《Linearity: Immortality and Magic》 P1 - Endings You. What are you? You, with your jelly orbs of sight and cellular structures? What of your electrically powered meat computer? How does it interpret the info from those blobs of gelatin set into your topmost limb? What is a ¡®human¡¯?
The ball of heat in the skies set as I watched, perched on my favorite tree. I had stopped counting the days once I ran out of black-rock to mark the rock with. No matter how many days passed, nothing changed for me. My strength never fled me like it did those who resembled me, neither did I become rough and weathered like the treated skins worn by the hunters. I was... removed from them, somehow, different in ways I did not understand. So I fled, fearing what they might do if they learned of the difference. I knew what I would do. I felt the same itch in the back of my mind - a fear of the similar but wrong in ways that bothered the mouth-bones. They would kill me like the boars or deer, likely crushing and burning me in fear of my potential return to life. A good call, given my ability to survive injury. I had been gored, once. The massive thing had tusks the size of my arms, growling and roaring as we desperately backed away. The hunting party had survived thanks to my ¡®death¡¯, the hole clean through me eventually swirling and shutting like I was made of water, life-water burbling and sloshing as it sealed the hole. I had decided to not return then, fearing Aketa or Ferrun recognizing me after my death. They had been the only two to remain behind long enough to see me perish, their hesitation showing them to be caring people. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. I snorted, the last rays of light fading as I looked out over the woods. I had reached the edge of the wooded lands after a long journey, my gaze now meeting the harsh sands of the Lifeless Lands. The stories of it easily explained the name - where water could not live, neither could life-water. Their resemblance made them kin, meaning this waterless land was a place of death and suffering. Perfect. After all, what purpose was fear when death escaped me? I could walk this land for tens of tens of moons, never once perishing as my once-kin might. That perspective - of kin and once-kin - made me wonder. The waters and life-waters were said to be kin. Yet could they too be false kin, as I am to my fellow man? I hopped down from the tree, legs flexing as I took in my left footfalls of dirt and soil. My foreseeable future would be dunes and rock, so I must make farewells. ¡°May warmth bless your blue skies and coolness bless your black.¡± A simple blessing, one I removed all mentions of the Allmother from. I bless this dirt not in the name of its creator, but in the name of all that is - an important distinction, to me atleast. I had wandered further and further from the teachings of the Allmother over my journey, accepting that bigger things moved in ways I did not fathom. The ball of heat rose, as did the silver balls that denoted black skies, more pinpricks across the black showing unrivaled beauty. Yet the heat gave life, as life was heat. To be born in cold was to be born in death - I had seen it myself in my first seasons long ago. Such were the teachings of the Allmother. Yet things were not that simple - the Lifeless Lands showed that. If heat was life, why did such a hot place bear no life? The waters vanished when enough heat was around, even the life-water vanishing in the face of a raging fire. What did it all mean? I strode onto the sands, my mind a whirl of questions. P2 - Questions What drives you to such pursuit of knowledge, human? Does your meager understanding of the forces of creation give you solace in your puny life? Perhaps you seek to comprehend the mana that pulses throughout the land, each waking breath growing stronger than the last? Do you want to know what that entails, human? What that growing sensation of potential means for your pitiful species? You lack the foundations to understand my answer, but I will give it anyway. Supercriticality.
