The Lit and Unlit Candle are the Same - Lamentations (DaniilDankosvky) (2024)

Chapter Text

The lit and unlit candle are the same Vol. 2

Chapter 1: A new day

The din of conversation and shuffling feet kept on. Students I vaguely recognized swayed here and there in a loose, clockwise, procession about the theater room. The atmosphere was no longer ordinary though. Compared to a year ago when I awkwardly surveyed the little booths perfunctorily, there was a fresh glow however faint on everything. The bright light illuminating the combined stage and gymnasium dressed the room with a stark sense of the ordinary, even so, this was a new year for me. I walked from booth to booth sampling foreign snacks and reading the rather dull plaques and poster boards with my crew of eccentrics that was the art club. I took stock of the one member that lingered behind me, Poncifucius whose head appeared like a deflated sphere, hanging despondently to their left side. Their right hand calmly held onto black orb that took the place of what my left hand might do were I to try looking polite. Everything above that sphere was a mass of similar balls that rotated and flickered, stacked atop or within one another like a digital artist or game designer haphazardly threw assets around to achieve an abstract something or other.
The rest flowed in front, Raucous, Mayume, Sunny, even the twin spectres Haree and Ailee. Mayume pushed Sunny’s cart forward and stopped before each booth, chatting among those who set them up while leaving adequate space for Sunny to see the various boards of text and pictures. A curious structure stood tall in front of the booth for Sakarta. Two friends, one of vulturous descent, the other of a serpent’s maintained the booth. Mayume’s heavenly intonations carried on in conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world to talk about cultural exchange, products of a culture not her own. I did not have the spirit to talk much, so I just tailed behind her watching the traded words. Raucous stood like he was puzzled, though his hands took up no position a human would to indicate thought, a distinct sound of grinding stone percolated like a drizzle of rain. Though in this case, a sandstorm would be more appropriate. His expression looked a little confused, maybe just because he already ogled the point of interest, that being the sizable replica of that Sakartan monument. I could not remember if this was here last year, and I was somewhat annoyed I could not remember, a reminder that perhaps my memory is not as reliable as I thought it once was. The worn surface reminded me of Azmer, of the black curtain I still did not totally understand. Even if this booth was here before, it was newer because of this. What was it then? This structure of alternating cubes that began to hollow the higher they rose at the pyramid’s apex. The plaque below it read: “One of the world’s greatest architectural feats, the Vayumanistava (Nest of Vayu), built in 3489 BCE over the course of 89 years under the Brigha dynasty. This huge temple housed the illustrious Kandu priests that maintained the order of the cosmos through their delicate rituals within. The great holes hewn within the higher cells served as roosts for the giant, deific, vultures that surrounded the nest of Vayu the vulture god that presided over death and transformation. In the smaller sections below vultures regularly roost at nighttime.”
As we moved forward in this world’s slowest whirlpool I saw the entirety of the structure on the opposite end that was blocked by a person I did not know the word for, only the words large and coarse. After their huge stature lumbered off the statue revealed was of a similar height and coloration ironically. I finally stepped into the place where Mayume was before. Caught off guard in my thoughts I accepted an offering of some kind of skewered meat from the snake girl. I am not a picky eater exactly, but I do like to know what I am eating. Now I stood sheepishly waiting until I could decide to take a bite while avoiding conversation. The plaque below the second replica was close enough to read now: “A twin in terms of fame, the Damuvavana (maw of death), is a great stone serpent mouth honoring the god of the underworld. It began construction in 3402 finishing just a few years before the construction of the Varmanistava. The great serpent head was built over an unusually deep and round cave that was never plumbed until 2550 by Dunnar vrit sakib and his team of explorers under support of the prime minister. It was customary to throw the bones of the deceased into the maw after they were picked clean by vultures to ensure their passage into the underworld properly. Without this performance as minimum, it is believed the souls of the dead will wander in anguish.”
It was only a year difference, but still the memories were far. Were there really this many people in the school? In my own homeroom that stayed much the same over the years, me and Mayume were some of the few foreigners. The rest of the class were Sibil like the rest of this city’s population on the left side of town. I tried to reconcile the difference by finding gaps in the gazes that made friendly smiles with their eyes to the ongoing shamblers. The boy my age was wider at the shoulders, his head narrower and imposing. He looked every bit a vulture, low grumbles and squaks like you’d hear from a large parrot were gravelly between some words as his thinish tongue flicked up and down in conversation between the pointy beak. His tone was friendly, but their beak was solid and still unlike lips. Only the eyes gave away the mood alongside the voice. Just outside the sight of his partner I turned around to observe her. She was noticeably taller than most, that snaking head was more imposing than the vulture boy because of the fan running along her neck. Her mouth was more flexible, her face scaly, it was less so than the flesh below her long and flimsy looking chin. It was a strange contrast, the solid beak and the flowing scales cutting off just below small, almost pillowy lips. Her robes were red, replete with winding cloths both opaque and translucent. I did not know the name for them, but I assume one of the boards I skipped over might have told me. I was caught by Poncifucius’ wild moving geometry, and in the last few seconds the girl was beside me separated by two feet of desk. I looked towards her chest but couldn’t find any indicators of breasts. Maybe snake women did not have any.
In front of Mayume the ghost pair were discussing something I could sort of make out. “You think we could get someone to throw our bones in that big snake monument? Maybe we’d pass on” Haree asked with humor.
“We don’t know where our bones are remember?” Ailee responded with annoyance, like it was the 200th time she reminded him.
“I thought you said they were in a museum in Mertaille?”
“They were, but then they got moved somewhere else.”
“I suppose we’re cursed to wander the earth forever, bemoaned beings in a foreign world” Haree falsely complained.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Oh I wouldn’t have it any other way my dear. If you disappeared I don’t know what I’d do” he said, reaching for Ailee’s hand and placing the other atop it with gentle dexterity.
The sentiment was heartwarming. The last few years I attended this school I do not recall seeing the pair here, but here they were, lighting up the room with the fairy tale love anyone my age would swoon over. About eight or so steps later and the next booth was next to me, Mayume shared kind words with the boy at the booth, this time an insect person. An arching sign bowed up above us reading “Jin.” From Jin I suppose. I leaned over to peer at a sign describing the place of his ancestry: “Jin, the ancient land of the future. Still a peaceful commonwealth, the large country boasts its ever improving biotechnology, still misunderstood and unobtainable by most of the world. The capital, Shun hi, is a towering monument to the progress and continued prosperity of the nation.” Images of various city locations speckled the space atop his table showing normal people walking about the chitinous superstructures connected to sprawling hills and farmland. Placed on the empty space beside the 3 dimensional topographical map on their desk were a few replicas of what I can only presume are tools used for construction. A miniature crane the same darkish brown-green moved seemingly on its own but moving faster when he put his finger directly on it. The alien looking bioware built as if by stacking growing body mass moved tirelessly before winding down every few minutes like an internal battery lost charge. Mayume spoke more while Sunny sat voiceless, swaying a little, the move she made when she was happy, at least thats what Mayume told me. The boy was animated, his shiny limbs and bony fingers rotated and clacked together. His mouth is a collection of complicated looking mandibles working around with precision, manipulated by facial muscles like they were commanded by a master piano player. For some reason I felt a little threatened by him. The way he talked jovially stirred my self consciousness, like if he was in the art club instead of me he would get more of Mayume’s attention. I banished the thought, it was too childish.
As they continued his expression soured for a few moments, as did Mayume’s. The quieter words were inaudible in the gymnasium’s cacophony. I looked back at the city pictures that appeared a paradise almost compared to this town before noticing a big, white building just outside the frame of one of the images. Probably an industrial center from here. After the conversation was over, the tired wheels of Sunny’s cart squeaked when Mayume pushed it, and the gymnasium’s lights died down. A school faculty figure stepped onto the stage to announce the display of the art club’s cultural festival submissions. The single light dazzled boringly onto whoever the speaker was before vanishing. Everyone was near silent except for the sounds of rustling feet, murmurs, and whispers in the dark as a feet onstage stomped on through to set up the display stands and the large digital screen that gave a closer view for the onlookers. The voice returned to announce the first portrait, Raucous’ piece. Though raucous was a great painter, he did not really care to offer his best, and instead a plain mountain crafted with expert rocky fists adorned the brightened canvas. The applause was typical. The many hands spoke a mix of acceptance and courtesy. I looked at Raucous who was ambivalent at the reception. Next was Mayume’s, it was a portrait of the club member’s sitting on a grassy slope. It partially resembled somewhere in the city, but at the same time it was somewhere totally unique and intangible. Her mastery over pigment easily told me where that place was. It was in a dream, the sort of dream one could enter with people who understand one another. Truthfully, I was not quite sure where I belonged in the group. I was welcome, but I never felt like I stood in a soft cloud of genuine emotion like in that painting. I was thankful to see it, Mayume knew where we belonged, even if I could not see it. I wanted to ponder on whether I earned the right to be in that painting, but I just looked to her and smiled warmly with everyone else, and I saw a rare face of embarrassment crack barely into view before she returned her eyes to the stage.
Next was mine. The temporary joy I felt was already infused with anxiety. Did I need to be? No, probably not, but no one could blame a teenage boy for feeling like this. My stomach was tightening and breath moved too fast and too heavily for just my nostrils to handle. Then, in all its average glory, the amateur painting of Mayume covered the gymnasium. I expected her to look at my right away, but instead she gazed silently. Long enough that I could stare at her and take in the ambiguous expression. Even though it was easy to pick out what she was feeling on any other occasion, I could not tell what she was thinking, only that it was powerful enough that she was unmoved for maybe a very long minute at minimum. I was enraptured with her face. I did not attempt to interpret the storm brewing inside, I just looked, and that alone somehow abated the storm inside me. The applause was meager, I could tell it was only for courtesy. I did not care, these simpletons could not possibly understand the depth of emotion that was issued from even the simplest of compositions. Fools, all of them. I do not really understand most art I look at, but the reason people make it is because it expresses something important about the artist. Who cares if someone understands it. What Mayume paints is not even hard to understand and these idiots do not even know how to appreciate that, what does it matter in the end. I expressed something, it need not be any better than this. For me at least, I know someone passionate about art would not be satisfied stopping at my level.
As the announcer’s voice issued their declaration for the next piece I felt something feeling around in the dark. Surprised, I looked with a panic at the idea of being touched by one of these callous strangers I had the misfortune of attending a place of learning with, but my eyes met with Mayume who was closer than before. The connection was brief, and the light too dim to make an assessment of what she might now be thinking. Now I knew it was her hand though, and I silenced the inept movement by grasping onto it. I am lucky that the ambient noise of impatient teenagers smothered the noises I was making again. More than ever, I felt like maybe I deserve to be close to her, just for now. I earned it right? I actually helped someone for once in my measly life in that duel with a lost friend of hers I hardly knew existed. My pride was validated, and it motivated me to hold her wrist. Then, as my breaths grew feverish, and my stomach more uncomfortable, I clasped lightly on her palm. Was I sweating? Oh man this is rough. I felt sweaty. Maybe she was nervous too? No way, someone like her, she hasn’t spent the last 10 years sitting inside, this much is easy. Either way, I knew her hand was warm regardless of how clammy my own was. Then Sunny’s piece lit up the room. The bright and happy yellow’s of a sunflower field glowed so brightly I almost felt the need to shield my eyes. This was really something. It was wonderful. Sunny really struck gold with this one, surely everyone else here could see too. It wasn’t dreamlike, not like Mayume’s, but the style was distinct though realistic. It could be a real field somewhere, one in a brighter and happier place, somewhere not in this city. I think… maybe I can be happy here. That field of flowers can be here too, just a little different looking, more orange. Maybe I could find a way for out club to tend a pumpkin patch by the school if something like that is even possible. For Sunny there was adequate applause. I knew it would be simple enough. Then lastly was Poncifucius’. It was a grand forest. The sounds of birds calling could be heard, wind blowing trees causing the leaves to rustle. The applause was ecstatic. This happened every year without fail, even this one was no different. Their work was excellent of course, but despite the complexity needed to craft it that this audience could not replicate in ten years, the dazzling idea of skill in itself was of most importance to them. If it looks complicated enough then it must be good.
I was not really perturbed by this. Probably a bulldozer smashing through the wall would not have taken me out of the sweaty embrace of flesh that was hand holding. The room lights flicked back to life and everyone covered their eyes that had adjusted to the prior darkness. Realizing that both our faces could be seen, I let my hand slide out of Mayume’s and left with the excuse that I needed to use the bathroom. I did actually, but my body was too hot to stand there where everyone could see me. I stiffly evacuated the immediate space before running to the nearest lavatory to empty my bowels of consciousness. The digested thoughts were not as solid as I preferred them to be. I slumped over exhaling whatever was stuck to my lungs. I felt a little better after, but the nerves still shook in my stomach. I figured Mayume would at least wait for me so I could not leave and come back Monday with the excuse that I did not think anyone would be there when I was done. Still on the seat warmed by my sweaty behind I tried to suck in all the air possible and let it go with the hope it could easily, somehow take the discomfort with it. Deep breaths also help since breath is the foundation whereby humans recognize their existence, or at least that is what was said in a famous quote from one of my favorite games. I kept breathing deeply, and feeling I got no closer to a placid waterfall scenery of mind, I recited in my head what the video game was about. As if in a conversation I said: “The quote comes from Passion of a Wandering Skin, an exploration based game some today would call a walking simulator. There is no goal, you simply walk around and observe or occasionally interact with something. At its surface, it seems simple and unintuitive, but soon the joy of exploration becomes known to the player, not by a point system or collectible items, but through realizing existence. The player begins in an open grassland filled with nothing. After walking around a bit, the player finds they can use the interact key on their keyboard to cause noises to be emitted. Were you to click a tree, the branch may bow down like it was pulled on. There is a small chance a fruit will fall out that can be eaten for no particular effect or purpose. Further exploration will bring you to new areas that are increasingly more alien than the last. The developer, in an interview, mentioned that his ideas for constructing worlds was inspired by a journal he kept of his dreams. However, the scope of the worlds is limited. After enough exploration you realize that endless openings lead to many exits that eventually tie back to where you began, eventually changing only in color. Some people quit playing by that point, others went forward interacting with everything they could in the hopes that a chance based interaction from something previously unseen would reveal more content. Interestingly enough, new stages were only revealed after playing for a minimum of four hours. Time is not the only requirement though. After those four hours past, a cushion appears at the starting zone. The player can sit on it and meditate. The state of meditation itself does not do anything, but a minigame is hidden in the sequence. In the state, bubbles with images of worlds unseen float by. The bubbles can be clicked onto and held, but they don’t do anything either. Instead, the player can hold onto a bubble for a short time and let it continue floating away. If this is repeated enough times, and the bubble is held less than one minute each time, the bubble will pop, and the player will be transferred to a new stage with many additional worlds.”
Ahhh. Ok. Now I feel about as good as I can. With a dulled, or maybe I should say ascended sense of feeling, I walked back to the gymnasium where most people had left. Tomorrow was the talent show portion, and I was not sure I would go. Some students loitered around the nearly empty room, falling into another manner of noise less interesting and caring than the stir put in motion by people with some passion for where they came from. Mayume stood near the middle with Sunny. When we made eye contact her arms crossed and her head tilted a little down to her right side, though her gaze was still on me. Already the anxiousness returned, but I felt comforted seeing her body language. Was this what her embarrassment looked like? Without noticing, I made a right angle with my arms, my right hand propped near my face, the pose I make when I feel embarrassed. She was the first to break the controlled flow of sound traveling from opposite ends of the room.
“I’m going to wheel Sunny back to her room.”
“I-I’ll come with you” I pushed out my mouth.
Normally she would protest the help for something so simple, but she didn’t offer resistance. We walked quietly down the empty hallways that were normal for school on the weekend. Our footsteps combined with Sunny’s cart made quite a bit of noise. Even so, Mayume tried to make conversation. How was the show? Learn anything new from the booths? Talk to anyone new? And so on. They all felt like small talk though, something to fill the space. I have never seen her like this before, and I just gave small, insignificant replies. The space between us was starting to really take a toll on me. I did not want to upset her, but I had to divert the conversation to something else.
“What were you talking about with the Jinian guy?”
“Oh, just some simple things about what it was like where our ancestors came from.”
“I saw the two of you make an upset face at one point, what was that about?”
She placed a hand on her cheek and rubbed it slowly, not replying quickly. Her temperament shifted just a little, but neither toward something happy or sad. After many moments of quiet, the wheels on the dusty floor became grating and I wondered if I should not have asked. I regretted trading the giddiness between us with my self deprecation. The cart swiveled into me before she corrected it, lost in her thoughts.
“Oh, i’m sorry…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“Wait one minute.”
She finished wheeling Sunny into the computer lab next to the sun-lamp and floral pattern laptop assigned to her. She stood silently, looking into the room at the spot where the window was repaired not long ago after the incident with Jack, then shook her head to knock the memories off. I followed her out the building to the slope the club hung out at when looking for outside inspiration. She sat down impatiently and I did my best to give a little smile to relieve the tension. Her chest rose surely and slowly before releasing. She bent down automatically, making her form shrink under the afternoon sunlight. Still nervous, I shifted a little, but took care not to rush this exchange. The sky fish were swimming gracefully without worry far above. Bulbous giants floated by. Sleek and mighty predators strode lazily in no need of a meal. Huge, peaceful things that packed together to avoid predators swam nearby with some instinctual understanding that they were not food for long and rubbery blade dancers whose gaping jaws hung open but seeking for nothing. I heard a rustle of grass, then Mayume started up.
“I’m not an expert on what goes on everywhere. While I keep up with news I found out something disheartening when I talked to him. At first I just asked what things were like in Jin. He avoided touching on something the school frowns upon. People like him and me have an unspoken rule to avoid discussing politics of our city. Even so, I noticed that picture on the poster board below the table. I don’t know if you saw it, but on the right side there was a big white building slightly visible.”
“I noticed it as well. That’s a Charpain corporation structure isn’t it?”
“Yes. For a long time now Jin has been one of the few continents almost untouched by our city’s influence. I love seeing photos of other places, all the colors unique to a world I’ve only read about. I’ve got all these ideas floating around in my head, but I just don’t know how to apply them. Where to put the puzzle pieces, and with who. I haven't kept up with information on Jin for years now. I was just content to think that it would be the last barrier of a natural world, a place that governed itself. When I asked, the boy said it was an industrial complex that finished construction a few years ago. So it was today I found out that the lifeless white of this city started poisoning what I fondly remembered. Now it’s just a memory of something that doesn’t exist.”
“What happened in Aora?”
“You don’t know?”
I was not sure how to interpret her tone. It was neither friendly nor condemning, but her face had a disconcerting blankness on it. I looked away abashed at my lack of knowledge. I guess this is what happens when you spend most of your growing life doing nothing but playing video games and ignoring the world. I wanted to deny any worry of an accusatory intent. The sensation of her hand before burned on my palm. I held it in my other, like it was a wounded child being consoled by its parent hand. My ego rose up too fast, and it got knocked down just as quickly. I was stupid for thinking I was special. I’m just an idiot like everyone else. I did not look at her. I was too afraid too, and just froze up like a statue waiting for the weather to change its appearance.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know…” I said weakly.
“There’s a story about one of our ancestors. His name was Tani o puka, king of fools. He was one of the last kings Aora ever had, but he fell into infamy. On that fateful day on the year 2991, they arrived. The Sibil, the people of Santillian rapidly industrialized to new heights. They couldn’t have been more appealing that day. There’s a mountain almost dead center of Aora where a sacred river flows from, and further up the water first pools in a lake. A strange disease like we had never seen before started to emerge from the insides of mount Hinaraka. We were at a loss. In no time flat our crops were failing and people were getting sick. When the Sibil arrived they came with the promise of trade, understanding, and most importantly, a cure. Even though they were desperate, they were still cautious. But Tani had the pressure of his whole people, and all their futures on him. Our stories told of times where roots would blacken, rivers would become muddy and dry, and it seemed like the end would be upon us. However, my ancestors made it through those times. We needed a strong leader, but Tani wasn’t like the legendary people that came thousands of years before us. He proposed accepting their cure from their strange machines and chemicals in exchange for a generous amount of land. There was much dispute. Some sided with him, others against him, others were neutral, worried and dying. A decision could not be reached, and in the night Tani made a secret meeting with the man assuming the head of the Sibil colonials. He traded land, and knowledge of our sacred mountain for salvation. Little did he or any other know the damage that would come of it. Soon after the waters were clear again Tani and his allies attempted to persuade the Sibil to removed their technology from the mountain and further, but was declined. The hated figure of the past, Jacque Marbel admitted to Tani that the time of their arrival couldn’t be more favorable. Jacque’s scientists found it all too simply to root out the disease, but at the same time an important resource even we didn’t know about was tucked into the mountain. It was no disease in itself, it was a dangerous metallic element the Sibil were overjoyed to find elsewhere. Shocked, Tani demanded they leave or there would be consequences, but Jacque’s forces were better equipped, and declared they would poison our water source forever if Tani or anyone else fought against the Sibil. Ever since then our home has been slowly sapped of its life.”
So those messages I’d see online about the exploits of the Sibil were true. I honestly didn’t know what to believe. Our school curriculum only mentioned one sided accounts of local hostility to the Sibil who fled Mertaille because of religious zealots. All that stuff about Sibil excellence and current technology overturning religious dogma and superstition, improving economic disparity wherever they went. I knew it was propagandistic, but something inside me agreed. A lot of this time my disdain for those who proclaimed belief in god or magic was… naive? So busy with my own feelings and full schedule of nothing. Endless conversations in global chats in games and political discussions in dissonance servers cropped up in my head. I remember reading some, half agreeing with the biased depictions people not much older than me must have been spouting. Even then, Ultimately I did not care. I didn’t care about anything really, not years ago. Her story was not long, and it no doubt encapsulated long histories of pain and struggle I could not understand. What about the Azmer, my people? Did white buildings fill the great city I grew up in? My memories are not reliable enough to tell me. All that filled the deep ravines in my brain were visions of castle walls, and occasionally the sky above the archery range. Very rarely, two memories of busy city streets. One, of windblown sands caking the sidewalk by the feet of an emaciated beggar who looked up at me and smiled, raising his alms bowl up at my mother pulling me along. The other, a brief and hazy sight. Something that looked like little hands, perhaps my own, reaching up to a merchant’s table where a toy Ging was deposited into my hands within the sprawling sea of sounds, none of which were distinct. It just sounded like loud talking from every direction.
“What about elsewhere?”
“Few places are untouched by Sibil machinery. Doesn’t matter whether they’re considered developed or not. Indigenous populations everywhere with open land were stormed upon for whatever could be grabbed. If military force was weak enough, farmland was stripped away and jobs redistributed for foreign currency. Sakarika is one of the few countries I know that has managed to secure their integrity at the cost of closing off trade with most of the world except its neighbor Jin and other nearby countries with somewhat similar cultural values.”
“What about Azmer?”
“I’m not sure myself.”
“What is it like in Aora?” I tried to question sympathetically.
“The people I care about are there. That’s the best thing I can say. But when I last visited a few years ago I remember poor infrastructure. Hospitals run by Aora people no longer offered free service because of pressure to compete with Sibil medicine. Sibil medical practice is really effective, but people don’t trust it and sometimes let curable diseases eat away at them if there’s no local cure. I’d hear talk about microsopic, tasteless, smelless poisons introduced into our food to push our people to seek Sibil help. The wealthiest shove their friends underfoot for better work opportunities and flash their bastard wealth to the poor. Whatever is still sacred is hinged on a weak promise that as long as we do what is necessary for cooperation we get to keep land of our own, even if it's not ideal.”
Thoughts started to bubble up. “When scum is boiled sh*t rises to the top” as they say. When put under duress, the shining princes became stronger and honed their weaknesses into strengths. For me, The sh*t just stayed in the stew. I felt intrigued, and a little stupid. Struggles I never thought about were flowing in hot currents. I tried to push the scum aside and found my hands stung by the burning waters. Was I lucky? Privileged? Cursed? Her story and care for people’s suffering made me reevaluate my standing. I’d been closed off from the world for a while, that much is easy to understand. I became used to it like a killer who sees better in the dark than their unfortunate victims. I wasn’t something as awful, or as grand as a killer in a story, more like a bum. What was I really learning at school anyway? Get up, walk over, leave. In those decrepit memoirs of a lost childhood I kept tucked away, I remember only responsibility. Whatever love was present was insignificant. Maybe love and responsibility were one and the same. I got to leave all that behind. I don’t have responsibility, and I didn’t have love. No matter how hard I try to envision threads connecting my past to the present, all I see is a blazing sun. The spheres, uncaring, mechanistic philosophies. Who needs to care about fate, things just happen, and you’re pulled along for the ride. A chilly tide was washing over me, and a surge of change was rewriting my dread to something more hopeful. Whether it was for myself, or just for Mayume’s sake, I wanted to say what next surfaced. The two of us, sitting there silent. Mayume had a pensive face, eyes studying my body immoble in thought.
“For most of my life I felt I never had any control. Even now it sometimes feels that way. I’d get up to do what I'm told and I did it. There wasn’t any love before I came here, as surprising as that sounds. That’s why I hate Azmer. It's just an empty castle in my mind occupied by ghosts repeating their demands. I’ve been living without responsibility because I have no connection to my home, and whatever I have here has been superficial. But recently things have started changing. Because of the club, and you, I think I can take responsibility over my life.”
“That’s wonderful Clarent. You’ve been getting brighter by the day” she said grinning a type of smile I had not seen before.
“I was kind of jealous of you. Even if the conditions aren’t ideal, you have a home you belong to, a history to be part of. I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere, but I didn’t know what to do about it. I’ve never been serious about art, but now maybe I want to. There’s something maybe I can only say to you with a picture. I want to be proud of myself like you.”
“Being proud isn’t easy. It takes so much dedication that it hurts” she grimaced cutely.
“Would you help me?”
“We can do it together.”
Caught up in a bout of serious reflection I forgot that this was something that would happen in a romance novel. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to just smile or do something else. The earlier tension returned in a weakened state and I was freezing over with heat. Mayume chuckled and acted for me. She took my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. I couldn’t do much but stare forward, my face twisted in confused embarrassment because I wanted to be receptive but could not find the way to impart it. The face before me was filled with sweetness and understanding, but she was smiling too hard at the utmost silliness that must have been my face, and she started laughing heartily. It was so funny that her hand slipped a little, clamored and shook atop my own. Little waves pulsated in tremors. My hand sandwiched between hers and the summer grass on the slope, I felt the vibration of everything for a few more seconds, then I laughed too. I didn’t even know what I was laughing at, but I felt happy. She said goodbye and we parted ways for the day. On the way back to my apartment I managed to take in the sunlight as a positive. Without the long and cool shadow of the Open Dreamer passing above I could make out more fish that hung low and flitted quickly around like they were playing a game of tag. The sun was still harsh and I made a screen with my hand to better survey the fish within sight beneath the glare threatening to break my five fingered barrier. I stumbled a bit, a few times while trying to fish-watch with only half my vision. Soon I noticed I was going too slow and just walked ordinarily.
A weird looking shape was fast on the horizon by my apartment. Though I could not rule out everything, I knew who was probably behind it. I came to realize it was like an entrance to the subway. I had only seen the shape a couple times before I decided freshman year I would not use the subway to go to school anymore since it was too inconvenient despite being cooler. It was a metallic brown of multiple shades that contrasted oddly with the unassuming white buildings that lined the paper road. It was definitely cricket. I was in a good mood, things were looking up, and I even had something to say to him myself. Darkness fell over me, then my eyes adjusted to the eerie interior of this abandoned subway that was born today, maybe even minutes before I arrived. Dead potted plants lined unclean shelves, co*ckroaches and crickets skittered and hopped with lizards in pursuit of a meal. The depths did not seem to become known to me as I stepped further down the plaza lit by pale yellow lights with brighter allies flickering unpredictably. One tunnel further and cracked walls introduced sizable weeds and large spiderwebs complete with large spiders. Thankfully large insects or arthropods didn’t bother me, and I kept forward. Eventually I felt lost, my great mood transformed to a good one. Before it could degrade any further, I just sat down on the unkempt floor and waited for the cricket to do something. Many minutes passed, and in a state of understandable boredom I started checking videogame news on my convenience apparatus before finally the quickly acquired monotony was interrupted. A voice spoke over a poorly functioning intercom after a familiar sounding chime. “Clarent Eisenforth, Clarent Eisenforth, you have left your bags on line 13, please retrieve them at line 12.” The voice sounded like a tired woman who had been working since 6a.m. Appropriate to his method of action, an arrow made of blinking lights shimmers from right to left, directing me through another tunnel.
Every path grew eerier with animalistic grunts being spit out various unseen holes. Now I was thoroughly uncomfortable. I was not bothered by bugs, but a creature large enough to bite me and cause meaningful damage was not an exciting idea. I shook my laser sword on to guide me through the dark. Just weeks ago I would be peeing my pants, but I have the support of a round and plump beauty along with essence, rocks, ghosts, and a sunflower to imbue my spirits. I will not be frightened so easily any longer. Come what may you foul beasts, I shall destroy thee all, chicken or man! Such strength of will, I scare even mineself at times. Deeper, deeper, I was traveling right? My psychic buff lasted only so long, and could be renewed only so many times before I felt my energy falter. I didn’t feel comfortable enough sitting down in the middle of these decrepit hallways. Even though I turned at every juncture I felt I was retracing steps. Turning back, the entrance was not behind. I suppose I was indeed traveling, but where? Now I was just bored, and the assorted sounds bothered me no longer. Still I was cautious, and used the light of my beam to be careful I didn’t step into the spiders and anger them. Eventually the growls coming from the walls repeated too often and too similarly. I knelt down to discover that the sounds just came from radios stuck in concrete holes. I figured as much, this was just like him. I flicked off every switch just to keep my brain from getting deceived. Now all was silent. Like he was pleased with my deductions, a new room appeared at last. A broken down locker room equipped with a fabulous dead end! It was like I was in my own walking simulator game. How incredible! A lemon yellow lamp dulled the senses and made the tight room feel smaller than it was. Good thing I wasn’t claustrophobic either. Before I could consider the reality of the situation, and whether I was in another dimension or a clever ruse of a dream, another familiar noise echoes within the dank recesses. The only closed locker shuddered in the tight darkness under the dizzying yellow light tat grates the eyes.
It was the sound of a phone ringing. Naturally when one is in a locker room at the end of a dank corridor where rusted metal greets you and the only natural sound is a water leak from above plip plipping on wet concrete, you take the phone call. Hello? I ask the ancient model that used to be referred to as the telephone. Sniffles passed poorly across the receiver. The worn device transmits only sound equally as damaged. Through digital hiss and static crackles words find their way into my ears. “Happy birthday Clarent. I am sorry I could not be there in person to tell you.” What? This, is too familiar… This was unsettling, but I could not quite place my finger on it. Certainly this situation would be spooky to anyone, but not quite for me when I know who is behind it. Still, he really knows what he is doing. Here I was having a good day, but worry for the future returns. I can feel it in my blood, something is off about this voice. I remain silent and wait to see if the voice continues. Another hiss, a choked sputter. Words, abundantly clear for a long matter of seconds, “I love you, you know that right?” Then the voice fades away in a dying storm of choked emotion. I don’t understand what that was, but I’m sure my mom has never said those words before. I. Am. Displeased. My good mood gone with a single poorly timed phone call, or in the case of this man, a well timed call. I sweep away a rusted nail laying on the plastic chair abandoned to time and space just opposite the locker and wait. The waiting did nothing, so finally I decided to just say it out loud. “COME AND SHOW YOURSELF STUPID BUG!” Echoes jumped rapidly further accentuating the lengthy nowhereness of this insipid maze. Something changed. I felt a series of fluctuations in the earth. Moving in time with the shakes was the lights becoming near uprooted as their power source was torn at. All was darkness before the nauseating yellow returned with a the friendly shine of clean, white light arrows like the one from earlier. In about a minute of travel I found myself back in the dead subway lobby where the ghost of the insect haunted palace waited. The kind of fools, as far as I know, hangs suspended by chains around his neck.
“What’s the big idea. Are you trying to piss me off?”
“Woah woahhh, don’t you mean, ‘oh god my beloved are you okay?’ Don’t worry though, I’m totally fine, I’m just straightening my back.”
“No, I mean why are you trying to torment me?”
“Torment is a strong word don’t you think?”
“...”
“Anyway, what do you think of my house? Pretty cool right?”
“Just looks like a poor excuse for a quirky horror game.”
“You know what? I appreciate that. Sometimes your work needs critiques. I’ll keep in mind before I finish it up and release it on Bream.”
“Whatever, take me back to the surface.”
“Oooh, demanding and feisty. You’re making my heart pound!”
“Never say that please…”
He snapped his fingers and we were back outside my apartment. Despite how upset he made me, I still had some rare words of praise to offer so I tried to keep my cool. Maybe his design should have been made after a mosquito because he really annoys me. Before I could say anything though, I noticed he was standing facing the opposite direction admiring, or maybe pondering on the vast sunset in the distance even though it was only 2pm. The quiet was weirdly comforting, but I still had no read on what would happen next, just anticipation that he would probably do something dumb. I held my breath, and watched the nostalgic shine cascade of his shiny armor.
“Am I good enough?” he said, full of barred emotion.
“Here we go” I muttered.
“Everyone else is miles ahead of me. Even my best friend is so much stronger. If it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have rescued the princess from the grips of the evil dark king… It was a mistake to become an adventurer. I should just go back home.”
“What are you talking about?”
Quickly he whipped around and spread his arms out wide.
“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? WHAT AM I TALKING ABOUT? All this time I was living a lie. The grand wizard told me I was going to become someone the whole world would be proud of! He said I would be powerful, command a great kingdom, and finally be happy. But it was all a lie. Damn sorcerers and oracles, they’re all lying scum! It’s all stupid. Useless. Waaaaaaaahhhhhh.”
He started crying into the open air. I almost wanted to go pat him on the back and say it would be okay, but I'm actually pretty good at recognizing patterns. I would just get strung along. Footsteps clapped behind me with the metal clang I recognized.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, scene! Excellent job Klaus! I could really feel the emotion. You can even bring such simple scenes to life. That’s why you’re the best.”
“Thank you thank you. I try.”
Light applause could be heard from a troupe of fingers behind me that weren’t there seconds ago, or were they? Probably not. The cricket turned around and humbly bowed before shooting a finger gun at me and winking. Naturally I frown at such foolishness, but just beside me I saw the real target of the flirtatious gesture, some blonde woman in a dress who looked like her heart was throbbing with joy and spoke a fluttering “He’s so dreamy.” Though I was not impressed, I did not feel mad anymore. He walked over to me.
“Sorry kiddo, where were we?” he asked like I was some nobody asking for an autograph.
“Look. I still don’t know who you are exactly, or what you’re doing, but you helped me. Without you I don’t think Mayume would be feeling better. So, thanks.”
“Aww you’re blushing, I appreciate that Claire, sometimes I think I’m working a thankless job but it’s all worth it when my students grow. Now that you say that, I’m feeling pretty cooperative.”
“Really? Then we can make some meaningful progress on something now, right?”
“You betcha! BOOM!”
After proclaiming a verbal boom, some kind of children’s ride appeared and I was now sitting on a Gallos moving forward. Cricket man was next to me on his own Gallos. The replica of the beast looked to be made of plastic and it was complete with a sumptuous saddle of red velvet with gold trim. We strode forward steadily moving up and down a little, numerous other Gallos replicas for mounting circled around until the circle was finished behind me. Each one held in place by a golden pole. Fanciful music accompanied the group of faux animals that filled this swirling circle. A reflective gold roof stood a couple meters above us, and the central trunk was made of a similar plastic as the animals but decorated with lights and cute art of indiscernible style. They depict children and knights riding the creatures across a field near a castle.
“Don’t you just love Gallos’? Gentle, reliable, trusting, and fierce when needed. They’re the perfect companion for the traveling warrior. They have such beautiful sleek figures too, the draconic features make for interesting contrast with their blue-grey fur.”
“I haven’t really seen them before much.”
“A shame. You don’t seem the travelled type anyhow.”
“So what is this thing?”
“This my dear boy is called a carousel.”
“I’ve never seen one.”
“And you never would.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hmm hm hmmmm” He hummed, avoiding the question.
“Anyway, what’s the plan?”
“Plan for what?”
“Are we gonna train some more?”
“Oh training! Yes of course, I can be so forgetful” he said, stroking his long, metal mustache. I have a unique system through which you can train faster and more efficiently than just fighting soldiers I create myself. Through it you can battle real flesh and blood people!”
“Really?” I say skeptically.
“It’s called heroes vs villains. It’s a ranking system created by the divine realm. The top 1500 strongest fighters are given a rank after a preliminary match, then they can match with other fighters of similar strength and skill. When a match is decided the arena is manifested to simulate a battle in a controlled zone for the entertainment purposes of divine beings who watch from afar, or in the stands if they want to be there in person.”
“Let me guess, you put me in because you’re going to bet on me winning.”
“Correct! But I’m only betting on you because I believe in you, and because with my aid you’ll become strong enough to fight some seriously bad people in real battles.”
“And by belief you mean I have plot armor?”
“Don’t put it like that, have some more faith in yourself man!”
“So you admit it?”
“For the sake of this story, I can’t tell you. It will remain a cat box. But, everyone has plot armor. If you ever get into a situation where you almost get killed but don’t, in a car accident for example, that’s plot armor. In a life or death scenario where you turn the tables on a serial killer for example, that’s a display of skill where you earned your life, get it?”
“In the foreseeable future, do I turn the tables, or escape?”
“You should really stop asking questions I can’t answer.”
“Why do you keep saying stuff like that, are you an author or something? Are you working on a story?”
“Yes and no. I’m working on a story for sure, the story of Clarent Eisenforth. See, my mind is a hermetically sealed time distortion chamber, I can’t forget. Everything I ever experience is perfectly captured, and I can rewatch it in my mind like a movie.”
“For what purpose?”
“Entertainment for the members of the divine realm. When you live forever you get bored.”
“Huh, I see. Anyway, keep going about the battle system, it sounds interesting.”
“Well, the last thing I haven't said is how the safety net works. In these battles, a barrier will appear to protect you from fatal damage. Observe here.”
We kept going round and round on this machine called a carousel. Somehow I felt the combination of the mythic looking art and sensory assault that this was an amusem*nt ride for children. But where was it from? If the cricket was telling the truth, maybe this is from another dimension? Multi-dimensional travel hasn't been discovered yet so that’s doubtful. I began getting nauseated and desired exit from this delightfully colorful mess of a contraption. Too uncomfortable. I almost felt like falling off, the effects of repeated rotation ate away at me during the conversation. I guess the cricket wasn’t unusual or cruel because he caught on and stopped the ride where I awkwardly tried to find my footing off the Gallos. I was off put enough that I actually did fall. Oh sh*t! I closed my eyes and raised my arms for impact, but I felt an oddly soft sensation. Upon opening my eyes my head was tenderly placed in the pillowy valley of breasts? Then I looked up to see, what I expected, my unneeded knight in brown armor. The cricket blushed so hard a red tint appeared over his armor and he placed his hand by his cheek then caressed my hair. “Stay as long as you like honey” He cooed with an all too sultry demeanor. Get away from me! I screamed internally. I really can’t go very long without being placed in the uncomfortable zone around this weirdo. I gathered myself, hopefully my thoroughly flustered face didn’t hold for too long. Looking back, the cricket’s armor was replaced with some sort of foreign royal garb. Or maybe it was the clothes of a courtier from Jin or Sakarika. I couldn’t say, but the robes flowed beautifully and the patterns of water matched the physical properties. I wish I was looking at someone else though. Still, he stood there with a juxtaposed, ample bosom, but their helmet remained on. He continued saying, “look here honey” as the sounds of ancient machinery grinded. Stone rose out the concrete, and a big tv screen stood in the middle of the road.
“Hey, if you keep up the courtesan act during the rest of your explanation I’m leaving.”
“Ahh, you’re no fun Clare. Sigh, anyway, look here and you can see the safety placement. In the event you take fatal, or large damage, a blue light barrier will appear to protect you while simultaneously freezing time within a radius necessary to contain the technique used. Let’s say a giant foot was going to crush you, just before it falls on your head, the barrier will appear, time will stop, and you have the option of continuing battle with the knowledge you might die but only if the injuries are sustainable.”
On the screen childlike drawings displayed a pitiful representation of me under a giant foot flickering on 2 frames repeatedly. The first frame was me under the foot, the second was a red splat below it next to a big red X. On the right side of the screen my drawn likeness was smiling with a blue line between me and the foot next to a green circle.
“So it’s risk free?”
“Pretty much. Stupidly strong opponents can select death mode where there’s no safety measures and the fight is decided either in death, or surrender. You however are too frail. You’re physical constitution is so abysmal that even a co*ckroach could stop you to death, so you’ll be in the lower ranks for a while. Sound good?”
“Yep. This is actually kind of exciting, when do I start?”
“Your information was already submitted, I just have to activate your system presence and you can get an opponent in minutes!”
“Let’s do it then go ahead.”
“Okay, here we go.”
A huge red button rumbled to the surface by the TV screen. The bottom edge was a golden ring, and the button itself had just a huge, white exclamation mark. He jogged away to make distance, then did a jump releasing a Woo! Then a second jump reaching higher releasing a Wha! Then a third and higher jump that skilfully turned to a flip mid air while yelling Wha ha! Finally, he performed a seemingly impossible feat of reversing his motion into a backflip and crashed down on the button with his rear end. The pressure smashed it like a tomato and made a satisfying, heavy click.
“I’m a little nervous.”
“Oh, its only been three seconds but you already got a match.”
“Why?”
“Sometimes mid-strength opponents watch for newcomers in the system and pounce hoping they’re weaker than they are. Do you accept?”
“Yeah, take it.”
Cricket clicked an imaginary button in the air. Instantly, a figure teleported in. The humanoid body was totally grey. Their head was bulbous and somewhat ovular, possessing only two buggy, white eyes on both sides of the upper end. They had two arms, two legs, and wore a blue tunic but were barefoot. Their last item of distinction was a double edged straight sword of unknown gray metal. It had a wide, cross-shaped guard and the handle was colored with blue leather complete by a blue tassel hanging off the bottom by a ring. They moved their head back and forth a few times, probably taking stock of the new area. I heard cricket ask them if they cared for this street as the battleground and they gestured in agreement that it was fine, or that it did not matter. They walked over to me, and stood about four feet away.
“I am called the broken clock” They claimed in a serious tone.
Cricket looked at their wrist for a watch that apparently was not there and asked this mystery fighter if that was all they had to say.
“That is all” they stated, clearly and calmly.
“Alright then. If both parties are in agreement?”
“I am ready,” I offered.
“The eyes are on, bets are placed, you may begin in 3, 2, 1. Go!” Cricket shouted, drawing their hand down slicing the open air.
They laid on the ground defeated. Cricket clapped lazily like it was totally certain I would have won and gave simple words of congratulations. I walked to the sweating figure strewn out on the hot ground. They looked disappointed there bathed under heavy afternoon sun with nothing to show for it. I was confused really. It was too easy.
“Why did you not use your ability?” I questioned.
“I did. I told you I am a broken clock.”
“What does that mean?”
They watched me uncertainty, then explained.
“My power is to accelerate time globally for short periods. I just chose to fight you as soon as you registered thinking you might be weaker than me, so I showed up, sped up time to go straight to the end of our match to find out who was stronger and you won.”
“How come I did not feel anything?”
“Only I can perceive the time changing under my own ability, that and probably divine beings or gods. You were good. Goodbye.” they puffed is a weird self satisfaction.
They raised their hand like a restaurant customer calling the waiter for the bill and asked cricket to send them back. “Sure thing” he replied and the warrior disappeared as fast as they arrived. I am not sure what I expected exactly, but it was more impersonal than anticipated. I looked at cricket who appeared to be wanting to say something, standing gazing at me while I stood idle.
“You ready for another?” He questioned.
“Yeah I think I have one more in me.”
“Alright, now that you finished one battle your rank has calibrated at approximately rank 992. That’s the global ranking.”
“Isn’t that pretty high?”
“Yep! You should be excited, maybe a little scared too. Maybe not, you should be fine.”
“Why are you so confident in me?”
“Just hold on. Win this next fight and I’ll give you some nice exposition how does that sound?”
“Sure.”
This guy was so obviously mysterious I felt it would drive most people crazy were they in my position. Perhaps I have just become used to their presence and temperament that I’m not beating the cage bars wondering when the important revelations will be revealed. I really wanted to know, of course, why he would subject me to the ill treatment of hearing a phantom voice like my mother’s saying such improbable things to me, among other things. Victory in battle. The concept of strength and superiority called to me. A hero uses their power for good, and that is what I must become to make something meaningful out of myself should I lose everything else. Still, the allure of power is tantalizing, even if just to destroy rocks with careless sweeps of a blade pretending one wears a mask to become a story they are fond of. In the hands of anyone else power is the means to enforce ideology and fear. In this city I do not have many complaints about what to enforce. Religion and spirituality have been on the fringes for a few centuries, though the phantom of evil still lurks with God as its veil in the form of the church of the blood saint and probably other bodies I do not know. I do not exactly agree with the manner of enforcement, but it has done as much good as it has evil I think. I saw cricket motion at me calling, “rank 991, firestarter, wanna meet em first and test the water? Or should I say, fire? Ni hee hee.”
“Sure, send them in.”
The same invisible button was pressed by cricket’s finger, and presumably a request was sent. Like they had nothing better to do, the call was taken quickly, and another body stepped through a portal. This time a Sibil walked up. Their stride was casual like their appearance. A black jacket, no shirt, tight figure, torn black pants with flame patterns above the cuffs, and spiky red hair that called to mind a poisonous urchin. They kept their hands in their pockets. A light smirk stuck to their face and they watched me like they were waiting for me to say something. I did not know what to say really. There was not much to say, and I presumed many of the combatants would be like the previous, keeping their words to themselves like proper warriors. They opened their mouth anyway to my dismay. His first sentence was his introduction. Then, raising a finger, he carried on without waiting for my response.
“Man of few words? Bummer. I like to talk though. You know there are two types of people in this world, passionate people who gotta let people know what they’re thinking, and passionate people who don’t. Which one are you?”
“The latter.”
“I bet you were thinking it should be obvious you’re the latter right? But you’d be surprised how many people just fake being the quiet type. Those guys suck, you know? The ones that think they shouldn’t judge others just by appearance, so they wait for a slip of the tongue and hop in to have a philosophical discussion where they’re always the winners. Hate those guys.”
“And what are you doing?”
“Just talking. What’s on your mind?” He said kicking a stray pebble, collected as can be.
“Beating you” I tried to say with a cool demeanor betraying no hint of emotion.
“I know. Anyone else though? I find battles more satisfying when I know my opponent’s got stuff going on. That way I know we both walk away from here changed in more ways than one.” He spoke nicely, face still holding the smirk.
“You really want to know?”
“Yep.”
“Let’s see. I get stalked by a large, fully armored brown guy. I’m having trouble figuring out how to proceed in what might be a relationship where the stars align and I don’t want to mess things up. There’s some more stuff but that’s about it.”
“That sounds like a hot situation. Bet it feels like ur standing on a sizzling frying pan.”
“Yeah, you aren’t wrong.”
