeper of Secrets. There is nothing that is not known to me. I will answer one question, mortal. Think carefully, for not all wisdom is meant for human ears.” My voice reverberates through the chamber, and when it dies away, the figure slowly, cautiously raises his head. He is not the first sorcerer to seek out my knowledge, and though they risk their souls to secure it, I have been known to grant this wisdom. Even I do not understand the whims that govern my actions at times. I am myself merely the instrument of a greater power, after all. I wait in anticipation, although I remain perfectly still. I wonder what this human will ask of me.
In ancient times, philosophers asked of me the very building blocks of reality and the shape of the heavens. I told them, although their planet would not have the science to understand the answer for thousands of years. I have been asked many questions, whose answers shook the foundations of empires. My every utterance may shape the future of humanity.
Finally, in a soft voice, the sorcerer makes his request. And I blink at him.
“I beg your pardon?” I say, certain I somehow have misunderstood him. He repeats it, perfectly exact. He embellishes the request with a vague threat, as though the form with which he has caged me is held in his sway. I cross my arms.
“Access to the infinite knowledge of creation, and that is your question?”
He emphatically agrees that it is. I sigh. A promise is a promise.
“Fine. The item you seek is hidden in stage one dash three. At the end of the level, there will be a turtle standing on a suspended white block. Defeat the creature and crouch on platform until you fall through. You will now be in the background of the level. Proceed to the right, and the whistle you seek will be yours. I trust this answer is to your satisfaction.”
My knowledge shared, I can feel the spell unravelling, and I return to the fabric of Creation from which I came. My last thought before my sense of self dissolves into selfless awareness of all creation is, ‘Lousy wizards can’t learn to look this stuff up online?

Photo copyright Catherine Todd, shared under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial 2.0 license.

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