I touched the world-waters after close to a hundred summers. Truthfully, life in the sands of the Lifeless Lands was merely challenging, not impossible. More and more did I see the ingenious nature of the world¡¯s other inhabitants, be they moving or unmoving. The multicolored prickleplants carried no water for the living - myself an exception, as the water from them only hurt greatly - there was still water, though it was rare. My home sat in a valley of rock, the browned soils surrounding the teal spring of water a reminder of the forest long ago. I had become accustomed to life alone, though the ¡®visitors¡¯ to my abode helped keep me social. Many strange forms of life dwelled across the sands, each making their way to visit me and my spring of life. They were hardy, one and all, raised by a land less forgiving than that of the woods. Despite that, the pools were places of odd harmony. From the feathered to the scaled, all sorts of life sat and drank among the rocks, their lack of combat clueing me in to the rules here. Water was sacred in the Lifeless lands, so none attacked one another over fear of ¡®spoiling¡¯ it. It was a humbling reminder of the folly of us humans. We would have fought and killed over such a thing easily, warring tribes having fought for less even during plentiful seasons, let alone during the long dark. That same odd unity led me to the sensation I felt tickling my senses. The animals felt it too, which may have helped the peace remain. This spring, this landmark of life, was important somehow. It was a natural meeting place in the harsh desert, but there was something more behind that, something that spoke to a deeper, stranger part of myself. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Time became a haze after that. I spent long seasons building my home from the trees, the size of the spring granting me the tools needed to make one. I lacked the tools and the skills to work stone, so I sought refuge through the trees instead, few as they were. I then taught myself the ways of the plants, learning to grow them rather than wither them. I learned of the patterns that plants liked to grow in, which liked which others and improved one another¡¯s growth. In many ways, plants were akin to people - the proper touch needed to make the best of their abilities. That took many summers. I settled in after that, trying my hand at all sorts of casual crafts to kill time. My ability to work warstone became exquisite, my axes and knives the smoothest and sharpest of any I had seen. With those tools, I learned to cut wood into small shapes, the imitation of larger beings soothing my mind. I made lizards and birds, shelled creatures and tail-hunters, anything I came across. I learned to care for the denizens of the oasis that were friendly enough to do so. I learned to meditate, letting my mind drift as the worries of life faded from me like bad dreams. That was when I felt it. It was subtle at first, like a whisper in the dark of night. The faintest sensation of movement brushed against my mind, yet no wind moved, no hair of mine even minutely disturbed. I slowly focused on it, my meditation turning towards it as I did so. It reminded me of water, truth be told. It was a current of movement, the flow carrying the sensation straight past me, then deep downward into the sands below, presumably where the water came from. I made a few connections, then. Water was the anchor of all life. Lifewater was the anchor of human life. Then was this... soul-water the anchor for the world¡¯s life? It made sense to me. All things relied on something to live, so why couldn¡¯t the lands themselves rely on something to make them how they are? My understanding of ¡®the world¡¯ was limited, but I had come to terms with the nature of the land below my feet over time. I had moved across a mere touch of it, the true breadth of it escaping me. The lands I knew even now disappeared into the distance, meaning they continued onward, much like the dunes I had fled into. What was once a point in the distance was now my home, which meant the same could be true of all other places I see. The size was astonishing to comprehend, leaving me in awe of the back I stood upon. Did this soulwater enable this size? Was it why things fell? Did it encourage the flowing of waters, as to produce lifewater beings like me? My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, losing my grip on the flow as my senses turned inward, not outward. Inward, hmm? I had a theory. P3 - Answers The gods are selfish, you silly mortals. Why would anything above you view you as anything but a pest? You reproduce infinitely, you desperately cling to anything you find, and you are a pain to kill. Are those not the traits of a pest?And you even had the gall to reach for the fabric itself, sullying our holy mana with your dirty phalanges.
A week of preparation left me feeling ready to attempt it. As I sat, small fire crackling in front of me, I focused inward, my eyes dully gazing at the mesmerizing fire. I felt for the very lifewater within me, the thumping pulse of that which gave life, running my mind through my bones and flesh. My sight found grand and terrifying things, things I was not ready to deal with. Strange shapes of meat lined the route between my two ends, each doing something despite not touching it. More strange organs sat elsewhere within me, their functions as foreign as their shapes. I sought the lifebringer itself, the pulsing organ deep within my chest. Even as I explored, it pumped away, bringing lifewater to all the fields it must go to. Yes, fields. That analogy was good. Nature was the body made large, more alike than different. I sought the other corner of my chest, then, seeking the brother to the lifebringer. As lifewater kept my body alive, soulwater must keep my being alive. With this belief, I searched, my senses swept the region, my focus sharp and my will unwavering. The silver circles were high above when I finally found it. It was exactly where I thought, exactly across from my lifebringer¡¯s pulsing certainty. Despite this, I barely found it. A withered, fragile seed of barest life greeted my senses, the dribble emerging from it nearly invisible. What? I didn¡¯t understand. How could it be so withered? Was I not as alive as I could be, my mind as sound as my body? What did this mean? A thought came to me. If this was the water of the world, then did this mean humans were removed from it? I shivered. It made sense to me. Humans seemed to spit in the face of the order around them. We endlessly sought to escape that same rule that bound all the animals we hunted. That seemed natural to us ¨C as if we were meant to escape the confines of the world. But what if we rejected that? Was this the route to that harmony? Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Answers only seemed to bring more questions, so I simply decided on a path. As I worked my body to strengthen my lifewater, I must look to do the same to this soulwater. Whether it ties me to the world doesn¡¯t matter, for even if it means the world¡¯s soul, not mine, there is a piece in me somewhere. We were not always those who fought the natural order ¨C that was certain to me in a way few things were. It was a deep certainty in my very bones, a knowledge from the lifewater rather than the mind. We were of it and not of it, beings of both and neither. I resolved my mind, seeking to study the soulwater as best as I could.