“Want some advice? I’m a passionate guy, I know my away around some smokin’ babes.”
“Babes? What does that mean?”
“It’s slang for a hot woman.”
“When do you think is the time you’re supposed to kiss?” I asked genuinely interested.
“When your both gazing into eachothers eyes and you can feel both your hearts are about to explode in a blaze of fire!” he responded, breaking the smirk temporarily and threw a blossom of flames from out their chest by the hand bringing the poetic idea to life.
“What do you think of the Charpain corporation practices?”
“Indifferent.”
“I thought a passionate guy would have some passionate thoughts on it?”
“I’m 100% passionate. I just live for fighting, and lovemaking. Fighting comes first though.”
“Do you know what they do by any chance?”
“Not really.”
“That’s all I have to say then.”
“You ready to get to it?”
I nodded. At first He seemed rather nice, and I guess he still is, but now I’m annoyed by him. The way he hardly breaks that pose with his hands in his pockets and that imperturbable grin. People can be as passionate as they want about whatever they want I suppose, but… No feelings at all about Charpain? Based on what he opened with, I almost felt like he was deliberately trying to get me pin something on him. If I questioned why he didn’t feel a certain way about something I’d fall right into his description of the predator who pounces at words. Sure, a day ago it wasn’t something I really thought about either, but isn’t it important? Look at me, getting a big head already, trying to pin him down with my thoughts about something I know f*ck all about. Still, he pisses me off. Even if the reason is as shallow as Charpain making life harder for the girl I like, I'll stand against the company. Don’t you worry fire man, I’ll talk with my sword. He still didn’t budge an inch. Bringing anger to battle gets you nowhere, anyone whose seen even one movie about a superhero would know that. Gotta stay calm. My passion’s gotta be a controlled heat to be powerful. I presume he can control fire, then it will be a knight vs dragon battle then. I take out my light shield and step forward methodically until he sends forth a blast of fire. My shield deflected it all, and the brief blast was scattered uselessly to either side. The man’s smirk remained, but his eyes and body were starting to say something different. He retreated several meters then whirled back to toss great balls of flame. One thrown directly at me, another towards the ground that rolled like a ball, and the third was lobbed into the air. As the third and largest ball was last, it was easy enough to handle. Like a rhythm based videogame, I caught the first two, then held my shield upward and broke the last. The tongues of fire made pitiful attempts to lash at me, but not only did my shield eliminate them predictably, but the blue energy seemed to shield my body from the temperature.
Silence resumed, I could still feel the afternoon heat. It must have been around 3pm now. I should have asked that cricket to change the battle stage to somewhere a little colder. I held my own smirk inside me rising with the confidence that his fire was ineffectual, so far at least, but I tried not to let it glean through. Far across from me on the ephemeral street, he held his right arm which scratched at his chin in thought. He seemed to have thought of something, so he repeated the same combo, but twice this time. It was easy enough to stop, but absorbed in blocking despite the large breadth of space I had, he took the time to run to my blindside and threw more flame. This combination occurred a few more times, and though it grew steadily more difficult to block, I still managed by merely moving out of the way of the consecutive shots. I wasn't a rhythm game avatar that was locked in position, forced to take only the most optimal route to avoid a loss. No matter his combination, the results were the same. He saw the result and took a breather to assess the situation. It should be simple enough to just charge with my shield and strike him right? But just before I took more than two steps forward to prepare a charge he already read my approach and dropped some little wisps on the ground. Floating down gently, I stepped closer to realize they were flower petals. I’ve fought enough bosses to know that these were likely some form of mine. I shouldn’t figure my opponent only has weightless flame at his disposal. Were they reactive or triggered? If he could blow them remotely, assuming they have explosive force, I don’t think there’s a way to get around them as they covered the width of the street.
He stood watching with his hands comfortably in his ripped jeans. What would I do? He was probably thinking. Hmm. Let’s see if this works. I held my shield close and walked close enough that my beam sword could reach the petal. Like I was trying to lift a snake by a curved rod, I stuck my blade’s tip into it. The razor energy cut into it. It really did have the weight of a petal. Sliced finely in half, the flickers of gem-like glimmer faded away. So I could take away the will to fight from something like this too? With the caution of a team of beachcombers sweeping mines I removed them one by one. With them out of the way, it didn’t matter how many he threw down if I could clear them, and if he wanted to strike me from behind, he’d have to leave the safety of his mine barrier. What options does he have left? He took his hands out his pockets and tensed them up at his side. Boom! Fire bursted from them with propelling force and he flew above dropping a sea of petals as he traveled. Now this is hot, and pretty damn cool. I ran as fast as I could, but he just sweeped by dropping more and more bombs like a man shaped bomber jet, clearing the street in seconds propelled by the hideous sound of continuous fire resembling flamethrowers used in war over a hundred years ago.
There wasn’t anywhere else to go if this jet-man could just rinse and repeat this approach. I stopped and stood still. The training it took me to realize my strongest ability thus far only took days, maybe if I just willed myself hard enough to win I could unlock another power? That was probably greedy, but I had no other option. The sky became uniquely beautiful as it filled with floating, red hail. Let’s try this then. I held my shield up and envisioned the azure energy extending. Eye’s closed I willed this power of my own making to stretch and cover more of my body. I don’t know if it will work, but I kept them closed and hoped that a hero in a pinch could get saved by an unseen development like in comics or shows where the hero’s on the ropes, but the power of their friends' love brings them to victory at impossible odds. Except I had about maybe seven people cheering me on somewhere, but that was enough for me right now, and rightfully it should be enough forever by the logic of those comics. I wasn’t prepared for the explosive result of bombs exploding in unison. It felt like the world was crashing down around me. But… no strange noises halted the layered forces of combined fiery destruction, and when my eyes opened, to the haze of residual fire and smoke, no blue barrier appeared either. My body was surrounded by the blue barrier as I imagined. Fire man didn’t seem surprised, I’m sure he was familiar with how the safety barrier sounded or appeared. It would stand to reason that the lack of blue, however bold or abundant, was an indicator that I was still in play, though I couldn’t say I knew if he could see through the miasma of fire he blanketed me with.
Now that the event passed, and my eardrums were thrashed, the evidence of our tradeoff was a street turned black by soot. Seeing my living form, he quickly figured his next move and dropped a series of petals right atop the shield. I’ve moved with my shield before, why couldn’t I now? I stepped forward carrying the barrier with me. What could he reasonably do now? My thoughts were reflected in his face now, his smirk turned to a grin, displaying his approval at the passionate battle that defied his expectations of a simple victory. He bursted off with his jet of flames and sat on top my apartment building. Don’t tell me.
“Are you going to settle on a draw? That’s not passionate at all!” I yelled, not mocking, but disappointed.
He shrugged, and laid back propped up by his extended palms behind him. There was only one option now. I’d have to bank on the fact that he doesn’t know that I have one attack left. So far it seems to him that I was bound within the range of my shield as my effective range. I saw no secret petals left around either, maybe a single one exploding caused a chain reaction if he wasn’t careful. Now, the moment of truth. My shield is for defending, reasonably, it shouldn’t be able to make use of the will cutting power, not unless hitting someone with it hard enough would suffice, but that’s too risky to attempt. But the projectile beam, a ranged attack, that could do it. It was meant for striking like my sword, can it carry the will striking power? So far everything has gone almost too well, I felt like I could do anything. It was like I was a kid again, fantasizing about the use of the essence powers the elders bragged about, if I could use them myself and become a super powered warrior of Azmer. I wanted to hold onto this feeling. Just like the shield, I’ll try to make this feeling real. This time it won’t be a haughty skeleton, but a flame punk looking man. Alright, let’s do this. Without hesitation, I put my arms into an x shape, and… “AZURE BEAAAAAMMMM!” I cried with force, launching a strike that felt to travel to my opponent at light’s speed , stopping just short of his unprepared body, blocked by a barrier of a darker blue. The barrier disappeared, and cricket’s voice boomed over the hot street like a stadium intercom.
“GAME, SET, CLARENT EISENFORTH WINS! WOOOOOOH, CONGRATULATIONS, I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!”
I was proud, but a little embarrassed at cricket’s reception. The fire man hovered down like a landing spacecraft and walked up to me, hands in pockets again.
“I didn’t expect that. Now that was hot. I guess you’re more passionate than I thought” he grinned.
“I have a question for you.”
“Shoot.”
“Is it wrong to do the right thing even if it’s just to please a girl you like.”
“I don’t know if its right or wrong. But if its backed by passion, blaze on through. The name’s Hank by the way” He admitted, reaching a hand out.
“Clarent.”
I watched him turn away, and without looking back, he gestured towards cricket who activated the teleporting device sending him to wherever he came from. Glad at the results, I could almost skip over to cricket in joy to retrieve my story exposition. Instead I just kinda of energetically walked over and cracked a wide grin, something cricket would be happy to see since they have such a hard time evoking the same in me. They sat on a pool tube ring on a floating little oasis in the sky which was upside down. The water was mostly still, relaxing in its little pool furnished with fine marble decorations that recycled water flows into miniature rivers and fountains. I waved my hand below just to check if there was a tangible change in gravity just for this pocket of space. Of course there wasn’t, it doesn’t hurt to check. Actually, it could, but cricket was busy reading a comic. It’s cover marked by bold colors, illustrating a huge cricket man like this one before me. The similarities stopped there, because the torso was decked with glistening, rippling muscles that were colored brown, and the helmet I came to know was covered in flowing black hair. The figure struck a pose with their beaten sword pointing skyward, and their body was naked except the loins hidden by a fur cloth set by a belt. Grasping at his waist, enraptured in their silly masculine glory was another cricket man with long blond hair, but their body was that of a human woman with pale skin covered in the hardly modest two piece, tattered top and bottom like she was rescued out of a malicious and perverse king’s dungeon. These majestic figures that filled the dreams of young, teenaged malcontent’s stood atop a pile of skulls just barely escaping the touch of soldiers, undead, and all manner of beasts in a rising tide of uncontrollable desire and evil.
At this point, I think even I could recognize that he wasn’t actually reading anything, or if he was, the cover must have been a joke he hoped to land. I will admit, it was a little funny, but not funny enough to push me to ask what he was reading. Cricket man just floated, paying no mind to me standing in what should be his peripheral vision. I wonder if… I could avoid such an interaction by making myself way too clear. I jumped up and down reaching out with my arms, but he still took no notice. Guess there’s no way around it.
“Hellooooo, Cricket man I am victorious and have come to claim what was promised to me.”
“Oh Clarent! I didn’t see you there, I was just so mesmerized by this awesome comic book” He said, pulling away like he had to tear his eyes off the page just to look at me.
“You said you would tell me something interesting if I won that match. Give it to me!” I exclaimed, hands clasped together.
“Oh yeahhhh, I did say that, didn't I” he said, seemingly disappointed.
“Sooo?”
“Well, It’s just. I want to tell you Clare, believe me, but I’m just so caught up in this riveting story. I really want to tell someone about it.”
“That’s great, but I want to hear about your riveting explanation” I beamed.
“Mannnnnnnn. I dunno.”
“I can wait until you finish reading it.”
“Hmmm.”
He swiftly glued his eyes back to the pages. I noticed that the battle exchange probably placed the street into some temporal cover because the soot that covered the whole place disappeared leaving no trace as if cleaned automatically by a delete key. It couldn’t have been far past 3 or 4pm, but already the sky was dimming. Though my shield protected me from the flames, I still felt sweaty, even more so under the evening light. Was there ever a time where I just sat outside and watched the sky? I can’t remember. Was this something healthy people did? I’d imagine so, but how come I don’t see it happen? I wonder if anyone besides me lives on this street. It has a nice view. The descending terrain unfolds far until at last giving way to the ocean. A feeling of peace came over me. It wasn’t a wave of happiness exactly, but just being content, immersed in a place. For years I’ve lived in that apartment just fifteen or so feet away from me, but I never really ‘lived’ in it. Mayume holding me on my bed definitely made it feel like a real place with real people. Damn, maybe I am happy now that I think about it. Thinking of her still crossed wires in me. Every recollection of her was no longer just a worship of perfection, but a puzzle to solve where something that’s been hidden all along beckons me to put the pieces together before a timer runs out. At times it was maddening. Then the flame urchin appeared in my mind too. I bet a guy like him gets burned himself. Every relationship we have is finite isn't it? Does my destiny as a hero mean being with Mayume too? If the paths diverged I wonder which I would pick, saving people should be more important than just one person, then why don’t I feel like that’s an easy answer? I want the puzzle solved faster, I’m so worried I’m going to mess up what’s only just been started. The sky was still blue, still hot, and reddening. Now I wanted it to be blue, because that moment of peace was cascading as a mist into poignancy. Just then I remembered why I was sitting here, and turning around to peek, the comic cricket held in his hands was the size of three dictionaries. Oh for the love of.
“Fine! Fine! I’ll bite! What’s the comic about!”
“Oh i’m so glad you asked! I knew I could count on your Clare. So its about these snails that discover they can breathe underwater and on land. So they decide to visit the ocean. The journey is perilous, but the coral reef is so beautiful. They talk to all sorts of fish, some scary looking predators even turn out to be nice guys! Then they get further down and find some sea cucumbers. They talk about life and how they arent’s so different, then become friends!”
“Is that it?”
“No, I’m only on page 9, I bet it’ll get real good soon though. I love the pictures, check out the snail named Jake, his pattern is pretty huh?”
He held the pages open, one hand holding the weight of numerous pages. The pages in my view were decorated with children’s book illustrations of snails and the sea with big text describing simple sentences. I had no words. I stood on the edge, and the harrowing sorrow from a minute ago felt like nothing in comparison to the bait and switch I willfully stepped into. I think I really might cry at how stupid I am. Annnnd yep, here they are, the tears of defeat.
“Hey, they aren’t that pretty, don’t cry. Wait, don’t tell me you know the end, is it that sad!” He asked with childish wonder.
“I DON’T CARE ABOUT THE SNAILS, TELL ME WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY!”
Though he just wore that same old helmet, his body language said something clear. He gazed at me as if struck, then tumbled over and cried like a little kid. Oh come on.
“Cricket honey what happened!” cried a distressed voice.
A person that looked the same as a cricket man except with a blonde wig and floral pattern dress came over to inspect the situation before another stepped into the fray which now was a playground sandbox surrounded by a pleasant field of springtime flowers and grasses. A different cricket but with short black hair on their helmet with a mustache and business suit stopped over, worry in his own voice.
“Clarent, Clarent! What happened? Did you say something mean to this little boy?”
“Come on, don’t do this I-”
“Oh Henry, don’t cry mommy’s here. Apologize to Henry!” the cricket woman said to me sternly, pulling the adult sized child away from me like he needed to be protected from my cruelty.
“He gets little episodes like this sometimes. I’m so sorry ma'am. Clarent, say sorry, I’m not mad at you okay?” said the suited man masquerading as my father.
What did I get myself caught in. For the sake of all pumpkin woman out there, if playing his game gets me closer to hearing whatever he’s got to say, fine, I’ll say sorry, holy sh*t. I clutched my head in response to the utterly ridiculous situation I wish I wasn’t a part of.
“Fine, I’m sorry, okay?!”
“It’s okay little guy, he didn’t mean it” the cricket father said, crouching down to little henry’s height offering reparation.
“Hmf, thank you, but I’ll be on my way then” the cricket woman said with attitude.
“Wait, I’m so sorry, let me make it up to you. Could I do something for you? I take full responsibility, "the cricket father bargained.
The actress turned, and the former glint of anger was disappearing as she reevaluated cricket father, seeming to find something alluring.
“Perhaps a play date could smoothen things out?” She said smoothly, holding her arms together accentuating her breasts in the somewhat loose dress.
“Oh, well, maybe… heh heh” he said pulling on his tie as a nervous tell.
You’ve gotta be kidding me. This is just too much, please, let me out! Let me out! As I cried out to whatever might be listening, I think something heard, and the world of stupidity disappeared, leaving my plain street behind where it should be once more. Did God hear my voice? They say that in the moments of greatest despair man will turn to God no matter how much they rejected them before. This is the second time in my life evidence of God has presented itself to me. At least, it would seem that way now that my mind has finally been broken.
“You did great Clare! That wouldn’t have been nearly as funny if in your insanity you weren’t still describing the scenario in your head!”
“...”
“I’ve had my fun, now it’s exposition time.”
“Thank you, thank you…” I said, groveling like cricket man was my salvation and damnation.
“Stand up, stop looking so pitiful, I know I’m powerful and handsome beyond all belief but that’s just embarrassing man!”
“...”
“So, there’s scales of power that people possess, and many are realized in this battleground you participated in. Supernatural abilities are in mainly two groups, simple, and conceptual. Simple abilities have basic powers with limited power. Conceptual power’s are stronger and operate on principles of the mind. You have conceptual power.”
“Subtracting will?” I said sniffling, still recovering from the event.
“Correct! The first two guys you fought had simple abilities. Accelerating time, whether local or global has limited use. Accelerating globally would be almost practically useless because lazy people would want to use it for their own gain, which is why that power is actually overseen by the divine order. In your battle with them, their power was limited to only an effective range, which actually is far better for lazy people if he ever felt like, oh i dunno, cooling their soup off faster.”
“I-if time was local, t-then mmo server maintenance couldn't be changed unless they traveled over to where their country server resided then?”
“Yep. The fire guy was nearing conceptual power. Popular imagination actually holds a great sway over how powers manifest. Your idea of blue energy was inspired by a tv series right? People’s inspirations, and personal philosophies impact how their powers develop. It’s likely that fire guy’s ability to fly as well as place remote fire bombs was a conceptual development based on the idea of mines and the imagined idea of explosive force to fly like in a spacecraft.”
“What about me? And what about that Jack guy? Why were they how they were, why did I get this ability?”
“In your case, your love of Space Tower 87 influenced your idea of a blue laser beam, as well as tower no.1 and so on who do something similar. But that isn’t the end of it, even something you aren’t aware of can affect how you process that information. Despite the tower series being science fiction, the powers presented in can still be tied back to the concept of an essence or energy. Often the idea of an aura is tied with energy, if not the same. You’re upbringing in Azmer had stories and depictions of men firing beams of spirit energy in ancient wars right?”
“Yes, but don’t mix it up. I’m not using my power for them, this is mine alone.”
“As for Jack, his power was a supernatural strength, and a spear of certain death gifted by a certain someone you’re familiar with, and will meet soon. But also, the power to strip the will to fight was already dormant in you. It is a natural outcome of a hero’s battle against villainly right? The good guy wins and the villain disappears never to be seen again, or they continue to lose and become a minor nuisance at most. Best case scenario, the enemy becomes a friend. I just helped you notice.”
“During the battle with fire guy I was able to capture the idea of energy I guess didn’t I? I extended what I knew further to defeat them when before it wouldn’t have been possible.”
“That is also true. Conceptual power users will eventually awaken to their strongest form if they live long enough. Their powers develop faster than everyone else's. Though simple power uses can unlock a concept based power if they experience a situation impactful enough on their mind and body. You should expect anyone you defeat in this system to challenge you again later with a new trick up their sleeve. Welllp, that’s all I got for now.”
“Wait, let me ask one more thing. Why did you show me that phone call?”
“That wasn’t me.”
I could tell he wasn’t lying. He stated it matter of factly. He probably knew about it though, but if I pressed further he would just go and say it would spoil the plot or something. I guess it’ll just sit in the back of my mind until the time comes. Cricket man waved happily goodbye, then exploded into a fragmentation grenade of hundreds of steel hoppers. I was done for the day. I didn’t do a whole ton but I was tired. The atmosphere of the apartment was a little different. I don’t know how to explain it. After a shower, I grabbed a silver sky can from the pantry and sat in the slow fading light in front the computer. It had been another few days since I played any games and I was itching to get back the second I remembered the progress I left off on. My friends were already in a dissidence room and I joined them. It was just Harman and Tobais thankfully. I’ve heard similar things from the others about different woman, but Tinnius’ question from before was uniquely off putting and was glad he wasn’t here at the moment.
“Annnd here he is, came crawling back huh C man?” Tobias taunted.
“Traitors aren’t allowed” Harman lambasted.
“Well sooooorry I have a life outside videogames now.”
“You call going to school life? The art club is the most life you have, and I get more exercise than you on the daily just from my job you f*cker” Tobias replied.
“Yeah, what he said” Harman lazily tacked on.
“Hey, you’re better than this Harman, say something meaner, I know you’ve got it in you” I joked.
“You want it? You want some smoke? Don’t talk about living in the real world you limp dicked, empty skulled, protesting, idealogue, pacifist, harma, god loving slave, frit, scaz, minority son of a bitch” Harman recited.
“What are you calling me a minority for, you’re a minority too” I returned.
“Yeah, but I don’t act like one, and I don’t act like a harma either.”
“What are you so afraid of harmonization for?” I asked.
“I’m not scared. Who’d be scared of a bunch of dreaming puss*es. Everyone should just shut up and chop their fingers like everyone else.”
“Haven’t you only been working for like, a year?” I inquire.
“Ladies, ladies, we’re all minorities here, no need to fight about it” Tobias cut in.
“Actually, I’ve been doing more than usual. You think I’d be able to resist playing games for that long without being distracted?” I reply.
“True, let’s hear it then” Tobias put forth.
“I’ve been making more progress with Mayume. We kind of had an emotional moment again, pretty awesome if I say so myself. I fought one of their old friends and saved out classmates from being murdered. Ummmmm, I fought a warrior who could speed up time, and a dude that can control fire. I’m also being stalked by a guy in a metal suit that resembles a cricket, and I went to hell and back.” I detailed, checking off recent events.
“Wellll, we were wondering about what you were actually doing, not what you were daydreaming about” Harm and Tobias agreed.
“That is what I’ve been doing! Just because you have boring jobs where you get ordered around by some dickhe*d adults doesn’t mean you disregard my much cooler life” I continued.
“If your life was so cool you wouldn’t need to talk to people like us” Tobias laughed.
“That’s true.”
After some more banter of this sort we started playing a game I recently got them to buy after some coaxing, “Sky scaler’s” a multiplayer fighting game based around characters from the company that made Tower 87 and other fantasy series like it such as Masked brawlers, Proto warriors, and more. Tobias told me he thought the designs for a lot of the tower’s were cool, and Harman thought the proto rangers looked pretty neat. I got them to watch one of the latest seasons. They thought it was a tad childish, but entertaining and funny, something you can all laugh at by cracking jokes at the often over the top action. After a few rounds we experimented by playing some different characters. I was kind of sad Tower no.1 didn’t really match the kind of playstyle I wanted. I ended up playing Tower 15, and I haven’t watched their season yet. We traded petty insults verbally and blows digitally. We fell into a fun rhythm of combat for over an hour before we were comfortable enough to start paying less attention and entered conversation. I was daring, and sought the opinion of a nuanced question to my compatriots well endowed with knowledge.
“What do you think of the Charpain company business practices?”
“What for?” Tobias asked.
“Just wondering, I was talking to someone about it before.”
“They bring more jobs, not a bad thing” He shrugged verbally.
“Don’t they displace native peoples?”
“Yeah, I didn’t say it was all good, but times change, everythings gonna get pretty automated, you either work with it or don’t” He finished.
Tobias was usually calm when talking about most stuff, controversial things included. Harman on the other hand was able to wait his turn to speak, but was usually less pleasant about it.
“You talking to some harmonizer?”
“Forget about harmonization for a minute man” I complained.
“Who are they? A revolutionary or religious radical?” he japed.
“I won’t say, I just wanna hear something.”
“It’s great. Too much complaining from theist retards about ‘their freedom.’ They get their problems fixed, better jobs, better living conditions, all at the expense of outdated belief systems. Basically crying over spilt milk.”
“I see.”
“What, don’t tell me you’re getting sympathetic with the so-called ‘critical theory of spirituality.’”
“No, not at all” I lied.
It’s only been such a short time that I’ve really experienced something outside the confines of my room and routine, and already his words were sounding callous to me. Not long ago I would have been unperturbed. I rarely have any proper information about what goes on outside our country myself, but I’ve already fallen into Mayume like she was a cool lake on a terribly hot day. I believed that she knew what I didn’t and could not merely discount what I did not know myself. I found myself acting the role of myself to pass the effect of his response off as minor, everyday talk with hardly any significance. Thoughts about the sorts of things Tinnius said never occurred to me truthfully speaking. I could recall similar comments about other women of other races as well. Tobias may be civil, but I knew he agreed with Harman’s sentiments. Harman wasn't quite as raunchy or vile as Tinnius sometimes was, but it hit me. A boulder was rolling down a hill and this whole time I wasn’t looking by the time it threatened to smash me in seconds. I played video games for so long with these guys. I’ve had some fond and happy memories. I really did, but a certain something of sinister quality stood out in particular today. I realized how quick change can happen and who can cause it. Even if they’re “doing something” with their lives, I feel they’re still trapped in a tight routine themselves. I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I just managed to mask my disquiet for long enough to end the gaming session as routine and went to bed with thoughts of coming storms drumming in the horizon.
As I drifted to sleep a blackness came over my eyes and mind. From the ink darkness ripples soundlessly vibrated in empty space from various points and angles like many portals. Little crickets of dark browns and whites poured out from one, the sticky globules of darkness letting them slip from whence they came, floating aimlessly, without gravity into vacuity. From another, pillars, another, pumpkins nonstop. With little delay between recounting the oncoming objects, countless portals with countless objects spilled out. I lost control of my senses in the inability to keep track of it all. It just kept rushing forward filling the vast nothing more and more until This space, wherever it may be, started to fill and rumble like a stomach. Just before the nebulous fabric of the cosmos threatened to tear in the weight of ambiguous nonsense, I woke up. It was 9am. Still too early. I fell back asleep. This time there were no dreams, not that I could remember anyway. It was 3pm now. That was a good time. I always found it preferable to get out of bed and wander into the vegetation closet with my clothes on, warm out of bed. Chilly drops of condensation build up on the ceiling of the low passage and tickle my head and back. I grab a bunch of goldberries. Score! Tucked away beneath the cucumbers I saw a few pranas. These usually only grow a few months a year even in controlled conditions like in this closet. The red-orange hue stood out among the mostly green vegetation even overpowering the solid gold surface of the gold berries.
Even with the positive nutrition of everything here at the tip of my fingers, I never feel like I have the energy to leave my home without a can of silver sky after sleeping that long. I take a swig. The carbonation tickles my throat, always keeping me from chugging it all down in one go. I like the kick of it sometimes, it snaps you awake. It fades after a minute or so though, after that the flavor is like a cloudless sky, a flowing river. Remarkably similar to water, but if it tasted like the essence of deliciousness. I wondered what to do. I wanted to play more games but I did not want to engage my friends for concern that they already were thinking I was an idiot becoming concerned with liberal politics. I observed the swirls on my ceiling for the first time in a while. Somehow it is like they truly were not there rather than the fact that I, in reality, just did not often look at my ceiling. I found it unfamiliar, just like everything in my life right now. I enjoyed playing hero so far, and I wanted to keep it up because I felt a genuine calling to do even the smallest amount of good. If it meant I inflated myself into a false image of hope to make the only friends I have had for several years at school, I would. The little colorful swirls I painted with haste spinned more softly than before. I felt stupid for doing it. In a night where no one was online to entertain me I flicked the light and got to work doing anything. The angst of thick isolations brought the color pencils out to bring a frail color to my room. Scrawled through adolescent pity, the colors came out as a reflection of turbulent nonsense and anxiety instead of an icon of health. I wanted to turn the whole roof around ninety degrees and set the swirls counter clockwise. Something new had to come of myself. Problem is, I still did not know what I am supposed to become, I am merely traveling with the flow set out to me. I want that flow to be created by me, controlled by me, not by unforeseeable winds who snuff the candle still burning on winter nights.
Thus far the candle has been assaulted by winds named Jack, and cricket man. When will he tell me what I need to know? Eventually I managed to check my convenience apparatus sitting on my nightstand to find Mayume sent me a message. She sends something every few days, but not knowing how to reply, I remain distant out of the fear intimacy brings. It read, “Want to come over to my house?” Chest pounding, nerves flashing, blood boiling. I let my dresser pick out something for me at random, then depart fast. Here it is, the tide carrying me someplace new. I sometimes envision myself as a diver inside my brain’s ocean. Searching aimlessly into the depths with only a small light. No matter the time, day or night, the waters were a dark purple. Rarely did monstrous fish creep out the unknown, but the idea alone was scary. I hoped to reach a cozy cove and rest, reading over waterlogged tomes recounting my memories to myself, rehearsing speeches to deliver. My mind was dark, but the overhead sky remained bright as ever. The heat felt dizzying, stacked on top of my nervous energy running like fervent electricity shorting into flame. I was a fireball, hurdling in this incredible feat of desire. Never before would I be brave enough to accept this offer. Over and over the records of before rattled around this cage of mind. A cage with balls of burning lead clacking about. Yeah, that sounds about right. My body was my body, hot, stupid, frail, lonely, afraid. My mind was my mind, but there was a body in it too just like my own. I just cannot collect the bouncing metal because it would tear through my hand. It had to cool on its own when next come high tide in a city eternally above the threats of nature. Go Clarent! It is now or never, if a chance exists, go forward, prove to yourself that a coward can be a hero!
Here I am, finding myself again approaching the cutoff of the paper ghost road into the unfamiliar side of the city. Following the address she sent me, I walked below the arch reclaimed by nature. Kids were out playing again. They seemed like the buzzing insects and elegant birds, always doing something despite the heat. A few were all art. I think the name of the country they came from was Dadia. If I remember properly, Dadia was pretty far away from Auris where Extendo came from, but they fit together pretty well to me. Obviously they did not look anything alike, but they figures were radically different from most humanoid peoples. The shapes of some changed constantly like Poncifucius, others scarcely changed. The trio kicked a ball further down the cracked road that had not seen maintenance work for who knows how long. They were too far away, so each kid looked like a colorful silhouette set in sunlight. All I picked out was a thin, blue, kid with the dimensions of sticks on their limbs but a triangular head and chest. The ball was kicked and slid across the grass like it was oil to their friend that was more like raucous in size, not so much shape. They looked like a big, gray sculpture built off the ground, and smooth like an egg. The last jumped into sight, breaking the thin boundary separating my sight from the ongoing street. Their white body resembled folded paper fashioned into arms and legs. The legs bending into a forty degree V, the arms stretched out as far as can be, rigid by virtue of their structure, creating a seventy degree angle by the boundary of their leg. I could not make out the shape of the head exactly, but there was a hint of orange that flashed under the sunlight. The children made me the slightest bit less nervous. I stood between two lines of houses, on the right side, the overgrown yard the vampire haunted, the other side, a street of formerly white homes decorated with endless personal expression. I wondered why the authorities had not cracked down on it, if their intention was to make people feel like Sibil were living here, they did not do a good job. Looking back at my convenience apparatus to check directions again, I looked up and straight to see Mayume’s home was actually just across from the vampire’s. I felt a sinking feeling. This could complicate things.
Another pair of connecting points in an elongating line of my fate will no doubt bring Mayume together with more than just her. Realizing this, it was only a matter of time before cricket showed himself to my friends, if he could do it at all. My only hope is that he’s an illusion conjured by my subconscious, that would make a lot of sense actually. My insides were solidifying into a hysteric mix of concrete and sludge. Even so, I knocked on Mayume’s door, boring a hole through the leaf pattern on its glassy white surface and summoned a smile to compensate for my mood. A click signaled its opening, even with the gap between it and the door sliding open, I could not be prepared. I greeted Mayume with, probably the face of someone who swallowed a chunk of lemon, except instead of contorting my face stretched. I think a comic book artist would have to express what I look like because it must indeed the bounds of the physical body. She wore a red skirt that undulated at the hem like a cup shaped flower. Her shirt was hanging on barely at the shoulders, and dropped in dee[ blue waves, each belt of smooth looking fabric lining the upper ends with faux feathery attachments.
“Is something wrong?”
“Wrong?” I tried to say, but I don’t think it came out.
“Your face, you look nauseated” she pointed out with concern.
I couldn’t speak, so I just nodded. She smiled, a hint of worry, a splash of humor and glee. “Come on” she said kindly, and she twirled about and walked through the short vestibule, opening another door a couple feet forward on the right. The little corridor was dim, but the kitchen was awash with brightness coming from multiple windows. I followed sheepishly behind her into the room and stood awkwardly, putting my hands in my pockets and doing my best not to stare at the floor. My eyes were caught between the unexpected hardwood floor, which I anticipated would be tile, and a Mayume place. I noticed she was barefoot. Toenails perfectly shaped and trimmed, and the alluring smoothness of her calves before the short breadth of nervous pleasure was further disturbed by the sounds of footsteps. Two kind looking adults walked into the room, an older woman with a beautiful, round, orange head, and a man with a lumpier green one.
“These are my parents,” Mayume gestured.
Still holding a weird grin, I lifted one hand out of pocket to give a little wave.
“It’s nice to meet you, she’s told us all about you!”
“Welcome to the Leke household” Her father said, extending a hand.
I accepted the coarse hand that gripped strongly but found myself shaken instead of me doing the shaking.
“Did you eat?” Mayume asked me.
I nodded.
“Would you like some tea then?”
I nodded.
She poured hot water into a brown cup. I watched her set a steeper in with a habitual motion as her parents took their seats opposite mine on the four person table and watched me intently. This especially I was unprepared for. A sword is not the proper weapon for such a situation. The thick tension began breaking down when the two of them started offering question after question.
“How long have you been interested in art?” Her mother asked.
“W-well, I-i, uhh, only picked it up on a whim.”
“Were you a fan of art already?” Her father darted after the mother.
“Uhm, uhhh, I g-guess you could say that.”
“Do you have any favorite artists?” Her mother asked.
“W-well, I like this team c-called team quiet. T-they’re from Sakiruka.”
“Oh really? I haven’t heard of them before? What do they make?” The father alternated, eye brimming with anticipation.
“Mostly multimedia, interactive installations” I replied, tapping my foot against the hardwood that was uncomfortably loud.
“That’s unique, Mayume is mostly a fan of painting. One of her favorites is Canette Undieu, do you know him?” Her mother pushed, nearly leaning over the table, her arms folded over it.
“Uhh, y-yeah I know him. He’s v-very famous haa-er-mmm, one of the leaders of the sensible movement” I continued through trembles.
“Ohhh, I think little Mayume told us about that. What was it. The paintings of people in his circle were charred by critics saying that the visions painted appealed only to people that were overly sensitive. Is that right my pumpkin pie?” her mother called, the deeper voice filled with affection.
“Y-yeah that’s right” Mayume responded, her movements quickening.
She hurried to sit beside me, her face reflecting a visible concern I couldn’t figure out. She asked me quickly to look at some sort of stuffed animal not far too my right, saying that it was an heirloom, as well as asking me if it was pretty. I wasn’t sure what to say once more so I swerved my head back towards the three on the table. Mayume seemed to have forgotten she asked me about it in the first place, inconspicuously taking a sip of her tea with closed eyes. Her mom’s right hand was pressed lightly to her cheek, her face communicated an embarrassed admittance of something, but wasn’t sure who the recipient was. Her father was just smiling, blinked, and gave me a little nod. They were definitely nice, but I never had to deal with this kind of situation in probably ten years. It brought back some unkind memories of blurry faced young girls and their parents discussing matters of great import that were inconsequential to the me of before who had a world on their shoulders, for no good reason other than their fate. I was sinking for a long few seconds, I could fall off into some shadowy depths, that’d be nice. I wanted to, but I couldn’t here.
“Oh! I just remembered, your painting of our daughter was great! Thank you so much, she really loves it, I don’t know if she told you how much, she said she wanted to frame it.”
I gave a sidelong glance at Mayume who grimaced to me. Maybe she felt embarrassed because of her parents. I was at the mercy of their kindness and could do nothing for her, or myself. Despite this awkwardness, I suppose this is the best kind of embarrassment someone could ask for. I thought that there could possibly be something I could do, but It would require all my power just to do it. Before resolving to gather it into a mighty beam of confidence, Mayume leaned forward to her mom and whispered something. She pulled back, and her mom waved her hand in modest dismissal while going “sorry sorry.”
“I can’t believe I forgot to open with this! My name is Io, and my husband is Ruru.”
Getting this secondary introduction made me feel a little more secure. Already they started with more questions. That was something skillful parents did right? Ask questions about you to make you feel at home. I knew they were being kind, but I couldn’t avoid the knot in my stomach from pressuring me into retreating to the bathroom.
“Do you like it at school Clarent?” Her mother inquired, her head resting lightly on her hand, a serene smile now on her face.
“Uh. School is pretty boring and cruel. The only reason I stay in the building is because of the art club” I replied honestly.
“Oh the stories about the bullying are terrible! State of the art technology my rear-end. It’s not as its cracked up to be” Her father claimed.
This might be the time to fight back. I was a stupid coward that never once stood up for someone else, but I could work with this. The two of them traded casual comments about how lame school was. It was relatable. Without both eyes on me I found the drive to try and open my mouth to say something.
“Uhh.”
They both stopped speaking to look at me and wait patiently for my words.
“Uhh. Umm. I-it isn’t all bad. People like yours truly keep it a proper place of education. Mayume has stood up for a lot of people, and when epithets are hurled at her she receives them calmly like a wise sage” I said, pointing at Mayume as the target of my ‘yours truly.’
“Ohhhh, look at that darling, you have even more fans” Her mother said with delight.
“Like bringing fresh nutrients to soil, she makes every room she walks into better” Her father added jovially.
They were both painfully nice. I could see where Mayume got her good nature from. They continued asking me about the other art club members. Perhaps they wondered what they were like from a different perspective. It was followed up with questions about what I liked to do. It wasn’t uncommon at all for people to play a lot of video games, but I was still self conscious about admitting how I played fantasy mmos, read comic books, played tactical shooters, and watched children's tv shows. But admit it I did, I wasn’t able to lie now that I had the courage to speak. It was like they drew out truth unintentionally, though their desire to learn things about me was absolutely intentional. Upon asking about the mmo I described what one was, how you pick a character type and start performing various tasks and duties from quest givers to gain experience. I spoke of the great evils that plagued the respective worlds of games like it, and how out of all the tasks one could do to gain money and experience I explained how one of my favorite tasks was farming. A paltry task compared to farming in real life, but they found it interesting that hundreds of thousands of people my age were doing digital hard labor.
“You know some of those steps you described to prepare the soil and take the harvest later are pretty similar to real life. Its simplified, but with a little effort you could do it yourself. It’s really satisfying to raise plants yourself, have you tried it?” Mr. Ruru beckoned.
“Uh, no I haven’t.”
“We’d be glad to teach you. Mayu knows too, on a weekend you can stop by and get you started on a plan.”
“T-that’s very kind of you. I’ll take you up on your offer, i-if you don’t mind. Now that you say that, Mayume did have the club maintain some little potted flowers, so I have done that at least haha” I laughed pitifully.
“Oh don’t worry about it, you’ll be making a splendid garden by 14 moons,” Io smiled.
Mayume rocked the chair as she stepped over to the sink and shifted some things in one of the painted cabinets. Several cabinets suspended from the walls connected together and held aloft the nature scene of animals frolicking in an idyllic meadow that lined the bottom while everything above was speckled with blue sky and clouds. I wonder who painted it. As she dug around I observed the two heads before me that still welcomed gracefully with their expressions. My curiosity about something ended up bringing another sentence of my own volition out my throat. I pointed at Io’s head, unaware of it being potentially rude.
“Y-your head. Is it like hair?”
“Oh hahahaha. It is isn’t it?” Io laughed to me before facing her husband.
“Yep, good thing for my sad, lumpy head. Mayu got my wife’s good looks” Ruru nodded sagely like it was a powerful worry of a bygone era.
Before any further conversation took place, I was finally saved by Mayume who made two loud ding noises before informing her parents that “they’re time was up.” They stood up and gave some parting words before bashfully stepping back towards their bedroom, dismissed like children by their parents. Mayume took another cup of tea and held some snacks of sorts I was unfamiliar with nestled to her chest. Pointing towards the other cup, I grabbed it and followed her command to follow. Her shirt fluttered when she briskly walked towards another little hallway separating three doors. I opened the door she stood before since her hands were full and found my nerves acting up again when the door creaked open to reveal her room. She set her things down. I still stood outside the room, so she grabbed my pocketed arm and pulled me in. She started rummaging through a drawer where sounds of hushed rattling vibrated, first from one source, then another. I peered over her shoulder to see the containers must have been board games. The topmost box lid was tilted too far up to read, and her arms blocked another. The right side of the large drawer had one huge board game clearly visible titled “Patriarchy.” Devoid of bright colors, the illustration in front a large sculpture of a bearded man wearing antiquated robes. The only color set center is the sculpture's plaster white body, his wise eyes lacking pupils attest to an ancient wisdom now unviable in our era. I figured that my knowledge of this man, Santillian Darme Le Jande the 6th, was likely on account of the school’s preoccupation with criticizing the past. Assuming what we learned was true, anyone would be critical of the reign of the Le Jande’s 4 and onward being so partial to the increasingly popular sentiments that led to the blood revolution. As far as state education is concerned, the name blood revolution was anything but a movement in name only.
“I’m sorry about that. I told my parents they only have about ten minutes to talk to you but they really wanted to meet you. They can be a little overbearing” She apologized.
“It was a little hard to manage, but they’re better than my own parents so I really don’t mind.”
She didn’t act on a majestic gesture of affection, she was just silent, still digging. She muttered quietly “poop, can’t find it” while I looked further about the room. The bedding was a flower print quilt. A white background, vines circumambulating the rectangular edges, confining the flowers radiating from the center. I anticipated an asymmetrical pattern, but the design was perfectly ordered with radial symmetry. Geometric power spiraled out, executed by fine skill. Now that I looked, the hard floor was covered by a large carpet. It looked like a loose topographical map of somewhere with a volcano near a mountain range surrounded with mostly hilly, then flat land closer to shore. Volcano’s were common in the northern hemisphere. This was probably a delightful map of Aora, something midway between a child’s playmap and a middle schooler’s more “adult” apparel for the scientific minded young adult. There was a desk at the north end of the room with a few stacked boots, a mug full of pencils and paint brushes. A wooden, lattice rack left of the desk secured an assortment of paint canisters. On top was a two layer box I assume more paint was inside. A closet was to the eastern side, and the wall above where she dug for the games had a large mural of a twisted, coarse tree surrounded by pumpkins, various fruit, and a field behind it extending to an imagined realm. Across the walls were assorted paintings. Two were small 12 by 6 prints of famous portraits: one being “The Skewered Man” by Chu Shun, the other was “Lion Walking,” by Samprithi Nama. The other paintings were a couple sensible style pieces I did not recognize, a entie frozen style piece of a pot with rikitis flowers. The petals were cup shaped, but short and stout. Long pistils came out like antennae. I heard they were popularly symbolic blossoms from Jana, but I didn’t know what they stood for. Her room was actually less decorated than I thought for the dwelling of an artist.
Before trying to take in the imagery more to distract myself from the painfully exciting truth that, for the first time in my life, I was in a girl’s room, I heard Mayume’s voice once again denote little frustration at the lack of something in the drawer. Patriarchy caught my eye, and I decided to try that.
“Why not play Patriarchy?”
“You really wanna play that?” She gawked.
“Is it that bad?”
“It’s not bad exactly, I just didn’t think you’d want to play it. It’s not too colorful, or fun.”
Though the situation was a first of firsts, and I felt like I didn’t know where to stand or how to look I tried to find balance in the remembrance that before a couple weeks ago we were just people who knew each other. I should try to act naturally. She looked at me expecting a reply, but I needed to take some deep breaths to prepare myself for going forward, so I turned around without saying anything to breathe for about ten seconds. With regularity, I returned to my prior stance, but still had to yank the words I dredged out of my organs with a fishing line through my mouth. Midway through this attempt she just said “okay, let’s play it” and saved me the difficulty.
“Do you remember the rules?”
“Nope, we can read them together.”
She took the solid, plastic box out the drawer. It was big and heavy enough that the removing it threatened to drag out other boxes with it, and the drawer seemed to sigh in relief when the content was removed. She placed it gingerly on the carpet. No sound inside rattled at the upset in her care. The weighty top came off like the seal of a time capsule. How long has it been since this game saw daylight? A crinkled bag of plastic materials was the first removed, followed by the rules on a map sized piece of sleek paper. Unfolding the large sheet, she looked towards me.
“Would you like to do the honors?”
“You can take it, I insist” I smiled playfully.
She snapped the old paper back like a scribe chosen to cry out the king’s edict.
“It is the year of 1500. Darme Le Jande the 4th is Santillian of Mertaille. The country is shifting, new ideologies and key events are rapidly threatening tradition. Choose between one of three movements, the rising blood cult, the secular renaissance, or the Santillian authority. With each player’s turn, years go by. Every turn the workforce of Mertaille produces a token of capital, a token of culture, and a token of balance. These tokens can be allocated into various uses. Capital can be invested into infrastructure to create balance that keeps the economy running and the workforce happy. Or they can be invested back into business to produce more tokens at the risk of workers going on strike, or even rioting. They can even be spent on cultural structures which have minor increases in balance, and larger increases on influence. Culture tokens can be traded to neighboring cultures to secure trade deals and multicultural harmony. This can result in having another ally should a war break out as well as funds to fall back onto should you fail in your various ventures. Culture tokens can also be spent to barter with opposing movements on the effects of ideology that alter the minds of the workforce, affecting productivity and balance.”
Mayume took a big breath.
“Tokens of balance can be used to keep satisfied as various events unfold. Reinvestment of balance tokens will cause overall more stability than investing capital in infrastructure, though both are a requirement for your movement to prosper. Further choices about token spending can be made during events. Every turn random events will take place you can choose to act on that may impact you positively or negatively. Besides passive events, triggered events can happen when certain criteria take place. Strikes are one of them. Though inequality and other factors can cause strikes, insufficient stability will cause the depression event where there are not enough jobs to keep the workforce employed, resulting in a lower turnout of all tokens. Raising investment on culture past a certain point can end the game with a movement gaining dominance. Investment on balance can cause new opposing ideologies to develop when the workforce has more free time to expose themselves to foreign or internal philosophical developments. Far investment in balance can also result in large, persisting harmony that can diffuse war and shut down an opponent who chooses to invest capital into military force for victory by conquering. Every two turns the events are key historical events that shaped the world to what it is today. During the keystone events your choice in reacting to it can alter history to something unrecognizable. Besides the keystone events, there are chain events based on a reaction to your choices that can cause further chains of events that can help and complicate your progress. Additionally, each movement can have events that occur at the same time as others, or later. The major developments for the blood cult begins on the third turn, developments for the secularist renaissance begins on turn three as well. The Santillian side maintains the existing tradition and makes their first major choice reacting to the choices of the other two parties on turn four. Putting tokens into their respective areas will cause an increase in the win conditions that are reflected by the players keeping score unless they are input into the computer manually, or the players use the special edition controllers to input their commands into the computer to sort it for them. There are sixteen tallies for the win conditions, track them carefully, and plan your moves to make sure you reach your goal as fast as you can! Annnd, that should be about it.”
