Sgrios Mass: The Order of Sgrios

 

Through many discussions and initiations, I have heard Sgrios burdened with the name of Chaos. Chaos, the realm of Chadul, is disorder without meaning, confusion without form, the raving of madness. Yet when we look with clearer eyes upon the God of Death, Decay, and Destruction, what do we truly see? Look not at the mutterings of men, but at his hand upon the Aisling spark, and at the mark he leaves upon us — the Scar.

The spark is fragile. One need not die to lose it, as is plain in those who once woke but no longer rise, though the gift of rebirth remains.

And when death does come, we stand before Sgrios in our most delicate form, our souls stripped bare, shielded only by that faint and holy light within us. Yet in this most vulnerable state, his touch is measured. He returns us with care, leaving only a scar as testimony. This is no careless ruin. This is not confusion. It is an act of precision, of balance — the furthest from chaos one could imagine.

When we speak of order, our thoughts go swiftly to Gramail, god of justice and law, and with reason. He is the declared enemy of Sgrios. Long has it been taught that Gramail’s law restrains the hand of death and destruction, as if the whole of their conflict were but the clash of statute and crime.

But deeper truths lie beneath. For Sgrios is not lawlessness. He is not the shattering of order. He is the ripening fruit that falls and rots, its flesh dissolving, its remnants seeping into soil, feeding new life beyond its own. His is a law unwritten, but no less binding — the rhythm of all things that come to their end and pass into what follows.

This is no chaos, but a law deeper than any court or judgment. Gramail writes his order in codes that may be broken, repealed, or forgotten. Sgrios writes his in marrow and dust, in the ripening and the falling, in the spark that endures even as the body withers. His is not a justice of restraint, but a certainty that enfolds all things.

Thus Sgrios is not chaos. He is inevitability. He is the silent order beneath all other laws, the unbroken rhythm by which fruit falls, bones return to dust, and sparks pass from one age into the next. His hand is not madness, but the steady dissolution that makes renewal possible.

To follow Sgrios is not to surrender to confusion, but to revere the final ordering of all things. His scar reminds us that even in death we are handled with care, carried onward in the endless cycle. In this we find truth. And in that truth, peace.