Again, summers spun by. I began with touching the outer flows, like that which ran into the spring. I could not truly touch them, given their nature, but I could touch them with my seed¡¯s soulwater, the sensation akin to pressing my hand against a rushing current, raw power and meaning flooding every moment of contact. Yet unlike water, this had no give, my soulwater unable to enter the stream no matter my efforts. Perhaps it was my seed¡¯s weakness, but I felt that it was the wrong goal. With my seed¡¯s energy ¨C or the seed ¨C in the flow, it would simply wash away, yes? So, my goal was the opposite: drawing from the flow into my seed, feeding it. I tried many methods to draw the waters in, yet naught prevailed. I swirled it like a gyre, snaked it like a river, even rendering it solid like stone ¨C a trick that took me many summers to perfect ¨C yet to no avail. My final trick was one I had taught myself. In my pursuit of self-care, I had learned the skills of the weavers and the sculptors, seeking to make from clay and cloth that which I needed ¨C clothing and containers. It was slow going, the art complex enough to fill many an idle span under the light¡¯s gaze. I now wore cloth of woven reed, the oasis again providing what I needed to survive. I hadn¡¯t managed clay jugs yet. It was the weaving that gave inspiration to my trial. I wove strings of my soulwater, treating it like cloth that must be spun to be strong. Patterns gave solidity to string, each web of thread stronger thanks to its interconnected nature. I mimicked this with soulwater, the tightly woven pattern emerging as I bent my mind to the task. I had long mastered moving what little soulwater I had; the action as easy as moving my arms. A thought made action, immediate and precise. As I layered and layered my strings together, I wondered. Could I use this as a filter for the waters? Catching stray objects that might get stuck within? A bad idea. I knew what water could carry with it ¨C sickness, strange animals, and even debris. I did not want to know what might be stuck flowing down the river of soulwater, not until I was sure I could handle it. Whatever ¡®handle it¡¯ really meant. My pattern grew and grew as I labored on it, light turning to dark as I did so. I held the shape as I took breaks, eating strange fruit I had managed to grow somewhat successfully and drinking from the spring. The animals ignored me, recognizing me as a regular here. In many ways, I was more of a regular than they were, my longevity meaning I was here even as they faded from life, their children now replacing them. I remained steadfast in age, now looking somewhere between thirty and forty summers if my memories of my tribesmen were correct. I was less certain of that than I wished to be. P4 - Apotheosis I waited for the day which your race died with bated breath, mortal. Every moment that you continued to blight the universe with your stink was another day recorded in the Anele Bashara, a black mark against your kind. But that day has, at long last, come. Pay the price for your divine transgressions, vessels of hate.
I knew when I had succeeded immediately. My weave snapped into place with a hum that made my mouth-bones tingle. The effect was immediate and pronounced. My weave ¨C a titanic working of thread, will, and time ¨C utterly encapsulated the flow of the spring, the weave thick enough to fully block the flow as it passed through the clear waters. I felt the electricity as the route was siphoned away, the roots of my construct eagerly absorbing and drinking in the flow even as it trapped it, the sheer power present rendering my once-mental weave fully visible to my eye. My lifebringer burst when the energy hit me. I collapsed immediately, my mind wavering as I approached a long sleep, the kind necessary to recover from such horrid injury. Yet the pain did not abate. Even as my thoughts became cloudy, greater and greater energy flowed into me, my bones creaking and cracking as they failed to contain the energy of the world itself. I tried to direct it to my seed, hoping the vessel made for soulwater specifically could handle this outpouring, yet knowing it was pointless. The seed could handle much, yes, but there was no way it could handle it all. I knew what that meant, my fading mind acknowledging the price to be paid for my meddling. I would lose dozens, maybe hundreds of summers to this mistake, my body broken until it was strong enough to remain together. Even then, I would survive. I would always survive. I let oblivion take me, the blessed dark taking the pain with it as I faded. I awoke later, my breath wet as water surged into my lungs. All around me was darkness, my eyes failing to pierce the deep waters I found myself in. My body felt like I had been crushed by a mountain, every pop and shift birthing a wave of agony unlike anything I had experienced ¨C before my mistake. Now? It was a minor agony, as opposed to absolute agony. My mind felt oddly free, like someone had slotted something new into it. It was not a foreign feeling, more akin to having a puzzle completed, every proper piece in its place... A puzzle? A word I had never spoken. Despite that, I knew of them and their many forms, as well as many of their purposes. What else had my punishment gifted my mind? I thought back on my past self, how I thought and spoke. The foundation was right ¨C I was always introspective and reserved ¨C but new facets had emerged. I knew of the sun, the celestial body that brought life through heat. I knew of my teeth, my lungs, heart, and many other organs that drove my body to continued function. Day and night, the passing of years, so much new knowledge simply took the place of the old, seamless in its integration and unchallenged in its truth. I coughed, the action bringing me back to the moment. Right, I was drowning, likely in the spring I had mistakenly tapped all those years ago. I shifted, seeking to position my feet below me. I pushed off the hard rock beneath my feet, driving myself ¡®upward¡¯ despite no senses telling me I was going in the right direction. It felt right, which meant I had senses other than my old ones now. I had been thrown into water before, the terrifying event etched into my memory. The lizard creature ¨C now a crocodile to my mind ¨C had chosen our prey over me, meaning I only fumbled in the dark waters for moments before being pulled free. Yet those moments stayed with me: the frothing waters, the blur of color as I flailed, and the certainty of my own death as my breath faltered. Yet now I pierced the water with a certainty that even the crocodile lacked, my path as certain as the sunrise. Was my memory always this clear? I ignored the oddity. There would be more before my awakening was done, that was a certainty. I chose to adapt first, analyze later. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. The cerulean waters broke quickly, revealing the same oasis I remembered, though changed in the details. It was closer to a lake now, thick streams of water vanishing into it from the rocky walls of the valley. The waters ran deeper as well, the walls higher than they had even been in the past. I had once climbed down them easily, no difficulty present in scaling the broken earth. Now? Now a hole seemed ripped from the ground, the lake welling blood in a gaping wound of rock. Yet it wasn¡¯t rock that greeted my gaze, nor the harsh silvered sands of the dunes above. It was scorched white, prismatic glass that greeted my eyes, the shattered mirror lining the walls of the once-majestic oasis. Had I done this? The energies within that stream of soulwater were considerable, so much I doubted I got them all directed to myself. Could such an outpouring of energy reshape the very land? Easily, really. Sand produced glass when exposed to incredible heat. How I was certain of this I wasn¡¯t sure, but it made sense to me that the soulwater could, when released unexpectedly, manifest as raw heat akin to that of a star. Heat was life, so soulwater could be heat, simple. My gaze found my little abode, tiny fragments of scorched wood all that remained. It was once little more than a lean-to, my skills insufficient to produce anything more remarkable, yet seeing it reduced to ash hurt more than expected. This place was my home, had been for centuries. I could remake it bigger and better now if the warmth within my chest meant anything. I poked at the warmth, my gaze inward as I gazed upon where my ¡®seed¡¯ of soulwater once lay, instead finding three orbiting spheres, each a deep well of soulwater. I needed a new name for soulwater. Nothing immediately jumped out to me, leaving me to dig through my memories of a life forgotten. A thought came to me of the old faith I followed, of the power that we believed all life to possess thanks to the Allmother. All had a spark, a kindling of mahana within themselves, that very spark the source of their life. It was a gift from the Allmother and would always return to her upon death, the same spark used to bring another to life. Mahana. Mana. As good as any name, I suppose. I had three wells of mana within myself now, each outstanding in their own way to my senses. The first was the most prominent, the searing brightness it exuded dominating my sight. It was a perpetually shifting ball of glass, each fragment radically different in color, shape, and opacity. They bubbled in and out of existence as the ball shifted and popped, the light it reflected a kaleidoscope of color. That answered the question of the glass being my fault. The second was smaller, harder to notice in the cacophony brought on by the glass. It was a small, life-red bubble of flesh that pulsed, a wave of red fluid emerging from it after each. A heart? I understood that, but why... Ah. It seems my past would never truly leave me. I had spoken of lifewater before, the great fuel for mortal beings, yet now it was anchored evermore in my soul, a part of me until the end. Be it a minor blessing from the Allmother or a whimsy of fate, I smiled. Staying in touch with your mortal self was humbling if nothing else. The last well was strange. So strange, in fact, I could not decide what it represented. It had no shape, merely an outline where something was ¨C or was meant to be. I had a faint sense of... Togetherness? It was like touching the stream of mana again, everything coalescing into a oneness that defied understanding. It would require further investigation, likely long periods of meditation and testing, but that was okay. My knowledge of the world had grown by leaps and bounds in mere moments when I awoke, the mysterious merely an opportunity to learn. On that note, I returned to the first, seeking to feel some sort of bond between me and the glassy landscape surrounding me. If I had truly produced such a mess, it made