The Place
The Aetheric Throne is a city of cold light and ringing silence, and the city is the whole of the place, because there is no ground here and the not-ground is the law. The Throne sits in the highest plane, a place that has no weather and no season, and the not-having is the constant, and the constant is the law. The spires of the city are made of frozen sound, a pale silver that is more light than stone, and the silver is the color of the hymn, which is to say it is a color you can feel in the ear and not in the eye. Light comes from the hymn, a cold white with a thread of pale gold that does not decay and does not dim, and the white is the daylight and the daylight is the kept. The silence of the Throne is not a silence; it is a ringing, and the ringing is the sound, and the sound is the only sound there is, a low chord that is the plane remembering the judgment. The one sound under the chord is the verdict, a single note from the highest spire that is the judgment being read as a word, and the word is the end, and the end is the kept. There is no landmark the way a plane has a landmark, but there is one: the First Spire, the tallest and the oldest, a column of frozen sound that rises into the plane with no visible end, and the spire is the door, and the door is the judgment. What makes the Aetheric Throne itself is the judgment: the plane speaks to everything that crosses into it, and the speaking is the verdict, and the verdict is the end.
How They Live
The Angels keep their throne in the aether, chambers of frozen light and ringing air, their halls lit by the hymn, which is the only light that does not decay. A chamber is set one chord at a time, and a chord is the season and a chord is the calendar, and the setting is the craft and the craft is the rank. Light comes from the hymn, a cold white that does not decay, and the not-decaying is the law, and the law is the hymn. They do not eat, but they remember every oath they have sworn, and that memory is their sustenance, and the sustenance is the kept, and the kept is the law. Heat is not something the plane offers, and the not-offering is the constant, and the angels have stopped asking it to. The defense is the verdict itself — a being that crosses into the throne has already been judged, and the judgment is the alarm and the sentence, and the sentence is the kept. The day is measured by the hymn, which is also the calendar, because the aether is the only clock the judgment needs, and the clock does not lie about the verdict. Every angel that is named must stand in the First Spire alone through one full chord before the plane will call it a keeper, and the standing is the naming, and the naming is the only thing the hymn ever gives back.
People
Home of the Angel, whose thrones are counted by hymn. Seven hymns at the last count, and the count is kept by the plane, which is to say the count is as reliable as the light, which is to say it is reliable until the verdict. The eldest hymn leads, and rank is decided by the chord, because a keeper who stands a chord the plane has forgotten is the keeper the light trusts. Nothing that has not been judged is welcome, and the not-welcome is not an insult, because the plane has a verdict, and the verdict has a word, and the word has an end. A traveler who once crossed the threshold of the plane called it a place where the silence had a weight, and the calling was the truest thing he said and the thing the plane paid the least attention to.
In Stories
The place where the judgment is the only honest thing, and the thing is the hymn, and the hymn is the verdict, and the verdict is the end. The Forgotten have not crossed into the Throne, and the not-crossing is the decision, and the decision is the longest one the guild has made. Uaellaen heard the chord once, from the far plane, and the hearing was the only thing that lasted.