She finished reading the rules before gulping into another chunk of air to declare everything should be in place. We separated most of the plastic board pieces into their respective piles along with the tokens, then the large board was laid out. It was so large, dotted with stars to indicate important cities and regional borders, and studded with plastic pieces to represent key buildings in the country’s infrastructure and geography. Near the top center there was a square shaped portion of walls. However, there were green portions resembling computer chips inside. Just beyond the country's primary borders were its neighbors Richien to the right and Lorksin to the left. Beyond was the Ensein Ocean and the distant connections to the rest of the globe not contained on the board's breadth of coverage. What choice would it be then?
“What side do you choose?” I grin.
“I don’t think it really matters,” she chuckled.
“I’ll take one for the team and play as the blood cult I guess. Wait. Hold on, wasn’t there a little blurb on there that said up to three players?”
“Oh, you’re right.”
She took out some of the few objects left in the box, a white cube, a cable, and a small screen. The cube was pressed into the little white, square fortress walls, the cable to the back end, and finally, the cable to the screen. A little switch rested next to the cube holster and Mayume flipped it. Nothing happened though. “Needs batteries” she said, and searched a drawer adjacent to the games drawer. In little time the batteries were retrieved to bring the cube to life. By this point I figured out what it was for, it was a computer player should two people want to play but lacked a third member. The switch booted the device to life, and a page displayed the same map we were using in color on a smaller scale. The pieces were in order, and the game began. On turn one each group had only the option of proceeding with no special options. On turn two we all had one of each token. Despite commanding one of the world's evils, I decide I’d try to win anyway. Thinking Mayume might pull an unexpected move, or the computer decides military power is the key to efficient victory, I decided to play for a cultural victory. I put one capital token into cultural structures which built several small temples dedicated to the Santillian God Dio. Then I used my balance token to maintain happiness for longer. Mayume didn’t spend any tokens turn one though. Because of my first turn investment I got one more capital token and one more balance token next turn so I start with two of each. At the beginning of turn two Mayume stated her move.
“Hmmmm. I’ll put two capital tokens into infrastructure and the two balance tokens into happiness.”
“Then I’ll save my tokens except for one in balance. Oh, do we have anything to write on?” I asked.
“I’ll get a notebook.”
Mayume retrieved a seafoam green notebook with golden glitter swirls on it and flipped past assorted drawings and scribbles from who knows when. The computer made no moves. On turn one or two. Maybe saving points was more efficient. We marked our progress on the page. Mayume has two investments in infrastructure which brought her to two tallies in capital, and balance. My choices brought me to one tally in culture, and one tally in balance. Turn three has started. The keystone events begin now. They were described on sizable cards of which there were twenty for each party we laid out in order on their own deck.
“Should we read them out loud?” I asked.
“I don’t know much about this phase of history so I guess we can both learn something. You can go first”
I drew the card which had an idealistic rendition of a painting of the blood saint. Their skinless body stood straight with their arms gently reaching out on either side. A white halo surrounded their head, and a wreath lay directly atop it. The background looked like a dungeon, but I wasn’t sure what it was supposed to be. From above, white hands of light reached beneath the borders of the card art towards the saint. I flipped it over where the text was contained inside a similar border of white ribbon. I began to read it aloud.
“It is 1580, a legendary event has taken place that soon will shake the world as they knew it. Joseph Eon, a curious man who criticized the doctrinal developments of the last few hundred years. The Gardin, the body of the highest holy men who assisted the Santillian geared towards a fascistic dogma. A few hundred years before, things were relatively peaceful, but trade with Azmer to the south and Lorksin to the west was a risky venture. What was though to be peaceful exchange like with the formerly unknown people of Ampier, the culture clash brough difficult questions. The Lorksin, people living only in the sea thousands of years before, were pantheists, a notion that difficult to deal with. Even so, the exchange remained peaceful as Lorksian people did not reject the concept of a God, and collaborated with missionaries. That was, until translations of Lorkian philosophy revealed their stances and prejudices rose. The Azmer had a powerful military and their desire to trade was purely for economic benefit and shunned Dio’s missionaries. Joseph was a fierce proponent of racism against the Azmerian and Lorksian people, claiming that it was cruel, antithetical to their teachings of peace. Nothing of import passed for a few years, but Joseph, a common man, learned to read and write. He scoured a donated copy of Dio’s sacred texts from an ally supporting him, and came upon something interesting. In lines 13-16 of chapter 4, Dio came upon a man he considered his equal during the period of the gods described in this epic. Unknown to Joseph, this man was his lost brother, but this line was altered and implied instead to be rival god of a similar tribe to the east of ancient Mertialle, the region known today as Rapit. Soon, Joseph’s growing following garnered the attention of a Gardin member that sympathized with him and met in secret to reveal the truth, Joseph started to spread the word deemed heretical, eventually causing his capture and execution. In 1580, purportedly spring in the month of March, A light shone in the execution chambers, covering the shivering red body of Joseph, flayed for his crimes against God, he stood up full of life and vigor. The executioners had their skin removed in a flash, and fell over with visions of ecstatic rapture. The rest in attendance didn’t know what to do with themselves and fled.”
After this little story, which admittedly could be shorter, asked whether or not to embrace the beginning of the cult movement. I was playing on the cult side so I might as well. Choosing it awarded no additional benefits which was a little funny if you asked me. Mayume lifted up her card that displayed a disciplined man hard at work in an early laboratory. She then read. “It is 1585. Notable trailblazer of history Margit Marcel has teamed up with his friend, Phille Martin, a notable glassblower. Together the alembic, curcurbit, and other tools were developed. With these new items, materials could be distilled to near total purity. New combinations of existing medicines in finer forms resulted in new, improved medicines.”
“I guess yours asks to embrace it or something?”
“No, mine asks me if I want to announce the discoveries to the public. I’ll just go with that. I wanna see where it brings me.”
“Really? Didn’t Margit keep it under wraps though?”
“I don’t really remember. I’ll see if the findings bear fruit.”
I checked over the computer who has spent one capital token on infrastructure and one balance token, leaving them with two capital and balance tokens leftover along with three culture tokens, and a tally in the two spent points. Turn four begins, and the next key moments begin. I take the next key card off the stack, this one has an illustration depicting a cabal of men in red robes engaged in pious worship beside a fine sculpture of who is presumably Joseph covered in blood on a table resembling the same one he must have been tortured on. I flipped it over to check the contents of the card and read aloud again. “It is 1590. The movement of the blood cult is moving forward. It is in an infantile stage, and not not popular at all. Two of the guards who had their skin removed on the day of Joseph’s execution are healthy and well, but claim absolute faith in Joseph as a divine figure who showed them the error of their ways and mended their flesh together not long after the events passed. These two men, Piae and Rena led the burgeoning group by preaching and writing inspired poetry and meeting curious people in secret.” The card ends with the choices of preaching on the street to spread the bien noulle (good news), or to cultivate the movement in secret for now. Preaching will spread word to many, but there is a chance you will lose me a turn of token turnout due to being ignored combined with public backlash at the heresy of professing another God. However, this could lead to increased tokens later. Alternatively, the latter option will give me one additional culture token but no change elsewhere. Most movements don’t pick up quickly anyway, I guess I’ll just go ahead and preach.
I peered over at the computer’s screen who had more than two choices on their keystone event. I wasn’t sure if one of us should read their card aloud, silently, or just observe how they played their turns and skipped it altogether.
“Should we read the computer’s event card too?” I asked.
“Hmmm. it’s up to you. It might take until 6pm or more by the time we’re done if we read every one.”
“I guess I’ll just look at which choices they pick. I don’t want to take up too much of your time” I smirked lightly.
The computer chose to remain neutral towards Mayume’s demonstrated works of science, claiming that the work was within the natural realms of God’s creation and fair use to help the fellow man. However it chose to persecute my movement, resulting in no tokens being earned for my next turn. I guess the Santillian could only choose to act on one side for each event. Next turn no events took place, so I felt I had no choice but to spend both my balance tokens to deter a loss of faith as well as both culture tokens to keep my early members persistent and one capital token to incentivize meetings in houses with people neutral to the movement. This ended with my tallies at two in stability after taking a loss from discrimination, and three in culture similarly. Mayume saved her stability tokens in the luck of her situation, instead spending one on culture and two capital tokens to invest in further research and early institutes of study. Her resulting tallies were two in stability, three in culture, and three in capital. The computer spent the five accrued capital tokens. Three went into military power, and two were placed in infrastructure. Two culture tokens were spent, as well as two stability tokens. Their resulting tallies were four stability, two culture, and six capital. Geez. Playing the middle ground seems kind of easy.
On turn six the next key events took place. I took my next card to see a portrait of a building in construction with a sculpture of a deific figure in progress between arches of the growing walls. “It is 1590. The movement is persisting despite the initial backlash. What used to only be empty houses or inns rented to early worshippers has changed to large meetings outdoors where trusted devotees and the cult's founders discuss their faith with interested onlookers. The fruit of continued preaching and kind exchange has garnered funding by the wealthy house of Sebasien who has always taken dubious stances on theology. Their influence in politics and trade has held their positions in society despite traditional authorities distaste for them.” My options are to pledge loyalty to house Sebasien, or quietly accept funding without making any claims that may go public. Seems like the logical idea would be to make an alliance to get a foothold in politics. Either move looks bad to the Santillian so I’d rather take the obvious benefit. For Mayume’s turn, she drew the key event card as well as the chain card. The chain card stated two lines of text on it that she read aloud.
“If last turn you chose to make your studies known publicly without backlash, you earn another culture and capital token every turn. If you chose to keep them a secret, earn only one extra capital token. Alright!”
“It’s not looking good for me” I vexed.
“Sunlight above my boy!” she encouraged like she spoke to a squire.
“Go on then, read your event” I pushed dismissively.
“Hmm. Following the discovery of advanced medicines through distillation, Margit Marcell’s progress found new currency in the alchemist and philosopher William Florent. Florent and Margit collaborated, arriving at the notion that former theories of the materials making up our world weren’t as accurate. Holy men believed Dio’s essence resided in all things and took the form he chose that changed with his will. Florent hypothesized that a base essence of neutrality composed everything, but took the form of solids, liquids, and invisible winds in certain circ*mstances. But together, they concluded that the world might instead be made of a set of unique materials that worked together. Unlike the neutral essence, they hypothesized that fire, earth, water, wind, and metals were the more basic elements. Margit was doubtful, but he felt it was a step forward. My options are to reveal my findings to a wider audience, or keep quiet again. I’ll stay quiet this time” She finished, smiling mischievously.
Oh man. If the computer can only react to one movement each turn, then her keeping quiet means the better option for the computer is to hinder me again. Board games are harder than I thought they’d be. The next turn began. It was the computer’s choice as to who would get the lash, and expectedly, it came down on me again. The benevolent priests of Mertaille tried to stomp on my people’s fervor, but to no avail. I checked for the chain card that came next. The information was mildly pleasing. I read out my boon that signaled the incoming snowball effect.
“Your choice to ally with house Sebasien was wise. With Laurie and Adrian Sebasian vouching for the integrity of your mysterious group, clergy and commoners alike could only respond with a libel campaign. Their unabashed claims of your heresy, that followers of Joseph ate human flesh and took the blood of Dio worshippers for strange potions and ritual feasts only went so far. Word spread fast, but the common man who could not read or write were not sure what stance to take, moreover, artisans and companies knew that direct attacks against Sebasien would lead to embargo. Blockades could drop the passage of precious gems, glass, potatoes, and fine grains that supported Mertaille’s economy at a whopping 35% of their total production of these goods. You earn one more capital and culture token each turn. I asked the blazing sun for fortune and I have received it '' I joked, clasping my hands and looking at Mayume’s ceiling piously.
“We’ll see about that” she smiled haughtily.
Having already drawn a chain card last turn, she had to wait for the next event to cash out, but she seemed to want to win even more than I did, and dropped her burden of tokens in an attempt to steal ahead. Using only one stability token, she dropped her hoard, pushing her capital investment on materials and cultural value to appease the Santillian who could work alongside her to prevent me from seizing the means to victory. Her total tallies were now at a frightening eight capital, three stability, and seven culture. Eight tallies is the first trigger for major progress, and it looked like I was left in the dust unless something I missed in the rules could save me. My only option was to spend my three capital tokens and try to shift power in favor of economic security with Sebasien. At least I think so. At this point I couldn’t totally grasp the rules or how investment in different spheres even worked. I wasn’t sure if there was stuff I had the option to spend on I wasn’t paying attention to. Was there another rules card maybe? While the prospect of gaining a foothold through a large business was enticing, trying to build up culture and capital at the same time could slow progress too much. Then I noticed the simple solution staring me in the face. I could just spend my five tokens of culture and capital together to push my culture tallies to eight and rival Mayume. Yeah, that was good. At that point the field would nearly be leveled, and the clergy’s smear campaign probably couldn’t cause a setback. Their only option would be to side with Mayume, concede, or dump their stability tokens into their own trigger. We’ll see what happens.
Putting on a poker face, I held my chin up with my right hand supported by my elbow as I leaned forward with my legs crossed. Getting into the game was becoming exciting, and I struggled to decide if I wanted to remain hunched over and watch Mayume act on her big move, or lay back and relax my crooked spine. I chose the former and watched anxiously. She slowly, deliberately reached for the card as slow as possible, a naughty glint in her eyes that traced the outlines of mine peering above my hand of a mask. I would not break. The card was flipped skillfully between her fingers, something I didn’t even know she knew how to do, and she picked up on my surprise. She covered her smile with the card close to her face and read.
“The power of discovery has overwhelmed the cultural sphere. A convention of great minds gathered together to discuss how events might move forward, as well as to display the fruits of their labor. The Santillian authority must respond in kind if they hope to stop your wit. Gain four tokens of your choosing. That isn't all though. It’s still a key event time!” She chimed, clapping thrice.
She removed the next card, this time a little faster like she was already impatient with her game and wanted to push toward her inevitable victory. She too read this card: “It is 1600. Adrian Tinkit has crossed a taboo, the sanctity of the dead. He unearthed corpses to open up for learning purposes, and found the capabilities to perform surgery. The advanced medicines discovered prior could even almost totally numb a patient’s pain while experiencing dissection at the hands of man. Hmm. There’s another option this time. It’s not just to reveal my studies, but also demonstrate surgery to clergy. But wait, there’s more! If you have reached the second trigger at twelve points, you can automatically pass this check without backlash. Well don’t mind if I do tee hee.” She chirped childishly.
It seemed like her victory was assured. It also seemed like there should have been a dice roll for who acted first. With my turn next, I spent my tokens to activate my own trigger. I picked up the card and read it with small confidence: “Competition is fierce, but you have outlasted the trials and emerged a force to be reckoned with. The gossip of rival gods has come to the fore with the deific Joseph a symbol of mental acuity and sacrifice. My options are to send an emissary to the clergy and discuss allyship, assert philosophical superiority if my culture tallies are what triggered the condition, or if my stability is low enough or capital high enough, start a revolution. If you have enough tallies for the second trigger, your success on your choice is guaranteed.”
I was not sure how to proceed. Without proper knowledge of this history, I couldn’t know what the ramifications were for any option available to me. What does an allyship mean to me? Why would the powers that be work together with their religious opposition? Checking their token count on the screen that lay still on the floor, their option for a trigger is in capital or stability. Capital could cause a war, and I don’t have the power to respond to that nor the stability. They can choose instead to trigger on stability, but endurance and compassion doesn’t seem favorable to them. The powers that be want to control the status quo, so staging neutral to either advance would mean a loss. I'm at a loss. But… if asserting superiority means having a dominion of culture, then maybe the general populace will come to my side and refuse to fight, if that’s something that can happen. My only option is to all in on culture, so I guess I'll just go ahead and claim I'm the coolest. I still had a chain event and key event waiting. Maybe things will go my way here. I stake my claim and stand by it. Then I pick up the next event card, but this time I read it to myself, as if trying to search for an answer I cannot know. This card’s art was a beautiful chapel hall lined with stained glass windows with red of every shade and deep crimson jewels filling the cracks of a statue of the agonizing Joseph. “It is 1610. The brother of Dio has risen, his blood fills our flesh, and the body we create with stone mirrors our own. A grand house of worship dedicated to Joseph has been completed. The Santillian has been unable to stop the spread of the true faith up to this point. It is not over though. The clergy redoubles their efforts to maintain word on matters of faith. While you enjoy increasing acceptance, the majority of the economy still allies with the clergy, as does at least 30% of the population. My options on this one are to start denouncing worship of Dio, push forward under the previous conditions, or spend more time refining the developing philosophy.
What was the point of my triggers if I was going to get this card anyway? Something isn’t right. Lastly there was still a chain card waiting. This one gives me another culture token every turn if the Santillian was unsuccessful in hindering my allyship with the house Sebasien. I decide to hold my tokens this turn, and Mayume does as well. As the next turn starts, something a little different happens. The computer lets out a dour jingle. Both me and Mayume look at the screen to see “GAME OVER” in large text. This wasn't surprising though, the game was reaching its conclusion quickly, a little too quickly. I assume the computer knows about every card and option beforehand and opted to quit.
“You know. I’ve been thinking the flow of the game was engaging, but a little off” I admitted.
“You think?” she replied placidly, like she wasn’t just plotting my downfall seconds ago.
“Did we miss some cards, or maybe there were more rules?”
“Hmmm.”
She dug around in the box some more but didn’t come upon anything different than before. I watched attentively search for nothing for about a minute and a half before it occurred to me that maybe I should also help. I scooted across the carpet on the opposite side of her and scraped my hands across the few contents left in the box, but there were just some stray pieces, one or two missed cards, and a few blank pages. If there was something special but insignificant about what remained inside, I couldn’t see it because her lovely head draped it with shadow and I was careful not to bump into it no matter how much I desired to do just that. I chose to muddle with the cards, looking the other way while I tried to collect my rising nerves that vibrated with the expectations of the now quiet room the two of us sat in. In another minute she was triumphant.
“Waihhh!”
“What is it?”
“There were more rules on the other side of the rules page hahahahaha” she laughed.
“That would make sense. I was thinking that our progress seemed to outpace the dates of the events, and it finished faster than I expected. I wonder what the computer was doing then. How could it get that far without playing properly?”
“Maybe we just happened to play the right way? Wanna go again, but with the full game?” she questioned.
“Not really. I don’t think I have the mental strength for a longer game” I nodded a little bored.
“Scared you’ll lose again?” She teased, grinning lightly and deviously.
“More like I know I’d lose. I think it would be more fair with a real third player” I claimed with weak willed certainty.
“Hahh, I simply cannot stand sore losers” she sneered with faux disdain.
That look of disgust was like smearing a big red x over a timeless masterpiece housed in the Tonkiken museum at Sakarika, or the La sitee di recolee in Mertaille. It didn’t fit her at all. The face melted off. She was pretty good at acting a character. As fast as the mask came on it fell off with only water.
“What’s the matter? Swallowed your tongue?”
“Please, I can’t take it your highness. You’re hurting my feelings” I shot back flatly.
“Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t bully you. What else do you wanna do?”
“Shouldn’t I ask be asking you?”
“Well we could sit outside and admire the approaching sunset, or watch a little tv.”
“I guess I’ll do some tv.”
She smiled with her eyes after insinuating I was too sensitive. Then smiled with the rest of herself, extending a hand to lift me off the floor. The formerly absorbing ordeal left the atmosphere too warm again. She didn’t let go of my hand, and led me out her room before stopping short to gather the snacks left on the floor neither of us touched. I was a little sad to let go. Despite my best efforts, I still was unable to step forward and do something like take her hand. I was pained either way, but her taking the initiative kept reminding me of how much life has changed so fast, and I liked it. It’s funny really. This is the dream of people that sit inside all day, but not one I looked for. I was content to know nothing would change if I didn’t try to change. I grabbed the green, plastic sleeve of whatever these cookies were, then followed her to the living room I only glimpsed on the way prior. She passed naturally round the big, brown couch placed a few feet before an elevated flat screen. I didn’t know if other houses of this sort had a fireplace like this one. Besides the furniture of course, everything was sterile white. The whiteness of what is chosen for others. Her parents must have thought paint looked weird on the hearth, because the sleek and safe tool remained the natural, empty, color. They worked around it by placing numerous large and little wooden sculptures of things I couldn’t ascertain.
From below, the hardwood was satisfactory, and was separated only by the colorful and simple rug beneath the couch. From above the atmosphere was made kind with potted plants suspended by chains, the walls lined with resolute gazes of abstracted visages and depictions of swirling leaves among nature aspects. I stumbled around the couch’s opposite end and sat. She lowered her weight, causing no ripples of energy on the sinking cushions, but noticed that being a foot away had to have been too far, and repositioned closer to me. The effort it took to do things gradually, silently, gently like she often did must be great, but she didn’t do it a second time. She stood up, and chose to reposition by plunking down right next to me making the tremors of fabric nearly push me over. She giggled at me, and the pleasant face that felt for a small time like the look of someone that knew me lingered on her until collecting her focus to the TV.
“What do you wanna watch?” she chimed.
“Uhhhhhh. I dunno, what do you wanna watch?” I joked.
“Uhhh I dunno what do you wanna watch?” she bantered.
“Put a cartoon on then” I decided.
“TeVe, cartoon” she ordered.
It flicked on to a kid’s show. Sitting there, I tried to get a little distracted, and began to absorb the show. It was certainly childish, something anyone could watch, but still with room for some clever jokes not everyone might pick up til a little later. I hadn’t seen it before. A speedy fifteen minutes passed, and I ran the plot back in my head. The episode was focused on the unassuming, larger kid that passed for a tough but unintelligent punk. He was a little gruff, a little rude, but not mean. He took the advice from one of the students who I assume was the friend who understood him the best out of the show’s primary crew, and attended the music club. Together they helped him find out how playing music can be fun, and that there’s more music out there than he thought of before. At first he was offput, finding difficulty in realizing songs that he already liked in his head. His fingers just couldn’t combine the rhythm of a famous piano song that played in so many movies, Terastilo’s Piachita, a delightful and fast song. I wouldn’t be able to play it myself, but soon enough, the boy discovered a natural talent for one of the most difficult instruments. It was the Jinto, a Sakarikan classical instrument that combined both woodwind and guitar traits. He blew into the valve and plucked strings that reverberated differently depending on which holes air came out of below the string, and a couple keyholes you plugged near the top to control where the air flowed. It made me wonder who animates the show.
“This show isn’t bad” I praised.
“You think so?”
“I've always liked educational and youthful stuff. It made you feel like you could do anything. Makes me remember when I joined the art club, except I didn’t have a talent for painting like he did for playing the Jinto. Oh yeah. Isn’t the Jinto like, a dying art? I think I remember reading an article headline stating that there’s fewer and fewer professional players.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I hope this show can inspire someone to take up the mantle.”
“Do you like kid shows?”
If it was someone else I probably would have taken offense to it, but her tone was genuine. She probably actually wanted to hear me talk about something.
“One of my favorite shows I watched a lot here was Planet Star. I only saw bits of it as a kid in Azmer. You could probably guess that when you’re expected to be a star student for government squabbles you don’t really get to watch TV” I laughed.
“I guess TVs are everywhere,” she nodded.
“Did you think there were none in Azmer?”
“I figured there were, I didn’t really consider what they were like or where they might be. I heard Azmer spends a lot on ancient energy manipulation techniques utilized through magnets and the like?”
“So you do know? Generally that’s true, yeah. The castle I lived in tried to distance itself from technological development introduced from outside the country, at least from Mertaille in the East and lesser known contacts from the North. I don’t recall any finer points since I was a small child, just vague memories of authoritative figures claiming foreign influence was impure, especially from the monotheists or something. I guess we were on okay terms with Lorkes. There’s murals and advanced water manipulation technology still used in Azmer.”
“So how did you see any of the show?”
“Sometimes I would go out to the market with my parents and I’d run around the corner to find a store that sold TVs and watched them play from the windows or inside. Sometimes it took fifteen minutes until they noticed I was gone and found me” I laughed derisively.
“It must have been great to finally get to watch all of it whenever you wanted,” she spoke quietly.
“Something I’ve never done is watch it with a good friend.”
The conversation flowed well into what was just ordinary enough that my courage flickered to flame. The opportunity arose, and the words spilled out my mouth without even sputtering. It felt like being underwater in a sea of artificial light. No sediment was kicked up on the floor. Like a small fish that hid in holes of rock, swimming out to gather little morsels fit for my size, and coming face to face with a big, orange eel secure in its snug pipe. The eel couldn’t have cared to eat me, but how would I know that? I considered whether to fight or flee, and I stood my ground. The eel did eat me. With all the muscle and instinct of a flying creature, I still couldn’t escape its jaws. She slithered like lightning, clamping down on my hand.
“We can watch it right now.”
Her words were slow. Too quiet, but loud enough to seem a declaration from a victor. Cloying, and certain. I sat constricted, responding just with nods to her questions about which installment of the series I’d want to pick, and which episode might be the best introduction, or the most fun. If I spoke I’d fumble my words. If the TV was remote controlled I’d drop it. Things never seemed to settle completely. There were always currents just above the ocean floor after all. The pale sands in images taken by divers in incredibly durable contraptions make the floor look motionless as death, but there was life down there, even in the water. That’s what this was like. Mayume was irresistibly sweet, but currents flowed inside her, threatening to become a storm at times. I felt myself getting closer to the vortex. So there really were girls like this in real life then. Girl’s wrapped in the garbs of distinguished auras for clothes who set their sights on something and took what they wanted. While locating a given episode and asking for an okay it started. As the intro played she asked me something else that required more than a nod.
“You don’t want to eat any of the cookies?”
I looked past the rim of her close and big head. The plastic green sleeve said something in a language I didn’t recognize below a contrasting image of square shaped, light brown snack cookies. The rims of the biscuit were slightly wavy, and tiny holes dotted the inside of its boundaries. Between the cracker looking biscuit pieces was the filling of brown-orange. In smaller text below it in Mercai spelled “apple flavored cookies.”
“It’s c-considered, p-proper manners not to eat first as a guest…” I cautioned, nervous breaths between half the words.
“That’s funny. For me it's the opposite. But I’ll go first for you” she smiled.
She took a bite out the half the cookie, then raised the other half to me like I was supposed to eat it. Is this really happening?
“I-I d-don’t l-like apple flav…” I stammered, petering out and trailing off.
“What about orange? I have orange too.”
I nodded, the stiffness in my neck resisting as would a marble statue breaking out its bindings. She came back with the other pack, and wasted not a single motion ripping the seal to unleash the demanding cookies. My face was melting. She stuffed the remaining apple cookie in her mouth and pushed the orange one to mine going,“shay ahhhhh” with her mouth full. Trapped. I’m trapped. Why are the dreams that become fulfilled as scary as they are wonderful? A surprisingly good flavor mellowed inside my mouth, and Mayume made an impish smile, crumbs still clinging to the lips that held the crushed apple cookie before she started laughing like her progress in a goal succeeded as planned. That laughter, the same kind I heard in the art club before brought me down to earth. Hand still in hers, I regained enough composure to spy at the TV which must have been several minutes into the episode. I gulped the cookie down to tell her that she missed the opening sequence. She gave an apology that felt too earnest. When reset, she focused on the theme familiar to me unfolding, and leaned her head on my shoulder. Now it was my turn to appreciate her vulnerable state. I was glad I picked an episode I've already seen, because I lost focus after a bit, closing my eyes, taking in the sensation of her head against mine.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night was young, and fresh off my high of my date with Mayume, if you call it that, I again descended into worry. I left the comical warmth of her home with hopes for a future in my head. Though what I fear will become the typical experience, is that for every meeting with what I dare to call the love of my life, I have to face the despair of my life. What’s worse is that she isn’t beautiful, not in the literal sense. It can take many forms, and thus far it takes the form of a brown insect, my so called friends online, and my actual friends, of which there are few. I decided to go see my latest, the cheeky vampire girl. The set had since set, and the lights of a sleeping world winked into solemn grace. My convenience apparatus had a flashlight function of course, but I took to lighting my way with my handy laser sword. The azure stream of rigid energy split the darkness where it felt no one dwelled. Not long ago I felt like anything could have hidden inside it, only to be revealed as something innocuous. Naturally when one grows older, much like the fairytales and urban legends we came to fear, superstition clings to heart and mind, convincing us that there must still hide an invisible evil. At the same time we struggle to realize that it is other people we must fear, and I did not forget my run in with the hairy ape of a man that held me hostage before turning stub and running. Now I was emboldened with the confidence that I could at least try and fight someone off instead of fleeing like a coward. Its funny really, I have the tiniest sliver of proof that something inhuman could in fact be hiding, but when the blue glow shines from my blade, it really does seem that the atmosphere itself is cleaved in two. As if a lie is being rejected. I convinced Mayume I didn’t need an escort to take my home safely which she agreed to reluctantly since she was aware that I had a “power” of sorts. So, walking like this, I walked down the dysfunctional basem*nt staircase, each footstep clapping a brief, dull echo which did not bother me in the slightest. I figured it would be a little funny to walk down brandishing my sword of noble truth, so I did, even if I would come to regret it shortly.
“Foul beast, I have returndon to destroy win false bearing of a corpse!”
“Hey. I’m so accommodating and kind, I was almost going to say I was glad to see you, but ya come in waving that damned thing around. Turn that off!”
“Sorry… I just thought it would be appropriately funny.”
“Mmmm, I’ll give you a pass for effort, but next time put a bit more oomph into it if you wanna raise my eyelids” she replied, her demeanor totally neutral, focused on a videogame.
“Aaaaaaaaeeeeerrhhhhhahaha. Who’s there?” someone yawned.
I looked over into the much too dim room, the kind of room where eyesight goes to die in the tireless malaise of all night gaming sessions. There behind Scarlet, close to the wall was a person who blended conveniently into the blackness. The padding and blanket they slept on could have been any color because all color was consumed here except for the blue glare coming from the large computer screen. There basically was no one at all except the silhouette that promised something uncomfortable for me no doubt. Darn. I should have tripled down on the knight character if I knew something like this would happen, but who knows, maybe I'm in the clear and nothing risque will take place right?
“That’s my friend Clarent. He’s your typical nerd highschooler that sits inside all day, nothing special” she explained, more than a hint of trickery in her tone.
“Ohhhhhh. A newcomer? How old are you?” they said.
“Uhm. 18” I uttered slowly.
“Old enough I guess. Did you come to see Scarlet? She’s a bit busy, maybe I can help you out instead” they encouraged.
Their voice was neither too masculine or feminine. Naturally it wasn’t my place to judge since arbitrary categorizations surrounding sexuality and gender are mostly a thing of the past, but when someone, no matter who it was implied that they wanted to embrace the pleasures of the flesh, well… From the side I could see Scarlet’s mouth curled up. This would be pleasing to her I bet, though she said nothing for now leaving me to struggle. The shadowy figure patted the space beside them on the large mat inviting me to join them. My heart rate was increasing, unlike the rest of my body which stood rigidly as it did times before.
“The quiet type? Or maybe the shy type? Don’t worry, its okay, just come to little me, i’ll make you feel good” they soothed.
I felt like they were making a beckoning motion I couldn’t perceive, all I could make out was how they laid, to the side perhaps. The harsh light beaming past Scarlet revealed only relaxed legs resting on their side beneath the light brownish blanket consumed in blue where dainty feet of a darker tone poked out with black painted nails. From beyond the same digital shower only suggested the shape of hair and the gentle slope of shoulders. Then, the blue was interrupted for moments by red, the color of large and violet letters informed me that she lost her battle in what I noticed to be a match of gigapunch. Swiftly, she turned around to observe, seeming like a pent up laugh would blast out. However, no laugh bubbled forth, but the mystery person moved in the quiet again.
“Hm? What’s the matter Scarlet, you want in too? This’ll be so hot” they urged, legs shifting in the tantalizing ambiguity that threatened to make me fall over.
“Don’t be stupid, you know he’s too young for me. He’s basically a kid, don’t tease him like that, especially not when your naked ya pervert” Scarlet commanded.
Surprisingly Scarlet came to my rescue, I felt just comfortable enough to speak, but my frozen state wasn’t thawed at the fact that someone, who must have been doing naughty things, was nude beside her.
“Oh, sorry Scarlet, I’ll put something on, unless you prefer to have him to yourself then i’ll leave.”
Like she anticipated it happening, Scarlet skitted quickly between me and the shadow person. For a flicker, figure stood up, not caring to cover themselves despite Scarlet’s warning seconds ago, and the hard blue sea painted their body for a frame. I felt ashamed I didn’t just close my eyes in caution, instead I got a full view of a slender body who’s curved rolled in defined shape. Their black hair fell to the shoulders. If hair was like water, then their body, like earth, paved the shape of a sculpture down to their feet in perfect design. However, what stood out most was how the, for lack of better words, feminine shape, was placed in a context I was not used to. That being, their round hips and shapely thighs were neatly separated, in the middle by what clearly seemed to be a, well, the thing I have. I guess they were a person between. That was when the undesired painting met its end when Scarlet was just too late to shield my eyes from her tactless friend. I stood awkwardly, unable to look forward at either of them, so I closed my eyes that time while wearing a childish grimace, listening to the sounds of cloth sliding against skin.
“Okay I’m dressed!” they exclaimed.
“Really, you’re too much for a growing boy like him” Scarlet scolded.
“...” I said nothing.
“My names Nirah, nice to meet you.”
They extended a hand in kind greeting towards me, the smile they wore didn’t feel dishonest or delinquent, but it was hard to forget the vexatious attitude they subjected me to. I barely was able to reach my jittery hand over, but the greeting was cut off because Scarlet saved me again by shooting a glare of disapproval at them.
“I thought you wanted to give him a little show?” they asked, this time the innocent finger pointed at the corner of their mouth, suspended by the left hand at their midriff was definitely up to no good despite their eyes messaging disappointment, the wrong kind I mean.
“That’s not what I meant. Ahhhhhh, I should have known you couldn’t hold yourself back you blarir.”
“Was it really so bad?” they posed, giving a sad smile to Scarlet, then at me, as if their charm had really struck me dumb like a poison tipped arrow.
“W-well, I-i really did come to-to talk to just Scarlet anyway” I tried to firmly admit.
“I’ll see you next time Nirah, maybe you can have some fun when you follow the rules k?” Scarlet stated.
“I understand. Til next time…” they sighed.
They walked into the corridor, the sumptuous cut of hair whipping back as they turned to wave a roguish goodbye. I wasn’t totally sure if I would call them mysterious still, but it was a fact that I knew nothing besides that they must be a bigger prankster and freer spirit than Scarlet which did not bode well with me. Scarlet slapped my back and apologized for the breach of comfort. She returned to her cold, lonely spot before the grating screen light, picking up the controller to resume more matches.
“You wanted to talk about something?”
“I didn’t think you’d disapprove of them. Your friend I mean.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way, I’ll still tease you, they just took it too far. I need a better partner than him if I want to do a tag team torture match on you” she jested.
“That sounds great… but, yeah, I wanted your advice on something.”
“Strike.”
I took a set by her, but a generous breadth away from the mat her friend was resting on.
“There’s a girl I like a lot. At this point I think we might be considered to be dating, but there’s a problem. She’s committed to her culture and religion, but I’m an athiest. I haven’t brought it up yet because she’s Aoran. Because of her, I found out a little better how hard it is for her and others like her to live here.”
“Smart kid. I’m proud you recognized that and chose to speak up” she praised genuinely.
“What should I do?”
“Understand more.”
“As much as I like her, I just can’t see myself believing in such things. I mean, I don’t approve of what our government does, but I think they’re right for seeing the dangers of religion and addressing them.”
“Do you think addressing and subjugation is the same thing?”
“I wouldn’t call it subjugation, no one’s in chains or anything. If they just follow the laws everything will be fine as much as it sucks.”
“It’s the very essence of subjugation. Their hearts are in chains. I’m chained here too.”
“Why don’t you just leave?”
“I can’t. I’m literally and metaphorically bound here. This place has changed me. The sunlight is harsh. It grates my skin like one million eyes trying to tear at me” she lamented, her face fingers tracking her opponent's movements perfectly, but her face now looked as dead as she claimed to be.
“I’m sorry, I… don’t understand.”
“Well, I’ll put it another way. I got the trade of infinite blood from hospitals in exchange for routine studies and experiments on my body. There really is a physiological difference between my body and others, and they want to try and fix me. Not only that, but everyone like me and your girlfriend is suffering somehow, and I feel like I’ve gotta stay to help others. I can’t run away til I see something change, and I’ll wait as long as it takes.”
A glint of determination shined in her left eye, visible to me, or was it just the screen? Whatever the feeling she had now, her health bar, which was nearly empty, proved no threat as she turned the tables on her opponent effortlessly like a switch was flipped. Though she was indeed small and frail in appearance, I thought I could see a vein bulging by her temple. The small frame that defined her hoary, fairy tail body looked bonier right now. I felt like suddenly her willpower was lifting the supposedly cold, dead skin up further like a fan fish spreading its flaps to appear bigger to predators.
“I guess that makes us alike then.”
“How so?” she asked, turning languidly to face me.
“W-well, I uh, I want to be a hero that helps people. I’ve actually helped Mayume a pretty good amount before. I think that counts for something” I repeated with uncertainty.
“Mmmm. What is a hero?”
“Someone that saves people.”
“Did you save her?”
“I like to think so. I did something with my own hands that affected her, thats the best I can ask for isnt it?”
“The way you sword that, sounds like you have a more mature concept of heroism” she smiled, impressed.
“When I grew up, and as I got older I aspired to be a hero like Tower. He was a symbol of virtue and strength to everyone who saw him. Some doubted him, but even he couldn’t do everything, he just did what he could. I’ve done a fat amount of nothing up till the last few weeks of my life. But I think that’s changing. See, in one season of the show, the hero Tower 11 was getting older, slowing down. He was the first of the tower brothers that came here to succumb to old age. He felt detached and useless. Near the final episode he resolved to make a heroic sacrifice to prove to himself that if he couldn’t fight forever, he’d die in sun sized explosion. But his younger family members that trained to succeed him convinced him otherwise, he came to realize that even if his physical abilities failed him, he had to stay and see them grow, that was the way he could save them. Only recently did I realize that his experience wasn’t something fictional or legendary, it was real, just represented fictionally. I found a way to save Mayume in a way that I could, and if I can truly help even just one person I care about, that makes me enough of a hero.”
“You’ll be a hero just for her?”
“No. Not just for her, I’ll try to be a legendary hero, the ones that shouldn’t exist. I want to see for myself if that can be reality too. Though things don’t always work out that way, so I guess if I was a hero, maybe it would be just for her” I professed.
I felt I may have been blushing a little. It would be hard to tell in this claustrophobic lighting I’d think. Unless vampires had nightvision. Scarlet gave me a gentle smile. The serious face she had when asking about a political stance certainly had a fighting spirit, but this face felt more powerful. She must have the maturity of someone older than me, because that look said “maybe these young adults aren’t lost…”
“I think you’ll be just fine. Be careful whatcha say though, one wrong word and you’ll open the coffin lid of an ancient evil in no time.”
“Say, do vampires have nightvision?”
“Yep, I could see you blush a second ago.”
Was it the truth? How should I know. I can tell she’s adept at teasing, and I haven’t seen even half of that skill, so it was probably just a trained guess. A woman with her experience must have known something about romance. The best I have is from tv and comics. There’s endless examples of even the nice guys saying the worst thing in a heated moment, fracturing the work built up thus far with intense apologies shortly after. Logically I understood that saying something really inconsiderate was a bad move, but I also was sure that in emotional highs we’d all say something less than favorable. I knew that well enough, so I’d do my best to keep in something disagreeable for the sake of my future. I became distracted by the thought, but returned to the present when the cheeky vampire woman poked my nose with her index finger. In a different situation that’d be cute, but here I found it annoying, much to her pleasure.
“Hey, cut it out” I rejected, slapping her finger away automatically.
“Sorry sorry, little guys like you are just so cute, so impressionable. That was fast though, you improved already!” she sighed dreamlike.
“You’ll have to improve your methods if you wanna make me an idle plaything. Not that you should, of course.”
“Hmmm. Guess i’ll crack a new battle plan with Nirah” she considered, rubbing her chin like a beard were present, gazing off into the cruel and unusual machinations of her mind.
“Ok ok! Tease me more! Anything but Nirah, I can’t handle that!” I panicked.
“Good boy” she smiled with joy.
Her temperament returned to what it had been when I first met her, casual, playful. It didn’t feel like just a routine. No doubt it had been practiced on other people before me. Must be how she shows her affection. She was open for a challenge of the minds, but she seemed to like playing around more. I couldn’t pin it down, but there was some distant quality about similar to that look Mayume has sometimes. Now that I think about it, i’d describe that distant sensation as the feeling of a trapped person. Mayume was definitely my age, and I know she doesn’t feel at home here, she’s worried for the future; but scarlet, she seems every bit a vampire in this way. It’s not that she can’t leave the coffin, but she chooses to stay in it. How long has she been here? Remembering those vacant eyes, I wished that I had met her sooner. Maybe I could have eased her loneliness just a little bit if we played games together. Then the thought of her past crossed my mind, but I avoided asking, I wanted to keep the mood jovial for now. There was something she wasn’t telling me, but that’s everyone isn’t it? I wanted to know. She gave a knowing glance, eyes filled with pleasant mystique. She had a secret, one she was willing to share this time.
“Today’s bar day, wanna come?”
“I don’t drink. Not much of a point in coming.”
“Spoken like a true basem*nt dweller. Come onnnnnn, get out the house more. You really gonna turn down an invitation from a woman as sexy as me?” she complained, a disappointed frown adorning her face.
“Especially from a woman like you” I smirked.
“Haaaahhhhhh, you’re too cruel. You men of piety are just too cruel” she feigned despair, sighing, her head falling back, her hand at her hand grasping for the invisible force of fainting.
“I guess I'll go. But don’t let anyone I know see me.”
“You say that like you know people” she teased, this time a blank gaze instead of a smile, like anyone wouldn’t think otherwise.
We left the haunt, and came to one of many white buildings. The larger among a group was decorated with neon signs, murals, rusted metal signs, any other homely items one might find at an antique shop. This place had seem many people, it was sharply elevated above the nearby buildings that only bore little graffiti and maybe a mural where there was an adequate space. Judging from the pure look on the walls, this side of town must see more action from the sanitation department. Why was this bar left alone then? I myself couldn’t tell if whatever stacked the sides was culturally significant. If the items were charitable to any non-sibil cultures they’d no doubt be removed. While I wondered without finding an answer we stepped into the place that looked inactive from outside, save for the accoutrements that made sure a viewer knew it must be in use, unless it really was an antique shop. Inside, the atmosphere of an ambiguous, dangerous night changed to a lively night. It wasn’t dissimilar to stories about Sakarikan monsters that drank alcohol and danced beneath the moonlight safe from the prying eyes of nosy humans in the forests. Not much dancing was going on, not that there was space for it. I’d really never seen so many people in this city in the ten years I’ve lived here except for the crowd at the art show the time I met that self identified math teacher. I was out of my depth, and stood observing the multitude of people I never knew lived here. A person with big umbrella shaped mushroom head, a fish person with more humanoid features equipped with spines, a person with a neck that reached halfway to the ceiling before bending downwards like a lamp post, and many more. The most eye catching was the singer. Their body was highly androgynous, I didn’t know where any identifiable traits of something reliable to determine identity hid. They were definitely humanoid, but something was just… different. While others laughed and drank, some stared, entranced by their performance. Unlike Poncifucius who’s body literally changed depending on when and where you looked, it was more like the vocalist was camouflaged. An illusory spell lined the alluring curves, leaving a faint iridescent glow as if the magic was actually just a kind of oil worn as makeup. No matter where I looked, I found myself confused. Only the eyes seemed to move in a pattern familiar to me. It leaved the source of their voice, a mouth long and thin, strangely defined. The voice was most important, and it filled the space with a gentle cheerfulness. The visible skin flowed like a serpent wearing a human’s disguise. What clothed their body were robes that did not betray the eyes, though the fabric, which seemed to fit a style from about 100 years ago in this very city, and was common for performers, paired uniquely with the assorted bird feathers and reptile fangs hung by necklaces, roped into hair with colorful beads, and strung into thin strings along the lower half of the dress.
Before seeing these things more closely, I wondered if you had to be drunk or on drugs to fall into the lull some of the no doubt actually drunk patrons were, but I soon found myself drawn in. I lost track of how much time passed while observing the scenery of the bar, decked out less extravagantly than the outside of the place, but still lit up with sentimental baubles and lights. I realized I was standing stock still in the doorway when Scarlet pulled me out.
“That’s Omaril, the singer, I mean” she addressed with her eyes.
She pulled me to an empty table. Enough fanciful individuals filled the atmosphere that I doubly wondered why this table in particular was empty, surely someone’s feet needed a rest. In a few minutes, A grey-skinned man with long raven hair, who’s body was a tapestry of tattoos revealed only in the bare patches of skin between clothing, took the seat opposite Scarlet’s, setting down two garish mugs shaped like dragons. They just wore a simple pair of jet black dress pants and a short, black, dress-shirt and tie to match.
“Sorry I didn’t bring you one, dunno what you like” he apologized.
His voice was every bit the attractive fantasy characters, even imbued with the tone which narrowed the gap between fully audible and whisper. His tone was loud enough to pierce through the din of bar noise, but the voice had that distinctive mystic quality. Something about him was odd, and as I looked at his eerie, light brown eyes that were temporarily distracted with a natural comment towards scarlet he took hold of my attention just as naturally before I could take full time to assess what it was that should be off about him. Extending a hand in greeting, I responded to his question.
“I’m Darian, formerly-travelling guitarist. You?”
“Clarent Eisenforth, currently: waste of space and aspiring super hero.”
“I look forward to your future growth Mr. Eisenforth, maybe I can strum a theme song for you someday. I take it you’re a friend of scarlet. I don’t usually see her take many people here. New ones, anyway” he smiled gently.
“He’s one of my new toys” Scarlet smiled maliciously, wide enough I could see her fangs.
“Hope you’re a fast learner, I’ve taken my fair share of pranks too. Spilled drinks, buried alive, surprise hammers to the head, hung from a daina invested pier by a reinforced fishing rod, hand in a warm cup of water, feather and shaving cream, death by white lily, you name it” he recounted, flashing a kind smile before tipping back on his chair delivering a great swig from the mug.
“Awwww, don’t go spoiling the best parts” Scarlet pouted, her little face shriveling.

I looked to this Darian, then Scarlet. No way… In such an adult atmosphere, and the place was filled with adults, I was in deep water. I tried to consider that he was a teaser trained by Scarlet and they were both pulling my leg. Death by white lily? Wasn’t that 200 years ago? Don’t tell me this guy thinks he’s an immortal too. What I was thinking must have been apparent on my face.
“Yes way. Now that that’s spoiled, I’m gonna have to come up with something really special. I’ll spare you the lethal pranks though, less’ you decide to fall in love with me and become a vampire” she explained, giving a devilish grin.
“You’ve gotta be joking…” I complained, my childishness peeking out, for a moment truly unsure whether I was wrapped around the finger of a deranged basem*nt killer.
“No jokes. In a few months I’ll find out if your ass is mounted on her wall or not” Darian replied, nonchalantly tipping back his mug on the chair.
“Wait a minute. She doesn’t have any butts mounted on walls down there…”
“I was just being metaphorical. She’ll probably just drain you and store you in that little freezer” he commented with an honest, stoic look, peering over the mug's rim while he sipped again.
There’s no way she’s serious, why would she have stood up for me a bit ago then? Unless that's part of her mind game. Why am I even considering this? It’s a load of crap! I looked at Darian.
“Death by white lily huh? That hasn’t happened in a long time, are you an ‘immortal’ too?” I asked, raising air-quotes as my attempt at fighting back.
“Sure am. I’m older though, she wouldn’t know how to give me the ol’ Triskite dolomin.”
“No, but I could learn. It’s probably out of style though” Scarlet admitted casually.
“I bet you don’t even know what that is” I accused in Scarlet’s direction. Triskite Dolomin was an execution method of ancient Azmer. It’s unlikely she knows, she could only specialize in so much history right?
“It’s where you’re thrown into a reaper pit” she said plain as day.
“I’m looking through your book folder on your pc the next time I’m at your place” I scowled.
That was my last leg to stand on. I had to determine that either she actually knew about Azmer history, or it was coordinated. I couldn’t put it past her to be excited about this little trip specifically to bring a former victim turned torturer to drag me by the chains. I was about to pretend to get up and leave as my last resort to make her admit she was joking, or a victory in making her say she took it too far, but I saw something strange. A bird man walked by. Time felt as if it slowed down, and I got a feeling I felt exactly one time in the last week or so. The feeling I got when Jack disguised by their cloak came by me, that smoke billowing off his soldiers. The sight made me imagine that someone was burning inside. But for this guy, instead of smoke, it was something far, far different. Hovering above him, protruding out their back was the figure of a bound man. Like some kind of apparition, the form was wrapped in colorful but tightly bound cloths. Where the head would be, there was a blinder bird trainer’s used that covered the hidden eyes, but the things beak stuck out. Little tassels, feathers, and beads hung off the emaciated body by the cloth. Besides gritty, yellow skinned feet sticking out at the opposite end, the black talons at the ends of the huge, avian digits, the beak on the head was open some. Just enough that inside, as the man passed by, I made out gritted, human teeth. He disappeared up the staircase in the corner of the busy room. Once gone, I still had my eyes where he left. Scarlet’s voice called me back to the present, making me notice I was turned almost all the way around in my seat watching that corner.
“What’s got you so interested?” she asked innocently.
“You didn’t see that guy walk past?” I posed.
“What guy?”
“Did you see?”
“Nuh-uh” Darian replied.
“It was a bird man, like from Saruna, that sort of bird man.”
“There’s a lotta people here, hard to pick some out” she answered.
“He had this creepy looking body, looked like a corpse hanging above them, you didn’t see that?” I spit out hastily.
They both eyed me curiously, not a shred of trickery in their eyes, but it wasn’t long before that familiar smile started to creep around the edges of Scarlet’s mouth letting me know that she was about to find a way to make fun of me for it, but surprisingly, she decided not to. I turned around to look behind me again, then twisted back to ask another question.
“What’s in the room upstairs?”
“Just another one like this” they said, answering something similarly.
Though the response seemed honest, the boredom with which Scarlet replied was, too bored? While I had a level of trust in her that struck me now as disproportionate to how long we’ve actually known each other, I reasoned that something was off. It’s likely she’s a skilled liar, after all, teasing requires lying, and I never would know if she slipped in falsehoods in her routine going forward. But why would she lie? If that man was anything like Jack, then something would happen soon, and I’d probably get wrapped up in it. I became suspicious of Scarlet, and it saddened me.

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Chapter 2: The setting sun
When I first started working here I thought that the odd looks and comments I received would end. I was wrong of course. As my skill at coding increased I just got more attention. In this way it feels similar to first stepping into the bleak office space. It’s funny to remember, someone like Alexi would come ring my pod, in an attempt to maintain friendly relationships I would receive them for useless small talk. They would say something as stupid as “That beak just for show?” The more sensical digs would be things like: “hey, how’s aboutta prayer for a raise ah?” or “when you think about it, we got luckier on the vestigial organ lottery huh?” As time went on, the japes lessened a little, but without a direct protest from me in a vain attempt to fit in and ignore the foolish culture of idle business they took to sticking on prejudiced nicknames. For some I could tell that they thought it no harm, just simple banter as they would say. For others I knew they carried on in that manner because they wanted to hold some sort of power over me. They knew they were racist, but the morale of the workplace improves when a stray rammel is singled out from the herd, dunked in paint and ridiculed. It wasn’t so different at home, but I had power there, and my gaze alone was enough to ward off malcontents. I occasionally thought that a self flagellator would love to take my position, but they would remain jealous. They can take off their amulets whenever they please, but I cannot remove my feathers and beak.
While I considered the selfish friendliness that characterized the ever so petty power struggles of the corporation, I got a ring at my door. I became used to it, but I still wondered at times how many workers here would value a peephole, should they desire to know who attempts to get their attention and choose to ignore them, but that is not considered friendly in workplace etiquette of course. The cool air inside my pod was just cold enough that when the door slid open with a whoosh, the warmth on the other side was noticeable even though the whole building was appropriately cold itself. In the doorway was none other than Alexi, my most frequent bother. His attire let me know it was friday. His business casual was in the same style as the western business shirt and slacks everyone had, but today each piece was multiple colors harsh to the eye. The tiresome smile eyed me as he bent down like usual to ask me something.
“Me and the boys are gonna get a drink, wanna come with us?”
“I would like to, but I have something special to do today.”
“Oh yeah? Finally going in for the kill on some of our hotties? I softened em up for ya, Cassie’s ripe for a good meal” he chortled, seeming to enjoy the scenario he made up in his head.
“It’s actually something much more mundane, but it will not be overtime at least.”
“Good, walking down the road next to a big field isn't the same as running in it. I’m still worried you let this office make you its bitch.”
“I am the property of no one I assure you, not anymore.”
“Oh hoh, I like the sound of that, you got that look in your eye, haven’t seen that before. Come back and let the boys know you’re done taking sh*t alright?”
“Yes” I finish.
He leaves, and in about another twenty minutes I also leave, but not without extracting some confidential documents from my computer. It was unlikely I would ever return, but in the event I do, I do not fear completely for my life, not yet. I am convinced of the veracity of Dawn's claims. After working for ten years, the truth they claimed matched up with mine. Anyone would say that I was feeding into a conspiracy. The truth only appeared so enticing because I was connecting dots with no connection. It did not matter any longer whether that was true. What was true, was the idea that ran through my head repeatedly over the last few years. There is no freedom, only the illusion of freedom in this city. No matter how abundant the truth of people who were disappeared and incarcerated for violations of national pride crimes, leaking of secret information, assault and the like, anyone would call it foolish. Those on the fence would say not to test the winds, we were too small to make a change. Enough. Enough politics and intrigue. Enough philosophy and posturing. Wings did not need to puff up our size, talons were not only for show. The time to strike was now.
I exited the building and retrieved the little statue of Vasu I tucked into the space between overlapping walls not but 100 feet from the corporation tower. The nook was perfect for keeping it safe, kept secret by old walls that should have been removed, but like a number of things in this city, corners were cut. I held Vasu in my left hand inside the comically large sleeve of my suit that resembled the formal attire of the business place. I bought it from a shop that specifically sells clothes to fit the bodies of non-sibil people. It was made with care, but the colors were unfit for a man of Saruna, as was its shape. No matter how the contours of my body were fitted with dignity in mind, you looked stupid, and you felt stupid. I was glad I would not be wearing it for much longer. I rubbed Vasu gently in prayer, reciting the same kasta I always did. “Vasu completes the cycle, until the end comes, he watches on his perch of cloud and branch. You are safe while his eyes gaze, and his talons shine, and his feathers coat from rain.” Ending the verse, I lift him up to my face to remind myself he is here still. He looked rough, it will soon be time to repaint him. It was the knowledge I would paint his radiant feathers once more than kept me convinced that the smudged paint was not evidence of god dying so much as it seemed. The radicals of Saruna were despicable and cruel, but at least they carried out their foul machinations around the architecture I knew, around the same icons and clothes I knew. Those things would not disappear.
Stepping forward down the afternoon road, I was faced with the horrific desire to turn back. I should not look like I did nearly every day before. It would be the same thing would it not? The sun would disappear behind the tower, and a long, terrible shadow would claim the path I walked and drag it into a deeper, more perverse clarity of the truths of this place. The sight took over. The sun disappears even when no eyes hold it in reality. I repeat the kasta like always, Vasu protects me from this all consuming dark. It was because of Dhritanaka that the gods were cursed to remain always awake to watch over us. Dhritanaka received the boon of sleep so that we no longer had to stare dark like this in the face. When I reach the center of the city is when the shadow, like the hands of a clock, moving counter, cast its ghastly shadow on another damned section of town. I was making my way to a bar I had only seen once or twice by chance. I took out my convenience apparatus and followed the directions towards the bar. If I recall correctly, it was easy to recognize because of the miscellaneous apparel layered on. That was the atmosphere inside and out I was informed through Dawn. Not much longer now. Outside the shadow, I didn’t feel the need to recite my verse. Other typical thoughts drifted leisurely across. I wanted to consider a couple more things before my engagement with Dawn. Should it go well, the content of these thoughts will be permanently changed. All this time, I was a man of god.
Over and over I thought about my past, and how over ten years it changed what I thought would remain untouched. I entered the hollow world set on my mission of preservation. Soon even my own home would be gone. The colors of clothes would remain, the colors of our flag would stay, of our gods if we were lucky, but time would pull and tear at the cracks; it would accelerate the damage that has long since written our destruction on the walls of each and every home. I left my family to earn more money. Within a year of my beak on the millstone I realized how empty everything was. But I hung on because I told myself I was doing it for god and for my family. But after today I don’t think I could call myself any holier than the average vapid and insolent Sibil man. To take any part in the coming upheaval, my faith would come to tatters. A defiled man would stand in my place, but if someone else could feel the hope of the sun rising, the real sun that shined thousands of years ago, it would be worth it. This future was entirely uncertain. It might as well be morning mist on the rare mornings the temperature ever drops to 50 or less degrees. But I was prepared to wrap that mist about this coming world and disappear when the morning rays erases them. I had to reconcile who I am, and who I will be now. If someone could hear my thoughts. If someone heard my story, I would be a green feather for a cult recruit. No one is on my side here, so I must become a shadow of the future. Otherwise, I’d just end up returning home and fleeing to live yet another strange life of adaptation and death.
I ran these thoughts through my head one more time. I took another few minutes standing idly before the bars' distinctly noticeable exterior. The sign read Moonlight, just like the pictures. I stepped inside. The interior was the same, the distinct and sundry dhritanaka within was somehow even more alive. Dhritanaka had to have set them up of course. This made me feel relieved. So there really were other places around here where dhritanaka were present. Maybe if I came here earlier, the destination of my tuli would have been eerily different. In another world, I could have been smiling here perhaps. I almost laughed at the thought. At this doorway three branches of tuli, like the rivulets of a stream fanning out at the mouth intertwined. I held on to those loose threads for a little longer, gripping their locus in the shape of the Vasu figure, and took in the lively atmosphere. The singer performing here caught my eye. I had never seen anyone this unique. Their garb was peculiar. They wore little, but somehow it did not seem unnatural or perverse. They seemed covered more by the circular, thin threads of something about them where beads and feathers were linked on. Those feathers reminded me of clothes at home, and prayer necklaces, bracelets and the like. The similarity must be coincidental. My eyes separated themselves to look for the spot of interest. I saw another vasunaka, and he saw me. He looked at me with intention before disappearing up a staircase in the corner, that was it. That was Tatu.
I followed suit, and found myself in a small corridor. This unpleasantly small stretch of a path separated the two sides of the building. The left side had two doors. Certainly the meeting location would be in the room on the right side where only one door stood. The space was much too small on the left claw of what felt odd to call a hallway. I wrapped my digits about the handle silently. Voices mingled about inside. My entry was announced by the creak of the aging hinge, directly across from me stood covered head to toe in power armor. The design was different from the authorities. Even I could not know everything about the sharp briars of Artre, privileged as I may be. The mysterious figure said nothing, as did the Vasunaka in the left of my periphery who sat in a retired chair by someone that made as much visual sense as the singer downstairs. I was not in handcuffs, relocated, or imprisoned inside a mobile containment capsule. It was not a bust I suppose. I finally stepped inside, letting the ominous creak of the door lock me into the third side of town. That man was likely he who became my confidant. The room was dreary, but the air was charged with uneasy potential.
“You are…” the Vasunaka spoke.
“Lakta” I said dryly.
“Ahhhhhh Achiah loka!” he cried, pulling me into a spirited hug.
“It is good to finally see you” I flicked my tongue to the roof of my mouth sheepishly.
“Now that you are here, the party can start!”
Only having communicated through text for a few years, I truly had no image of what he would be like besides being of the same Dhrita. The way he typed was just as stilted as mine. I wondered if he was deliberately mysterious, or if he did not know his way around a keyboard, and thus did not know how to transmit his personality. Regardless, I was glad to see a physical body, I was glad he did not use my family name too, and strangely nostalgic at being called brother in my own tongue after all this time. The unceremonious appearance of this room reminded me of home as well, of the times when I would leave the temple to search for homeless children to push toward joining the temple so they would have a home and education. How times have changed, telling someone that would make me look to be a saint, but that was no longer me. Tarchan was about to say something. I became distracted because the seemingly inert sculpture beside him twitched, and a distinct presence seeped out the unobtrusive coloration. A Zoloran. Tarchan started talking anyway, he must be totally accustomed to them. I do not recall ever speaking to a Zoloran in person, being this close, I realized intimately what ‘talking’ meant. As a child I wondered innocently how a person without a mouth could talk. I soon found out myself that nothing needed a mouth to speak. To be deliberate, their stirring was like waking from slumber. They slept standing up, if that was what you may call sleep. And the sensation, I was being seen by another being. To be seen without eyes, mouth, but only movement, vibration. I was covered with awareness, like a mother covering you with a blanket when you fell asleep without one. Directly into my mind, from the bending, vaguely human shape.
“At last you come. We have waited for you. I am Oloran.”
“Yes yes! We waited and waited loka, and you came, just like he said. Fate is strange” Tarchan agreed.
This Oloran must be speaking to everyone individually simultaneously. It would probably be rude to say they looked like a discarded antique.
“I’m not bothered haha. One time I fell asleep here and an employee brought me out into the bar room thinking the same thing. They still wonder where I must have disappeared to!” Oloran chuckled.
“Ah! My apologies…”
“It’s no problem really! I think the atmosphere at Moonlight is quite fitting for someone like me. A bit of curiosity is welcome, though I’m sorry for reading your thoughts haha. We’re all friends here. At least the four of us are.”
Features were not needed, the unique feeling had me pick up on a sense of direction drawing my mind to the river in the room. The armored one, an android or cyborg maybe, was unmoved. Unlike Oloran who seemed to serenely occupy space in a state of inactivity, this android learned by the wall totally uncaring. They did not care so much it seemed, that I was filled to bursting with their standoffish nature. When the other two held my attention it was like they were a lone child playing while their parents talked to friends their own age. But looking right at them, one would be glad they wore a helmet because it surely blocked off a disarming glare. After looking them over, another voice reached my ear from the side I had not so much as glanced at since entering.
“To be a member of Dawn, one must be able to hide their presence. That is, until you have come. You are the exception.”
Before me, sitting up, their arms crossed in a regal swagger was some kind of human? They looked much like a stock human, but their skin was the deep gray of stone. I was sure even, it must be stone, but without cracks, cleavage or wear? I suppose a group of stone humans existed unbeknownst to be. Their eyes were icy blue, striking. Atop their head was some kind of animal headdress, three horns pointing skyward. The rest of their body was clad in fur. The people gathered fit the robes of secret revolutionaries, but looking at this man, I had a strange feeling. Was that getup even from his own culture? They wore it with prestige I found off putting.
“I was human. And yet I am still human. Human as they once were, before finding their way in this world” he smiled proudly.
“Exception?”
“That is correct. There is something only you can do for us, and it does not even require the illicit data you carry with you.”
“So I downloaded it for a test?”
“Yes, and fine success you have carried out. Worry not, where you are going, protection is no issue, no issue at all.”
“I was resolved to leave everything behind. It is disappointing the skills I worked so hard on will not be useful.”
“Oh come now, lift your head, lift your head! Who would be proud to use those skills learned from the machinations of oppressors? Though I do find it poetic to send crashing down the spire with the tools the oppressors used to build it. You have something far more important to do” he praised, making greatly animated motions of appraisal.
“And that would be?”
He carried himself with unusual bravado. Every sentence and gesture bordered on a noble clamor. It was the mark of an arrogant royal. Always these people were displeasing, but even so, there was something strange about him. No matter how decadent, how vile, kings had charisma. This was a king whose court was now composed of four other men? Was he just imagining a future where he ruled? Would this man live up to the rumors and mystery? I was aware somewhat that he was the leader, the fabled character that studied the ancient art of transfiguration, just one of the many wiped away completely by the Sibil. I paid little attention to such philosophies, however, the strangeness I feel, it tells me something. Watching his glacial eyes sparkling like gems inside stone that stretched like skin, I thought that this man must really have found something in the lost arts.
“Indeed indeed I found something! I synthesized it myself. The dew that fell from the heavens, the dew that trickled down the youngest mountains, the dew of primordial man, the nectar of lost life and love. The drop of origination.”
He acted out the description. Standing up, he uncrossed his arms which ground together with little sound, and raised his hand up and wiggled his fingers down to picture rain. Then he crups his hands and caresses them about a conical tip like he loved mountains, then traced a single droplet down the slope with his finger. Lastly he tilted his head up and strained at the air with clawed hands and open mouth like he was drinking in life before dramatically lowering the thirsty fingers along with his eyes, finishing on that item. No one would believe him except for a devoted follower, even others that practiced transfiguration would be highly skeptical. No one believes a prophet without proof. What did he show them?
“What did you do with it?”
“I produced a fabled elixir and drank it. The recipe is in my laboratory, but no one can have it yet. The gift is mine alone. The visions of the future are mine for now” he remarked, watching his own for a moment like the veins inside the stone were visible for just his eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“Oh it hurts me so that you did not read the material I provided on my website. I laid out all my philosophy, verily my whole journey! Ahhhhhh, no matter. I will be direct with you, since you are my precious hand in this mission. This gift has allowed me sight into the future, profound strength, knowledge of a great many things. But… something interesting came to me. Before the final elixir was complete, I considered my plan complete, but I was wrong! The plan that mapped our victory over the oppressors every weak in body and mind was flawed. Where I once saw total victory, I now see ambiguity. Bah! What is foresight when limited? But that is truly the nature of our world, some things are locked in place like many mountains, and others are uncertain like where a raindrop falls to the grass. Our future is one of these raindrops, a branch in the great tree yet to be grown. You see, victory for us hinges on one thing… A single boy, by the name of Clarent Eisenforth. He lives in this very city, and his power is great, so great it even rivals mine. He can do something I cannot, so I need that power.”
“And where do I come in?”
“You will convince him to join our cause.”
After giving an impassioned monologue, finding every manner of expression in the dusty little room the five of us commiserate in, he addresses my role with authoritative informality, reclining back to his seat. This was not out of the ordinary, it should be expected really. It was just odd. I am under no impression that changing one’s course in life would change the world tomorrow, but all the rumors surrounding Dawn amounted to this? Did I take the wrong step and walk into a harmonization theory reading club? And this man, did the others really believe what he says? I knew they were committed, but are they really on the same page? Surely asking some questions was not against the rules.
“To answer your questions. No, we are not on the same page exactly. Everyone has their own goals. But we do agree on the basic principles Tarchan informed you of.”
“So you are a telepath as well.”
“Quite convenient is it not? Some are worried about how to navigate a world where no one can lie to you, but for someone like me, it is of no concern.”
“Why is that?”
I just noticed a bottle of something sitting beside him on the floor when he picked it up and leisurely brought it to his lips, still reclining as comfortably as one could on the worn, leather padded seats pushed to the wall. After sipping a generous amount, hardly rushed, he responded.
“Because in this world, it is the will that guides the destiny of every manner of being. What separates you and I is simply the matter of choice and determination. A rock is determined to remain in its place until gravity thrusts it down, and then it is determined to fall. At every moment the stone’s whole body is filled with its purpose. To live any other way is a waste. Do you understand? I am in a good mood since you came because I knew you abandoned the lifestyle that sacrifices ambition. Spending years making strings of numbers for what purpose? You chose the right choice to become filled with the surging waters of will. But still, you are skeptical. Worry not, I can show you.”
The pleasant music below was drowned in triumphant tongues when he spoke. I did not doubt he lived in possession of his will, but anyone would doubt the claims of full control over our passions at any time. I looked behind me, the Zoloran, and Tarchan were still. Since my conversation with this man began they did not stir the slightest bit. The warm greeting I received was replaced with a cold fog. This is how it might appear to an outsider, but in minutes the cold quiet was understood to me as truly a dense, hot clarity called loyalty. I took it that what he was about to show me was the grace of truth that the legendary power of an impossible to obtain relic was really acquired by his own hands. His gaze showed not the slightest trace of duplicity. These were not the eyes of a fraud ascribing monetary value to the superficial beliefs of fools, nor was it the cloying expression of the love for childlike wonder a practitioner of sleight of hand performs under the guise of magic. In my country I saw plenty of frauds with my own eyes, ancient literature and political debate recounted tales of experienced masters utterly trouncing the cleverly trickery of false prophets with wit and wisdom of the true reality. Those that claimed, or rejected to claim that such a thing as true insight into true reality could be harnessed often channeled their understanding through philosophical labyrinths, troves of words with many meanings an individual could not circumvent should they wish to really know what they felt with their whole hearts. And yet, I felt for a time convinced. Only for a second, I thought that this man did not just see something, but touched it. But could he reproduce it? He gracefully extended his open hand into the air, and the android placed a handgun in it, then he held it out to me. What did he want me to do with this?
“Shoot me.”
“What?”
“Shoot me with this gun. Anywhere will do, but it will be quite flashy to aim for the head” he asked with indifference, a twinge of anticipation in his eyes.
I looked back again, the other two were totally collected showing no signs of disquiet. They even smiled. I wanted to imagine what would happen, but it would be fruitless to attempt guessing at the ridiculous outcome that accompanied the promises of someone who knew destiny. Would he die temporarily, and his brains would pull themselves back into his head like nothing ever happened? Would the bullet just bounce off the stone-clad head, proving that his ambition was true? Would he use psychic powers to redirect the shot? I heard using telekinesis to halt something as fast and precise as bullets was far from a trivial task for the experienced. Returning to life was a feature of stories about the children of the gods, so was testing mortals to fight a god or kill them in disguise at the prospect of a great reward should they succeed not knowing their target was infinitely more powerful than their mortal minds could comprehend. To find myself in this position, it was like taking part in a legend. I gripped the gun uncertainly. Never before did I handle honorless weapons like this. I lifted it up, my digit hovering nervously in front of the trigger. He smiled knowingly at me. This is the face the others saw when they did the same. The margins of my beak clenched, and I pulled together the strength to fire. Surely enough, the gun was loaded, it was no test. The bang made sure my eyes stayed open to see the result. The stone man did not budge at all. Instead, in place of his own head, a blue ethereal copy of his body appeared to fly backward absorbing the force of the bullet like someone else took on the fate of being shot. That spiritual shade was definitely his own.
“Do you require an explanation? I would be glad to tell you exactly what just happened” he grinned.
“No… that will suffice.”
I gave the gun back to the android who returned it to the holster.
“Now that everything is in order, go find our boy. And if you could, read the writings I put on the website later. I worked hard on it you know? It is not strictly necessary you know the contents of the truth, but I do enjoy it when people experience it.”
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
An errand is it? It is par for the course that one entering a service, especially a secret one, be given the responsibility over something so simple but so dangerous. Except I was not delivering information that would incarcerate me if it were discovered by the police. I was going to persuade a teenager. I wanted to conclude that such a thing was harmless, but bringing a young adult still in the middle of the bridge to adulthood into the fold of conspiratorial intrigue was anything but safe. Regardless, the ring leader, Torodir, promised me a further display of his skill to absolve any worries I held over the fate of someone so vulnerable taking on a burden he seems only fit to shoulder in its entirety. That man, he is no doubt someone who will change the world. In what way, I cannot know. The stalwart, lax but confident look that lingered in his eyes the whole time, had anyone else gotten mixed up with him, they would call him delusional. Mentally ill, perhaps, convinced of information that makes sense only to the one who experiences it. Or the insanity that has become commonplace to the world and especially a city like this, the absolute surety that something would or would not occur. One of those being extremism, the other complacency. Then, it is a mix for this man, because he was sure that his mission would be a success.
The sky was beginning its transition from waking to slumber. Now more than ever I felt the watchful eyes of the gods peering down from their dwelling. I could never be sure who in particular was watching me. It could be Dhrita themselves, Vikala, Tombu, Pindurta, Vira and more. The gods watch over all at all times, even when not under the eye you are known, that is what parents told naughty children. I myself have told students the same back when I was a pious, respected young temple keeper. It is funny to think that I still get letters directed to me, or my family calls to send the words of worry and thanks from the lives I was fortunate enough to touch. The kindness I was able to extend, no matter how small clung to the hearts of Dhritanaka like sand caked on buildings. It was the beauty of dwelling in a lived place, a place so large yet so small that it feels like your whole world resides in a speck on our planet. A poem came to mind, a famous work by Mina Sati that beautifully recounted the feelings of living. It was not uncommon to see foreigners from across the globe recognize one of her works, and it was those words that found their way into us all; “Never forget, to live at all is to love, to love in your home is to prosper. If the sun rises and sets without a foot lifted, do not lament. Because your light, sure as a splinter finds its way into bare feet, or honey to tongues, or kindness to a child, that love in all its ways sticks like a saffre thorn to wandering hands. One day, if you leave, is it not splendid that people will wonder where you went off to?”
I wonder if my family would curse me or praise me if they discovered what I was going to do. What of the average Dhritanaka walking the street? Would they curse me or praise me? I know plenty harbor burgeoning grudges against the sibil for what they did, what they still do, but would they support me? Or did I undermine the collective will of the people? Why was I even considering it? These dregs of thoughts wanted to torment me. It did not matter what anyone thought now, I must do what must be done. I should only allot myself the true and final judge to judge me now. Would my dying flesh taste delectable or foul to Vasu? Would I find myself spiritless at the bottom of Vikala’s bowels? These are the fears of one who respects god. I walked onward, and considered the Charpain tower. Without the power to draw on shadows its strength was weakened. By that point it became an afterthought, the accomplice to complacency. The power of inequality and evil felt like they disappeared when we forgot about them. At a far enough distance the tower might not even be visible, but it was always there. This close, the lights illuminating the entrance were blocked by buildings. The great, waning mind of calculated destruction cut up the sleeping atmosphere ominously the way it faded into blue, then black. Unsettling still, were the clouds, lower than usual, whose tentacles lined with purple lights curled in the air. I did not know if this was part of a daily event, and I even felt the urge to learn right now just to know that this was a worldy phenomenon, aliens from another world, or maybe migrating deep sea animals. Looking at the homepage for my convenience apparatus I found that it was the latter. I felt more comfortable knowing the event today was absent or imperceptible. It was just sea creatures, that’s all. I was never fond of the ocean. An ocean in the sky was even scarier. You need only step outside your own home at night for a leviathan the world has dreamed of to drop out the sky and scoop up unsuspecting travelers. In the day it was shadow, in the night, monsters. I am reminded more of why I chose to finally visit dawn. A shadow only drapes itself onto our world when the sun enables it. When it is time to sleep, the truth of terror is felt as light rejecting shadows rather than light enabling them.
Turn off your lights, the gods will watch you while you sleep. You are safe when it is time to recover. But these cloud shaped creatures, they seemed to group about the tower, reminding me that as long as I was awake, the damned thing strode up into the heavens with purple monster appendages accentuating the highest points with the heights of hubris. The executive who sat at the top was in another world, up in the world of dark waters populated with unseen predators. I wished an abyssal titan of the heavens would crash through the windows and devour him. Better yet, a serpent that could coil around the horrid spire and constrict it til the eyes of that steel serpent in its grip pop out its skull. If there was anything I was happy for about this place, it was the uncanny and empty atmosphere. Were the streets filled with tired workers everyday, I would begin stepping down a staircase straight to Vikala’s belly knowing each step I took was watched by a different set of confused, egotistical eyes. Knowing that the data I stole was never passed into the hands of Dawn, or so Torodir said, there was no sense of unease as I approached my home. I fished for the key in several different pockets for a minute or so until I retrieved it, then turned the keyhole that never made any noise, and was welcomed by the familiar darkness. Turning around, I saw the annoyingly bright street lamp. It stood, always stood, waiting. I figured it waited for night, when huge moths I could not remember the name of twittered rapidly round the bulb. I never knew what made them so impatient, why they kept flickering and buzzing instead of sitting still to accept the light. I knew they were capable, like many insects it seemed. I wondered every time I saw it, why they were so restless.
I stepped through the portal, through the ambivalent phosphorescence that painted the carpeted floor the same way every time, and shut the door. Annoyingly, ironically, this apartment was of an older model with slightly different architecture. My door’s cylinder shaped window cut into a little grid by black, metal bars left a shadow reminiscent of imprisonment. It was funny to consider that my freedom might soon come. I imagined myself as a Bromanitu or a Shurn turning to an incorporeal wind, disappearing swiftly from this cell. No longer would I have to consider escaping like in a dream, it was just a shadow after all. No matter how threatening a shadow appeared, it was only a shadow, and the shadow of bars was intimidating only because of the shape it mimics. I stood for a moment observing the grating light, and thought of how it looked like an inversion of daytime. It was the shadow of light. Then I carried myself up the stairs, my mind brimming with bits of shining anticipation not dissimilar to when my parents told me they were getting me Tirkusaba as a child. It was nostalgic. The troubles of today seemed to melt away as I slipped into the silky covers while remembering silk laden memories. It was bright, and a little funny to think that tomorrow, for the first time in years I would look forward to the next day. The world will change, I have to be sure of that.
When I next woke, the threads of a dream were loosening, the memories were fading. The faint details shuffled off into Tombunirta, but the only clean image was of a lumbering titan crashing into the Charpain tower. I could not visibly see its form, only that something giant smashed into the tower still laden with living cloud creatures, and thundering blasts shattered every pane of glass from the top down. My dreams were triumphant and outpaced my real actions. The fact that I woke up to a day of freedom connected the dots between the imagined and real events. The slightly cold morning air welcomed me, cooling my skin that always felt surprisingly warm beneath the very thin sheets. Even back home I never felt overheated even with all these feathers. The climate was just different I suppose, not that I ever bothered to find out what made it different. The stairs barely creaked beneath me, like they finally let out the breaths they’ve been holding in all these painful years, and the light of this hour that appeared nearly white softly laid its heat onto the sparse ornaments the walls from the window behind me. Inside the fridge was the grota I ate every morning, and no meat remained. I would welcome this gift of a morning by visiting the vein. Only about two blocks away from my home, convenient enough to eat at every few days. I was glad to go, and even gladder to feel like it had changed along with me. About three years into my stay here the restaurant accumulated enough money to redecorate, and replace the monochromatic walls with something more familiar to me. The red hue of clay found by the Darani river felt safe and warm.
Whenever I see that color I remember how I would often go to a rivulet of Darani and make little, poor, misshapen castles. I was envious of stock humans that lived there whose hands seemed perfectly shaped to make pots and form whatever they could imagine with enough practice. I could see the difference in my mind always. The wonderfully round and bulbous pots you sometimes saw in a friend's home uncommonly because some took issue to that perfectly beautiful foreignness. If I asked why I should not buy a human’s pot, Sahi would say, “Certainly they must sell their wares, certainly they need support, but you must understand that our pots have history. Theirs are fine to the point of garishness. They lack that feeling of home, they lack the scrapes, the imperfections, the points and trails! When you are older and make your own money, go ahead and buy as many human pots as you want, bah!” A few years later I thought I understood that Sahi was childishly upset about something so minor because he tried his claws at pottery before and neither humans nor Vasunaka would buy. All those aspirations he had to be a potter and figure maker disappeared when it became clear how the family caste was most reliable. Memorize the scriptures he would say, cast the blessings he would say, is not a life in service of god most joyous?
And then there were the snails. When my talons were good and filthy I swapped to toying with the snails. No matter how I spoke to them they would never speak back. Silent little creatures. Even when moving on my skin I hardly felt they were there. Just so slow. But they were cute, and when my fascination wore off, and the heat of the sun became apparent, I ran to an outdoor faucet to wipe off the grime to produce mostly clean coins and buy chilled tea. I downed two cups, and nursed a third as I walked home where Saha waited for me. She never scolded me for getting dirty before prayer service, she just got all the clay and mud out the nooks of my talons before I got home. The bath faucet ran, and she cleaned. We together on our knees by the tub. Scrub scrub scrub she would say. She sang a little song. She said that parents always sang that song to their kids when we were washed in a little basin or sink. The world just felt so small and yet so large back then. The Darachod flowed down from the mountains, I knew that, but what did the peaks really look like? How did so much water come from melted snow? I wanted to see it myself, but never did. The scents of soap imbued with the red of clay expanded in my head lovingly like a cloud as I stared absentmindedly out the window by my booth. The little dream was interrupted when the server I recognized brought me my dish.
“Here you are Ilah.”
“Thank you” I nodded.
“I feel like I have not seen you in weeks, how about you give my dish a blessing ah?”
I humored the elder Vasu, posing my hands the way I always knew and recited a little prayer over my familiar food.
“Ahahah. How are you, friend?” he guffawed sincerely patting me on the back.
“Good. I quite my job yesterday actually.”
“You got what you came for?”
“I have plenty of funds for myself and my family, but I will be getting an even better one soon.”
“Oh? What is it?”
“I cannot say, it is a secret” I grinned, my digit in a hush motion at the tip of my beak.
“Let me know how it goes.”
He retreated with the same smile he always wore. Though we did not speak in detail about our lives but once on a slow evening when I was the only customer. The late sun of winter evenings poured green into the cold and snowy blue of the windows. He sat close to me on a table and watched the television hanging from above. We did not say much until I brought up my own woes. Possibly for the first time to one of my own around the second year I came I mentioned it.
“This place. It is not just different from home, not just alien. I feel like a great shadow cast by some invisible, malicious spirit floats above.”
“I know what you mean. Sometimes I do not even want to go outside. Just wanta stay in my little place here.”
That is all I can remember of the scene. On a tranquil day, a new strange color mixed within the red and green, and it bounced onto his face just a little as he reclined into the chair, his feet resting on the chair opposite the same table. The last thing, the forlorn look on his face. The face of someone who was tired, and who became used to being tired. Never after that did he make a protest of the silence I presume we spent sitting together like that. I wanted to think he felt the same comfort I did, the comfort a wounded creature felt when the rustles it heard in a nearby bush if fears is the unseen glare of a predator turned out to be a local person, or another of their species. I stole a few seconds to watch his turned back while he looked past the door behind the counter. I wondered if he was still smiling right now. I imagined the smile he usually gave me, and the joking scolding at my eating a dish of snails like the one sitting before me. “Siah, that is bad luck you know!” he would say, waving an open claw. When stopping to consider the lives of snails, and the joy they brought me in my childhood, and the role they played in the history of Saruna, I felt a little guilty eating them. These five large snails arranged in a circle, drizzled with a nut sauce, and roasted just right, found a way to erase the lingering feelings as they always did. After picking off two I felt something was different. So absorbed in the moment, I noticed that the design on the plate was different than usual. The golden plates resembling brass typically had radiometric circles of little vultures, fish, and people. This one had an assortment of various animals, each ring of rotating creatures alternated with a river, and the third down was snails. Did he have more of this variety? They were so similar in design to the ones I usually received it was expected I would not notice.
Those metallic creatures bulging ever so slightly upward reminds me of where I was in the world. Yes, I am in a cycle. Though I break out of one, I am still bound within the greatest cycle. The shiny little snails were adorable. Hopefully in another life I could be a snail. I want to spend the rest of this body I have in service of something that will change the world beyond recognition, because soon enough I will be gone. I do not wish to remain any longer than that. Should I be betrayed, that would be fine. My family will survive and no doubt live in peace no matter if they must flee the Kardista’s. I wish only to return home after I see with my own eyes that something, somewhere was changed by my hands. If I am lucky, perhaps I can die on the soil of Tila, my beautiful hometown. The last thing to be left of me, other than a memory, is to hope a snail will crawl up the windows of my family’s house and remind them of me. I wonder still, if I return, will I tell Sahi and Saha that I was grateful for their guidance, but was choked by the holy black karti I was burdened with. I want to tell them what I am feeling now, about the nights spent looking up at the eyes of heaven wondering if what I did was enough; if what I did really changed anyone or anything. Was I a bronze vulture chasing his own back?
“I hope to be a gentle little snail soon…” I spoke thoughtlessly.
“Ah?” my restaurant friend said.
I did not even notice he was there.
“Oh, uh, it was nothing” I remarked embarrassed.
“A snail? Oh surely you will be a snail. No doubt you will be cursed to wander as a snail for all time” he jested, waving his hand across the empty plate where snails used to be.
I sheepishly scratched my head and uttered a weak chuckle before fishing in my pocket for money, though he stopped me saying it was free. I was not the type to play around else I would have shot back at the fact of his cooking the snails in the first place and putting them on the menu. I bowed wholeheartedly and took my leave, listening to the man’s hearty voice bid me to return again soon. It would be another few hours before this Clarent was done with his club time. After a short walk I found a bench to sit at. Fortunately a benevolent shadow falling from this white, cube building lent its shade to combat the oppressive summer heat. The air was unusually humid, and I wondered again how this cruel city was hotter than my home that sat right on the equator. There was little time to formulate a plan, so now I must configure the approach to this problem. I want to be direct, but a teenager here undoubtedly agreed with the status quo to an extent. Being forward would not work. I kept much to myself, and the few times I did speak, I often told the truth. Why did Torodir assign this task to someone like me? I am not cunning enough. Every memory of him nipped at my brain in different spots. I believed he means what he says, but I know he is holding something back too. In that way it was more like a cult than a terrorist cell. There was just enough room for doubt within the comforting room to believe. It was like sitting in the middle of an empty room with no doors and no corners. Maybe it was a part of his game. No matter, I must not be distracted for now. Now, how to open?
Standing in the middle of his path and saying his name was simple enough. Anyone addressed in that way by a stranger would stop. He did say that the boy was encountering many strangers recently, even going so far as to meet one in an isolated basem*nt. That would grant an advantage, but I need not take him somewhere strange I do not think. He aspires to be a hero and came upon the power to realize it, he would awaken to something unique that Torodir needed. That would be it then, I could appeal to heroism; Act like someone who needs help. Still, I cannot lie, at most it would be half truth. I never planned for recruiting in a way other than conspicuous, I am having a hard time even imagining how the conversation might go. Assuming he is automatically predisposed against something even nearing radical thought, I have to frame it in a way that seems innocuous. He likely would respond, “Who are you?” and I would reply, “Lakta Tarana. I came to you for help.”
“Help with what?”
“This place is not home for me, nor it is beautiful or safe.”
Mmmm. Bringing up politics in a way that creates discussion is probably the wrong way to go about it. Maybe I say I am being pursued by my previous employers, or some violent racists are harassing me. That could lead him to the meeting spot. Moonlight would stick out though, I do not think saying my family owned it would be too convincing. Torodir did not describe exactly what my strategy would be, but since he did not offer an alternative meeting space where I could pull Clarent into a group discussion I think it makes most sense that my persuasion skills are being tested. There are too many grains in this desert to consider. I think I should just play the defensive side. If I appeal to my own sense of isolation like I am helpless, a hero no doubt would have to believe at least part of my dilemma. Mulling it over, I determined the easier route was best. There was still plenty of time left to wait. The shadow stretching over this bench with a back of floral patterned metal had grown a tad longer. Looking across the empty streets, I saw something different. Populating the white road who winded in a squiggly line through so many buildings blocking the view towards one of the few places one could call beautiful, were a trio of wheels. Three wheels, like the axles on a car, but much larger, twice my height, and striped in many colors strode on their own. I think I remember seeing or or two before. The way they moved was like a bike. Each was moored onto something I could not see, and sweered and bent a little to move with the shape of the road. They passed by releasing the sound of grating metal scraping on concrete. I did not spend a ton of time outside, but odd things like this gave me the smallest sense of wonder. I already figured out they could be explained away as remotely controlled objects, or magnet rails underground, but some things seemed to defy easy explanations. Colonies of translucent, gelatinous, eyeballs floating near the clouds one day descending like a fog. Humongous giants doing battle. Areas where time is temporarily accelerated causing plant roots to break up concrete. Groups of faceless humans standing in orderly formations unflinching in snow or rain for days. I overheard talk of one of the strangest occurrences, a skyscraper riding through the city’s outskirts on a gigantic skateboard.
These strange things, some border on urban legend, but I have seen enough with my own eyes to believe it happens. I would rather believe a building could ride a youth’s sport item than the malicious reality we actually experience. Those screaming wheels passed by with a mind of their own, but at the same time appeared to be piloted by an invisible giant. Instead of turning left onto another road, the wheels drove further away before diving off the hills. Growing smaller and smaller in the distance, I barely registered the tiny circles as they fell through the Inseine river. When vagrants from worlds beyond did not color the streets, an eerie silence blanketed it. I saw alone again, with the wheels gone I was more aware of just how lonely it was. What to do. Maybe I should visit Dawn’s website and read over the convoluted manifesto. I was a little curious, but the incoming event made me nervous. There truly was no way to anticipate how this engagement would turn out. I knew too little about the subject, and the idea that Torodir was strong precognitive powers increased. I considered the sages whose legends littered the world, and the many figures of even my home who were purported to possess such abilities. Once more in my mind I ran through the sets of thinkers and seers with unique manners of divination. Torodir, he was more like the first category, the ancient seer recorded in sacred texts or stories. Mythical essence dripped off him like dew imperceptibly. My own memory recalled his appearance differently. After a single meeting his picture in my head was just a little more grand than how he looked. With each recollection I found my worries combated with a more glowing perception. The doubts did not cease, they just circled overhead, but a true sun, a light of certainty shone through the ring of birds. The world would change, even if my role was too small, because he would do something; and I thought again, and again that his face would fit into picture books hundreds of years from now, but not before appearing in propaganda pieces and news stations.
I found the clump of thoughts weighing down my belly strangely comforting. It would be funny if after seeking this boy’s assistance, he only asked, “who told you about me?” and a nest of lies must be quickly built. Then, I should not use his name. No, no. The plan should not change now, what other way can there be? I need a distraction. My convenience apparatus’ screen found itself before me with alacrity, as did the inoculator I swiftly plugged in. A button click, and the home screen opens, then the internet browser that does not surprise me with the first headline stating in bold text, “Anjarat government plans to cede to Kardista demands to push out Sibil outsiders.” I pulled up the Dawn website to distract myself, I did not want to deal with that right now. The homepage was black, and the darkness changed when a sun rose out from its center. I clicked it to jump to the main page. I knew websites that tried to be as confusing as possible, even encountered them on the search for Dawn, but they were needlessly convoluted. Presented themselves as a mystery for the navigator to solve, but Torodir was as practical as he was unusual and simply let the second thing you see be an enigmatic manifesto for his mostly unknown plans. The page’s background remained black behind a wall of text. Reading further down more and more symbols dotted the emptiness like stars. I could not connect any symbols to their intended semiotic locations. I knew only that something was signified, though I did not care what.
“The sun is still high in the sky, each eye sleeping still. This sun, it is no eye at all, but a beacon for the masses. Every red skinned being flocked to pulsing light, but when it falls, and the sun sets, a new sun arises. Light does not penetrate, but refracts, bounces, and rebounds. Layers of sightless machines protect them from the eyes. They cannot see! No one can see but he who walks the dirt, he who walks the cavern, he who wallows in feces at the deepest later and stands. Replace your blood with storum, and your limbs with stone. Find how you climb out the depths with a body of earth. See how you scale the mountains with a body of light. There are no organs here, and there should be none inside you. Replace your innards with soot like Tatarus who at last touched the heavens. Break your wings, you will not need them where you are going. In this world, a grand blackness, a grand whiteness, a grand greeness, a grand graynes, a grand violetness, a grand purpleness, a grand redness, a grand blueness. He who stands at the mountain's peak sees also the mountain's bottom. He who sees the mountain's bottom sees its eyes, its limbs, its teeth, pancreas, heart, stomach, spleen. Finally, with eyes to see, pluck out the eyes, they can join the sky and float among the clouds. They will join the greatest eyes and see that which could not be seen on its own. Seas that were awash with red will flood the world between and the red skinned will become blue, then purple, then green, then gray, then violet, then red once more, then blue once more, and then they will see eyes and clouds and mountains and dungeons and prisons and sky and fire. Ash fills decrepit worlds, the world of you and I becomes waste. But you and I found the paradise, a strip of dust and mind that truly can come closer. I showed it to you, and you showed it to yourself, he who reflects the spectrum may finally transform, and become an icon of the earth and rule among the fools until the ash stacks too high, and the fires burn too hot, and you will be unharmed. Unharmed because the fires are that of purification and burn away the last bits of the fool, of the blind and the uninitiated. Then you and I will at last float into the new world.”
A quote from a source called “book of internal light” filled in a gap before the next section: “As one picks grain from the fields, and shears the husks, and grinds on the mill, so too does one pick up the lilies and crush the petals and stamens for a salve that to cover the heart - Book of Internal Light 5:11” After that the symbols of eyes, clouds, various hand gestures and more gave way to lush images which would fit in inside a book of fairy tales for children. Firstly was an image of a gray skinned man standing on a mountain top looking into the sun. Below that the image transitioned to subterranean caverns littered with mosses and gems before the depths revealed corpses and limbs strewn every which way. The text persisted over these images, making less and less sense as the reached further down to a hellish, apocalyptic landscape where enlightened kings sat on thrones far above the toiling, burning bodies. Then the language changed to something indecipherable when the hell disappeared, replaced by beautiful skies nearly empty except for floating eyeballs, clouds, and stars. I still read through the nonsensical text. Clearly I was unprepared for whatever secret Torodir was trying to guide others toward, if such a thing existed outside his mind at all. Growing tired of these verbal treks, I noticed the time was drawing near and walked over to the street I knew the target would approach from. As the minutes counted down I started holding my breath. Was it easier to kill someone than it was just talking to a teenager? Why was it this nerve wracking? 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5- and there he was walking from a distance. I awkwardly stood in the middle of the street. When he neared I could tell he eyed me, but did not initiate conversation. One more deep breath.
“E-excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“You are Mr. Eeisenforth correct?”
“How do you know my name?”
“My family and I own moonlight. You were there a few days ago, yes? One of my patrons spoke of you.”
“Of me? Why? who?”
“I did not know her name, but she was a, qella sei dee… little woman? Uhhhm, light hair? I am sorry, I can-not remember the words.”
“Petite, blanche? Did she claim she was a vampire?”
“Ahhh yes, petite, yes. Yes, yes she was every bit a vampire.”
“Well what did she say, do you need something?”
“She said you are heero. Said you can help me a petit problem” I said, making a loop with my digits to emphasize the size of the problem.
His face changed from curious to annoyed. I suppose he did not like his services being given out by this woman in particular. I will just keep up the foreigner act, hopefully that will work.
“And what is this problem?”
“The bar is peaceful most day. Since one, two week ago, not so. Bad people come and yell at customer and family. You can make them go away yes?”
“Uhhh, sure…”
“Oh thank you thank you! Follow me.”
Before he seemed any more hesitant I started walking towards the moonlight.
I just went on forward leaving him behind me, but he jogged to catch up and walked briskly by my side.
“So who are these people exactly?”
“Crooel racists, I cannot stand for them to bother my business!”
“I see. Well, I will see what I can do.”
“Oh I heard great tings about you. Very strong.”
He grimaced again. He really did have what it takes according to Torodir, but I get the feeling that what should happen and what will might not match up the way either of us expect it. There did not seem to be any more pressing questions, but I thought it better to keep making small talk instead of walking in silence. By the time we actually got to the bar he did not hesitate to step in because he had been here before with someone he trusted enough. I beckoned him to follow me up the staircase in the corner but he stopped short of ascending. A human addressed the audience, and It was an unfortunate cue for the band to start playing. Before the steps I looked over my shoulder to check the boy still followed. He stood pensively, arms stiff at his sides. I called out, attempting to pierce the thick doldrum of delight.
“Probleme!?” I asked, almost yelling, wondering if the shrewd features of my face did not betray my trepidation.
“Why up there?” he asked, measurable concern weighing on his face.
“I-ehh, it is embarrass to say, but they haunt up there when not causing big trouble on floor. No one make them leave when they are stubborn” I explained, wringing my hands nervously.
He looked at me puzzled. I could not be sure he heard everything. Then his expression slackened somewhat, the odd ideas not totally gone from his lips or brows.
“So what exactly do you want me to do?” he called, moving closer to my head pipes.
“I leave to you, I thought you know better than me yes? I am embarrass to say, you must walk in front.”
“Oh, yes, of course.”
We walked up the stairs. The noise of the attendees lessened slightly, and like Torodir knew I was walking up, started up a clamor. In the little storage room. The gradient of sound, like walking through a freshly coalescing mist felt portentous.
“That is them causing big noise” I said, pointing out the room.
“They are really here?”
“Y-yes” I responded awkwardly, looking at the floor.
Clarent placed his hand slowly on the door and turned like he was careful not to wake a sleeping dragon. Inside was the suspects I made acquaintance with earlier. Torodir was in the spot the cyborg man usually was, his face lighting up when their eyes met.
“Ahhh, Clarent come in, come in!”
He looked back at me, a stronger sense of confoundedness apparent. I only darted my eyes toward him for a second before staring again at the floor. Then he stepped into the little room. What? He really will walk into a den of strangers in a tiny spot like this? Is he stupid, reckless, powerful? Without lifting my head up to leak my internal surprise outwardly, I shuffled into the roof behind him and shut the door. Torodir wasted no time addressing him.
“Welcome mr. Eisenforth. I am oh so glad to see you. I have been waiting.”
Already sparks were flying. Though he might not be too quick to judge, the boy looked like he was ready for danger, his fist was gripped in anticipation.
“What’s going on here?”
“Uhm. I am sorry, but I have… deceived you” I admitted.
“Lakta that broke the pace of this revelation. If you do not mind-” he said, a finger over his mouth wishing me silent, quiet irritation showing through his swagger.
I curiously watched the important scene I awaited. How would this stageplay roll on? Is it strange to be eager? Some self realized sage of immeasurable, anomalous power measuring up to a child was so… interesting? I scanned their two faces back and forth, each time wondering how the glints in their eyes would flash. What two ill fated brothers would decide the fates of their destinies? However, the next time I looked at Clarent, his face became more and more uncomfortable to the point of sweating. And after a few seconds, the sheen of perspiration evaporated in an instant, and glint that before was fading returned as if he just stepped through the door. I did not understand. Was Torodir doing something to him?
“Continue,” Clarent ordered.
“Oooooh, I like that tone. I am Torodir, leader of Dawn, an organization that will change the world, and I want you to help me achieve my goal.”
“And what is this goal?”
“As you have become aware, the positions taken by our government are quite dubious. Suppression of belief, practice, a faulty two party system, lofty pensions abused by those living well past their life span, defenses of free enterprise that reward the rich and spiritless, shameful imperialism garbed in humanitarianism. Dare I say, sinister. Do you agree?” Torodir posed rhetorically, for Clarent did not answer.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want your help. You see, a grand event is going to take place. And before the most momentous of occasions the likes of which will not occur for another 500 years give or take, is a protest. Outside the Charpain tower, and outside the senat. Your power will greatly aid in empowering the downtrodden people from Sibil oppression.”
“What do you mean? How could I help you?”
“Oh but it can. Even now you can do something extraordinary that not even I can do.”
“If you want me to hurt someone, I won’t do it!” Clarent barked.
“Relaaaaxxx. You will not have to hurt anybody. I will do all the hurting myself, your hands will be clean.”
“Nonsense! It’s the same thing! Blood will be on everyone’s hands!”
Torodir waggled his finger before Clarent making a disapproving tsk tsk noise, then swapped the crossed leg he saw with for the other.
“It is very simple, I will clear a path to notable politicians, and the final move can be made by you. You will not have to hurt them at all! This is your once in a lifetime chance mr. Eisenforth, think of all the years this place has remained stagnant. This river we call home is filled with scum and filth, the plants below can hardly see the light because of the algae soaking it up, choking the life from people like you and me. Something has to give-”
“Stop it, I don’t want to hear anymore” Clarent demanded, turning around to try and open the door but I stood between him and caught his fierce stare.
“Oh Clarent. Think of the 10 years you have lived here, idling in misery. The saddest part is, you have had it better than everyone else” Torodir spoke, a devious smile adorning the gray skin.
Clarent looked away from me, but still faced me like he had to hear what came next even if it was Gorta sh*t to him.
“People are suffering out there, my boy. Do you not want to put a stop to all this?”
“Put a stop to what?”
“Now now, do not be so coy. Well, it is true you do not know the specificity with which the world is crumbling, but it is to be sure.”
“I don’t know wha-”
“The spirit is draining. The corpse of will has been drained of its blood, and the bones are eroding! The whiteness everywhere, we are standing atop the ribs of a living world where a heart once was…”
“That’s ratsh*t! Just speak clearly if you’re gonna speak at all, don’t waste my time!” he smacked, eyes hard on Torodir now.
“I would say you lack imagination, but I know that is not true. You have felt it all this time, but the end is drawing near.”
“And if I disagree with your little plan?”
“Nothing happens. We only deal with those who have the will to make tough decisions. If you are unwilling, you may leave. What is forced only acts under duress and deceit. But I do not just mean you can walk away, I mean more than just your safety. I mean too that nothing will change in this city, and nothing will change in the world. You can alwa-”
“Then i'm out of here.”
Clarent shoved me aside and I was caught by Tarchan as I tripped over my feet. As expected, Clarent could not get away because our leader could not allow it without one last word.
“What would Mayume think?” he said mischievously, taunting.
Sure enough he stopped in his tracks, looking like he would turn around in a righteous fury.
“No need to make such a scary face. She too is uninvolved. Well, not involved as much as anyone else. She too desires change, as does Scarlet. They have been patiently waiting for a time when they can feel like all the days they have suffered will mean something. But they do not have the power you do, they are a set of eyes moored to flesh. Your eyes see something more, they see a blueness that overrides the pettiness of detractors. Do not do it for us, do it for them, our organization is merely a means to an end. Make no mistake though, this is truly a once in a lifetime chance, if you do not act then… Something soon will eclipse us, and the sun will then set on this world.”
After he finished, Clarent stormed out. I carefully watched Torodir who still sat with one leg crossed, arms crossed two, a smirk on his face. The smirk fell gradually, and he slumped over, serious eyes peering above interlocked fingers and below his odd headwear. Tarchan, and the other two looked worried. An uncertain shade colored the room.
“What… is wrong?” I asked.
His eyes were unmoving for a minute. A long sixty seconds trickled down like in a water clock. That gaze was not trained on eyes, but looked beyond the frames of physical space before the faintest glow inside them disappeared and he surveyed each of us, a wry smile neither triumphant nor ironic.
“The future has become barely any clearer. There is still more to do” he lamented sweetly.
“What exactly do you mean?”
“Time has passed for keeping secrets my friend. The errand I assigned to you was indeed a test. I knew far, far more about Clarent than you but I did not pass on every detail. It was a test to see how you would fare with a lack of information and I found your performance satisfactory. I can see the future, but there is no such thing as a fixed, perfect future. All things are in flux until the moment finally passes, and the stones cast make the shape of destiny. But so far, all the pieces are coming together except for that boy.”
“And what happens if he does not come?”
“The world will change, that much is sure, but not exactly the way we want it.”
“You mean the future can be controlled?”
“Think of it like how people view a coincidence. When something strange happens, odd enough to show the cracks of our routines, we see for a moment a gleam inside them, reality as it truly is.”
“The divine plan of gods?”
“Essentially. Ordinarily we cannot see beyond our mortal perspectives. But those things we call coincidences are only called such because they challenge our narrow minds. The places we live become our world, but it looks so small and nostalgic when gazed atop a mountain. These events are so singular because we just cannot fathom how so many chains of phenomenon came to meet. I can see those chains, I can see each drop of water in the earth before it evaporates and where it will rain. But out of each cloud that will rain several days from now, the cloud called Clarent is missing.”
“Who is this Mayume? Do you intend to send me after her as well?”
“Hahaha! Oh no no no. She is just an important figure to him, using her name was a necessary element of informing him what lines are about to connect, what web has entangled us and where he sits inside it. It was to throw him off. In three days he will have spoken to her, and Scarlet. After that, I want you to talk to him one more time.”
“Why in three days, why not now?”
“Because the discussions he will have with them will shape his perspective on how to act going forward. Your words will help decide where the puzzle piece in his mind lands to complete the current image of the future. Though I still have more to tell you that will speed this up.”
Two and a half days passed after that discussion, this time the exact information regarding the boy called Clarent Eisenforth was revealed, as Torodir decided to inform me. It felt like the previous encounter hardly had real impact. Maybe in my mind that is free from the upper tangles and branches of the future Torodir is trying to make real I just cannot see it. At most, my talk with that boy was just a push in the direction we want, and how will that push finally bring him to the finish line? I can only talk to him one more time. My faith in this cause was felt like a fata morgana. I was watching the sand dunes hover above themselves. If I walked out into the arid land my eyes would eventually fail me, and my body would grasp the truth of the moment for itself. I think that is what Torodir is doing. No, that is what he is doing. What for both of us must have been dreams, illusions for a future we paved with gestures of piety and longing for divine secrets would one day come to fruition some way or another. It repeated in my head over and over while I walked through the stark heat. The world will change, the world will change, the world will change. The outcome was more and more uncertain. I knew inside that the vapors of our dreams, our desires for change would dissipate leaving the truth of our weak, mortal bodies behind. We are only people, and the best I can do is talk to a teenager and wait for this sage man to fill the streets with blood. Up there in the sky was a big balloon of some sort. I had never seen it before, and already I configured in my mind whether to believe it was actually there. Everything felt uncertain. I wondered if it mattered anyway while watching the balloon split into smaller copies of itself like an amoeba reproducing. In the corners of buildings, in the shade of buildings, people were huddling, waiting.
More and more figures of numerous shapes emerged from behind walls blocking my view. Attendants for the protest. In another world I would be out there. In this world I will be above it. I will stand at the top of a mountain and watch the landslide crush everyone. Everyone was carrying something, bullhorns, signs, localized protection devices, and I thought I spied some smoke bombs passing from hands into bags or pockets. In a couple hours it would begin, so I went to the sidewalk Clarent stood, and I stood beside him silently.
“We need you. Your power can save many.”
“I will not let anyone die” he proclaimed.
“You do not understand, if you do not lend us your strength to judge the coming calamity, Torodir will kill.”
“Then I’ll stop him.”
“You cannot. He is more powerful than you will ever be in this moment. You can only stop the lines of fate as they weave together, but not him. He is guiding these events forward with you in mind because otherwise, a revolution will follow.”
“Why? If he starts violence the corporation guards will open fire, we don’t need another Fevre 18th!” he shouted.
“With enough luck, this will be the last day slaughter will ever occur.”
“I won’t depend on luck.”
“You are missing the point. I lived a life of peace. Every day I strode to become someone capable of love for everyone and everything. But I left my home in Saruna because of the Kardistas. If Charpain is stopped here today, the winds of change will reverberate across the whole world. There will be no need for Kardista, no need for today’s protest, no need for Harmonizers, capitalists, Ji Lei Yun. Your own hands will strike the anvil that forges a statue in your image forever.”
“I won’t let anyone die.”
“Are you really this much of a fool? Does your girlfriend’s struggle mean nothing to you? Does Scarlet’s wish mean nothing to you? Every silent voice who walks your school halls isolated by existence itself? Do the countries around the world marred by centuries of suffering mean nothing to you?” I question calmly, slowly.
“I don’t believe in a single future. I don’t believe that even with my help everything will be okay. I believe there’ll be ripples, but of what? What’s really going to happen? Do you really know?” he shook.
“No, I do not. I just know that something must change. I cannot live in a world like this anymore. Anything is preferable to nothing.”
“I hate this. I really hate this.”
The boy was tearing up, shivering like sand becomes water in an earthquake. The disgusting heat drew sweat on him. The contrast from both liquids emerging was harrowing, panicked, and pitiful. Did this boy really have what it takes? At the end of the day I really was just manipulating a child. Even with Torodir’s predictions and information on him, he was still a child. Right now he is not what he is going to be, putting the fate of the world on his shoulders was cruel, and I am glad Torodir will not force him, I will not either. Still, I am prepared for what is to come.
“I understand how you feel. I really do. I really do think you can become a hero. Just remember, there is still time to make the right choice.”
With that I left and marched toward the gathering outside the Charpain tower. Long before I reached the location I could hear the wails and chants of fellow citizens. Hot breath of the sisha permeates the air. The time is ripe for history to change from becoming to being. I stepped near the throng of waving fists and voices crying “no one is free until we are all free!” Signs had drawings of extravagantly dressed figures, some people themselves came draped in various traditional attire. The gathering must have not been strongly anticipated because the corporation guard were walking in single file outside the tower entrance before planting themselves in formation to receive orders from their leader, the dreaded Terrier di ranke. His glistening white armor recalled snow blindness. I wondered how many of these people collected here were a part of a designated group of radicals and how many were brave citizens. Watching the cacophony undulate made me nervous. To match the oncoming waves, the guards stood in a line with nullification shields, dispersal gas launchers, and automatic rifles strapped to their backs. I knew any real offensive launched by the protestors would do nothing, an illusory wall like latticed glass stood between the guards and the crowd. There was no danger, not until the social taboo of freedom was broken, and the guards launched gas, or worse in unneeded retaliation. Noise abounded louder when men who masked their faces stood in their orderly line, weapons at the ready. I am sure the actual people would have been replaced with androids by now, but machines taking over the role of state sanctioned violence would lose the small edge of sympathy people would feel with the soulless black visors that hid hide flesh and blood inside. We are all victims are we? That sort of thing. Knowing how it was orchestrated made me nauseated. A raw feeling of unease rose in my throat with bile. The presence that could be confused with no other; Torodir arrived near me.
Like he crossed some kind of barrier that scanned his biological makeup, some sort of alarm beeped, and several guards stared at him. I looked along with them. Like the poison of fermented hatred completed its circulation of the bloodstream inside him, Torodir’s eyes were radiant with light. I could not describe it properly. Above that typical, self-confident smirk he wore, his eyes were totally calm. Not serene. Just calm. Like the eye of a storm. Like a landmine buried below a playground, like a submersible missile undetected on radar.
“Come my friend, time to do a little showing off” he whispered.
Torodir walked, beckoning me alongside him with a bent finger. The tension rose to a peak while I approached the guards. My breath was becoming rapid and heavy, It was terrifying. “Stop! Go any further and you’ll be subdued!” the leader shouted. The force of voice struck me, and I nearly stopped short of the wall of armors. “I said stop! Come any closer and I'll shoot! Don’t make me do this!” they screamed. Torodir paid no mind, he crossed the line in the sand, and just as my claws touched it the guard who was shaking, pulled the trigger, only for nothing to happen. They looked confused and pointed at the floor, yanking on the trigger again repeatedly, but it was jammed. To them it must have been a coincidence, maybe even lucky that he now had an excuse to avoid firing at civilians. The others followed suit though, and the nearest two also fired, only for the same thing to happen. Torodir was nearly at the door when the guards who were frozen to the floor, exchanged confused looks with each other. The leader scrambled to take control of the embarrassing failure and called out for them to physically stop us. Shamefully, I shielded myself and cowered at the rush. It was an automatic response, and thankfully Torodir placed some invisible barrier around us that prevented them from touching us. They simply beat on the wall haplessly, and we passed through the parting screen door without impediment.
Not far from the entrance was an elevator Torodir promptly entered, and I followed. I looked at this powerful man. He did not return my gaze, just staring forward at the door he knew would open, only adding “this will be a few minutes” smiling all the while. In bated silence, the silver doors finally opened, and I felt the same feeling one would have entering a sacred space. Fear and calm were equal parts piety. Even if one walked into a haunted crypt, or a valley cursed by death, there was a sense of awe and trepidation. The elevator space was vacated for filling with light that poured out the huge windows to the right side of the room. It was a large hall, far too big for any personal office to sensibly be. And down what was basically a hall, was a man I was vaguely familiar with, dwarfed by the size of his desk, and further by the emptiness of the room filled only with a few expensive looking sculptures and a single chandelier at center ceiling. Torodir was already halfway down the hall while I observed the surroundings, distracted by the strangeness of the atmosphere. We were finally here. We are one of the few that has actually stepped into the top floor of the Charpain corporation building, this is what everyone dreamed of. This is what the capitalist’s envisioned, entertaining mountains of wealth at the top of the mountain, meeting with the god of commerce who would cement their power in the world. This too is what the average person dreamt of, to see the flesh of he who kept his invisible hand hovering above the world and cry with the presence of their voices and the skin of their knuckles that everything was wrong. I took my eyes off the ironic beautiful daylight and jogged for a couple seconds to match pace with Torodir who stepped with pure purpose to the man whose size grew larger as we grew closer. There he was, the portly man larger than both of us in width, but shorter in height, whose hands were politely clasped together on the far wider glass desk. Beside him was an old computer model and a stack of documents. Torodir stood with an imposing aura before the origin of suffering.
“Welcome. I would’ve appreciated it if you booked an appointment, but oh well. Want some tea? Soda? Sorry for the lack of chairs, I don’t get visitors often here. I can bring one in if you like” he informed respectfully.
An uncomfortable silence followed. Mr. Charpain scratched his forehead, and straightened his tie, cleared his throat, and addressed me directly for the first time in my career at this infernal place.
“Mr Tarana. I was actually just considering giving you a promotion. You always were a dutiful worker. I know the office environment is not the most hospitable for people in your position, but you really put in the work. You're one of the favorites of the employees, did you know that?”
Mixed feelings began to emerge like a bloat inside my skin. I was not sure how to respond to this man who talked like he knew me. Before he could continue the discussion on his own, Torodir began to speak, each word sonorous, dripping from that solid smile.
“Mr. Charpain. I am Torodir, and I come from the place of your destiny” he declared, pointing solemnly.
“Sorry, but I don’t think I understand Mr. Torodir.”
“I have come to bear the mantle of arbiter. You have wasted your potential for far too long. So I have a proposal for you. You can either put all your power into correcting this doomed world you created, or stepping down, while I continue my process.”
“I’m afraid you can’t be making demands in my own office Sir.”
“Tell me. What do you think about the blood cult? Or, what are your thoughts on the legends of the Azmer heroes, or the Abalest tower of origins?”
“Uhm. Well, they’re beautiful traditions and plenty of them are valuable workers in this city. If it weren’t for them I don’t think our city would be so white and clean.”
“I for one, Mr. Charpain, do not care for wearing masks. Those who wear masks do so out of necessity or cowardice. Which one are you?”
“I’m not wearing a mask right now am I?” Charpain smirked.
“You are. Multiple. You are in your third mask called Mr. Charpain, and are wearing further skins too.”
“Mr. Torodir I’m a busy man, and if you’re gonna wax poetic nonsense I’ll need you to leave” he frowned.
“Patience Charpain, One of us will leave here soon, I will be sure of that. When you said they had beautiful traditions. You really meant it. Is it not strange? Most other times you scoff at such nonsense. Made up fairy tales right? But when you said it just now, your thoughts were aligned. Like Henry Boudrillard when he plays Otto of Keflinheit. When he is on stage he becomes Otto. They are one, and no other. When you answered me, the mask spoke for you. You created it did you not?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, really. But if you wanna keep going, entertain me, my guards will be here to escort you outside shortly” Charpain mused, reclining his large body in the wheeled chair.
“Poetry is not your fort then. What I mean is, You are being dishonest, Charpain! Every word you speak is a promise to lie. As soon as the words leave your mouth they become a different person altogether. Listen. I detest violence. But when I have no other alternative, then the ends justify the means.”
“I promise you honestly then, your threats will put you in prison” Charpain jeers.
“Mmmm, now you are being a bit honest with yourself. Listen Charpain! The world is dying, and you sit on the throne of desolation on a mountain of corpses. Your policies towards religious expression and spirituality chokes the life out of nearly half your work force. But that is a part of your plan. I am asking you to change that, and if you will not, then I will be forced to kill you” Torodir claimed with complete seriousness.
“I’d like to see you try damned terrorist haha! You and your feathered friend can't do anything. You really think I’d just let you walk in here and do whatever you want?”
Just then, large panel screens in the walls to our left slid upward to reveal a troupe of soldiers with more imposing armor than those guarding the building at the floor. The special unit so feared, respected, and spoke of in rumors. Even so, Torodir instantly approached the table, and the men whose guns were at the ready trained on his head, and the second Torodir’s hand was reflected in the glass a foot from Charpain’s face they one fired. The turbulent crash of gunfire made me recoil, instinctively shielding my face. It made me miss the scene, and when I looked at the results a few seconds later, a bloodied helmet and metallic corpse lay where the soldier was previously standing. Torodir was unharmed, as expected. Interestingly, none of the other men lowered their black barrels, and as far as I could see, none shook in fear. Were they even human? Torodir continued, and he reached nearer the CEO who shrank in terror at the gray hand that passed effortlessly behind his protective technology, the little bubble that shielded him from the world. Though Torodir did not do anything drastic to him, not yet. He pat the round man’s greasy head, and lightly stroked back and forth like one would a child. The hand then drew back.
“I trust you understand me now?” Torodir said politely, and with a hint of malice.
“So you don’t wanna kill me? You’ll regret killing me!” the creature of a man rejoiced.
Charpain snapped, and more soldiers arrived from lifting panels in the wall. The mechanical suits moved like clockwork, like weapons in the shape of people. Though upon activation, purple lights glowed from various areas. I only heard of them, and never saw them with my own eyes. These must be the psychic infiltrators. They had no need for guns, just like the rumors claimed, and even though the novel experience of witnessing what truly was real within the whispers of corporate espionage, I was not afraid. Ballistic weaponry scared me, but this I doubt would hurt the man I allied myself with. I could only fear the utterly inhuman ideas of one’s own mind becoming capable of the greatest feats of cruelty like compacting a body into a red orb with the thinker’s envisioning of gravitational collapse. Would that scare me more than another person entering my mind? I doubt I will find out today, because Charpain gestured his will, and one soldier raised their hands, shaped as if to grasp the space around them, and Torodir responded in turn. He raised two fingers on his right hand to the air and sliced them through empty space, dismissing something before him. A purple string of essence flickered, and sparked as it was torn through like a tendon by Torodir’s invisible blade, and the soldier collapsed like a masterless puppet.
“Charpain, you did not honestly think that they would cut out for this did you? I suppose someone with such a poor understanding of this worlds reality would fail to comprehend the power at my command.”
“So what one stopped working? My men can raise as many bodies as they need” he smiled.
“Tethering yes? When the puppet falls, the master is hardly affected, but I possess the abilities to bypass it. Why do you not check your cells? I am sure one of your precious elites in their focusing chamber just experienced a little disruption.”
Charpain hurriedly typed something on his keyboard, and his face changed from worry to horror. I imagine he checked the register monitoring the life signals of his mindbenders, and the image that used to be blue changed to red and the words “DEAD” displayed on the monitor. That is what I imagine anyway.
“Charpain my friend listen… You do not even need to bring out your toys. If I wanted, I could grip my hand and all personnel at your command would drop dead without even appearing before my eyes. All I want is some civil cooperation. Now is the chance to stop resting on your laurels and make something of yourself! Remember the days when you used to imagine sitting where you are now and how you thought you worked to death to attain it? Do you not want those memories, those feelings again?” Torodir remarked, with the grandiose speech of one who held the world in his hands.
“You f*cking chimr bastard. If you think I'll let you get away with anything you’re out your goddamn mind! What are you standing there for, shoot!” he squealed.
Again, instinctively I responded, this time covering my ears to reduce the sounds, and my eyes closed by themselves. This time when they opened the whole left side of the floor was occupied by dead bodies. Torodir stepped closer, standing directly before Charpain.
“Come now Charpain, this is all so childish and boring-”
Just as he said this, the CEO turned to reach for a button on the wall behind him I could not make out.
“Ah ah ah. No sir Mr. Charpain. Suicide is not the option. If you think the storage receptacle holding your backups is outside my reach you are sorely mistaken. If you called it quits now, that would be the same as quitting forever! Look, your life is in my hands. You have lived for quite a long time, what vessel are you on this time, third? Fourth? Either way, that will not happen again I assure you. It should be abundantly clear now that I am not bluffing. So, what do you say partner?”
Torodir had briskly walked around the table and caught the CEO’s hand before it pressed whatever special button he hoped to touch and spoke what were probably the last necessary words for this peaceable discussion. While always this sorcerer’s eyes looked upon me and his friends as equals, the smile that he often wore was so similar to what he wore now, that one might miss the nature of his hatred were it not for his terrorist actions. Now that Charpain was staring the consequences of his actions in the face for the first time in a long time Torodir said that the time had almost come, and he pointed outside the huge windows to something I somehow still was unable to expect after all I witnessed in the past month. I stopped before the window and looked down at the protest. From up here it was still the same as watching ants, but the fervor of the attendees increased, and the guards looked inert, and there seemed to be no trace of dispersal gas launchings. Then, from above, what I mistook for the sun, was not our sun. The midday light shining pleasantly into the hallowed corporate halls was shifting to a light more honeyed and golden than I have seen in my life. There, on the opposite side of our sky was a giant sphere fast approaching, filling the heavens with a supernatural glow. I stared dumbly, then slowly turned to see what kind of face Torodir was making. The knowledge of victory was in his eyes, and I now knew that his manner of grand speech truly reflected his dominion over the world, because through him it would change.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The setting sun: B sides
I wake up for another day. I eye the clock unpleasantly. Almost twelve. Monday’s are just as bad as any other day. I drag myself out of bed and grab a silver sky to throw back. The smooth sparkling river of deliciousness perks me up in seconds, and suddenly it doesn't feel so bad to have to leave my domain to soak in the summer heat. I walk over to my closet, and press the button unsealing the modern style hydraulic doors and spin on a random selection. Today was a c-shirt patterned like brickos and colored like a bouquet. I rolled it again cuz the asymmetrical neckline on that shirt annoyed me. This time I got a t-shirt that looked like it was covered in solid gold, and the light bounced off it the same way it did on the suits of old spacefarers. The pants rotated to a skirt Tinnius got me as a prank, but in the comfort of my own home it didnt bring more than a smirk. Next was a familiar pair of plain looking tan shorts. I rolled one more time, hoping for something equally as obnoxious as the shirt to match the energies, and next I received a pair of stark black pants with numerous silver chains hanging round the waistline as well as some rings like piercings symmetrically placed at numerous spots below. I settled on those cuz I didn't need to spend more than a few minutes picking clothes, though I didn't really appreciate it matching poorly with the gold. Before heading out I checked my convenience apparatus for notifications. A message from Mayume innocuously read “looking forward to seeing you today!” which reminded me I lived in the very same world as the one of yesterday, the world where I basically had a girlfriend, and I was sweetly disturbed. Beside her message box at the upper left hand of the screen was an image from Scarlet, but I decided to see what it was later, probably something silly. Though below them was the average sight, various news articles and ads because I never changed my home page. One ad depicted a green bottle of goop claiming to reverse aging faster than ever. Another ad showed subpar illustrations for a knockoff game, and next to that was a genuine article. It displayed a photo of curiously robed, masked people raising flags of something I did not recognize out in some arid place in front of a modern white building. The headline said, “tensions mounting as Kardista threaten more bombings on Charpain property, Saruna government lacking in quick response.”
I recognize the name Saruna, but I didn't know what the Kardista was. They sounded like terrorists. At Mayume’s request and Scarlet’s influence, I decided to spend some more time reading recently, and I figured I might as well take some more looks at what was going on in the world. Curious, I step out the door and set the article to read it aloud. Immediately the cruel sun was baring down on me, and it was like I was transported to the oppressive atmosphere of Saruna where it was no doubt several degrees or more hotter than it was here. The automated voice began: “Kardista, the Gohti, Saruna born extremist group has become bolder by the day. What before was an intrusive right wing pundit, morphed into a destructive threat. A year ago they loudly, but legally petitioned the local government to take action against the presence of Charpain infrastructure has abandoned their democratic vows and attempted to destroy various structures, including homeless shelters for disenfranchised Sarunian people! As of last month, over 100 pounds of explosives were set off on low profile blind spots. Though Charpain has done its best to improve the conditions of poverty, Kardista has threatened to destroy their own congress if their conditions are not met.”
As I walk further down the road, a little over halfway to the school building, I see someone walking in my direction. As they step closer, I feel a strange shiver send a bolt of cold powerful enough to rival the heat momentarily. They stopped a couple feet in front of me looking awfully out of place; Not because of the pretty patterns on the thin blue fabric of their robes, but because they looked uncomfortable. I didn’t believe in nebulous signs like ghost chills, plam readings, and the like, but it was off putting to feel that creeping cold in such a convenient coincidence. Actually, didn’t I see this person before? I felt like I might be stereotyping. I probably was, there were plenty of birdmen here, not that I would know since I don’t leave my room often enough. I feel a little silly assuming that the last birdman I saw must be the same as the one who stood before, I only saw them for a few seconds at the bar. Something about them… The silence was going to become more uncomfortable than I would like, and then they finally spoke.
“E-excuse mi.”
“Yes?”
“You are Mr. Eisenforth correct?” he said laboriously.
“How do you know my name?”
“My family and I own Moonlight. You were there a few days ago, yes? One of my patrons spoke to you.”
Wait, so it was him? Or, at least it probably was. Logically his family members would be bird people too, so I suppose I am just misremembering. He has to be someone else, there’s no way I could mistake the sight of that floating corpse. Either way, this was odd. I cannot say I am too glad to get involved in whatever this man intends for me. What happened with Jack, I did not get the feeling that how things ended was justice precisely. I never learned the details, but the Mayume talked about him, it sounded like he was a sad person in a sadder position, and I had to step in to change things. At the end of it all I felt right because Mayume let me know. Her heart sang that a dire fate was avoided, and I was lucky enough to have played a central role in it. But where did Jack go after that? The uneasy feeling of a knot in my stomach was twisting in my guts when the pieces fell into place, and a similar feeling was rotating in my now looking at this man. Similar in terms of uncertainty and dread. Instead of a knot, I got a chill. Why? And who are these patrons he spoke of?
“Of me? Why? Who?”
“I did not know her name, but she was a, qella sei dee… little woman? Uhhhm, light hair? I am sorry, I can no remember the words.”
“Petite, blanche?” Did she claim she was a vampire?”
“Ahhh yes, petite, yes. Yes, yes she was every bit a vampire.”
“Well what did she say, do you need something?”
“She said you are heero. Said you can help me a petit problem” he finished, forming his talons as though he were holding a crumb.
Oh great. It’s one thing for cricket to yank me into trouble but Scarlet too? This better be quick and easy so I don’t miss school. I bet she’s sitting there smirking everytime she remembers that I’m being inconvenienced.
“And what is this problem?” I inquire, trying not to let my annoyance show in my voice.
“The bar is peaceful most day. Since one, two week ago, not so. Bad people come and yell at customer and family. You can make them go away yes?”
“Uhhh, sure…”
“Oh thank you thank you! Follow me” he exclaimed.
He bowed his head twice quickly and turning his humbly slumped stature around beckoned for me to follow with a swipe of their claws. I guess my meager reputation preceded me, or he was just unusually sure that I could really do something, because he left me in the dust. I had to jog up beside him. I was worried at the idea of who it was I had to expel. It couldn’t be so bad right?
“So who are these people exactly?”
“Cruel racists, I cannot stand for them to bother my business!” he spat out, his accent pronouncing cruel as crooel.
“I see. Well, I will see what I can do.”
“Oh I heard great tings about you. Very strong.”
This man whose name I still did not know ceased having more words to offer than me, and we briskly walked in an uncomfortable silence. I was doubly off put because I was entering what one might call a genuine scenario where I could not know much about what I was getting into. Even if cricket was deliberately vague I felt I had an understanding of what was going to happen. Here I found the chill remained at the bottom of my spinal column, and steadily slithered with the randomness of a worm’s instinct to human eyes. A hero would not turn down a chance to help, even if it put them in danger. Cricket has not shown up and described that I have to stop some secret evil villain no one managed to notice, or said I was being duped. If it was not for this dark sensation I would assume that what was going to take place was totally innocuous and that I am worrying for no reason. Just who was this man, and why did it seem like he was pretending to know less Mert than he does. I tried to search in his body for hints that his body language revealed something. Was it unfair to process these thoughts? Was the slight tremble of his clasped claws the nerves of uncertainty for the very real problem of malcontents polluting the bar atmosphere? Or was he uncertain of something else. Either way, I can only go through with this because I am confident in my abilities. We reached the bar, and the raw sunlight was cutting like blades into the darker interior. Without slowing down he approached the staircase, and I stopped short of it.
“Probleme?” he posed vacantly.
“Why up there?”
“I-ehh, it is embarrass to say, but they haunt up there when not causing big trouble on floor. No one make them leave when they are stubborn” he explained, wringing his dry looking digits.
The bar’s live band music filled the room with melody. It was like standing in viscous amber. I could not quite make out what he said, but I figured he gave some expected explanation.
“So what exactly do you want me to do?”
“I leave to you, I thought you know better than me yes? I am embarrass to say, you must walk in front” he tried clarifying.
Anyone could see the difference in our age. What could I know that he does not? The icy worm wriggled in my spine, nearing the upper column and the lively cacophony only increased my discomfort. My suspicions grew, and with difficulty I coughed out “Oh, yes, of course” with a most un-hero like face. With a change altogether unnatural, the noise died down as if blocked by a soft barrier in the stairwell. It was not beyond my expectations that a barrier was put up precisely to give needed quiet to the patrons, but the timing was too odd. The oddness thickened as every step revealed upper depths dustier than the last. This obviously was not a frequently used place. I bet some shady types haunted this floor, whether or not they brought trouble to the bar, or to me was uncertain. A generous aisle stood between two rows of doors whose use no doubt included storage, but hinted at something else. Were there actually private rooms here for public use, or rather, did there used to be? The man stopped and pointed with a drawn out motion to the first door on the right saying “That is them causing big noise.”
“They are really here?”
“Y-yes” he hesitated, the skittish head craned down.
When the feathered figure broke eye contact, I felt the cold strike into the base of my brain, and I fully comprehend that the things inside this room were abnormal and shadowy. The boisterous music below was not bad, but it was unpleasant for someone like me who was not used to rooms packed with fuzzy socialization. What below was a difference of daily affairs for some, metamorphosed into a dark past where I stood. Nothing changed, but inside this room the light was truncated by old windows which grayed the place, and what clear beams shone through illuminated a benthic snow of dust. I thought that I was walking on the ocean floor into the home of alien creatures. It was frightening, but no fear can stop me now. I found the light to brighten such darkness. My blade of justice set me above the masses. I was not defenseless. I steeled myself, imagining that I wore a highly durable diving suit, and pushed readily turned the dull brass knob, shoving the door open. My greeting arrived at the same time the door passed the threshold.
“Ahhh, Clarent come in, come in!” rang a boisterous tone.
The door quietly shut behind me, locking me in with this colorful cast of whatever they were. If it were not for his outrageous grin, I would have thought someone else besides the tribalistic man called out to me. I gathered that not one, but several eels called this room their haunt. Each one my eyes fell upon triggered a harrowing sensation. Well, except for this other birdman who resembled the one who brought me here. His robes were black, and feathers were mottled unlike my guide whose feathers were a dark black which reflected a dull green in sunlight. The artpiece standing beside him gave me cause for itching, and I felt that soot was stuck somewhere on my I could not quite locate. To their right, someone who probably was an android. The augments were all visible, and their armor was sleek with a fine sheen. This room was filled with abyssal pressure. My skin was tightening, my vision blurring slightly like when one became dehydrated, and a nauseating spell drew bile from within that pooled slightly inside my mouth when my eyes met the androids. That appearance was so refined, elegant, and professional. I concentrated all my power to stand without faltering, but it was obvious on my face, and the mechanistic man reclining on the wall like a wrench awaiting use was ambivalent to my appearance. However, the one who brought me here, the man with gray skin like an earthenware pot and a headdress whose origins I could not know, the feeling he wrought was dubious. His eyes, the same color as my blade, eyed me coolly, a spark shimmering at me.
“Welcome Mr. Eisenforth. I am oh so glad to see you. I have been waiting” he addressed like an eccentric royal.
“What’s going on here?”
“Uhm, I am sorry, but I have deceived you,” the guide admitted sheepishly, head lowered.
“Lakta that broke the pace of this revelation. If you do not mind,” the eccentric scolded playfully, raising a finger to his lips in silence.
I’ve only know this guy for two minutes, and his demeanor rubbed me the wrong way. When I looked into his eyes I didn’t get assaulted by a noxious haze, or feel a hand finger around in my skull. Looking at him was uncomfortable for a reason I couldn’t imagine. The cool eyes invoked heat. His eyes, like the moon, or a fresh waterfall, flowed from some source. What was atop the mountain? The sun I suppose. The moon reflected its light, but he shined like the sun itself. The glare was baking my eyes, and they twitched in irritation. This light lulled me into a dreary summer dream where the sweat on my face belied great meaning. I swore I rubbed my eyes to clear my view and see what lay behind them, but the illusion dissolved, leaving me out of my wits for a second. The mysterious man only smiled at me jovially, and I wondered if any time passed at all. I piled my leaves, and remembering what was just happening, instantly made my blood heat up.
“Continue” I demanded.
“Oooooh I like that tone. I am Torodir, leader of Dawn, an organization that will change the world, and I want you to help me achieve my goal.”
“And what is this goal?”
“As you have become aware, the positions taken by our government are quite dubious. Suppression of belief, practice, a faulty two party system, lofty pensions abused by those living well past their life span, defenses of free enterprise that reward the rich and spiritless, shameful imperialism garbed in humanitarianism. Dare I say, sinister. Do you agree?” he listed automatically.
“What do you want from me?”
“I want your help. You see, a grand event is going to take place, and before the most momentous of occasions the likes of which will not occur for another 500 years give or take, is a protest. Outside the Charpain tower, and outside the senate. Your power will greatly aid in empowering the downtrodden people from Sibil oppression.”
He delivers this speech while kicked back on some crates in this stuffy storage room. How absurd. I can tell, weirdly enough isn't hiding anything. I don’t need the textbook protections against cultic and harmonistic rhetoric here. How am I supposed to factor into this anyway? Destroying evil is a tough and lengthy job, but fighting a society isn't the same as fighting a villain. Society isn’t clear or ironically as honest as an alien from outer space bent on destroying earth. In Tower 87 half the aliens are pretty honest about their goals of world domination, but not humans.
“What do you mean? My power cannot help you.”
“Oh but it can. Even now you can do something extraordinary that not even I can do.”
“If you want to hurt someone, I won’t do it!” I said with a start.
I could already see where this was going and I won’t have any part of it!
“Relaaaxxx. You will not have to hurt anybody. I will do all the hurting myself, your hands will be clean” he details nonchalantly.
“Nonsense! It’s the same thing! Blood will be on everyone’s hands!”
“It is very simple, I will clear a path to notable politicians, and the final move can be made by you. You will not have to hurt them at all! This is your once in a lifetime chance mr. Eisenforth, think of all the years this place has remained stagnant. This river we call home is filled with scum and filth, the plants below can hardly see the light because of the algae soaking it up; choking the life from people like you and me. Something has to give-”
I cut him off before his ratsh*t can continue.
“Stop it, I don’t want to hear anymore.”
I turned in a fit, and caught another stupid remark about how he knows who I am.
“People are suffering out there, my boy. Do you want to put a stop to all this?”
“Put a stop to what?”
Yeah, a stop to injustice by perpetuating it? Don’t be an idiot. I tried to leave, but it was like an invisible rope tied me to this would be terrorist. He isn’t going to let me go without another trite speech, and he rolled on about metaphors that only make sense to him.
“That’s ratsh*t! Just speak clearly if you’re gonna speak at all, don’t waste my time!” I bark.
I might as well pull out my sword and put a stop to this villain, but even in my anger I can tell that I’d be outmatched by his two cronies if they fought three on one.
“I would say you lack imagination, but I know that is not true. You have felt it all this time, but the end is drawing near.”
“And if I disagree with your little plan?”
“Nothing happens, we-”
That was enough for one day. I just tried to stop listening, but again that f*cking rope kept me from rolling out.
“Then I’m out of here.”
I pushed the dumb cohort that led me here aside, but the orator who was apparently so damned good at rhetorical skill, or just insistent enough, that he forced people to listen to his speeches with an endless canister of sh*tty time wasters.
“What would Mayume think?”
Of course, if you can’t win with propositions you bring up loved ones. I swear he won’t be walking about in the daylight a free man much longer if he so much as laid a hand on her. I whipped around and finally showed the depths of my anger this bastard was so keen on pulling out.
“No need to make such a scary face. She too is uninvolved. Well, not involved as much as anyone else. She too desires change, as does Scarlet. They have been patiently waiting for a time when they can feel like all the days they have suffered will mean something. But they do not have the power you do, they are a set of eyes moored to flesh. Your eyes see something more, they see a blueness that overrides the pettiness of detractors. Do not do it for us, do it for them, our organization is merely a means to an end. Make no mistake though, this is truly a once in a lifetime chance, if you do not act then… something soon will eclipse us, and the sun will set on this world.”
He seemed satisfied after trying to manipulate me, and I felt that he finally took his talons out my flesh. There was no tightness at my waist, so I take my ticket and went for the door. The near silent atmosphere just beyond the door, like a portal to a normal attic where nothing ever happened, gave temporary serenity. I can’t relax. I have this feeling everything he said was undeniably true. But there’s no way I can just accept it without knowing for myself. Seeing is believing. Mayume could be in danger. My mouth began to feel dry, and my chest is stuffy and tense. I traveled as fast as I could without falling over and hitting my head down the tiny staircase and snaked by the congregating bodies of the still excited commissioners packing the bar. Soon as I reached the door, I bolted in the school’s direction. The sun rained sweat on me, and before I knew it, I was hunched over breathing hard. Not much longer Clarent, you can recover later! I forced my languishing lungs to take in air, pushing myself harder than was healthy. Covered in sweat, my bodily fluids strained to layer my throat, and as my chest finally felt like it would burst, I felt the cool burst from the school’s AC and lethargically drew up the stairs by the handrails. Oh ma due! Thank the shades, the spheres, the gods, whatever’s out there that the club room is next to the top of the stairs. Mayume is here… I can relax. My vision was blurry, and everything went black for a second. I try to say something, but the voices around me are fading too.
Where am I? I awoke from an unwanted slumber. My eyes fluttered, and my sore arms raised automatically to wipe away the sand, but I didn’t feel any crust. I was still tired, everything felt tired. It was that feeling you get when you wake up after sleeping for only three hours after a sleepless night. I was covered in a layer of dried sweat and exertion. Uhhhg. Uoooah I groaned. It wasn't even for attention, I remember how my chest felt like it was going to blow up, and this cold sensation.
“There you are, are you okay?”
I heard the voice of an Arinus perhaps. So sweet. The phrase repeated. Am I okay? The delayed memories of the event came back to me in a flash. Oh yeah, I passed out. And my darling Mayume, the perfect companion and nurse no doubt, was here for me. Maybe I should pass out more. She scooted next to me on a wheeled chair in the nurse's office. Her lovely, rotund head gave me a traveler’s bed. I felt my head and my fingers touched cold plastic on my forehead. Ice. I think I could go back to sleep like this… This might be what it’s like in the upper realms. But there’s no time for that, this is just a consolation prize. Seeing her face was like cold sunshine. All the beauty with none of the discomfort. I had to put down a screen over it for now. The serious expression I originally came with painted my face, and Mayume looked like she was going to say something, but I spoke first.
“Mayume, was there a strange guy who came around here? His skin looks like stone, wore weird tribal clothes, and has striking laser blue eyes?”
“Huh? No, I haven't seen anything like that. Here, drink some water. Clarent, what’s going on? I’ve never seen you like this…”
She was always keen on emotion. In response, the bittersweet worry on her face changed to confusion, and she was disturbed. If I opened this line of questioning I would have to divulge what has really been going on. If someone really was going to hurt my friends, anyone knowing about what happened these last couple weeks would be in danger. Instead I have to ask her an important question. What would she think? That is what that Torodir man said. It was a classic tactic for villains to seed doubt in the heroes mind by turning it against their allies. But what he said were not lies. They were difficult truths, and those are more dangerous than any lie. I felt the knot in my stomach return and saying her name was difficult.
“Mayume. If you could change the world in any way no matter the cost. What would you do?”
“Well, I’d remove Charpain’s imperialistic structures from every country they’ve touched. I’d get each community that was downtrodden to uplift themselves with the help of their people and bring back their pride” she affirmed.
Her posture was tight, and her usually straight back bent a little, making her appear solemn. Next I have to ask something I never thought I would find myself asking. I wanted the world to be better, but I knew nothing about how to improve it. I can barely improve myself. I have only ever lived off the charity of others, so it is only right that I choose peace over violence. Hero’s stood up to violence, even engaging with it themselves, but only for the greater good and in the proper manner. They were beloved by the people because whatever they did was right by nature. But I am no hero. I just pretend I am one in a fantasy. So I have to ask.
“H-h H- how would… you do it?”
She was pensive. After a silence spent searching, and it looked like part of that process was rubbing the lower half of her head’s shell, she answered.
“I’d probably paint more than ever. I’d write and paint and ask for a meeting at the roruta and show them the things I imagine in my work, and the things I’ve learned in my essays and give a speech about how we need to break the shackles of imperialism wrought by Charpain and galvanize our peoples to push for change in the country's government” she finished.
That is what I want too. It is how it should work in a proper world, even in Azmer of all places. Here is the most unpleasant part. The real kicker.
“Do you think they would listen? Would anything come of it?”
I was surprised at how my hesitation fell, and how easy it was for negative statements to tumble out my mouth. I recall saying similar things, just not to someone like Mayume, someone who would disagree, or have solid answers to counteract my own. There was consternation in her countenance, then she propped her head on her hand, causing her figure to bend closer to me. However, the perturbed aura built up like air in lungs, and she heaved a sigh. Like a boulder falling in a lake, the air shifted, and bubbles came up on the lake surface that was her face, and it was a smile.
“Maybe. I don’t really know myself. I… think I might have tried it when I was younger, years ago the last time I went home. But I was so young. They said I was brave and promising, but kids aren’t taken too seriously. It was the time where I listened, not talked. The adults are trying their best to fix things. Of course I don’t wanna sit around and do nothing, but that’s what it feels like. And I don’t want to only change the world with my voice, I want to do it with art. You can see how proud people are of art around here” she sighed, twirling a finger in a circle.
So she felt stuck too? I didn’t know. I felt comforted at that fact. But Mayume would still do more than I ever could. I want to put myself down, and say her worries were unfounded, but after what she just said I could not possibly be that stupid.
“I don’t think you have to be too worried. I think you’ll accomplish more than most people ever will.”
“Yeah? Why’s that?” she smirked cutely.
“Uhh, well. I just do. Do I need a reason?” I stammered.
“Hmmm? That’s really it? No reason at all huh? Well, I think you’ll go on to raise a big and beautiful garden yourself” she claimed, pointing at me.
I was hoping she’d poke me.
“Me? Why?”
“Welllll I don’t really neeeeeed a reason, '' she teased, drawing out the letters deliberately.
She looked up in the air like the reason for her claim was somewhere hidden despite the fact it was as clear as a glass beetle’s carapace. She was not going to tell me. Despite basically having gone on a date, I was too embarrassed to tell her it was because she was just incredibly inspiring and beautiful, so I let it go. This is a familiar and delightful feeling, but there is still something left unsaid. It’s like they say, what one builder will never build will certainly never be built by another. I am worried that this will muddy the mood but…
“Say, if the leaders of the Charpain corporation structures were murdered, do you think that would improve society?” I said somewhat tremulously.
“I didn’t know you had something like that in you. You plan on killing Charpain?” she joked.
“N-no it’s just. I wanted to hear an opinion on it is all” I said, averting my eyes.
Like before, she sighed, but her aura did not indicate poignancy. She seemed irritated at the idea like an external force.
“Hahhhhh” she exhaled. “I think in the past maybe that was a solution. But not anymore. We live in a post-war age. Our tactics are only espionage and democracy, and though I hate it, nationalism works in some cases. Most of the countries that escaped colonial implements were militaristic and rigid states because of refusals to accept Charpain’s encroachment under threat of war. Charpain is like a giant parasite. It can’t feed off the resources of others if its competitors die. It’s weaker for every nation it didn’t convince to take the yoke of suppression” she criticized dourly.
If she had eyebrows they’d be furrowed right now. Though I noticed the ribs on her shell were firmer than before.
“Are you confident that legislation can bring change?”
“When you read the history you see that laws that make effective change happen maybe every 100 years or so. Maybe 30 if you’re lucky, but when a new prime minister succeeds, the cabinet they pick is organized about as well as a bag of pebbles. Congresse won’t change much either without a sweeping social movement” she asserted.
I followed what she said, but I am a little disappointed that her excellent mind could not award me with a straight answer. I am both relieved and dispirited.
“So, is there anything we can do?”
“Yes. Absolutely. I just don't know what” she lamented.
Relief again. I was about to say something else, but my exhaustion caught up with me. My sight was assaulted by blurs again and I fell on my back. At the same time we both faltered in making a needless apology for my weakened state, but she ended up finishing it for me.
“I’m sorry, I should have let you rest,” she smiled softly.
I turned away so I'd be less embarrassed to say this, but I felt like I needed to or else I might not have another chance for a while.
“No, d-don’t be sorry. I… want… here. With. Mm” I grumbled.
She silently held my hand, and while I was covering my face bashfully she touched her lips to my forehead and stole away. Something so romantic and childish as a kiss where neither could see. I was smiling hard and held onto the feeling until I fell asleep again. When I woke up again, only about an hour and a half passed. Club would almost be over, and I took the chance to leave before Mayume would be able to stop me and probe further into the matter. I wanted to see someone who’d have more expertise on this matter. If there’s any credit I can give to that obnoxious cricket, it’s that he somehow pushed things along with my an Mayume. I don’t know if i’ll tell him that though or else it might go to his tiny head. I’m already several minutes from the school, and the sound of Tower 5’s transformation bleeped from my convenience apparatus. It was from Mayume no doubt asking where I was, followed by another a few seconds later reading “You need to rest!” I feel bad ignoring her messages, but time is running short. I shouldn’t have any reason to believe what that man said, but already I had a foreboding sense of an impending something.
Mayume’s words took up residence in my head among the other catalogs of everything she’s said or done that my mind’s library could commit to page and pen. Did we ever bring up a topic like that during club hours? So many things that should be fond memories evaporated somewhere along the way. I walked the scorching streets with my feet, and the motion of my legs moving made me feel like I purposefully stepped through the shelves in my mind and saw how many cases had texts missing where something should be there. Almost every memory I could recall from club hours was pleasant. If they were not, Mayume always managed to smooth things out; and I could not remember a time she ever lingered for long on her own problems. She did not really talk about her own sensitivities too much. Why? No one would think poorly of her. She is the shining star of our wonderfully mediocre center of education. I want to ask her the next time I see her. I raked my hands across my hair in response to the itch of sweat winding a trail down my head and neck. The only damned rivers that ever seemed to flow here were down your neck. If the Inseine river flowed conveniently into the city close by I’d actually jump into it every time for just a little relief. The shadow of the Open Dreamer was long gone. It was just me and the sun. I sort of envy people with archaic beliefs who think that if an appropriate sacrifice were given, we might get a single day of rain to abate divine negligence.
It would be nice to get rain. This dilemma poses a serious question for me. The sun is like the natural descent, and echo of the great spheres. It can never be known exactly what they are like, but based on the descriptions of Pilonus’ theories, they are probably cold because of their placement in space. The second generation at least should be cold in space as we know it. The supreme spheres are likely in a zone where temperature does not exist. I do know a little about how scholars believe based on his consistent use of metaphors and language, that his word choice implies that the radiance of the sphere’s is probably only metaphorical and not literal. In which case, do I want the splendid beauty of the sphere’s to replace the sun as its superior? Would the lack of light make me sad? Certainly. The lack of light would kill everything so what I really want is just a brilliant sun that is not too hot or too cold.
But then again. I’ve had a number of dreamlike experiences. From the point of view of the mind, the sphere’s only appear as a model, a paragon of order this world could attain if only people truly believed in it. I remember before when I met Peet. At the time, the way I entered that great orb was like a dream, but more vivid than just my imagination has ever displayed to me on idle postulations. That huge orb looked like how I always imagined the spheres to be. If I ever came face to face with the world’s truth, would I meld into the same way I did before? Peet was a real person was he not? Haha. It is a little ridiculous how many times I have journeyed to a mirrored image of this town, a version far more absurd than I ever remembered. If Peet is real, I need to contact him. I saw in his eyes something ineffable and jouie. There was more I could learn from him I think. In Mayume’s disgruntled eyes I saw something too. I feel like there is something I am missing. While I mused on the beautiful and nebulous nature of perfection, I found myself under the only shade for what felt like miles. It was the defunct bridge of sorts less than a block from Mayume’s house and Scarlet’s dungeon. The large ants were sparse now. About one or two aimlessly scaled the vine before settling inert for unknown amounts of time. The Soranus hammocks were empty I think, or maybe their tails were tucked inside. The colorful plumage of birds whose names I could not all remember were scarce too. No chirping or squawking, no skittering, and no buzzing of wings. With the exception of a couple lone Briar vespids hanging upside down outside their twisted nests, and a single avian barely visible inside a breach in the bridge’s rusting hull, today must have been a lazy day. Forgetting my painstaking effort for a bit, I absentmindedly wiped my forehead of sweat, drying it on my shorts while looking into that gnarly hole and made out a large, curved beak bird who was preening their feathers with the efficiency granted by its two heads tending to both wings at once.
I took a deep breath, and closed the remaining distance. Oh yeah, I forgot it was unusually cold in Scarlet’s haunt. Relief here I come! I wasted little time finding the grainy hatch to the basem*nt and threw it open to enter. Already the coolness of death made me feel so much better. Just when I could make out her figure half concealed in the dark she called out.
“Wait! Stop there for a sec.”
I did as was told. In the following minute, now that I felt the sun’s torment waning, the thought of my mission returned to me. I came here for a reason, and I became serious.
“Can I move now?” my voice echoed.
“Yeah, go ahead” she responded casually.
I shouldn’t relax just yet at just the sound of her voice, there could be a trap. The echoes of my next few footsteps unsettled me because Scarlet was nowhere to be seen. Fortunately, the silence was broken when the sound of flesh smacking a solid, cold surface showed me her frail corpse of a body roll across the floor next to the computer where her red eyes regarded me curiously.
“What’s the matter, you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“Are you okay? Have you seen anyone strange recently?” I fretted..
“Yeah, an orange dude with bricko pattern shorts,” she smirked.
I took that to mean she was not bothered by Torodir or his cronies, but I still could not rule that out considering how likely she was to meet weirdos in general.
“Any… men with odd choices of headwear and gray skin like stone? Or a full android, or Zoloran or uh, whatever those bird people are called?”
“Hmmmm… let me see”
She started counting on her fingers. She might actually be considering anyone in recent memory but it was more likely she was just doing it for kicks. Perhaps conjuring some imaginary people to play with. I was antsy. Before continuing her little game she glanced at my face, inferred my mood, and smiled more softly.
“No, I'm a-okay, firm as a rope, a real poet on the plains. Yei monsieur, just hire avec les avieux,” she finished.
As she concluded the string of words she winked, made a capital A with her hands, then smiled with her tongue sticking out. The superfluous act made me relax, and was oddly endearing rather than annoying. Though it did not really befit someone her age. The pale woman picked herself up and scooted on her bottom back to the computer screen. I sat beside her and soaked up the delightful cold which reminded me how sweaty I no longer was. She did not use the keyboard, and instead hunched over sitting cross legged, beholding me with her head held up by her hands on each cheek.
“So what’s up?”
“Well, uh. I was convinced by a strange birdman to travel with him to…”
I trailed off, remembering how a few days ago Scarlet curiously said that there was nothing on the second floor of the bar. I was not sure how to approach it, so I just opened the topic with the same inappropriate vagueness I used with Mayume.
“Well. I was just thinking about something. How can you change things for the better?”
“How so?”
“With politics. I can’t say that I know much about the place I live in. I’m starting to doubt what I think I know. Either way. I think most people recognize that this city is imperfect. But how can we change it? I asked Mayume before and she didn’t know.”
“What do you wanna change?”
“I.. I guess I don’t really know. With the things I’ve seen in this short span of time, and the conversations I’ve had, I want to see a world where Mayume’s paintings are applauded at school. I wanna see people clap for her, but obviously the art most people like is nothing like hers. She said in books she’s read that laws made in the interests of people like her hardly make headway in decades, if not centuries.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I feel like I have to.”
“Why?”
Her deep eyes searched mine. It felt like she was looking for an answer in me I couldn’t find myself.
“I haven’t done anything noteworthy in the last few years. Until this one ludicrous guy showed up, everything was banal and monotonous. Things don’t seem to be changing at large, but I feel something changing inside me. To be honest, I don’t really know if what she says is true, but she feels so strongly about it I can’t help but get swept along you know? I was thinking about what I could do if I had the power to do anything, but I think if I had the power I’d do nothing. I don’t know if it's scarier for me to do nothing, or what would happen if someone else was determined to do anything. It always seemed like most non-Sibil are unhappy, and I used to chalk it up to a refusal to see eye to eye with the benefits of our society but…” I started to mutter in the end.
Scarlet sat calmly, and twirled her light blonde locks with her right finger, listening patiently to my stream of consciousness.
“Hey, don’t feel like the whole world’s on your shoulders. You’re still a kid. But, making change is hard no matter how old you are” she reassured.
“I like to think I know things, but right now all I truly know is what I feel, and I just don’t want to keep seeing her look so far away. When she talks about herself for too long, just really talks about herself, she looks like she’s fading away” I lamented.
“You must really care about her,” she said sincerely.
“As far as I’m concerned, it has to be true. Is it selfish?” I sought.
“All love is a little selfish. You fight your desire to the death, cuz when you have to part, you reluctantly choose their happiness over yours. But damn does it hurt to tell yourself no.”
The consolidating opposites of light in the basem*nt draped Scarlet in a mystic remembrance. Her smile and eyes were impossibly tender, and somehow they looked at me, and regarded me here. I could tell she was thinking of someone dear. Up to now I considered her licentious, but it was foolish of me to judge so early, because she must have loved so deeply to be able to look me in the eyes and remember fondly who had left her. A painful memory of my own, an image of my mother placing a necklace around me flashed soundlessly inside. I don’t wanna think about that, I don’t wanna face that! Mayume… Somewhere within that ironic combination of blue and black I lost my bearings. The irreconcilable images of childhood overtook me, and I forgot where Scarlet was. Then something warm, like sunbeams piercing the misty ocean blue trickled on my skin. It was the feeling of tears on my shorts, and the flow of life pulling me back. I was crying, and Scarlet proved to me another way in which she was kind. Her body, which I thought would be cold throughout, was warm against mine. My head was slightly inclined into hers, and my hair that was undoubtedly stiff with dried sweat was being stroked by her hand.
“Hush. There there” she consoled.
Having been pulled out of that reve tenebre, I remembered again the reason I came here. I recalled Fevre 18th, irrefutable proof of evil justice must be correct. But how? I’m unable to connect the dots between the things I've learned. What makes this city so terrible exactly? The example of police brutality at the hands of government soldiers was the most apparent and remembered source of evil in recent decades. Then something has to tie back to there. I picked up my teary eyed head.
“Scarlet. How do we change the world? Can we change it properly, without violence?” I asked hushed.
“Yes.”
“Please, tell me how.”
“You really wanna know?”
“Yes, I came to you because you would know, you’re smarter than me” I admitted.
“Flattery will get you somewhere, sometimes Mr. Eisenforth. Alright, let’s go.”
She started describing a lot of stuff. Most of which I couldn’t really follow.
“Wait wait wait. Hold on, back up. What did pulmonary prosecution mean?” I stammered.
“You’re that far back? It’s when- what do they teach you in school anyway?” she huffed.
“Ummm. Well, we were taught the basic structures of government-”
“Yeah yeah the three branches and legislation process. They didn’t tell you about how to petition the office, how to strike, boycott, organize unions, anything?” she grumbled.
“Of course I know about strikes. But aren’t those for protesting material conditions? What good would they be, nearly everyone here is above the poverty line.”
“Yeah, but that’s not what I asked. Do you know how to unionize?”
“N-no.”
“You know how to contact representatives?”
“Yeah of course. I just haven’t done it before…”
“We all have ta start somewhere. Damn, it’s no wonder everything pissed its pants, no one knows how to do anything” she fumed.
She was more exasperated than I expected and I was embarrassed at my lack of knowledge. She was yanking on her hair in comic frustration.
“Hey, don’t look so glum, I’m not mad at you” she grimaced.
“You… seem really sure of this.”
“Two hundred years ago, probably like 2915, the Charpain corporation showed up at Suruku, a coastal city in Sakarika. I stood with the people, and we succeeded in givin’ em the spike. Since then I’ve always believed that we can beat the Sibil scum avec pourir de la sophie,” she testified with a closed fist over her heart.
“What were you doing there?” I exulted.
“Just traveling. Traveled to the coast one day, took up fishing, got married, and called it home” she described while making a reeling motion.
“Did they have guns?”
“Oh you f*ckin bet they had guns. No corporate cloth heads are showing up without at least a paramilitary unit to guard their sorry asses. Even kids sat out with their parents staring down rifle barrels.”
“That’s incredible… maybe in one hundred years i’ll be able to do something that heroic” I praised.
“You can do it now, ya just might die is all” she chuckled.
“So what’s the difference? I mean, I know it was one hundred years ago but-”
“We went for the peaceful approach. We borrowed a tradition in Jin from the west. Thing is, it’s not like we didn’t have weapons. If peace didn’t work, then bullets would. Information about the colonial efforts in Centre Main was making the rounds by then, and the first efforts from Sakarika was steady protest, but they were already advancing their own disciplines. The tension between Sakarika and Main colonials was taking its toll by the three year mark, and the government decided it was time to triple the efforts to industrialize. At the time, we thought their threats were bluffs, so we just held onto our weapons in secret in case they stepped too far in. Luckily, it was just a small, ill equipped fleet, and places like Azmer already forced the colonials out about a hundred years prior.”
“So, they were scared? Mayume told me about how the colonials managed to gain a foothold in Aora. Was it the same there?”
“Not too familiar with Aora. Gimme the rundown.”
“She basically said that a chief of her tribe was tricked. She said that a major source of water coming from up the central mountain was polluted with something, and the colonials promised to fix it. But after they did, their advances weren’t accepted, so the Sibil said they’d poison the waters again if they didn’t get what they wanted,” I relayed.
“Yep, that’s about how it went. Even with the scientific advances, the government in Centre Main couldn’t afford to send out boatloads of people across oceans to war. They had to find an entrypoint. Since then, their efforts to ‘enrich’ other cultures generally succeeded,” she griped, making air quotations for enrichment.
“I remember our textbooks using that word a lot for the history topics.”
“And they claim the colonial embassies work ‘painstakingly’ hard to improve quality of life too, right?”
She didn’t make air quotes for the word painstaking, but the cringe in her tone was pronounced. I was yet to see the information with my own eyes, so I was still somewhat skeptical. Could it have been different back then? I wasn’t exactly proud of the fact that my own people carved up Sibil soldiers like sacks of bortilai, but if that was what kept us from that burden of distance Mayume and the others felt… No, I can’t sympathize with killing. The world isn't perfect, but there has to be a way.
“Scarlet. Please tell me, how can we put smiles on peoples faces without death?” I implored.
While we talked, she became a little distracted with some third person action game, but so used to multitasking was she, that her replies were natural; but this time, she paused. Her eyes like icy red jasper narrowed at the screen. She bit into her lip, and as she executed a bunch of armored dudes with effortless headshots in game, flatly replying:
“You can’t. In a battle at windless sea, you’ll run out of supplies; and when time drags on, innocents are drowned in the sands. You said you’re a fan of the tower series right? Even the towers killed monsters to protect Sakarika. Standing up to evil means making hard choices, and there’s never a lack of casualties.”
She focused on the screen lackadaisical, specifying the fact of the matter that death is inevitable in every situation with Azmer proverbs. Again the fleeting hope gave me comfort in its passing, but I wouldn’t give up. I didn’t know how she knew those phrases, but they served to remind me unpleasantly of abuse of powers. Always I have more questions.
“Well what about the unions or strikes? Can’t we do those, someone has to be brave enough.”
“For one, a strike only really works when you’re part of it. You need a job first. Second, the reason protest worked in Sakarika was because we had the weapons to back our resolve. On top that, if lives were claimed in a shooting, the residents would never forget it, and the news would spread like wildfire elsewhere, hurting the humanitarian and capitalistic image the colonials were tryin’ ta present. Murders by the state can be swept under the rug here on Sibil turf, which is why people are so scared. Other countries don’t hear it, and we don’t hear other countries, not without an inoculator on your browser.”
“Then what do I do?” I whinged.
“First you gotta get educated. You need ta know the history to conceptualize the present. Then you gotta get organized, find like minded people, and talk strategy. Since you’re young, if you ever actually get into revolutionary action, you probably won’t be arrested for too long. Take that as your advantage. Here, take these.”
I had more questions, but she answered them by subjecting me to an unflattering sight of her rear end, crawling on hands and knees towards one of many destitute corners in this surprisingly large basem*nt. A bit unexpected to me, she didn’t bother standing up to close the short distance to deliver the books to me. She childishly skid forward on her bony knees, hands occupied with the sizable stack of books, and having caught herself absentmindedly on her own dress, fell forward, dropping the stack on the floor.
“Whoops” she remarked.
I picked up the books and one by one slid one of the seven or so worn paperbacks. The first was a green covered book with an encircled, brown, mountain decorating it titled “The means of tectonics, labor, and spirit.”
She pointed to that one, “That one’s probably the best to start with” she commented, smiling lightly. The next had a picturesque view of rolling hills and distant peaks commonly used as postcard art for Mertaille titled, “The beginning and end, A history of Mertaille.” The next, a notably distinct pattern reminiscent of classical Azmer art with only the word “Merabilia” at its center. Understandably befogged, I opened it to find a series of statements in excellent handwriting. Is this a diary? Before I could travel further Scarlet stopped me, saying that one was special. I was genuinely intrigued as to what value this book held compared to the others, and I felt that it would be the first I studied when I got home. I was going to pose a question when Scarlet, who was sitting uncomfortably close, gauged my reactions to the ancient tomes. I was about to ask about how they managed to maintain their integrity for who knows how long, but she cut me off with a well placed finger at my lips. Even closer, there was probably less than an inch between her lips, and the slender finger demanding my silence. She drew back a little, trying to bore holes into me with her eyes.
“Tsk Tsk, no more questions. I don’t have all day to tutor kids, read two of those in one week and we can talk about it, tu comprend?”
Not long ago she was holding me with great compassion, but suddenly I was embarrassed for some reason at this unexpected advancement. I grabbed her little finger, my index imprinted on by her surprisingly pointed nail, and tossed it away haphazardly.
“Knock it off you impure woman!”
For a small time, I forgot my burdens, and she playfully established a lighthearted mood where I thought it not completely foolish to utter such a phrase. To my surprise, maybe it was just that phrase specifically which derived an unexpected reaction this time. Her lips curved into one of her typical smiles that did not change at all in degree of curvature, but it still took on this mordant quality like the unfortunate words I spoke would cut me with the knife I carried. I wasn’t sure how to react. Was that my sendoff, is hangout time over? I looked at her feet feeling contrite, waiting on a response.
“Oh yeah, I just remembered I had to do some raids, so you’ll have to shove off” she ended.
Her sudden terms of parting was a little disconcerting. I hope I didn’t offend her. The topic of the mmo we played peaked my interest, and I focused on that as an opportunity to stumble past an apology.
“Which one? Iron Core? Cosmic wastes?”
“Cosmic wastes yeah”
“Can I help?”
“Nope! Good boys have books to read. I’ll see ya later” she waved dismissively.
I walked uncertainly toward the exit, but I found myself hovering near it. Why was it so hard to ask her if I said something rude? The words were getting stuck in my throat. What’s wrong with me? I turned, 3/4ths facing her more in the dark than in light. I physically bent over trying to push something out, and my trembling lips were unable to connect. It was like trying to talk while gargling water. Idling there, a panic was overcoming me, and the water filled my throat, leaking uncontrollably into my lungs. An image of my mother flashed again, and an image of Scarlet’s tender smile right after. Was she admonishing me? I did something wrong didn’t I momma. The light at the ocean’s surface was getting more and more distant. That verse of Sintan came to me: “Oh you had come to me from the sea, a distant flotsam blossomed. Here without you, is it better to drown at the shores whence you left never to return?”
!!! A diver grasped my hand and pulled me into awareness. I was in the darkness of Scarlet’s basem*nt, that's right. A picturesque smile, almost as beautiful as Mayume’s was before me. The same one I felt earlier when she consoled me. The quicksand dream faded, and her voice grounded me, along with the motion of my arms becoming heavier.
“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. This one’s a pain in the ass to lug back, but it's essential” she added, placing the book atop the stack.
The book was twice as large and heavy compared to the smaller one’s beneath it, and I quickly lost balanced the books, and me along with them.
“Hellooo? Ring ring, call for Clarent.”
My vision was unclouded, and the cheeky vampire woman gazed at me keenly.
“Huh? Oh, uh, thanks…”
“I’ll see you later okay?” she intoned sweetly.
The coldness of death left me all too fast, and the humid heat poured down once more. I walked automatically, oblivious to my surroundings. Two times she came to my rescue in the span of about two hours. God, I'm pathetic. My cheeks aren’t red or flushed. I can’t call this feeling embarrassment either. Sweat was disrupting my despondency, dripping down my messy hair, the urge to itch intense. Ahhhh these damn books! I shifted the weight on my left leg to wipe at my forehead. Swimming in this heat, it was like the weight of the books didn’t offer hope, but increased my burden. Where was I going? I wanted to see cricket man. He’ll probably be annoying like usual, but maybe he can finally give some context about what's going on. I had to protect the world, I had to protect Mayume and Scarlet. So what are those cultist dudes planning? Why would they mention them just to rile me up? I don’t feel any closer to figuring out mystery, both of Torodir and of my place in society. I can’t change the world. Torodir is gonna clean house, and unrest will take over this city. I remembered the last thing he said, and looked to the west where the sun was setting.
The animals were all asleep, and no daily event occurred. The sweltering world was quiet. It was like everyone was in a lazy sunday dream, a bubble about to pop. I mired on, bothering to look up at the empty paper street appearing more ghostly than usual, and caught sight of something different. A small, wooden building stood where it should not be. It will be a temporary respite from the heat, and of course, cricket man will be there. A thick blue cloth, curtain spanning half the door's length from above, bore a wave design. I brushed it aside, seeing there was a door open inward. The interior was filled with partitioned, wood tables. The high barriers granting privacy to each table had an ornate pattern of boats on sea carved through the wood in the same way one would cut out patterns in paper decoration. Directly in view from the doorway, across the bar where the cashier sat, was cricket man. He was wearing a black long coat and matching broad-billed hat. Figuring this might take a bit, I analyzed the menu, and decided on a bowl of Sunichi noodles. I walked to the cashier who donned a white button shirt with a blue apron sharing the restaurant's symbol. I just ordered the noodles, a soda, and sat down. Thankfully they didn’t care to say anything else besides “will that be all?” and “sit wherever you like.”
I sat opposite cricket man. His head was lowered, the black bill hiding his face. Wordlessly, he slid a card to me. I languorously picked it up, finding the white card had only a whole and round sun depicted on it.
“So you ready to tell me what's going on?” I delivered torpidly.
His head slowly raised, the bill receding, and revealing his usual face covered with a fake pair of glasses which connected to the center of his helmet to look like a sorry excuse for a big, pink nose and bushy mustache.
“Heard you needed some… professional help” he whispered.
“Yeah, probably a psychiatrist. Can you take off the disguise please?” I said, pointing to the comic glasses.
“Disguise? No, no disguises here pal. Looks like your first time contacting a private eye. Worry not, I’m a pro in this biz, and an expert in the eye of dawn. So what’s goin on, they given you trouble?”
Why do I bother? He tried to speak in a further hushed voice when speaking the words “eye of dawn,” looking both ways to the apparent lack of patrons on one side, and the wall on the other. I reluctantly leaned in to make out the words.
“Yeah, what do they want with me?” I said irritated.
“This crew follows an esoteric philosophy carried from south Mertaille whose beliefs were ignored by the Salle and his priests. Despite this offshoot being derived from the central text of Sibil, L’umine, or the book of illumination, it was deemed heretical. It was still followed and practiced by a number of philosophers, including one Ariol Torir-”
“Alright alright. This is a little interesting I admit but I don’t care right now. I just wanna know what to do about it!” I exhorted, with exasperation.
My interruption was loud enough that even the cashier glanced over. I didn’t want to make a scene, but this was a little too ridiculous.
“Don’t drop your basket kid I’m gettin’ there” he protested, pushing hand outward like I was physically pushing him.
“Well I’m dropping the basket, just skip ahead, I don’t have time for this!” I hissed due to pushing my heated voice to a whisper.
“They neva’ wanna hear the whole story. Don’t nobody wanna know anything?” he relinquished.
He took off one mask, and reclined on the red cushioned booth seats, relaxing his arms behind his head.
“Please I beseech you.”
“Okay, so, this Torodir guy is actually an immortal who extended his lifespan way back when. The philosophy is about the realization of inner knowledge n’ risin’ to the heights of mental divinity. He succeeded and refined his craft, now he’s immortal and basically all powerful n’ all knowing. But, he isn’t content with just livin’ foreva, he wants everyone to achieve the heights of knowledge in one way or anotha. He thinks that the Sibil elite and their close knit partnership with tha Charpain corporation will forever oppress everyone top ta bottom.”
Sure, that’s useful I guess, but not enough. I whipped my hand in a circle to signal to speed it up.
“Oh for tha… His plan is to rewrite the world order inta one where everyone can realize their potential without the anti spiritual n’ anti intellectual authority. He plans to kill the orchestrators of dis world’s machine if his overarching plan won’t go through. That’s where you come in.”
He emphasized kill by drawing a finger across his neck like a blade.
“What the hell does he need me for?”
“You’re gonna unlock a supa dupa strong power by tomorrow, and he needs it. He’s using his powers to draw in a giant compressed orb of magical energy, and your power can orient that energy into restructuring the very foundation of the world. Problem for him is, you can use that same power to stop it. It’s ya destiny!”
“I see” I reply lethargically.
“Ya don’t seem too excited. This is ya first big bad! Yous is gonna be a hero!”
“Would you knock it off with the act already?”
“Geez, tough crowd. You sure are down in the sh*tter there Clare. Chin up buddy, we got some evil to vanquish.”
“I don’t know. I don’t know how to change the world. Some of these people are evil no doubt, but what can I really do about it? At least that Torodir guy will do something. Maybe they all should just die. Even stopping Jack doesn’t feel that important. It was the right thing, sure, but how many more times will I have to do something like that before anything happens?” I complain.
“Wooooow. You really wanna just sit this one out? If Torodir goes through with his plan a lot of people will die. Like, a lot, i’m talking thiiiiiis much.”
He stretches his arms out, the left stopping at the wall, the right stretching to the door across the room. This stuff happens anyway right? People shouldn’t fight and kill each other but they do anyway. Something’s gonna change whether I want it to or not.
“Listen Clarent, this matters. Change can’t happen fast, no matter what you do. You have to take the next step. You really did something right with Jack and Mayume before. You don’t wanna to stop there do you? Besides, there’s more than Torodir riding on this. There’s someone else, someone even I don’t know about trying to pull strings alongside this. If Torodir’s plan goes through, their plan will too.”
“And what’s their plan?”
“To bring back the age of gods.”
Even if it was just to rope me into more sh*t, I perked up slightly at the prospect of another, bigger plan. But I wasn’t entirely sure what the age of gods meant. I was aware of the concept, and what I could reason with just the phrase alone, it probably couldn’t be good.
“What exactly does that mean?”
“You can come with me to the divine realm and one of the head artificer’s can explain in more detail.”
“The divine realm? Now? Like, it’s real?”
“Whaddya mean is it real? Do you think I only say stuff you mess with you?”
I let my silence speak for me. At that time, an employee brought us our food. I got a big steaming bowl of bluish noodles in a milky brown broth. The white cuts of meat were laid in a spiral. Cricket got a plate of some green stuff.
“So you like Sunichi huh?” He asked.
“Yeah, the texture reminds me of Antina from home. Does yours remind you of grass?”
“I’m a cricket, what else would I eat.”
“Well you ate noodles the last time.”
“I was just showin’ off.”
Whatever that means.
“So, I guess we can go after I eat.”
“Sure, take your time.”
The conversation became familiar. I wasn’t feeling as sh*tty, but I still felt unconvinced at my place in the world. After we finished eating, we walked out the restaurant which surprisingly still remained.
“Is that place actually real?” I asked, skeptical.
“Of course it is. Maybe if you opened your eyes to what’s around you then you’d see it. That and it only shows up here on wednesdays” he said assuredly.
“Why wednesdays?”
“It's a mobile shop, it's got wheels. If you hang around for another hour or so you can see it move to the next spot.”
“I see…”
Well, mobile shops weren’t unheard of. I just didn’t know people still had them. They’re a little out of style.
“Alright, time to see the big sneeze!”
Cricket started doing a series of strange actions. First, he donned an angler’s outfit, and threw a lure into the ground, pulling out a stone fish in record time with expert skill and no flourish. Then he opened a hatch in his abdomen like in an old cartoon, pulling out a little, orange pot of dirt. He speedily, but gently placed it on the ground, and dropped some kind of seed inside. He stood silently for a second, looked at his watchless wrist impatiently, and began tapping his foot as he took out a pack of cigarettes from somewhere behind his back. Next he raised his hand, stuck a finger out, and made the tip of his index snap open, using the much too powerful flame to scorch the white stick in under a second. This is getting a little ridiculous, but I admit i’m curious to see how he smokes it. A small hole opened where his mouth would be, below the center of his stark metallic mustache, but instead he popped the thing into his eyehole and sucked it down in no time flat, flicking the butt when haphazardly on the road where it very well could ignite from the ambient temperature alone.
“Uh oh, so silly. I forgot to water it!” he chimed.
He raised a pointed finger, as straight as his body stood attention like he was bolted upward with a great idea. Then he whistled loudly in a cadence and frequency I couldn’t hope to replicate. Without looking, cricket man stood, hand out, and slowly but surely, a little blue bird carrying a water can too large for it flitted by. It visibly struggled to carry it, and its wingbeats seemed to defy physics in the way it faltered up and down before dropping it into cricket’s hand. Rainbow colored water sprinkled out the tilted can, and cricket hunched over this time, pumping his steel fists going “come on! Come on! You can do it!” and the plant seemed to respond to his enthusiasm, because without delay, a sunflower resembling Sunny sprouted at absurd speed. I wonder if it was like Sunny.
“Hey, does, uh. Can it paint?”
“Paint? Flowers can’t paint you sweet child” he informed.
Then he ripped it by the stalk from the pot, causing me to wince.
“This was the only ingredient I was missing. Don’t worry, I got everything else on hand” he explained.
A table with classical instruments like alembics, retorts, and other stuff I couldn’t name popped into space, and he pummeled the flower. Ouch. Then he dropped a capsule on the table from the center of his palm. Just how many openings does this guy have? He opened it, revealing numerous small beads that grew to their original sizes, composing an array of reagents. At the rate I have come to expect, he assembled all the pieces through the proper apparatus, adding some sheep, a tank barrel, and other dubious objects to the mix before, at last, I supposed he produced the solution that could concoct our catalyst for travel. Then, he lifted it up towards his mouth, and pretended to drink it before exhaling satisfied.
“Whewww that was delicious. Worth every bit of effort! Is what I would say if I drank it to mess with you, but today’s your lucky day so we’re really going!” He exclaimed.
Turned downward, the crimson liquid fell out the beaker in Cricket’s gauntlets, but there was no swirling portal. In its place a pillar with the texture of a tree began rising out the earth. A series of platforms were clear, and they spiraled like stairs up into the sky. Cricket grabbed an outward sticking branch, and took a ride on a platform that rose from beneath him. The steps grew and rotated continuously. It’s magical. As I was caught in watching the great pillar grow like it was a natural substance obeying the order of man, Cricket, who was already well above me, waved beckoning me to hop aboard. The branches are the wildest part of it, and they creaked majestically along the groaning of the refined, but still coarse trunk in a groaning chorus. I observed the pattern, and synced myself up, ready to hope on like a ski lift. Just like a ski lift, it’s perfectly safe as long as I hang onto the branch that acts as handrails, but just on the one side. The great twisted body shuddered, and I was rising into the vast blue sky steadily. The vibrations and lack of understandable safety was making me nervous. Oh man, this is scarier than I thought. I was gripping the handrail tightly, and considered looking up to confirm if Cricket was laughing at me, but it was safest to just keep looking outward. Just don’t look down Clarent.
Where are we going exactly? I guess the divine realm would be up but. It occurs to me that I only seem to journey to other places subconsciously in a dream-like state, but this is anything but. I’m here right now. Clarent Eisenforth is riding a non descript, non-regulated elevator, to heaven I guess... I was getting a little more used to the feeling of the ascent. The higher up we went the less I felt the vibrations. Even so, it was scary. I’m as afraid of falling as anyone else is. I gripped the branch as hard as I could, leaned against the spot where the branch and pillar intersected, and gazed briefly upward. Fish. Any second now we were going into the upper sea territory, and I have no diving helmet. This feels like something Cricket would have thought to drop in my hands, so maybe we didn’t need them. On and on I ascend. My hands were the shade of an orange because of how long I was gripping the branch. It didn't hurt though, so I held on. Whenever you notice a prolonged effect of the body, usually you restrain yourself. Yeah, my hands don’t hurt, but they’re tired. I see a fish swimming by, and my worries are renewed. Oh man. Oh man. My vision is getting bluer by the second, and in ten more seconds, I could see distinct atmospheric layers apparent to my eyes for the first time. I remember seeing in a science club presentation what this would approximately look like to the eyes, but it has nothing on the real thing.
More fish swim by, and the air was denser, the blue deeper. I instinctively suck in my breath and hold it for as long as I can. I cover my nose and brace for the worst. Here with my own eyes I could see for the first time what the heavens looked like while i’m on the verge of life and death. Is this how the pathetic excuse for a knight will go out? T minus 20. 19. 18. 17. 16. 15. 14. sh*t i’m running out of breath, my heart’s pounding in my chest like I've never felt before. I can’t hold on anymore! Ahhhhhuuuhugh. I reluctantly breath in the weirdly thick air, but I’m alive and well. On top of that, a translucent barrier formed around the cutoff point of the platform. I awkwardly reach out and find my hand stopping at the milky glass surface. I definitely wasn’t pretending, I really did think I’d fall off the edge if I wasn’t careful. Stupid Cricket. Damn ignoramus jackass. Translucent, but still this glass is perfectly clear. No longer off put by the threat of falling, I look around eagerly. I could see so many fish I only ever saw in books. A whipfish gracefully careened gradually outward. A few horned wriss pecked at each other, jutting back playfully. And over there. Woah, An undulating palisade! I forget the uneasiness present in any ordinary person at being on the edge of even a protected barrier, and pressing my hands on the glass so unrestrained was my wonder. So many fish of different shapes and sizes, all right above me this whole time. I always knew they were here, but I scarcely went outside long enough to chance upon spotting any. Not that it was easy. It’s a lot like bird watching, you have to be patient, and patience is not my forte. That’s an excuse at the end of the day, I can’t deny it. I can see far below me at the city. Through a blue tint, the world is transformed. The dreary block that essentially made up my world is sunk into the calming refractions of wave lights.
I remember too how in that presentation they described that Centre Maine was especially fascinating because it’s one of the few places on the globe with a sky ocean. Unlike the surface seas, or swimming pools, the sky ocean is more gas than liquid. Because the substance is very stable, barely influenced by typical weather, no glitter patterns are created on the ground. If I recall correctly, they said something about how the particles of the substance hardly move, only creating a sort of omnipresent surface tension. But they’re unique in the fact that they’re adaptive. They maintain a strict position, and if a fish moves against it to generate motion, the particles push their body in several directions to eject them at every second from the disturbance. The presentation had a model demonstrating visually how the particles worked with little balls and arrows. I look out into the azure layer for more fish and find what i’m looking for in less than a minute. Not too far away from me is an inert fish. If a fish doesn’t actually move, then they’ll just be suspended in the substance like a thick jelly. It made me smile. It makes me want to reach beyond this barrier and try to swat at it to see if it’ll move in response like a still bug.
We get some fata morganas produced by the heat absorption of the sky wave material, but they’re surprisingly minimal when it isn't summer. It’s interesting to think, a thousand or so years ago illusions like that would make cut up figures of boats appear in the sky, but now we have boats in the sky now. What once was a trick of the light was now a reality of our skies, and they’re for sure an illusion compared to any outside Centre Maine. Maybe people with a generous amount of spending money could get a view like this, and I don’t have that. So this is the first time I've ever laid eyes upon both the sky and the earth from a fish eye view. A sea of colors is dancing around me. There may be a stark lack of glitter from these upper waters, but the light rebounding off their scales is dazzling and singular. A gemstone fish lazily moves here and there, the light above producing an array of beatific colors so strong at times I have to look away. I wish Mayume were here to see this. Looking down again I wonder. Is this really the place I live? The blue filter here so far up makes my dreary town look otherworldly. Low altitude aircrafts look like small drones as they survey weather conditions, the inverse of seeing them from the ground up. Cars, buses, and trams are nearing ant size. We’re well above the Charpain tower now. If I were a giant monster it’d be all too easy to knock the thing down like a miniature made for Tower78. But I’d ironically get beaten by a tower right after that. No one can escape such an action without consequences. Would it be worth it? Is this what a god’s view of the planet is like? If it weren’t for stories saying otherwise, it’s easy to imagine a god punishing us for our misdeeds, and sending floods, earthquakes, and landslides, watching the little bugs try to run from inevitable doom.
The blue tint is getting darker. I think of Poncifucius’ painting he made of something just like this. I gaze up at the column of light, which I just noticed was heatless to me inside this barrier. Inside there’s a slight cool, like being in an aquarium. The picturesque view of sunbeams passing down the dark boundary was impossible, puzzling, and wonderful. Somehow the thick pall allows me to look directly at it for a while. It’s a wonder that the light penetrates far enough down to make the surface so damn hot. I don’t remember how that works though. I’m in a portrait. I wonder if Poncifucious saw this very sight, or if they just imagined it would be like this. They were so close too. They even managed to capture that feeling of the wet city skybox from Super Beatrice 46 minus the ancient Mertaille architecture. Not much further and we reach the clouds, and above is a view so beautiful, it could convince someone that something supernatural presided over the world. On Guzzugus you can see a picture, or on social media when photographers or government scientists post pleasure photos from up in their oversized blimps, but just like the sea below, pictures are a poor rival for reality. Skilled photographers capture something wholly distinct, and I can only wish I had the skill to transfer the few beautiful sights I see by chance down there on a camera. Was this really up here the whole time? The full majesty of our world's layers is being inlaid into me like a crown with a single master crafted gem was inscribed into its center and placed on my head. Right now I almost feel like the Azmer sages in their tales of questionable, but mostly heroic and just exploits. I wonder what the color of the gem in my circlet would be. I conceptualize the fact that I am in the upper columns, but its even harder to pin down my mind and acknowledge that I’m really here. People used to build temples or perform rituals on mountains because they thought it closest to the gods. Is this what they wanted to see? Is this where people go after death or the end of time?
Out in this broad world, only fewer and fewer clouds float by beyond, and beyond that are the black fathoms of space. The Towers fly out of some distant star up there, and descend the passage of these clouds to save the weak out of the goodness of their hearts. In that sense, they aren’t so different from gods. I could see the tower brothers flying by in my imagination, and it seemed more real than it ever has. The green and silver suited heroes zip past, arms outstretched through the cloud world. Now I could see. There’s so many. Zarler, pallorous, culionimbus, stratus, and some I don’t know the names too. And one, damn, I always forget what it's called, my favorite one with the way it swirls like a spiral galaxy. It was never ending, but surely enough, I could see the distant wispy giants falling steadily beneath my eyes until finally, a bright light drowned the world away, and when I opened my eyes, I’m somewhere else. In front of me is a sight not dissimilar to what preceded it. This place is a heavenly city carrying with it all the grace of the high clouds, and of symmetrical excellence. There’s many circular platforms with rounded domes tapering to a point below them. At my feet I take note of pattern like threads snaking into eachother beset by thick pillars on either side, like gargantuan waves in comparison to the fine intertwining lines. Around the edge are stout lattice fences, and I jog over to one, feeling the cool touch of stone on its pearly white surface as I gaze out into the majesty of this world.
“Pretty sweet huh?!”
So enraptured at the platforms rising ever so high up and encircling ambitious towers that fit the image of classic mid-modern sorcerer homes, I forgot Cricket made it here before me. He walked right up and clapped me on the shoulder as he greeted me excitedly.
“Yeah it is, this is incredible! Why did you hide someplace like this from me for this long already?”
“This long? It's only been around two weeks. Besides, it would be bad timing. It would-”
“Spoil the plot?”
“Ding dong! You learn fast Clare!” he praised, raising a gauntlet for a high five.
I look at the ascending row of platforms where they diverge into multifarious paths, each connected by generous bridges. A closer inspection reveals many broad terraces behind them. The white stone carved in flowing patterns appears to swirl at this distance. Gaping entryways welcome the passers by through what I can only imagine are hallowed halls of unparalleled beauty that make up a realm hardly known to me, and yet I feel I can apprehend its essence through intuition. Everywhere my eyes fall a new shade of wonder is lifted.
“You just gonna keep standing there lookin’ funny? We got places to be” Cricket rang.
“Oh right. What are we going to do exactly?”
“You’re gonna talk to the director, he’ll explain what's going on.”
“Uh, gotcha” I vascillated.
I want to speak up and declare my desire to explore, but at this point, another step in the mystery of this puzzle takes precedence.
“Here follow me” Cricket asks purposefully.
I follow him to a nearby platform, similar to the one I was just standing on, though the pattern on the stone fence is more water-like and less rigid than the previous. I steal a few seconds from Cricket who eyes me while I step over by the edge. Over this little guardrail is an ocean of clouds. I really am in a wholly other world, no clouds in the atmosphere were ever so dense as a blanket. Far below creatures like the palisades dive out the cottony surface, piercing face first through it. Unlike on (insert planet name here)’s sky sea, the clouds here are themselves the water. I try not to keep my date with this horrid destiny waiting and jog to a condensed patch of yellow whip flowers whose bold and attractive color decorate the center where Cricket stood. I look at the cluster pensively before wading through them, careful not to crush them.
“No worries Clare they won’t break, just hop on in, the petals are fine!” he swayed.
I take the offer, finding the opportunity delightful, and none of the other sundry shaped beings around the entrance seem to be paying any attention to me in particular. I jumped, and felt an instant pang of guilt when the firm, green stalks had their faces pressed into the earth by my uncaring feet. I moved it, trying to find a way to stand where I’m not trampling them. The fecund stems whipped back to their full height unflinchingly. I look at Cricket for a second, and he takes hold of my hand like a nervous boy on a first date. Immediately I throw a questioning glance at him, but he just stares vacantly forward offering no response, as we were overtaken by a filter of disintegration, and relocated elsewhere. Woah, a teleporting flower patch, that’s just like… Before I can become enraptured in the change of locale, I’m discomforted by the feeling of Cricket’s hand still wrapped around mine, and I try to remove it, and find it stuck. Then I pull, and yank, and jerk, and it slips out seconds later, covered in what I can only imagine is his sweat, hopefully not anything else. He betrays his so called intent to make haste by standing rigidly in place.
“Uh, Cricket, didn’t you say we have to get moving? Also, don’t hold my hand” I complain.
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Sometimes I just get a little nervous” he fidgets, looking downward.
He stands there and waits for me to move on my own for some reason. Chalking it up to his standard gags, I start walking. Already the environment is so different. Before there were fewer structures, hovering within an indiscernible pattern as if they were a plant growing from the base of a refulgent seed.It’s hard to say whether the soil and its seed belong to earth, and the blossom is this place, or if the soil in which is grows is entirely its own. A broad area of this road I stand on has its foundation as a milky crystal substance forming a translucent bottom resembling one of those elevators with the bottoms replaced by fortified glass. Below each step is a picturesque view of the lower platforms we were just at, filtered through the very clear, literally flowing cascades of moving crystal structure. Cricket calls out to me again, and I forcibly remove my gaze from the enchanting sight. I want to see everywhere and everything. It’s like the underworld, but all the gloominess and morbidity is replaced by its opposite, and or equal of the upper dimensions. Here I see a broad, green, and hairy man riding upon a carpet to the left of the street; and there I see a featureless wormlike structure of similar makeup to the glass surface passing undisturbed through the floor in and out repeatedly by a dedicated practice. The throng divides from two ways collapsing to a single path. Cricket’s brown armor quickly melding into the dense crowd. To my left and right were shops selling wares you’d see anywhere, but from each and every culture, including ones alien to me, or altogether not of my world. I see species I recognize, and others I do not. Faces of every shape and size regularly paint my view as I walk scatterbrained down the road. Some merchants had their wares laid on colorful rugs next to tents, others in residential buildings fitting the overall visual aesthetique I learned upon first entering.
Giant serpents and winged insects dance rhythmically above me as the tiny, lithe bodies of floeri hover by, talking amicably to eachother before my very eyes. The further I walk, the more lost I get, and the more I see every second things I thought impossible. I forget where I am, and Cricket voice could not startle me, loud as it was, in the cacophony of voices. He takes my hand again, this time obviously pulling me deliberately on the right path. Maybe he wasn’t actually joking and he had to physically pull me through the town.
“Cooooome on. I really should have chosen a closer teleportation pad but the damn thing’s out of order” he grumbles.
“Those go out of order? How?”
“Not all of em are flower pads. If the leyline clots any teleporter won’t function. It would have been another twenty minutes til the place I wanted to go unravelled itself but we’re on a tight schedule.”
“Ah, sorry” I apologize.
He picks up the pace, and my feet are wearing down from their lack of training. Who would have thought just walking fast would tire you out this quickly? I bet I’d still last longer than Scarlet though heh heh. We briskly pass sights I desperately wish I could process for any longer in my mind, but i’d be here all day and night, and In about twenty minutes we neared what I assume is the destination. Standing before me was a massive castle of some kind. An aura surrounds it which encapsulates the passing of infinite time, but bearing none of the signs of age. The slopes and curves of this place poured on beautifully. Even if a given section isn’t symmetrical, its very makeup is immediately known to me as pristine of internal order. It is so singular, central, and at the same time, separate. It stretches to the far reaches of this place, subsumed in each molecule, but remains cloistered. Every entablature, frieze, and arch found weight in an air of majesty, and its arms were breadth was great and wide. Further up I see a tower. A gleaming pillar as the culmination of all beauty this world cradles, and I watch it disappear into the upper reaches of even higher, more heavenly clouds.We step near the entrance, a huge door with engraved signs of stars, planets, and everything else in this universe. There aren’t any knockers, so I figure that Circket would call in, but instead he keeps yanking me forward, finally letting go a few meters from it. He gives me a mischievous grin, then runs with lightning speed, leaving a trail of sparks and turbid marks on the crystalline pavement. From far away, he makes a running start, and jumps head forward like a torpedo, and flying like a missile straight into the door where his passage is accepted, leaving a huge series of ripples. As excited as I am to see where this leads, I pass on a dramatic entrance, and cautiously feel the painterly surface, preparing to step in.
On the other side is a surprisingly expected view. I saw Cricket standing by a large elevator with the thickness of an oraman tree. It takes little time for me to observe the sprawling foyer. The interior betrays the stark, divine whiteness that contains each color of the spectrum, and lines the walls at several points with famous paintings heralded as the pinnacle of expression. I only recognize a couple: Oriander Scaraman’s Rite of Summer, and the picture so inextricably linked with Azmer pride and power, Solisis Arimano’s Piece de Resistance. I’ve seen the triumphant figure of Chitus August standing atop that arid slope by his charging soldiers hundreds of times. The styles of each portrait, even from a distance, are discernable. I walked over to Cricket who was already standing behind what looked like a reception counter. Neither he nor I were asked any questions about what we were doing here. I guess it’s another type of VIP status. Standing at the base of this trunk, I observe the various robed scholarly types quietly walking across the spotless floors with their taciturn visages. Most people are donning robes. Most are cradling some sleek tomes with such care that I wonder if they’re actually holding containers with musty, decrepit pages disintegrating by the microsecond.
Other individuals who look more like laypeople walk dutifully across the floors with due reverence. All of this is lit by a moody light diffusing outward from large ornate lamps holding nodular clusters of glowing minerals that naturally displays to all the mindful atmosphere with which to conduct oneself accordingly. Cricket taps my shoulder, and I get onto the arriving elevator. He stands opposite me, and smiles that toothy smile always apparent behind the helmet. We ascend amidst the hallowed glow of the elevator lamps. One second I look away to find any sort of notable details to distract myself with, the next second Cricket asks me what’s a 4 letter word for poop to fill out a puzzle on the glowing brown board projecting out light in his chest.
“sh*t” I reply.
sh*t! Why did I answer? Well, I’m in a good mood so I guess he isn’t being as annoying as he could be.
“Hmmm, what’s a four letter word for sh*t?” he questions, not taking his bug eye’d visor off the holographic screen.
“Crap.”
“Mmmmmm” he mutters to himself, nodding sagely.
Several minutes pass. The quiet is disturbed by the heavy sound of changing air pressure, or maybe grinding stone creating an ancient ambience. The tapping of buttons on the number pad on Cricket’s wrist is barely audible above it. How long is this ride anyway? You’d think that a place like this would just use a teleporter to reach the summit. Maybe it’s to build suspense. I guess this guy we’re seeing is one big elevator away from being someone’s final boss. I’d hate to respawn outside this thing and ride it every time you fail the battle like some games do. I’m still split on whether they’re just dealing the bones and the devs are daimones, or because it’s supposed to train the player’s patience and resilience. I think about Shelby. Is this the upper realms she spoke of taking orders from? I wonder what she knows about it. I haven’t hung around long enough to really see what all the denizens look like, but I have yet to see that there’s some specific style of dress everyone even loosely agrees on. The theme of the underworld was obvious: skeletons, piercings, tattoos, decaying flesh, corpulents, ghosts, drekhar, probably a few vanis unuar I didn’t notice. Here, I can’t tell in detail. There’s just this grand atmosphere of majesty superimposed across the whole world from whence it sprung out the walls. Or rather, the place itself is condensed with this energy of wonder. Every molecule is formed in the flexible composing a universal harmony, and each atom within is composed of smaller, more perfect order that vibrates, rotates in a frame of absolute, inexorable unity. If this place represents such things one might consider just, perfect, and perhaps, eternal, then the underworld would represent chaos. It must be impermanence, where the leftover value of life frays away, the meaning and concept of death itself eats away at its inhabitants until their manner of life are at last over.
I feel as I ascend this improbable tower, that what I witness at the summit will be what informs me truly of my place in the world. Where I stand, where I will stand in a body unseen to the untrained eye, and to those without the necessary tools. I feel like engaging my mind with something besides solemnity is an error here. I’m meeting the lord of this place aren’t I? I’m kind of nervous, should I care about my conduct?
“Hey Cricket, what’s this uh… entity expect of me? Should I be polite? Well, not like I wouldn’t be polite-”
“What’s a four letter word for sh*t?” Cricket asks focused still on his game.
“Crap. Should I bow? I should probably bow. Do I look okay?”
“Hmmm, whats a four letter word for crap? Wait, I got one,"he says absorbed.
“Hey, are you listening? I’m trying to-”
“What’s a four letter word for scat?”
“That doesn’t matter! We don’t need to be spreading your brownness everywhere in a place as white as this” I sting.
“Woah. Hey. Woah. Woah. Woooooooah there Clare. Brown is a beautiful color. Know what’s usually the color brown?”
“No… What’s the color of brown Cricket Man. Please tell me, I’m so curious” I emphasized sarcastically.
“Crickets Duh! Also poop though. Everything’s gotta go some day, and it all turns brown, even here. You think there weren’t toilets here or something?” he argues.
“I don’t care about your philosophy of scatology right now. I just want to know if-”
Cricket annoying cuts me off again before I finish
“Relaaaax drama queen. If you needed formal clothes I would have used my formal clothes beam and transformed you into a dapper prince. Don’t even worry, just do what you usually do you’ll be fine” he waives.
“Good, I didn’t wanna be a damned prince anyway!”
“Hey Clare,” he opens kindly.
I sigh before exclaiming.
“What…”
“What’s a four letter word for-”
I nearly burst from his irksome comments like a cracking damn but he patches it over quickly.
“Wait wait I was just kidding that time! I finished the puzzle already see!”
He whacks the holographic sheet in the air like it was a wooden sign loosely placed in dirt, and it spun around to show something irreconcilably complex. I have no idea what I’m looking at, but somehow words for poop managed to form a grid in the shape of a large fish. I’m genuinely surprised it isn’t a crude image of a turd. As Cricket was about to show me other game boards and the basics of how the word game was supposed to work without my asking, the elevator finally arrived. The door opens with the grace of an electronic, hydraulic door, with a lack of the distinct woosh, and instead with the anachronistic scraping and shudder of fine stone technology of ages past. I noticed it on the way up, but it’s still so incredible, I truly can’t describe how it sounds with words. Blackness yawns, leaving a gaping demand for silence. Only blue lights, strikingly similar to the makeup of Scarlet’s haunt, incandesce patient revenants onto the floor in scant patterns. Cricket stands motionless, and I can barely make out in the glitter on his helmet that he eyed me expectantly. I have every, and no idea of what to expect. All I can do is take a deep breath and move into the abyssal luminescence. I have almost no time to observe what appears to be a chart of the galaxy spraying star waves from the dome ceiling above, and coursing throughout, panels of light whizzing by. From above, the dome opens, and the blinding white I witnessed previously overcomes my sight. I shield them from whatever was opening. Is this… What is this?
I relent, and process what lay behind the all encompassing walls. It was merely a dome, a construction, but a beautiful feat of architecture the likes of which no earthly person can likely understand. But It’s still just that, a dome. The map of those symbolically placed stars receded into the folds of the tower’s peak, and beyond that microcosm of architecture, was the vast sky further above even the highest clouds of the known world. Sitting at the center, is a single person draped in an aura of pure intellect, back upright against the throne. I stand still, overcome with a sense of balance. They don’t stand up, instead, their chair rotates to face me, bidding me tacitly to step forward. Somehow this being sucks away my feelings of unease. Without a word yet spoken, It’s like I’m standing before a benevolent god whose overwhelming compassion allows any and all to face their gaze with respect regardless of if they deserve it. I walk toward them, and the closer I get, the more intrigued I am. Are they wearing a helmet?
“Welcome Mr. Eisenforth. It is a pleasure to directly meet you” he declares reservedly, directly to my mind.
Directly?
“My cranium is like a great many storehouses, each filled with knowledge. In one location, there is a receptacle containing all known individuals of this planet. Since the information reached me, I have known of you. This however, is the first time I am feeling your presence” they inform ambivalently.
… So it’s like with that Torodir guy, a mind reader.
“To what do I have the pleasure of making your acquaintance?” I inquire politely.
“It is time to explain in greater detail the situation that is unfolding down in Centre Maine, and soon, the world at large” they state with oracular anticipation.
They pause for a moment, like they’re aware I want to say something, then continue.
“You will have to pardon me. Time is of the essence, so there is little time for questions. Torodir realized the nature of this world by an esoteric system. What exactly it is and how it works is not entirely relevant here. All you must know is that he has come to actualize his will, an ability not dissimilar to your own. But he desires to change the world, and thus he called upon something greater than us. A great sphere. It itself is a mass of condensed spirit, the will of hundreds of thousands who wail in despair hoping to see a world where inexplicable suffering occurs. This ball of will, which originates from another planet, is fast approaching us, and in two days time will arrive upon this planet’s surface on Centre Maine. The E.T.I.F will not stop it, and that is where you come in. You are not alone of course, the four other wielders of the blades blessed with power from the same origin you draw yours will be present as well as sundry agents of the divine realm. Together, with you as the deciding blow, will neutralize it.”
“But what is it going to do? And what am I supposed to do? Isn’t everyone else here strong enough to stop it on their own without me?”
“No. You are a necessary element. This orb will destroy everything, and restore the age of gods at the same time. The difference being what side of the coin it lands on, what influences this mass of energy to form the fabric of a new reality here.”
“What exactly is the age of gods?”
“You are familiar with the dying god theory proposed by Edward Manheller, yes?”
“I think so, yes” I claim, doubting my own knowledge.
“The ancient world, whose atmosphere is suffuse with a dense, cloying matter of reality and magic necessarily gave rise to systems certain and uncertain in regards to magic and divinity. Later, the religions that rose out of this atmosphere would crumble throughout the ages, capitulating to the whims of nations whose gods were believed to be superior. Those too fell, and in the ruins of gods' corpses, secularism, and science began to bloom. It is like Torodir said, we are in a dying world. The flesh and blood has disappeared, even their stains on the bones of gods are missing. A people’s very existence often depends upon their relationship to their god, and without the support of a deity, their nations suffer, leaving them vulnerable to the encroaching forces of reductionism.”
This masked figure, striking in their sagacity and wit, continues explaining the functions of things beyond me. I think I can see where this is going. The strength of a nation is bolstered by god. It’s why Azmer resisted Sibil colonization so effectively. But, what are they trying to say exactly?
“I don’t understand, do you believe in gods?”
“It is irrelevant whether I do or do not. The fact of the matter is that the function of spirituality is necessary for the world to function. Should the last spark of magic die, the flame of hope withers, and mankind will cease to be as we know it” they assert.
The way they talk, it’s like they’re talking at me instead of to me. No doubt this being is more intelligent than Scarlet, me, Mayume, and possibly all of Centre Maine’s population combined. But his voice feels like it lacks a clear will, and is carried by force of intellect alone, caring not for my opinions on the matter. His kind greeting I see was a practiced formality, not an act of kindness.
“Th-then, what do we do? You still haven’t said what I’m supposed to do” I fret anxiously.
“Together, we will influence the force of actualization to maintain the world’s existence as it is meant to be. If Torodir succeeds, inculcating you as the arbiter, gods will return in full force.”
“That means the ancient customs come back right? The world’s strongest militaries of the ancient world will be built with our current technology, and millions will die!”
“Oh no, not millions. Billions” they say unperturbed.
The aura which seemed previously magical, is now mordant. They’re totally aware of just what will happen, and likely are aware of everything that has and is happening. How much suffering is this being aware of? What does Cricket know about them? Who is Cricket to them? Billions dying… then there’s no way this so called age of gods can ever come back. The bloody history of Azmer so greatly glorified and immortalized in our annals of history, every “hero,” every war seized with few losses and natives extirpated: this cannot come to pass. They address me further.
“Torodir’s plan is to awaken the gods so that each nation can take back its place on earth. Every subjugated peoples who reverted to total peace and compassion out of a reduction of options, will emerge triumphant over their oppressors Sibil and beyond. His philosophy is to create a world where every individual is propelled by the strength of their will. Even if a nation is directed by the force of divine intervention, ultimately the world is decided by its mortal inhabitants. A place where will rules; where one’s body and intelligence decides their destinations is no place for the rich who rest without worry at the peaks of their office while the subdued suffer. With our intervention, the world will be maintained. Then…”
“Then… what? What happens?” I demand nervously.
“That is up to you” he finishes nonchalantly.
“What?! Ha-h-HOW? YOU’RE SAYING I DECIDE THE WORLD?” I cry out.
“Within means” they reply dispassionately.
“WHAT THE HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!” I wail.
“You will enter the mass of wills. Inside is the nexus of its consciousness. Your blade will strike it, and determine the morphology of our realm.”
I start up again, but realize I'm trembling, yelling, and my chest rises and falls hotly. I take some deep breaths and try to calm myself down.
“H-how? Hah-hah” I wheeze, my voice cracking.
They turn their steady head to Cricket who’s been standing there still as a statue looking for a response.
“It would spoil the plot” He says, shrugging his shoulders.
I do a double take, then a triple take. Are you kidding me? This again. Is that really the most I’m getting here? I came here expecting things to be clear, and now the full weight of this so-called hero’s destiny is heavier than before. What’s more, it’s not as abstract, not some weird suggestion Torodir and that bird guy were manipulating me into. The one who sits on this throne at the top of the world is telling me it's just as unclear as it's always been?
“Cricket said it better than I could. Clarent, I truly cannot say anything more about it. Torodir, like many men, are right about various things. It is the kinks and irrationalities in their philosophies, their executions of thought and power that create fault. But always a person holds the spirit of life in them, the desire to preserve it, to maintain the love between us. The Towa of Aora, the Krahmin of Saruna, the Domini of Azmer and more might call this, in their reverent love of god, raising a holy seed into a great beautiful blossom. Many things in life shape your growth regardless of what word you refer to them with, and I can only inform you so much about how high you will grow, what colors your petals will be, how many petals you have, and how many seeds you will drop. All this is to say, they who lead by their will into uncertainty control their destinies. If I told you every detail about the future, and what you may or may not do, I would rob you of your destiny. Do you understand?” They asked, almost gently.
This being lifted their hands off the rests of their throne, holding their palm out empty, as if offering something uncertain, or a guiding hand were I to take it into my own. Still their faceless visage and etched, armor-like body felt robotic. However, those words had a glimmer of compassion, like that spark they spoke of was buried deep, receding into the depths of alien information that made up their being.
“I… I don’t really know. I wanted to change my life. I wanted to be a hero, and I knew from every movie, videogame, book, or TV show, that it comes with hardship, but nothing is really like feeling it for yourself” I wax.
“Few things ever really are. Now, if you are ready, there is time for three questions, should you wish to ask.”
I look up at the skies around us and remember the utter beauty I observed on the way here. Even as the fantastic creatures and scenic vistas capture my most fanciful imaginations, nothing comes to my mind but the questions anyone would ask. I’m sure I'll end up coming back here pretty soon. That’s what Cricket would want, whether or not that’s a good thing. All I truly know, is that now the reasons for whatever mayhem Cricket has dragged me into are finally surfacing. I can ask about the meaning of life, but information, and I'm sure they would know, but information is more important. Still, I can think of at least five useful things to say, and I’ll start with what hit me as soon as I stepped inside this domain.
“Are you human?”
“That is a question few actually ask. Personally I find it unusual since typically they firstly want my name, and secondly who exactly I am. But your inquiry is somewhat easier than answering the latter. In short, yes, I am human. To be precise, I am the version of humanity that has perfected itself” they replied.
“What does that mean?”
“When one finds a library, they are joyous at a place so filled with wonder and learning. The avid reader drinks as much information as the house will let them, but life gets in the way, and they never can pour over each word in the house. Even a paltry 100 books is a sea of life, and a library for the masses contains far, far more. Imagine then, what it must be like to read every text in the greatest library the world has ever known. One must be immortal to complete such a task. And when one is immortal, and drank every word in an ocean, soon enough the ocean itself has become them. Like water circulating through blood in the body. Like a drop of pure crimson in the ocean, we become the macrocosm. It is akin to becoming god, and as you know, god rarely dwells on earth” they finished.
It was informative enough to reveal who I am speaking to, but abstract enough that I cannot truly apprehend them. It is like talking to someone who intentionally speaks in riddles to avoid giving out any real knowledge about their character for childish reasons, but this person does not do so to play games. I can tell, they simply speak in ways both salient and unclear because their nature is that of translucence for all observers who are of a different essence. No, not a different essence, but a body of something that has not actualized itself to its full potential. What is the true name of this being? Where did it come from, and does it ever go somewhere else than this throne? I do not want to waste my last question on a name though. Can I even say anything that will not get a puzzle in return? I point at Cricket.
“Who is Cricket?”
“Overruled, you may ask a different question.”
“Is the Charpain company evil?”
“Indubitably. Corruption is inextricable not just from the superstructure it has created, but from every physical realization of its influence. Centre Main has become a poison well from which all residue cannot escape” they excoriated.
“Then, why haven’t you changed it?” I posed perturbed.
“Does god change anything?”
The way they said this was interesting. It was as perspicacious as expected, but also tinged with poignancy. Whatever a perfect being is, they haven’t left behind their humanity, because despite their mask being oblique and opaque, I feel like I'm watching through a one way mirror. Inside their riddles of self fulfilling prophecy I can see some kernel of absolute truth that has grown, but not blossomed, like the vertebrae of the hoary skeleton trees of the wide and harsh Azmer deserts in midsummer. I can nearly grasp some piece of believing, but something is still missing.
“Now” he continued, “you can return to your realm by this flower transport here to your left. But, before you leave, I have a gift for you” he said, with a smidge of mischief.
“A gift?”
They held out something, and after hesitating, I stepped forward, and ascended the three steps toward the throne platform. Here at the top of the world, I looked at the whimsical, swirling white of the cloud inscribed little box. I look up at their taciturn visage, seeing there is nothing else for them to say until I remove it from their open hand. I think it would be soft and wrinkled were it not covered with sleek plating. As soon as my skin touched the cool surface that feels like nephrite or kaolin, it ceased to swirl like the divine surfaces I saw earlier, and stopped to resemble them in appearance. I take it from their hand, and watch my footsteps while I descend the steps in reverse. I look at them again, waiting on a response.
“There is something very important inside that box. But, never open it” they added with finality.
“W-why? If I may ask.”
“Only open it when you feel that all paths have closed before you, and there is no hope.”
They resumed their reticent, flat manner of speaking, and that made me more worried about its contents. There were no more questions, especially since they gave me a free fourth one, which I won’t question out of courtesy. I see Cricket already walking to the flower platform, waving backward like silent heroes do when their endless job of being caught up in the tangles of people's woes and joys has ended, and it was time for them to continue on their path saying “thanks again!” He stands, still facing the opposite direction, and I walk over to him, winding between the tall stalks. I look back, and this arbiter of something or other is no longer observing me. They look off into the horizon for a moment, somewhere that cannot be measured with distance, before the grinding whir of their seat sounds to life, and they rotate back to the previous position. As the star dome begins to rise, my vision gets grainy, and in the next moment, we’re back at the city next to my house where night has fallen. It cements into my mind that that the divine realm must be its own place for the radiant skies to remain golden perpetually. Or maybe time passes at a different rate. I don’t have anything I need to be outside for, so I start making my way in before i’m caught off guard by a bizarre rustling of leaves.
“W-w-who’s there! Show yourself!” I demand.
The sound ceased, then continued. The sound of dark, brittle fingers scraping against metal. I bear my saber, holding it with two hands to stop any shaking. From a hedge between the alley of my apartment building and the next, a humanoid figure emerges. I hold my blade at the ready before they speak in a familiar tone.
“Why did I get relocated into the bush and you’re in front of the house? Thing must have malfunctioned” they grumbled.
Oh, it’s just Cricket.
“Could you try seeming less suspicious please?” I complain.
“Yeah, I guess I could try. Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. I really did wind up in that hedge though. Anyway, how was your trip? Pretty cool place huh?”
“Yeah, is was awesome actually.”
Cricket stares at me silently for some reason, long enough that I’m starting to get worried.
“Do you trust him?” he says flatly.
“Who?”
“The artificer, the high and exalted data analyst we just got done talking to” he describes with a distinct lack of hand expressions or silliness.
“Why wouldn’t I?” I respond uneasily.
“Well, you don’t really know him that well. Maybe you should think a bit about what exactly they told you.”
“Are you saying he’s evil?”
“Not evil. I’m just trying to guide you. For the first time probably, I’m gonna be totally straight with you. By straight I mean unambiguous. Be careful about people who shower you with flowery philosophy” he states, tone somewhere between a parent and a good friend.
“I see… Well, see you later then.”
I duck inside my house before he chooses to give me any more warnings. Does this guy always have to make everything weird? Lord forbid I get to talk to anyone cool without having to be cautious about it. The darkness of my room is inviting, but I'm invigorated from today’s experience. For once I’m awake enough to play some games, but I feel awkward about turning my computer on to see an abundance of messages from my friends, or a lack thereof. My hand hovers before the power button, wavering on its decision. I ultimately choose not to, instead shambling into the location my bed is roughly in. Protected inside the comfort of the covers I begin contemplating. Tonight the spirals don’t turn in confusion and malaise, they may as well not be there. This darkness covering me is the familiar darkness one sleeps in. Dreams bring light into our mind. I can daydream in the day, and now the radiance of memory shines. The world above was different than I imagined. I always thought it was similar to how most peoples believed in it. Not that I believe in “heaven,” just that if there was one, it would be a land of endless clouds. Buildings and floating structures would be made of cloud and light. But up there, it’s like the artificer and whoever must have come before him collected all the clouds together, gathered all the essences and matter and condensed them into something solid.
It is like mind met existence partway, moving the perfection of reason through their hands and molding what was incorporeal and abstract into something clear. The proper form of a crystal. I was glad to have stood on the world aloft. Every structure that was crystalline stood for itself. I saw it and felt that my future was possible. I stood on what was between heaven and earth. Those fools who use crystals for pseudoscience like astrology might never grasp just what structure meant. Gems are lattices that form the same way every time like DNA. How can it be anything other than what it is? Philosophers of the past were right to be so impressed with jewels, but they were not able to ascertain what really made them special. And that is only the beginning. The walls of the peak were littered with signs and histories. When I stepped up to that gate, I saw how everything flowed from the surface to the sky and consolidated into meaning. I admit that those walls which lay somewhere betwixt clouds and crystal were entirely unique. They need more than just the eye to understand. My heart is often at the whims of immaturity whether I realize it or not, but the whole being of that place is built on reason, of that I am sure.
Like a clear river, memories of what I saw flow along too quickly for me to hold onto. Only the walls, the feelings, and his words seem to have held on. For now, photographs of all the fantastic life forms drift by. Features I cannot describe, bodies I have no names for. Maybe when I fall asleep I will wake up to find that the divine realm was as much of a dream as the underworld. When will I next be able to visit either? Shelby… I talked to her on the phone right? She has to exist, yet talking on the phone is the only way to reach her. It’s like a scene in a science fiction movie. Ironic how Centre Main hasn’t caught up to visiting other dimensions perfectly. I am sure it would be expensive anyway for civilian trips. This and that float by before A sudden burst of energy rouses me out of my comforter. That’s right, there’s those books Scarlet gave me. That specific one, the one that looks like a diary. I should read it now. It is the only thing I can really do right now to piece together my thoughts. She said it was special. Cricket does not give me books. For once, I have something I can hold in my hands to tell me something. I say that, but what is it really? It looked like a diary or journal. It was in my native language too. What if she knows something I do not, and the reason cricket mentioned that it was safe to recklessly stumble into her basem*nt was because she is part of his overarching plan. Maybe I am getting ahead of myself.
The lamp flicks on at my command. May there be light! I say. And there was light. In this fair glow, I grab the diary. I flip it open. The first page is inscribed with the printed message “memories” that nearly all copies come with. The weight is familiar, like I have felt something several times before. Maybe I have a friend I cannot remember who I exchanged diaries with. No, that is preposterous. I did not have time to write a diary. I do not think I knew how to keep one either. Even with my education I could not articulate my feelings satisfactorily. Perhaps trying was better than nothing, so that with each passing year my parents could have found it and read the heartrending accounts of their abuses and cried. Once my skin touched the leather binding I felt at once that this was the sort of book that would contain magic spells in any fantasy novel with only one being legible to the uninitiated protagonist, but those thoughts were replaced quickly with my sourness. Anything associated with my origin ultimately brings thoughts of my parents into it. Must get started then, I should wipe away the shadows trying to gnaw at my special moment.
Page one, Satirin 18th:
“The air is dense. It feels that it always has been. In sparse times of freedom, I take to the street to look for something. I search for freedom, because times when I am free are not truly free. To be born in a woman’s body, and not yet a woman at that. I am cursed from the outset. I hate the feeling of sitting aloft, carried above the feet of the common people on a Corus. Sweat soaks into my hair. It is not a fine thing to perspire in sweltering heat. But even something like this makes me feel like I am here in the world with others. When I stop at the same stall to purchase sweet Porlus tea, the man and his wife always compliment me on my fine dress and features. They say that someone like me should be carried so as not to sully my feet. The wife jokes about how her husband used to treat her like royalty before the goings got tough. ‘That is life," she said.”
Page one, Satirin 22:
“Today I am moored to the castle walls. It is like I am pinned, as one does with a moth for their collection. I am what they call a specimen, shown in fine detail to my suitors. Winter’s touch cannot grace our country, but I feel a deep chill when these regal pairs design to confine me to a future. They speak on matters that do not concern a lowly woman such as myself. Their words are complex and alien. I merely watch, listen, and wait for the time when I am asked whether I feel that my suitor is appropriate. None of them are appropriate. I am so dearly afraid of being sent off with a man even if I know them. Thankfully, because I am only 14, I can still decline their advances. There may yet be a future for me.”
Page three, Satirin 29:
“I stripped off my silk layers, wore an Amitus, and took to the streets again. The bustling, red hued world that flowed on night and day beyond the window of my dwelling felt more wonderful than ever. Some may call it playing pretend, but the burden of my lineage taken away, if only by removing the shroud of evening skies, makes me feel like a bird. The sweat still clings to my hair, out here where it seems no one recognizes my unkempt tresses and deep colored cheeks, I can skip, hop, and run. Today I played with the city children again. We played bolur. Not used to physical activity, I was outshone by both the girls and boys. The boys laughed when I tripped or had my ball stolen. The girls smirked and grinned, but it was all in good fun for them especially. It was, after all, a match of girls versus boys. Even if they called me slow, or passed the ball infrequently, I was still a member of their team. That is what I like to think. They never told me to leave, or never to come back. So I would go back. These pretty little girls about my age or younger, they too would be married off to friends or relatives. At the least, they would live lives marked by the scent of Lilium. I would not ever have that pleasure.”
So it is a diary? And of someone from the royal family. My family? I cannot be sure, I can only keep reading. Impatience is getting the best of me though, and I decide to skip pages.
Page seven, Sum 18:
“Again I am driven to the walls. I must truly make a beautiful butterfly, bleeding and struggling silently against the smooth brown surface. Today the suitor was more unusual. A young boy. Could not have been older than 7 or 8. He sat fidgeting uncomfortably. He had no interest in being here. If I was a butterfly, he was a larva, a caterpillar who was tasked with eating as much as he felt he could. His parents attending him said his name was Clarent. One of the lower of the lineage I remember hearing. There wasn’t much to do or see in this discussion room. Little Clarent searched for something entertaining or meaningful. Eventually his eyes fell to me as I was directly across from him. Would he grow up to earn the family’s favor and take the scepter whereby people like me would continue to serve? I could not know, but he was still innocent, and I wished that he would not metamorphose and emerge as a bird that consumed butterflies. Maybe it was because the procession of the discussion left no attention to invest in me, or perhaps because the organizer simply did not care about my little actions. I took out a piece of paper and began folding it this way and that. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the movement of my fingers. I forgot what transpired, and focused just on completing the figure. Eventually the flat dimensions of the yellowish surface were transformed into a shape of something that could fly. I placed the folded crane just before me, and he seemed to find it wonderful. Any second and he’d reach for it, if only he could. But this was just a symbol of freedom that would grant neither of us flight. Not him. I could see in his eyes that a motion out of turn would earn him a scolding, and he restrained himself. Once the meeting was over, I caught him in the hallway for a moment when no one’s eyes were on us, and gave him the paper crane. His eyes were bright and solid. They reflected the soft light of the sconces, looking like a watery mirror. I smiled, as did he. Then he quickly retracted the crane into his sleeve and went away.”
I don't remember any of this… who is this exactly? This must be what Scarlet wanted me to see. If I keep reading, will I find some sort of answer? What can they know about my past? Scarlet and this woman? There is only one way to find out. I decide to keep on reading a few more pages, but find that they all recount similar events. It is very much the diary of a young girl. I began to get surprisingly tired. All this remembering made me tired. I put the well worn book on my nightstand, and look at my action figures for a little while. They look smaller within the golden cone the lamp emits, more distant and beautiful. It is something you could see in a dream. I retreat under the covers like a cocoon and find myself fast approaching the world of slumber. In the nascent darkness, I am barely aware I am an observer. I’m strung along into uncertainty by familiar figures. One moment, I am exchanging blows with Arabix from the Deadly Encounters franchise while cricket yells encouraging words from the sidelines before we fall through the floor and have a polite conversation on the nature of mud. After reaching a heated impasse, I become impatient and turn into a bird. I take to the skies, the skies of the slumbering worlds where everything is flipped upside down. You get the distinct understanding in places like these that the sky is below, and the earth is the sky, but it is perfectly natural. It is basically the same as standing on the ground conceptually. I understand it at the moment. I can see the horizon of blackness extend infinitely to the line splitting the heavens and underworld where terrain and recognizable figures cease. Like I am exploring out of bounds with a cheat engine searching farther and farther hoping for a discovery no one has documented. But there is only blackness above, and whiteness below. I keep flying, and I wonder if a wall would stop me eventually. Then, my whole body tenses up. Just before something incredibly important feels like its going to happen, I wake up.
Chapter 3: Closing Words
What just occurred are sandcastles on the beach, and the waves are fast lapping at them. Every second my tired eyes open, the visions pour out of them. I try to consider them; if there is any meaning in dreams. They are just rehashing what happened during the day. I do not recall that we were taught in school how they occur. Do more important events get sorted more often? When I was a… was a… damn, I already forgot. What day is it? Eh, I don’t think it matters. I hobble over to my pantry and grab a can of silver sky and slam it back. Except I swallow the wrong way and end up choking on it. Sizzling drops of clearish liquid form a mottled little puddle on the floor. Before cleaning it up I gather my energies and do some star jumps to get the blood pumping. Today I will probably do something heroic. Today I have stuff to do. I really have stuff to do. I plunge into the cold mists of my extended food closet and grab a babnaba. Let’s make that 2, and a peach. My heart is beating two beats per minute above resting point, enough to clash with the fact that I was still tired. Waiting on the caffeine to work, I think about my situation. I’m still uncertain of what will unfold. On a whim of fate, I remember what that little carver said in the underworld; that a hero will always be afraid. I don’t know what I'm gonna do, but now, unlike before, I have some people who will support me. I have more than enough reasons to go ahead and fight the world. What a romantic situation I'm in. I’m the novice student of magic whisked away to worlds unknown to study tools far too dangerous for any ordinary person. But am I the chosen one because I'm ordinary, or am I ordinary because I’m the chosen one?
I gnash the soft, green, fruit in my mouth lazily. I didn’t really get a good look at it before I picked it, but this one was just ripe. If I’m really going to be “saving the world,” how will it end? Will I find out that I'm still a cog in the machine, a novice eclipsed by the real experts demonstrating how it’ll take several more story arcs and a time skip before I become the arch mage proper? Will I fulfill the fantasy of my youth and set the universe right, cementing myself as the new blood to lead the rest? There’s no way it isn’t option number one. I’ve only done enough stuff to fill out like half a campaign for the first release of a franchise. A neuron fires, urging me to check the daily event on my convenience apparatus. Today’s forecast is a floating castle. That’s appropriate I think. There’s a message from Mayume too telling me she looks forward to seeing me at school with a heart emote. It makes me feel warm. Unfortunately, I will likely be sidetracked. I remember what cricket said not too long ago. The supposed fruition of Torodir’s plan is happening in two more days. I will be stopped partway through my journey to school no doubt.
I take to my closet again, finding that none of the options offered for clothing fit my foggy mind. Ten presses of the shuffle button later and I realize again how little clothes I actually have. I decided on just a plain white shirt and air pants. The machine whirs to a stop with the extraordinarily simple combination. I unbutton the sad bricko shorts Scarlet so rudely insulted and slide them off. The t-shirt slides off easily and is replaced with today's attire. I press the off button reflexively and stand before the hefty screen of my wardrobe to observe my reflection. I used to like wearing this combo because the alternating strips of cloth hanging out at the sleeves made me feel like a main character. The kind of guy who looks totally normal but secretly has a latent power. I guess that’s me now. I keep forgetting to look at my ceiling, or maybe it is that I do not want to. Those swirls I drew are still there, I know it. I know that. But I do not want to look at them. For a while now I have been forgetting them. I should really find the step stool I used to draw them up there in the first place and erase them. But that would do no good. Even if they are gone, I can feel them there. They spin hypnotically and aimlessly the same way this whirlpool inside me is thrashing. The time to change the world is approaching.
I know I cannot wait any longer, so I grab my photo cleanser and shock the germs in my mouth like it is the most natural thing in the world. My room is gloomy and dark. From the crack in my curtains above the bed, and from beneath the door, light breaks through and sharply carves out space along the floor. On any other day it would be a powerful, even spiritual glow. Now it is like the light itself is competing for space in my home. It softly ignites and consumes the cracks it seeps into. I still do not know if I am ready, but I have no other choice but to face the sunlight. With the gentle push of a hand, the great beyond waits in the form of a bright white wall. Instinctively, I shield my eyes, and with my other hand, touch the light and push forward like it is a thick curtain. My eyes take some time to adjust like they do any other day. But I can feel the air itself is different. My retinas are eclipsed by the future. Slowly. Into view comes the street I have come to know, but the world I see now is changing faster than I realize. Same street, same light, same me in appearance, but different in structure. I suppose this is really what they mean in Jin or Sakarika when they say one does not comb the same sand everyday, because it is not the same sand, and they are not the same person. With my bearings at full access, I take the sky into account. Just like it said, there really is a big castle floating up there. Just like every other time, I can see some hovercrafts trying to get near it in the hopes that its depths will be plumbed.
My view of it is perfect since the sun is behind it. Each spire is wonderful and clear but, what’s that brown speck? Suddenly, like a shooting star, the thing falls. As it nears, I make out wide spread arms and a fluttering cape. Oh, of course, who else would it be. With a graceful reserve of an anchin, Cricket hovers to the ground before me with their royal Mertaille attire possibly hinting at a change of affairs.
“What’s with the outfit?” I ask dryly.
“This is not just an outfit my dear Clarent. This is a mantle, a burden. Think of me as your prince who has come to rescue you” he addresses, kneeling with faux deference.
“I don’t really prefer to be saved by you, but if that's what it takes, go ahead I guess” I heave with a sigh.
“Clarent, help comes to those who help themselves. The sword of Geos only manifests in those with the will to revolutionize the world. I know you have what it takes. In the same way a prince rides his horse, allow my body to be your steel and my mind to be your hands.”
Now he was gazing up at me longingly, extending a hand with an Azmer charm in it.
“I… don’t think saving the world involves getting married” I reject lethargically.
“Oh but it does Clarent. If a warrior’s blade is not their body, if the sword is not one of the same flesh, nothing can be accomplished. In the same way newborn birds and serpents use their egg tooths to carve open their shells, so too must you. Without emerging from the shell, they would die. You are the bird, and this world is the shell. Crack the structure and bring revolution!” he cries, standing with his arms embracing the whole world.
Meus Dios, this early in the morning…
“Listen, I don’t know about this Geos thing, but i’m ready to go ahead and do whatever it is you’ve got planned” I reply with an ounce of trepidation.
“Oh don’t be so coy, Clarent. It’s a metaphor, you can already call the sword, you just don’t believe it. Plus, the lines are starting to blur ever so slowly. You say you’re just going on with my plans, but you’re agreeing to do this aren’t you? You could just say no” he says with a finger raised.
The angles of the sky are reversed suddenly. The sun, which should be far above, is for the moment poised behind Cricket. Their solid and goofy frame is rendered noble and majestic in the eclipse his figure leaves before it. His raised finger catches the glimmer, holding it aloft resembling something between a dewdrop and a sword. His cape flutters in the same way a night’s breeze enlivens a moonlit curtain. I can even forget that this is Cricket i’m looking at for a second. It’s beautiful even.
“Yeah. You’re right, I am doing this.”
“For who? Do you know?”
There have been times when he was serious, but this was wholly new. Somehow I feel like in my memory, somewhere deep, a sight like this sleeps. But who was it? A figure of legend? I manage to drag my eyes to see the illustrious castle floating overhead. At this time of day, its shadow is still facing the other way, yet Cricket’s silhouette defies it with a gravity the likes I’ve never seen before. Is he absorbing the light? Redirecting it? In the transfixing vista I still clearly feel the heat, and sweat droplets are assailing my face while his question floats toward me with the certainty of a river.
“For Mayume…” I state.
Then, the singular anomaly of weather and light ends. As the light fades, I feel like a spectator watching a solar eclipse. Dorum steadily fades, moving down its natural course into obfuscation within the blueness overhead. There he was. Cricket stood before me as usual. With no facial expressions to read for the movement on his mask, I can’t tell if my answer was satisfactory. Truth be told, I do not know if that is what a hero would have said. But it is what I feel right now.
“Alrighty then, onto today’s schedule. You’re gonna have to skip school of course” he informs nonchalantly, like I already decided on it.
“Yeah, I figured.”
“So, you’re quite close to awakening to an ounce of your true power. You excited?”
“Uh… yeah.”
“Hmm, you don’t seem very excited. Oh well, you’re going to face off against number 800 in a mock battle!”
800. Isn’t that like 200 more than the last time? I don’t even remember who the last one was. I don’t know if I'm ready.
“I planned for around this time, so just say the word and we can get started. Your opponent is waiting.”
“Alright, l-lets d-do this” I squirm.
Cricket characteristically takes out some obnoxious item instead of a convenience apparatus or teletrasmitter, a figure of some strange, tentacled, and opaque figure to be exact. He holds it up to the side of his head where ears would be on anyone else. I suppose I don’t know if his suit has something like ears. Leaning into a manifested pillar and observing the back of his gauntlets like he’s looking at fingernails checking for full curvature, I hear him say.
“Yeah. Its agent C. Send him in.”
The ropes that were already winding from the moment I woke up were beginning to twist into a knot inside. I heard an otherworldly sound, and from beside Cricket, a shadowy portal opened in the air. The boundaries of the thing cracked away, breaking into the atmosphere like ash, while the lower sections seeped into the ground like ink. I’d never be in real danger in a mock battle, but I can never forget that these opponents could be anyone or anything. But it’s not the idea of a maniac or utterly gargantuan killer emerging that bothers me, its that everything comes to its conclusion tomorrow. If I don’t win here I can’t face tomorrow, and I won’t be able to face Mayume. Pondering this, a little ball of inky blackness floats out the portal with the weightiness and direction of a helium balloon. Then a large monoeye pops open at its center. I wonder if it expected to arrive here, because just after it opened, the creature squinted hard. It must be adjusting to the sunlight.
“Oh, sorry about that, I forgot to say it was really bright here” Cricket apologized embarrassed.
He quickly took out a spacial umbrella with a pattern of planets and stars on it and shielded the thing. It had yet to make a sound.
“Care to introduce yourself?” Cricket addressed to me.
“Uhh, I-i’m Clarent” I say nervously, extending a hand.
It watched me intensely, unblinking for several seconds before hovering closer toward me, Cricket stepping alongside holding the umbrella. Once close enough, I could feel the air around me growing colder, and small arms tipped with childlike hands wriggled out the edges of its eyeball. They snake through accompanying sounds of slippery flesh occupying the space with disconcerting intimacy. I don’t want to be rude, so I just hold my hand out shaking all the while. I almost shudder as it gently closes its chilly nubs around a few of my fingers and motioning up and down with little force. Then it addressed me, making unearthly sounds that can’t seem to hold their shape under our planets gravity. They’re swallowed by space just as they emerge, making murmuring noises like a big bubble of gas rising out sludge before popping. I exchange sheepish glances between it and Cricket who quickly steps in to attempt a translation.
“Huh, guess i’ll give this a try if you don’t mind. His name is ******.”
The sounds that came out of Cricket’s… well, whatever Cricket has for a mouth, made no discernable sense. It still sounded far too weird for me to make sense of, let alone attempt to reproduce it with the vocal cords of a human.
“Uhm, I-i’m sssorry” I spit up to the ball of shadow.
“It happens. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.”
With a snap of his metallic fingers, the Cricket sigil appears on the ghostly sidewalk below us. It expanded rapidly, forming a dome and transfiguring the space into what I have come to theorize is a sort of otherworld. Things got noticeably darker to accompany my opponent and Cricket asked me if I needed another explanation of the rules since it’s been a while.
“No. Let’s get this over with” I respond.
“Alright! C minus 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, aaaaaaaaaaannnnd GOOOO!” Cricket cries.
The barrier was in place. The sweltering heat disappeared. Each barreling particle was captured in the soupy air around me. What was awkward but still an otherwise pleasant atmosphere earlier, was replaced with that extraterrestrial ink. Light passing through the demarcated periphery of the dome became paler. We didn’t move, but I felt like the whole place was sinking, descending as a lantern past the twilight zone. This creature seems to be able to beckon or suggest that heat sink and clump downward. As the visible objects around me began fading more and more, I understand that this is not typical darkness. It is a sort of advanced darkness. I fall further, and with the final glowing specks that rendered the world intelligible, I consider that this is something wholly different from the technology Centre Main has produced. There is no time left to think about it now. I am alone in a dark sea, waiting for a tunneler’s lure. This… I see what darkness this is now. I saw this that night on the street coming back from Peet’s exhibition. This is like the curtain! I’m stronger now, i’m stronger now I know it… With shaking hands, sure enough I call my blue saber out and its light reveals the contrast of this nakedly dark ink and the familiar sidewalk I trekked. I can see out there, even just a little, something grounds me here. A single flake of blue glimmers in my memory of the curtain boldly and proud. Bring it on puff ball!
I gaze out with certainty into the nothing. But swiftly, the emptiness wavers. A current passing in the deep sea, imperceptible to the eye, but I feel it. Something is coming! The gravity and intensity of it! Its- I reflexively flinch and leave my guard down. Then a red glow shines, and at the same time, a blaring buzzer sounds to indicate that I was hit, done in one shot. The inky shadows recede fast, the thick stuff is drawn away like an invisible ghost pulled on a huge blanket. The tassels of that blanket were gooey strands that stuck to the ground making a sound like sticky putty.
“That was fast. Good think I didn’t bet on you that round Clarent” Cricket jabbed.
The dark being rolled its eye in response as if to say “oh brother…”
“What do you mean? That was like a minute at least” I proclaim.
“Nope, It was about seven seconds. Your sense of isolation must have made it feel longer than it was” he informs.
That almost sounds useful, like a tip. That should be against the rules, but I won’t complain. I’m not even bothered that I got knocked on my ass. I’ll go again right now.
“Let’s go again.”
“You ready ******?” Cricket confirms.
The creature's huge eye swivels down like a nod. We move back into our previous positions posed about ten meters apart from each other on the sidewalk, and Cricket counts down once more. He bellows out the obnoxious numbers. As the “GO!” exits his helmet, it gets filtered through the oncoming darkness. There’s no echo. It stops trapped like a bug in hot soapstone flow. This time I decided on the next step of my strategy. It’s cowardly for sure, but it should work. Worried I'll flinch when the wave comes, I close my eyes and feel for the motion. I wait for an indeterminate amount of time. The chilliness of the deep sea nearly makes me drop my guard to rub my arms for warmth, but I tough it out. I try to focus, but the light nipping of the cold knocks me off center as it pools around my body, somewhat heavier on my back. Still, I can feel the tide rushing forward from somewhere. The weight of water strikes with full force, and I raise my blade to meet it. It’s for naught this time, unfortunately. The buzzer alerts me of my opponent's success.
“Oh man, too bad. You’ll get 'em next time Vorpis!” Cricket claps in consolation.
“One more time” I demand.
“You sure you have time for this buddy?”
He said this to the unnamed floating eyeball who nods with its eye compliantly. Once more, we assume our stances, and Cricket does the countdown. Without having moved since the previous attempt, I feel more concentrated. I won the last few battles on the first try. I didn’t assume I could win them all so easily. We jumped quite a ways ahead in the ranking, it would be natural if I couldn’t win at all, but I will not give up just yet. I just have to look at it like a videogame. This is the way all losers can see the world. PVE videogames are just substitutes for real effort. If I just put my mind to it I can do something far more amazing than I ever could do in front of a screen. I want to say this is similar to a scripted bossfight where no matter what I do I lose in one or more hits, but all fights like that can be beaten with enough tenacity. Is it worth it? Not usually, it's just for bragging rights, but in a real fight like this where I feel my own breath travel through me, the rush feels so much more real, and that’s saying something for how ridiculous this situation actually is. If this were an MMO fight I bet all one of my team members had to do was stand outside a circle on the ground in time to avoid getting hit. Wait a minute… I was lost in thought, but realizing this, I looked up determined at my opponent who noticed I was paying attention. The inky dark fell in once more. Having seen it a couple times already, now It looks like a morning fog to me, like it was just there already.
I stand the same way I did the last two times. Chilly sensations clung to me and splintered slowly along my skin. I imagine it must be like what happens when frost grows on a windshield. It was so cold, but I won’t bend this time. Winds that move over the face of the deep snake their way across the far off seafloor approaching quickly. The empty space stirred. Bumps grew along my naked arms as if on a Unun fruit. The thrusting currents, which I now envision as a great undersea serpent, was about to strike. The bumps on my skin felt almost like an alarm, and just before the presence crashed into me, I lept back. But… The unlucky sound of the buzzer still rocked the air, taunting me. Before Cricket had any time to say anything I just asked for another try. This time for sure. I locked eyes with the eye orb and nodded seriously. Without any difference in time, the darkness consumed everything around me one more time. So, it's not a ground target. Then maybe it's an attack from a stealthed enemy, or it's a direction based attack. Perhaps both. Let's see. With greater focus than before, the elements of this arena were more potent. The darkness is totally impenetrable, and the cold is more unforgiving. I hold my saber over my legs and notice that no bumps rose to my skin there yet, in fact, my legs aren’t cold at all. Before my back was unusually cold wasnt it? My ears… My head is colder now. The stirring made the presence of the serpent known, but now I see that current isn’t what’s hitting me. It’s the cold, something about the cold! In just a few more seconds, the undersea tide was coming, and just before it hit me, I raised my sword triumphantly, striking above my head. The blue glow more distinct in the darkness revealed the strange mixed hue I can’t quite make out. It was the color of blue mixed with what should be the gold iris of my opponent frozen above me, an impossibly deep and opaque dagger held by a juvenile hand which came out the corners of its lids. Aha! Got em!
A satisfying ring told me I was successful this time. It was the kind of ring you hear when you solve a puzzle in a dungeon puzzler game to reward the player.
“Figure it out huh?” Cricket said.
He was reclined in a fold out chair with a reflector and sunglasses like that duel was going to go on for another hour. I may not be a genius, but I know robots can’t get a tan. By this point I know better than to ask him and find out.
“It was only a matter of time” I replied. “Thank you for the duels” I directed at the creature.
It extended its child shaped hands to shake acknowledging a graceful defeat. I shook with strength, finding that my arm strength was a little much, and it rocked them up and down.
“Oh, sorry…” I apologized.
“So ******, how’s it feel to be number 801?” Cricket japed.
It took the shoulderless arms it had and made what amounted to a shrugging motion. I guess they aren’t torn up about it. Cricket made a few more goofy comments toward “******”, not sure if i’m even imagining pronouncing it correctly; then it departed the same way it entered through a dark portal. Me and Cricket both waved goodbye, and ****** did likewise. A smile is on my face. I feel like I made a little progress today. I wonder if there’s a way I could talk to them. I’m surprised Cricket didn’t whip out some multidimensional translator.
“You think there’s some kind of multidimensional translator I could get to talk to people like them?” I ask.
“Oh, for sure. I always keep one in my storage trunk” Cricket answered.
“...”
“What?”
He depresses a button so minute it might as well have not been there; that, or it just came into existence, and his chest cavity pops out like an action figure revealing several dubious pieces of technology and other objects. He pulls out a little wiry earpiece I assume was the translator.
“You had one this whole time?!!”
“You never asked”
“How can you be so convenient, yet so inconvenient…” I sigh.
If Cricket had a face of flesh he would probably be smirking with raised eyebrows in the infuriating style that comes so naturally to him.
“Do you measure all your friends based on how convenient they are? That’s low buddy…”
“I might if all my friends were you” I retorted.
“So immature… guess I’ll just undo my spacial manipulation dome so your precious AC is removed.”
“Please forgive me,” I state with utmost seriousness.
“Anyway, ready for the next fight?”
“There’s another?”
“Of course, there’s always gonna be another. During that last one you didn’t see the green glimmer and unlock a new power. This next one should be sufficiently challenging” Cricket said.
“Yeah, I’m in a pretty good mood. Send them in.”
Cricket spoke while twirling a basketball on his finger. Actually, he spun it just above the tip of his finger with a jet of air. He gave no introduction or zany, ambiguous words, only that “he” would be here in a few minutes. I could be wrong, but at the moment it seemed like Cricket was almost tired of being zany and just sat quietly on his tanning chair.
“Uh… C-could I have one too?”
“Sure, he shouldn’t be much longer now” Cricket stated.
He was looking at his watch hand which obviously bore no watch nor convenience apparatus. I lay down on the mildly comfortable beach chair but quickly start to feel antsy and sit up. I sit in this awkward silence, twiddling my thumbs. Who is “he”? Should I be worried? I start to forget my thumbs are even moving in front of my eyes as I become lost in thought. After it feels like a few minutes pass, I turn to Cricket to see he’s humming some familiar melody as he toys with some unknown object. I say unknown, but the shape is familiar too. From this angle I can only see about half of this stone tablet looking item. Symbols are laid out in specific areas, each glowing with a magical hue. Was that an Azmer astrological tablet?
“Hey… what are you humming?” I ask casually.
“Hm? Oh, nothing. Wanna listen to some music? I got a sweet CD I ordered from Ta’anin” he says excitedly.
“Ta’anin? Where is that?”
“It’s in the Northernmost part of the island chain, above Buma.”
“I don’t think I know it.”
“Kids these days… Here, listen to this.”
A very old fashioned radio materializes to his left situated between us. With a metallic click Cricket pressed the play button and very unusual music begins. It sounds like a hymn but not quite. Strong twanging strings accompany the thick singing voices. After several long minutes, the sound fades, and the next song begins. This time it has strong percussive elements. I start tapping my feet at the infectious drum beat, but it feels like just when I was getting into it a sound like shining rings from in front of us. Purple lines draw out a shape that quickly delineates into a mirror which takes form in reality. A huge mirror. Wait-this is! The figure I remember well emerges from the silvery surface. The white haired, purple-robed magician that saved me at the convenience store. He smiles warmly at me.
“Clarent, it’s good to see you again! How are you?”
With ease, he releases his staff and it floats in place so he can shake my hand with both of his. The warmth of his body is somewhat obscured by the thick leather gloves he’s wearing, but the weight and firm force behind the shake communicated his radiant aura. His effulgent orange eyes regard me patiently as I stand in a brief daze. This man is a hero as far as I’m concerned. Heroes are busy, so i’m glad I can see him again, and a scheduled meeting at that! I realize my hand is still floating where it was shaken and I yank it to my side trying to figure out where to put my hands awkwardly while making an embarrassed smile.
“Oh, uhhh, n-not much different. G-good! I mean good. I am also… elated to have your acquaintance!” I stutter.
Despite his youthful appearance, he has the air of a grandfather. His grin softens, looking like his default expression is somehow always a slight smile.
“No need to be formal my boy, we’re friends aren’t we?” he confirms with a short nod.
“We are?” I say surprised, “I uhhh, yes, we are aren’t we?”
Before I could stumble into saying something too embarrassing, he starts talking.
“Today I’ve come to help with your training in a mock battle. You’ve got a secret super move to work on right?” he says enthusiastically.
“Wait, are you number 800 in the rankings then?”
He makes a dismissing gesture with his hand.
“800? No no, haha. I’m not enrolled into the divine rankings. I’m much too busy with my job.”
Cricket, who must be perturbed at not having the spotlight for a minute butts in with a device resembling a speedometer which he points at the sorcerer. It makes a beeping noise, and he sidles up to me to display the results on the old styled green screen. The bulky, analog numbers spelled out 9999 repeating. Cricket points in his direction.
“So that’s about his power level. I’d say he’d be like rank 3 or something.”
Oh lord. That’s… I can’t possibly win. I glance at mirror man who raises his hands in a defensive posture and responds.
“Easy now, don’t scare the boy. I’m not enrolled in the ranking system for a reason, i’m not a fighter. I’m a reflector. All we’re going to do is reflect on a thing or two.”
“Huh?”
The hell does that mean?
“I’ll show you, and don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you.”
Just before he started to really move, Cricket intercepts. He leans in and whispers something, but mirror man doesn’t pause to answer whatever it is Cricket said. That’s probably for the best, I’m sure this guy is much more trustworthy. Thankfully, and I do owe him for it, Cricket’s spatial barrier is still down so the terrible heat doesn’t melt me before we get going. Mirror man waved his staff, and his call was answered expectedly by the object of his name. His name as far as I know, anyway. A huge mirror floats gently to the ground. Had the force of levitation he commanded not lifted the thing in the air I imagine it would crash down and cause cracks in the weirdly placid pavement. The mirror faces me. For a moment, I consider what Cricket must have whispered. Who knows that it could have been, but he does get serious sometimes. Back when I first saw mirror man, I recall what his power did. He told me it reflected someone’s true self didn’t he? That makes sense. It’s what a hero does, face themselves. It’s only natural I have to do that. The imposing silvery glass stands with a gravity all its own. I feel myself drawn to it, but at the same time, it almost sends a shiver down my spine. That surface is otherworldly, its not even reflecting anything around us, not even me…
“This… is a challenge for me right?”
“Why yes, of course. It seems you remember what I told you back at the convenience store. At my command, my faithful mirror will reflect you. Once it does, it will show you something about yourself, about the world. It’s a trial. As such, I can’t tell you what exactly will happen. Just let me know when you’re ready and we can begin. Don’t worry, I believe in you.”
He flashes that sunny smile again. Inside the barrier, under the cool temperatures, the light is diluted through a bluish filter making his purple scaled coat look slightly wintry. Any fear I had melted like ice from his expression, but even in that warmth, a tremble was working its way up my spine. I want to be doubtful, an urge wells up in me to run away, but I have to stand my ground. This mirror guy is appointed from that beautiful place up there. If he came to help me specifically out of his busy schedule, then either I can manage, or some kind of wild fate is turning on the wheel for me. It’s funny, and confusing too. This guy is from the world on high, while part of my hope comes from that encouragement I got from below. Hero’s are always afraid. I remember a line from the first tower in the series: “victory is irrelevant. It is about standing your ground. When those giant beasts are bearing down on you, even if you fail, your back is the wall between you and the citizens of this city.” Those were the last words he said before his defeat, the ones he told the second tower who would inherit the will of the cosmos. Whatever this all means, it seems like a union of disparate halves. This can’t be the challenge that stops me.
“Alright, let’s do this.”
The words come out as a mutter, audible only to myself, but the mirror man responds, and taps the intricate border of his mirror with the wooden staff he carried. I expected, like in a lot of games, a shadowy version of myself would step confidently from beyond the frame, but instead, it just shows me an image of myself. White shirt and air pants, just as I picked out earlier. Then, a white mist drifts over my reflection. At the same time the magic droplets wash over the eyes of my reflection, mine are obscured. I blink instinctively, and when I open them, I find myself whisked away to yet another world. Everything is pitch black. The air is thick with expectation. I can’t see the figures of Cricket or Mirror man out in the empty wilderness of this void, but I feel eyes watching me, drawing swirling motions on my skin with their pupils. Whose eyes are these? They are immensely familiar, but still distant. I look at what I can of myself. Yep, arms and legs still here. From every pointless point here, I am being sapped of power. Come on Clarent, you need to move. I nearly have to pick up my own leg and drag it forward. Feels like my body is falling asleep. Easy now, one step at a time. Believe in yourself, believe in the mirror man that believes in you. I blink hard and long. Concentrating my will in this new environment, I manage to start moving. No sinking, no swamp, but my feet are being swallowed by the perfectly invisible aura. If I stop concentrating for a second I feel like I’ll pass out.
One, two. One two. One t-t-wo. Onward I go. My brain is moving at a turtle’s pace… Where in the nowhere am I supposed to be going?! A unique warmth gives Unun bumps suddenly. Like a hot wind in the cold I'm pushed gently forward. Then, a whoosh sound! From behind, a huge beam of light the size of my torso whizzes past. The millisecond it closes in on me, it hits an incorporeal wall or something, and bends at a right angle forward. Now, in the next ten feet I can finally see something. Thick, sparkling walls glitter ahead. I feel better, good even. That grand stretch of glowing particles races by, directed by something greater than myself. In seconds, the incredibly fast beam departs with the scorchingly beautiful light trailing into a tail. It was a beautiful comet. Instead of dust and ice, its only material was illumination, and as it travelled into the distance, it disappeared, leaving behind residue. Tiny little sparks hover absentmindedly in the empty air around me, gleaning the way forward. Without trouble this time, I walk with an even pace, and notice the glittering walls like flat textures left outside the area accessible to the player, are mirrors. The same kind of mirrors that the mirror man holds unsurprisingly.
Within the boundaries of each, a person I've seen or know is contained. The glassy surface is too different to compare to soapstone, and too tranquil to compare to experiments in containers of nutrient rich liquid. They look unreal in the way only perfect replicas can look. One on the left has Raucous inside. The cleft on his shoulder I've seen so many times is impossibly detailed. I can see everything down to the last grain of sediment. Opposite him, Poncifucious sits the same way they always do on that stool in our class room. It’s disquieting the way Poncifucious is defined in this single frame. Nothing in their body flows and changes like i’ve known it to. It makes me worried. It’s like their trapped. Trapped and I can’t help them. Downcast clouds gather around my heart making it still. This feeling, its… my hand moves on its own to touch the flawless glass. No good, my hand is refused entry. I can’t reach them. I expected as much but. I see Sunny a couple mirrors down. Her seedy face is caught in this temporal glaciation, her head hanging slightly like something is making her deeply sad. A pulse of hot blood filled with trepidation stirs the clouds about my heart to make it beat faster. In this fervor of will I twist my head quickly to the left and see my mother and father frozen in their separate mirrors. No, I won’t dwell on them. Just ignore them. They can be trapped in a mirror forever as far as I care. Scarlet, Mayume, where are they? I break into a jog, and the gentle warmth the light beam infused me with is making me overheat.
Scarlet! She’s sitting in this portrait. Like before, the background is indistinct and mercurial. Even without the mirror reflecting it, I can tell the floor, or at least where it’s supposed to be in my memory, is cold and hard beneath her. She stares vapidly forward. Whatever this reflection is looking at, its cut off by the eloquent frames, her eyes gazing into nothing. Even more than before she resembles a doll. If she were somehow carried outside the reflection, she would break into a thousand irreparable pieces. Sweat, more inhospitable than the heat on the average day is trailing down my face. I turn to see numerous other figures, faces I’ve seen maybe once or twice, but they disappear from sight. I ran faster, looking only for Mayume’s face. Not finding her, I start to panic. Further and further I run down this hall of mirrors until the hulking, beautiful masses of glasswork disappear abruptly. Off in the distance, a tiny spark begins to grow larger. I move towards it, as it rapidly grows to the size of a sun. The strength of the light, more red than yellow, is so intense it creates a shadow even in this infinite blackness. From within that space, a shadowy figure stands. I can tell. I can feel it deeply. That shadow, its the combination of shadows of day and shadows of night. The texture like fabric stretching between reality and falsehood. It is the darkness of the curtain. To its left is the city of Centre Main burning to ash, and to its right, is my friends!
Like a miniature of our clubroom was constructed, and just my friends at the table were taken out a little box. Quietly and politely they sat there. On instinct alone my brain manages to force my freezing hot legs to move, but as I do, the shadow moved in the direction of the city, with each step the flames rise higher. I turn on my heel, drawing my glowing blade and running to the ghostly silhouettes of the city ready to cleave the dark in twane. But with every step I move, the shadow gets two steps farther, nearing the table of my friends. Either way I go, the shadow catches up to the impending destruction. What a scary illusion. It’s only an illusion, and yet, something is telling me that there’s more to this. What is this saying? That I have to pick one or the other? I don’t want to do that! A hero defends everyone. I guess I'm not cut out for being a hero then, because my heart is trying to leap out my chest and run to the Mayume made of glass. No matter how much I want to help others, I don’t know if I can do it if I leave Mayume, Scarlet, and everyone else behind. I walk with shaking legs toward the replica of my club. This closely, I can see the wrinkles on Mayume’s skin and the folds of her clothes like i’m sitting next to her on a normal day. I look to the left. The shadow stands. It’s featureless on the outside, but even from here the aura it emits tells me everything I need to know about it. That thing… it’s grinning without a mouth. It seems to taunt me, raising a hand in the gesture of a snap as a sickly green glow wells up at the center of its chest. Looking at it with joy, the shadow takes it into its hand, and tosses it in my direction. Though it looks like it will arc downward and fall through the absence of a floor, it flies into my hand automatically.
All my thoughts welled up like a thick ball in my throat and got stuck. Whatever I want to say, I can’t get the words out. The shadow’s tilts back as it snaps its fingers. The replica of the town collapses into dust as the being cackles. At the same time, the green orb dissipates, energy gathering around me. I’ve made my choice. Just like that, the illusion breaks. In the same way the false images of a dream convince you they’re real enough to bring you screaming into waking, I shed a tear as the illusion falls apart. Back in the “real world” the teardrop is the only physical sensation reminding me that whatever happened really happened. The mirror man’s bright smile welcomes me back. The barrier Cricket erected is still up to maintain the cool air. My uncomfortably sweaty skin from moments ago is caressed by the pleasant chill. From above, the barrier is still a wintry blue color, but the light shining through is a pleasant orange.
“Congratulations on your victory, Clarent” he says proudly.
Cricket spins in rhythmic twirls making a show of his artistic skill at controlling the long streamers in his hands. Simultaneously, he continuously, and without tiring, blows a party horn.
“Victory? But I don’t feel like it was…”
“The challenge of the mirror is about strength of will, not about what's right or wrong. You were faced with a very difficulty question and you answered it. You stood your ground, you should be proud.”
I can’t hold eye contact. As he finishes those wise words, his voice drops to a tone near a whisper so tender I can’t even describe it, and places his big gloved hand on my shoulder.
“...”
“That light you held, that was your power. You’re ready to face the coming calamity and repel the age of gods!”
“But how? I didn’t even use my sword, I don’t even know what this ‘power’ is exactly.”
The sound of party horns intensifies drawing my attention to the right. Cricket’s standing there casually, but behind him there’s a very long stretch of conveyor belt like tracks making loop-de-loops across the sky. Endless Crickets with their twin streamers of various colors are riding through the tracks. The real Cricket standing before me steps up beside the Mirror man, hand still on my shoulder, and starts to say something.
“Listen Clarent, this is kind of a spoiler for the reader, but I don’t wanna leave this part too ambiguous. So, at risk of being too on the nose, I’m just gonna tell ya…” he explains, scratching his helmet.
Huh? Is he actually going to be straight with me for once?
“Wait, are you going to tell me something and be totally literal about it?”
I smile excitedly. His metal chest puffs up like a balloon, and he exhales all the air into an exaggerated sigh like being unambiguous and normal physically hurts him.
“Your power is that of choice. Tomorrow the world rests on your decision. You’ll be the deciding factor on how the next X amount of years pans out” he says flatly.
“That’s great! But, what exactly am I supposed to do?”
Mirror man cuts in to do the rest of the explaining. His face becomes stern, but his words don’t feel forceful.
“A great mass of energy composed of the will of thousands scorned by fate is going to lower into the planet's atmosphere. Torodir and his cohorts are planning on using it to awaken the sleeping deities of old and bring terror to the world. Once it arrives, hundreds of artificers and heroes will show up to hold it back. Each of their powers is going to be focused like a lens on altering the outcome.”
“Sooo, if there’s that many people there, what am I needed for?”
“You see Clarent, there’s four other individuals who wield a blade like yours, but their abilities are slightly different. Your power, when it awakens to its full capabilities at a key moment, can impose a truth value. Imagine your power as being the eyes keeping an electron in place. Only when all this energy is being observed a certain way will it move in our favor. Your ability alone, for just tomorrow, will avert disaster.”
“That’s amazing! So I really can do something heroic? Cricket wasn’t lying this whole time?”
“Hey, I never lie!” Cricket snaps
“Yeah you just-”
He cuts me off.
“I just bend the truth a little. Juuuuust a little…” he explained.
He made a gesture like he was measuring a tiny space between his thumb and middle finger, emphasizing the size of the bent truth with a high pitched voice.
“You aren’t alone in this fight” Mirror man continues, “all these heroes will keep that mass of energy in place with their strength of wills. While the energy is kept stable, you’ll go inside of it and dissipate it” he explains.
“So it’s like i’m defusing a huge bomb and I have to cut the right wire?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes. Except, you’ll know which wire to cut already. Think of it like everyone holding a big ladder still so you can climb to the top.”
“Hmmm. I got it.”
“We’ll reconvene tomorrow before it’s time.”
“So yeah, you’re free for the rest of the day pretty much so go see your girlfriend or something” Cricket added.
“Alright! Uhhh, you’re probably busy so I'll um, seeeeeee youuuuuu lllll-ater” I hesitated.
I attempt parting words to the mirror wielding sorcerer. The last three words were especially hard to force out, and I physically drew them out with an extended, clenched fist like I'm confidently declaring something. With the exception of explanation, his default expression seems to be a smile. Without being perturbed or inconvenienced in the slightest, he responds cheerfully.
“I look forward to your performance tomorrow! Take care Clarent.”
With those words, he gave one last glance before stepping through the threshold of his mirror and disappearing. In a few seconds, the solid crystalline frame is undone one line at a time like the process of drawing it into reality was being reversed. Man, that was totally uncool of me. I’m not really bothered by my lack of coolness, but it still tugs at me. It’s like for the first time, I became aware that an emotional parasite criticizing my coolness factor is throwing pebbles at my brain. Cricket lays in the beach chair blowing bubbles idly. Now that it was just the two of us again, he sits up to face me. Unsurprisingly, he starts speaking like he can read minds.
“Oh Clarent, don’t worry about being cool. Not everyone can be cool. Plus, This is about making a choice, not coolness” he teases.
“Yeah, but doesn’t every decision come with the consequences of coolness?”
“Totally. Which is why I said not to worry, because you’re going to look uncool anyway, You know, because you’ll make less than cool decisions. I wish I could teach you, but I was just born cool. Anyway, all you have to do is just make the right decision every time!”
He points both his thumbs at himself as if to say “Who’s the standard of cool? This guy.” Additionally, he also describes the nature of his coolness compared to mine as a fact. In a way I guess he isn’t wrong. Not the part about him being cool, because he isn’t. Just the part about decision making.
“How can I make the right decision in the first place if I’m not sure what's really right?”
I can’t be sure I'll get a serious answer, but occasionally Cricket says something useful.
“You can’t. You can go most of your life being wrong and not even know it. You have to choose to believe in something and stick with it until you understand everything you know might be wrong from the start.”
“And if I said that I was absolutely right about a number of things?”
“Well, that would just be a little arrogant now wouldn’t it?”
With expected charisma, Cricket says this as he bends his arms at his waist, the opposite side of his palms resting at the edges of his conspicuously large belt. I can always somehow feel the faces he makes behind his helmet, but this time he lets me know in greater detail visually by projecting a digital image into the air above him. It’s that one picture I've seen online, the simple drawing of a person raising their eyebrow and grinning while standing next to a much more detailed person. Except the person in question is Cricket, and the detailed image is a squid woman with arrows pointing at each; One arrow saying “me” and the other saying “your mom.” I feel relieved knowing that no one else is here to see this buffoon project an internet joke into the air. If I were in a crowd, I would be quite embarrassed.
“But some things have to be true. Why else would we believe in anything? And don’t give me some philosophical platitudes about how me only having seen a blue turtle doesn’t exclude the existence of red turtles.”
“Let’s-”
“And don’t tell me that I can’t claim something I’ve never seen with my own eyes doesn’t exclude it’s existence either!”
“Wow, what’s got you so riled up all of a sudden? Don’t let the mirror guy’s praise give you a big head.”
He says as his head inflates to a comical size while a miniature cricket with insect wings struggles to keep him from falling over.
“Didn’t you also congratulate me?”
“Yep. I congratulated you because I love you my precious little boy” he babbles.
He says that as he makes a heart shape with his hands. From the metal frames of his fingers, a pink glow shines brightly to confirm the fervor of his nonsense, big head still weighing down the miniature cricket further still. In the blink of an eye, his form returns to normal, and Cricket stretches their arm around my back like we’re huddling for a football play to whisper something.
“Also, my praise means more cuz I'm cooler than him, and I'm waaaaaay stronger too” he whispers.
“Somehow I doubt that” I say flatly.
“Not like we’d find out. That guy never fights anyone anyway. He only reflects. Dedicated to his job I guess…” his tone becomes neutral, “So, back to what I was saying a bit ago. Think of it like this. If I told you I had absolutely true information on something, even precise data to back it up on hand, would you believe me?”
“Well, no, you got me there.”
“I’m kind of like a parent to you Clare, I'm here to back you up no matter what you do, it’s not about making you believe something.”
I cringe at the idea of having Cricket of all things as a parent, but I might even prefer that over my actual parents if it means I never have to see them again.
“So, is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“Nope, I’ve gotta prepare for tomorrow. Cya later!” he cries.
Then a smoke explosion erupts allowing for a quick getaway like an Azmer assassin. But then the smoke clears after a few moments and he’s still there, finger pointed to the sky.
“Uhh. You’re still here…”
Without addressing me, he crouches down far, and his legs tremble with force. A terrible quake thuds into the air sounding like a rocket space shuttle from the old days blasting off. He yells “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAA” and departs into the atmosphere leaving cracked pavement in the wake. Without anything else holding me here, I decide to go and see the objects of my affection at the club room before my date with destiny.
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Chapter 3: The dawn of the end of the beginning of the dawn of the end

Even after a pleasant evening of commiserating with my friends, doubts still billowed around me. At one moment, clouds of obscure smoke blind me. Serpents of shadow entwine around my heart. At another moment, it’s like I'm hiding in a cave watching the shadows and eyes of deep blue predators swimming by. I’m desperate for a voice, thus I feel it’s time to return to my friends online. I drop into the dissonance room and mention Tobias. In seconds there were responses in the chat.
“No f*cking way, he’s here?” Harman says.
“In the flesh” I respond.
He jumps in the room before Tobias.
“It feels like its been forever since we talked, the hell are you doing?”
“I think I’ll wait until Tobias gets in here so I don’t have to explain myself twice.”
Fortunately, only about a minute later he hops in along with Tinnius.
“Alright Alright! Fire up Eternal Battleground Clare then you can drop the glass” Tobias says excitedly.
I’m glad I’ve never had to worry about poor internet speeds because there was an update, and it finished in only a minute.
“So!” Harman starts, “You seein that vampire chick still?”
“Seeing? Well, I do somewhat regularly observe her existence with my eyeballs yes” I reply beating around the bush.
“Yeah, but did you get a bit closer to her? Maybe even, hold hands?” Tobias chides.
“No way, you know how uncomfortable I am with touching girls. Just being near their hands gives me chills…” I feign.
“You afraid of other parts? Like their face? Or theirrrrrr chest maybe?” Harman jibes.
“Hmmm, I guess i’m less afraid of a girl’s face than their hands. Other parts are definitely scarier though…” I lie comically.
“Really? Hmmmm” Harman wonders.
“Yes indeed. Interesting. I garner that there is little hope for you Mr Eisenforth” Tobias addresses in a prim cadence.
A silence begins, followed by various hmmms and ahhhs. Sounds of ruminations and consternation. I open Eternal Battleground and accept their party invite, remaining silent. The fizzling sound, like circuits sparking and malfunctioning let us all know we found a match. Tinnitus hasn’t spoken a word yet strangely enough. Harman starts up, his voice poised to pounce but I cut him off casually asking about our team composition and if there’s a certain support character I should play.
“I want to play Johnson so you should go Tracker. So did yo-”
“What about pulse demon, I think they go well Johnson, I feel like playing them” I interject.
“Yeah sure, bu-” Harman opens again.
“Oh my god this random is playing Envahissante ahhhhhhhhhhhhghggh. No one knows how to play them stop just stooooop!” Tobias groans.
“CLAR-”
“sh*t, if they’re gonna play Enva I might as well go for a mid-game character like Storm” I state.
“CLARENT DID YOU f*ck HER?!?!” Harman yells impatiently.
I know Tobias wanted to ask the same thing but he held back to assist me in annoying him. All of us excepting Harman laugh, including Tinnius who hasn’t said anything yet.
“Really dude? So uncouth” I tease.
“I know you’re thinking the same thing Tobi back me up here!” Harman pleads.
“Its as obvious as the sky is blue dude of course Clarent didn’t f*ck her. You know he has principles, dude’s got a girlfriend. You DO have a girlfriend right Clare?”
“Of course. People like to pick on me for being a ‘loser’ and having no ‘social skills’ and not ‘going outside’ but I'm very charismatic. I imagine that girls are simply too bashful to confess their feelings to me for fear of losing our friendship” I wax eloquently.
“You’re about as charming as my pipe dude” Harman replies.
“Gosh! So crude, so crude! After all these years I felt like my influence was enough to establish a role model for you. Not so, not so indeed! Oh my cabbage, what am I going to do with you…” I say.
My roleplay skill can only carry things so far, but since the waters are already moving after I dropped that I have a girlfriend, the initial joke is done for. I can feel Tobias ready to shift the jeers in another direction.
“Okay, I’m gonna have to agree with Hard-man on this one Clare, you’re my role model all right, role model for not being a net-toxique. I’d call you a NEET if it wasn’t for you being in school, and that’s gonna change soon.”
“Oh please, a fine gentleman such as myself would have no problem being accepted by the elite sociale. I’m a better card player than you know. A shame no one can earn a living merely by being a great thinker like in the old world…” I lament.
“Hahahahaha! Yeah, great thinker? That was the slogan for whoever signed up for the supplementary lessons to get into the work force early. They give you so much useless sh*t in the electronic lessons no one uses” Harman adds.
“Useless for sure, like uhhhh, philosophy, art, ethics, and what you need the most there Harman, critical thinking skills. You already don’t have that pre-installed, good thing its a learnable skill. Even Clarent has you beat on that” Tobias japes.
“You gotta be f*cking kidding! Comparing critical thinking skills between me and him is like comparing rocks to rocks! Hahaha” Harman chuckles.
“Hmmm. With such a comparison, I think it fitting that I am lithium and you are chalcopyrite. Oh dear, did that slip out? I meant you were titanium” I smugly state.
“Any hunk of rocks good enough to bash your f*cking head in Clare!” Harman yells.
Everyone simultaneously throws verbal water on the banter going “ayyy ayyyyyyyyy relax man relax!”
We go back and forth like this for a little while longer before our game takes a turn for the worst and we focus on effective team strategy. Team strategy naturally leads to bickering, blaming the rando, then blaming each other before it peters out and we change gears. The session was entertaining enough, and after a few hours I decide to get in bed. I lay down and look at the ceiling vacantly. Those swirls are still there. Despite my progress, they stare back as if they’re eyes narrowing, squinting in laughter. I’ve seen this before Haven’t I? No, what is- now they really do look like eyes. A trace of a sickly green glints around the spiral as it transitions from one circle to another. Besides green, the other notable color fills the rest of that ominous glare, red. The color of blood and flesh. My heart picks up speed, no, no no no no it can’t be, this is?!
“Clarent, the time is-”
Before the voice can finish I turn rapidly on my side, and protect myself with the covers. For an indeterminate amount of time I tremble beneath the covers. My invincible shield, my blanket protects me from the wandering eyes of monsters. What is this? Why? How? The feeling deep inside my heart creeps up. Fear. A different and all too innocent fear. I can’t take the blanket off, not right now… Waves of something shake the very air outside and my secret base is shuddering! NO NO GO AWAY! The voice went away as I cried inside, and it left something behind. The shaking stopped. I could tell. There was no shadow, but I could tell that something was outside my fortress wall. A monster. I stopped shaking, but my heart is trembling still. I hate nights like this. Hate them hate them hate them! Why can’t mommy and daddy be here to save me?
! huh? Morning light peaks through the front door window at my face. Light from my window behind me puts warm rays on my back. What was that… It felt like a dream, and yet… the visions broke like a dream, light of the great orb rousing me from sleep. One of the few things I was grateful for when I first got here, the AC was pretty good, it was rare I woke up with sweat. The sweat’s like a residue from that nightmare. I can’t describe it, something inside me, something so specific yet indescribable. It was a dream, but it also wasn’t. Only thing I recognized is that presence, that fear was too close to the curtain. How could it be so strong though? I thought that I was better now? I’m totally fine. I throw a cautious glance at the ceiling and even the stupid colorful swirls look like a bored kids drawing to me. Still, I clean my teeth with a flash, and toss my clothes on in an absent minded daze. Whatever it is, I think it’s some kind of sign. I’d never trust something vague like “signs” but I don’t know how else to describe it. I have to face a decision today, and thanks to that dream, I feel even worse about it, even if I succeed I’ll lose. With this lackluster motivation I slap on an automatic mix of clothes without caring what shows up, then I grab a banana muffin and stuff it in my mouth and step out the door.
Already Cricket is waiting for me. At this point I have come to believe that something about his behavior was consistent enough to guess what he “might” do, but now I realize that maybe the predictable part is just how I react. I sigh a deep sigh, something I feel hasn’t been done in a while, because Cricket is overjoyed to be standing outside my house at 9am in the- wait… My convenience apparatus says 1:30 PM.
“Ready for your big day, Clarent!” He yells.
I just barely felt like responding. In Cricket’s eyes it looked like he was going to say something. Any second now he would say “damn, you look like sh*t!” or if they’re in a “compassionate” he might say “damn, you look like sh*t…” I think maybe a lack of words might be what conveys the most emotion. I might be confusing that with my preferred state of him though.
“Ready as i’ll ever be I guess…”
“Excellent! Now, let’s cut to the chase. Like Me and the ‘amazing reflecto’ went over last time, we’ll give you the signal when its time, and from there you’ll have it in the bag.”
Cricket flashed a thumbs up, the hand not gesturing was bent at the hip like usual.
“I… don’t suppose you’ll tell me what that signal is…” I mutter lethargically.
“Know what? For you Clare, I’ll tell you, I won’t even say something ambiguous like ‘you’ll know when you see it’ mmmmm heheheh” he added.
His metal mustache was now a long metal beard curving at several bends like a river, and he stroked it thoughtfully like some sage from Jin imparting wise words.
“I’ll keep it simple, it’ll be a firework that looks like my face” he says.
I understand that to mean his helmet.
“Well, without further ado, i’ll just teleport you to the site, it’s almost time.”
He snaps his gauntleted fingers in a number of locations finishing with a flourish of his semi-official pose of pointing both index fingers at me with his head tilted slightly back. Suddenly, I’m near the charpain tower. Instantly, my previous mood is changed like someone was stirring some tea residue at the bottom of their cup. The atmosphere was so different. I knew today would be different, even scary. I woke up earlier expecting something that wasn’t here, so the juxtaposition made it even more apparent. I guess this is what happens when people do something they haven’t done in years. A group of protestors were gathered outside the tower crying slogans like “No one is free until everyone is free!” and “The god of love prevails over the god of capital!” Fear overtakes me. From where I stand, I make out the gathering crowd, see the many people converge in a cloud, but its not until I walk further to the right that I see them, the dogs. The dogs of Centre Main stood in a single line. That’s all it’ll take, just those six or so armored police guards to wipe out everyone if they so choose. I can’t make any true judgements about it, but I just know how it could go horribly wrong so easily. It’s not in the history lessons or the official textbooks, but Fevre 18th is an open secret. We all know it, so why? Why risk any consequences? It has to be Torodir, he’s got these people putting their lines on the line for his selfish wishes.
Still, I'm more scared than I am angry. I’m just supposed to stand here and wait? My eyes flick left and right watching the crowd steadily grow. Mere minutes and I'm shaking like a leaf. From my periphery, right on cue, I see that bird guy approach. Hovering above him is the same humanoid shaped sack tied tight with some kind of ribbon talismans. A chilling aura lingers on it. I can tell there’s something off just like last time. He steps beside me and watches the gathering figures for a few moments before speaking. Whatever he says won’t be good, my anxiety is only growing and my chest is beginning to force more air into my lungs. I just know that sack is like some kind of chrysalis waiting to spread its wings. Spread for what reason?
“We need you. Your power can save many” he assures.
I don’t want any part of this stupid plan. I just want everyone to be safe. A real hero would know what to do. It’s dawning on me that i’m just hanging on someone’s cape. If I can do what Cricket says I can, then, then… I’ll do it! I’m going to oppose Torodir whatever it is he plans to do, even if I don’t really know what that is. I’m going to deny them, I’m doing to deny this whole world.
“I will not let anyone die” I claim, nearly sputtering.
“You do not understand, if you do not lend us your strength to judge the coming calamity, Torodir will kill” he assures once more.
He’s confident. He’s totally certain.
“Then I’ll stop him.”
I’m gonna do what I gave to do and he can’t me. f*cking hell, this fake shaman bastard Torodir is a sh*tty villain if he won’t even fight me face to face. A real villain would just take out the opposition. He’ll regret not killing me!
“You cannot. He is more powerful than you will ever be in this moment. You can only stop the lines of fate as they weave together, but not him. He is guiding these events forward with you in mind because otherwise, a revolution will follow.”
Calmly, coldly. How can he be so calm? Doesn’t he know what’ll happen? He has to, right? Right?! He has to be crazy.
“Why? If he starts violence the corporation guards will open fire, we don’t need another Fevre 18th!” I shout.
I’m losing composure. I can barely keep it together. Shut up… Shut up! Stop talking, stop opposing me.
“With enough luck, this will be the last slaughter to ever occur.”
Like hell it will. In the world lead by “people’s wills” or whatever the hell he said, everyone will just be fighting anyway. It’s useless and circular. What good will violence do? Damn it, my hands are getting so sweaty. Well if he’s so certain, I should be too. I have the whole world working against him, what am I getting all worked up for?
“I won’t depend on luck.”
That’s the most confidence I can muster into a sentence. A moment of strength gave me the willpower to look like I had my wits in front of bird brain.
“You are missing the point. I lived a life of peace. Every day I strove to become someone capable of love for everyone and everything, but I left my home in Saruna because of The Kardistas, because of what they thought they had to do to stop the Charpain corporation. If Charpain is stopped here today, the winds of change will reverberate across the whole world. There will be no need for Kardista, no need for today’s protest, no need for harmonizers, capitalist, Ji Lei Yun. Your own hands will strike the anvil that forges a statue in your image forever.”
Stop, just stop already! Losing my composure again… I can’t say something strong. I can’t say what I really want.
“I won’t let anyone die.”
I wipe my hands on my shorts and immediately ball them back into fists.
“Are you really this much of a fool? Does your girlfriend’s struggle mean nothing to you? Does Scarlet’s wish mean nothing to you? Every silent voice who walks your school halls isolated by existence itself? Do the countries around the world marred by centuries of suffering mean nothing to you?” he pesters rigidly.
“I don’t believe in a single future. I don’t believe that even with my help everything will be okay. I believe there’ll be ripples, but of what? What’s really going to happen? Do you really know?” I choke.
This is your chance to prove yourself. Say you know. Say you have a fool proof plan then so fools like me won’t just mess everything up.
“No, I do not. I just know that something must change. I cannot live in a world like this anymore. Anything is preferable to nothing.”
I turn to look at him. My eyes are getting watery. He just stood there this whole time unmoving as he spouted off his intentions. I’m a mess. I feel like I'm going to vomit and he’s the picture of calm. Am I wrong? One of us has to be crazy right?! It isn’t fair. Why is this responsibility on me? Did I really ask for this? I’m sorry Mayume. I’m sorry Scarlet. I really can’t help you… Keep it together. At least wait for the bastard to leave before you bawl your eyes out Clarent. Come on, keep it together! He suddenly moves as if animated by all his certainty. Some sign must have called for him. Now I'm free to cry in peace. I’m so pathetic… A peaceful spot behind the wall is waiting for me, and I sink into to it to wallow. BSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. What the hell? A siren i've never heard before begins to blare, and without pause or warning, a massive aura descends on Centre Main. Holy sh*t! The sound is so loud, and the gravity, its like it's shaking the whole planet. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. Huddling on the ground, I try my best to cling to balance. I try to open my eyes but a red haze is forcing my eyes shut. My brain is vibrating. Aghhhhhhhhhh. After what feels like forever, the rumbling subsides. Every ounce of hesitation and fear is expunged from my body. The regret and malaise from minutes ago is just absent. I turn the corner. Everyone is doing the same thing, gazing up into the sky. A huge sphere, perfect in its curvature, but turbid with wrath warps the sky. Looking at it is like staring at the sun. The figure is truly clear, but something other than light gives me trouble. The raw emotion? Is that what I'm feeling? What Cricket said about it, this thing is a ball of living suffering. The emotion itself is so powerful that it penetrates the mind upon seeing it. Even from the periphery, the glaring edges eclipse all… I stop trying to look.
Everyone else nearby only caught a glimpse before, and now they’re shielding their eyes. Not far from it, the castle that hovered in the air earlier today is caught in its gravity. The condensed pain forces me to look away toward the sky dyed a dismal red. Despite the intensity of its presence, I can manage fine as long as I don’t stare. My eyes are drawing in the sea of red, everywhere I look the red has bled into it. It’s all red now. The siren still blares, and it sounds ominous. It sounds familiar somehow. It must be the world crisis alarm signaling that something massive breached the town’s special barrier. I can’t see it because of the hazardous orb of hate, but I bet just behind it the orange energy that makes up the ordinarily imperceptible barrier is seared open. Turning away completely, I look nearby. The protestors, a mix of whom are whom are clutching their heads, stand or lay on the ground. The government dogs stand idly like their brains were switched off. Besides them, gathering around me, around them, and on the rooftops are loads of people. Weird individuals of all shapes and sizes. Some look like they came from the underworld, some from the divine realm. The siren obscured the noise of their footsteps and the sounds of their portals. More show up every second, and the bright energy forming the bounds of their dimensional gateways form a powerful contrast with the red sky.
A powerful sound erupts in the air, the sound of a firework. I wipe some snot off my nose and look up. In that single explosion, the lights spread to make an image of Cricket’s helmet complete with the mustache. I guess that’s the signal. Damn it. It’s already time. Beside me, a crisp and crystalline sound hums clearly above the din of sirens and groans. Only a few feet away a yellow glowing circle rotates on the concrete floor. Magic embers twirl up from the circle. The sparkles partially obscure my vision, filling up all sight with glitter. I wipe the remaining tears out my eyes and step inside. This seems more like the spot you use to leave a dungeon rather than enter one. The time is now I guess. Stepping inside of it, the circle chimes portentous, and the world around me bends, melts apart and reforms anew. I’m now floating inside a gargantuan sphere. Everywhere around me vicious yellow lightning crackles as if each spark could ignite a cataclysmic bomb. The same sound I heard from the portal rings again, and a gold pathway in the shape of a bridge forms beneath my feet approaching something further away. It’s hard to make out, so I walk closer and closer. The boundaries of the sphere are so far away. It’s like I'm at the core of a vast hollow. How could it be hollow anyway? I thought it would be totally filled. The wild energy traces sudden lines through the air lingering for odd durations. Everything is silent. This is what destruction looks like I guess. Something odd is nearby. A little figure of some sort, gray and fluttering sits with a noticeable lack of patience on one of the many posts on the bridge. I get closer and see that it's a steel wing grasshopper. What’s this doing here?
A crackling noise trickles out. It’s different from what I expect the electricity around me to sound like, more like an old radio. It hisses to life, and a gentle fuzz is maintained within.
“If you’re hearing this, you made it inside, hooray! Ayyyyyy! Now that you're here, all you have to do is walk up to the little ball at the end of the bridge and swing your sword. Congratulations on your victory Clare. Cricket out!”
Huh. I thought he would be able to communicate directly with me without needing to use a recorded message. Hmm. A steelwing. Those are native to Azmer. Just who is this Cricket guy? A spoiler for the plot I'm sure. Eventually I reach the little yellow orb at the middle of an array of pedestals. It’s smooth, beautiful even. I can’t sense any of the malice present elsewhere inside it. A shining pearl, and on its surface, a faint blue line marks the path my blade will fall. The emotion from before comes back to me just like a dead body rising to the surface of a lake. The bloated regrets become tears. Mayume… Scarlet, Everyone… Their fates are tied to mine. Here I am, making a choice for them, for everyone. It’s necessary though, because of the age of Gods! If I don’t deny that now the world will end as we know it! Warm liquid is streaming down my cheeks. My thoughts are clear, but my vision is blurry again. What do I really even know about the ancient world. Have I just believed everything my family told me? Did the Azmer really win so many wars decisively with their spirit energy powers empowering the handsome warriors fighting bravely for our home? Who am I kidding? This isn’t even about that, it isn’t about the age of gods. I’m a coward who barely got his act together a few weeks ago. I don’t know enough about my friends and their feelings. I just know the world is big and scary, so big that I can’t fight it on my own. So big I haven’t tried. I can hardly see now, but I wipe the tears away and steel myself for a strike. I… I just want everything to stay the same, I want to spend more time with my friends and not worry about these things I can’t change!
The azure energy of my blade pulses like a raging laser that can cut existence itself. The weight is off my chest for now. I admit I'm a coward, I'm not a hero who can change the world. The fight with Jack was a setup, a fluke. I accept it now. Sorry everyone… I won’t be making the world a better place, maybe a day will come when I can. With clear sights on myself, I bring the blade down, and the lovely orb falls into two hollow pieces. From that moment to the next, my sword splits the impenetrable thing like plastic which floats dreamily to the sides, fading into nothingness. WAH! BRRRRRRIIRIRIRRNG BRRIRIRIRIRNG. The calm I worked up got cracked like an egg. Another alarm? The whole place is shaking! I stand dumbly for a few seconds. No message from Cricket recorded or spoken telepathically in my head. This place is falling apart. I make a mad dash to the beginning of the bridge where the teleportation circle awaits. Was the bridge this long to begin with?! Electricity rages, hot and fiery in vortexes like a dragon. The tides of energy swoop bath and forth, one lunges down at me. I jump with everything I can and barely dodge it. Holy sh*t, I thought this would be easier! Where’s that asshole to do anything now?! My out of shape body is quickly losing energy and my lungs are crying under the stress. Another vortex is chasing just behind me. Oh God Oh God Oh God. I can hear it stinging behind me, my hairs are all standing on end. My legs are on the brink of giving out, but I make a desperate jump at the circle just in range and tumble into it. In the blink of an eye the collapsing sphere it gone, and my familiar world comes into view as I roll on the hot concrete, smacking my elbow on the ground in the process.
Adrenaline pushes me up. The sphere, what’s happening to it? I cross the wall blocking my view from before and see it collapsing into space. Unlike the hectic insides still beating along with the air of my chest, on the outside, it just quietly disappears…