sense that the mess was mine, the bond of purpose and mana giving me... there it was. A slight tug at my mind led me to reach a palm out, the sight of it startling me briefly. My skin was pale and clear, odd splotches of rocky texture visible across the surface of my palm. It seemed that, although still human, my mistake had changed me in some fundamental way, leaving a sign of the change across my flesh. I returned to my task; my eyes closed as I jostled the link to my core. I grasped at it, looking to reach out through that bond, to make the glass an extension of my will. A pop and crackle greeted me, a numbing headache knocking me to the floor. I coughed, crimson leaking from my lips as my lungs were squeezed in my chest. But I felt it. The link was set, a pulse of agreement trickling across my mind even as I retched. The glass ¨C however such a thing could do so ¨C agreed with my plea, agreeing with my assessment of responsibility. I looked up across the mirrored valley, my face resting against impossibly hot desert glass. I felt no scorching burn against my cheek as I reached my fingers out, invisible tendrils emerging from them like threads of cloth. With an effort, I felt the glass warp and shift, a section deforming as it became a perfect sphere of utterly pristine glass, as solid as stone. It snapped free of the earth with a crack, rolling towards me as a stupid grin broke across my face. My mistake had shifted the landscape in ways I may never understand, but that meant this area ¨C desolate and forsaken as it seemed ¨C was thoroughly mine. I had ruined it for the normal residents, so that meant I had to do my best to adapt to it myself. Abandoning such a monumental scar on the land felt... wrong in a way I could not describe. It was like trying to stay in my home village all those years ago. I could do such a thing easily, yet there was something within me that found such a lie, such a betrayal of self utterly horrific. Regardless, it was time to get to work. Chapter 1 - Adapt This oasis was my home, the new glassy sheen not changing that in the least. As such, my bond to the glass ¨C including my ability to somehow shape it ¨C meant I could make a true home, though the cost in blood and sweat would be considerable. I would likely spend entire days shaping, blood flowing freely, mind muddled to dullness, but the result would be a place that was truly mine, in both form and function. I knew little of construction, the ins and outs of true artistry largely absent from my mind, yet my greatest advantage my undying age granted me was to learn. I could learn to craft beautiful, awe-inspiring works of crystal beauty if only I dedicated myself to it. So I did. Like all things, the beginnings were the foundation. I spent long weeks flattening, smoothing, and hardening the surface of my lakeside coast, the uneven crackled landscape replaced with smooth panes of opalescent crystal, the scattering of light leaving it resembling a splotch of rainbow in a sea of silverine. I learned that the crystal could become much of what I needed, switching between transparent, translucent, and opaque at the flick of my mind. So too did I learn of its strength, solid blocks of the material no less sturdy than the stained stone that lay beneath the mirrored surface. Truly a marvelous material, all born from my foolishness. I decided on a home above the waters of my rebirth, my shaping of the crystal easily allowing such a thing. Large pillars of hard white rose from the depths, more glass growing everyday as I pulled the glass from the surroundings, leaving pristine silver sands quickly replaced by glass behind. I flattened a hard plate of opaque white crystal between the four pillars, diagonal beams of support unfurling from the pillars under my guidance. A small hole remained at the very center of my worksite, the beam of mana that drove deep into the rock below smoothly falling through it. I had learned my crystal could obstruct mana, if attuned right. Specific arrangements of opacity and coloration birthed crystal that grumbled at my commands, moving sluggishly rather than feverishly like the rest. Other mixes could produce completely contactless glass, perfect transparency and coloration resulting in panes that my commands went through, not into, leaving them entirely unusable. The final mix I discovered ¨C and now sat within the path of mana ¨C was that of a lens. I knew much about light now, my bond leaking information to me as I slept and worked. I understood how light moved, the circumstances for its bending a matter of cosmic law, not simple technique. With the proper warping of glass, however, such light could be redirected, bounced like an acorn off a tree. The same could, if applied carefully, be done to mana streams, the thick torrent of energy acting akin to light. As such, I created lenses that focused the beam of mana, driving the energies closer and closer together until a thick beam of ardent sunlight streaked through the gap I had made, the crystal bordering it turning prismatic as mana oversaturated it. That beam drove deep into the cerulean waters below, shifting their hue and properties in strange, unknowable ways. I felt, however, that it was correct, somehow. A payment for the bounty I took from the same stream, perhaps? Maybe akin to planting a tree after chopping one down? It mattered little. If my mana believed it a good deed, then it must be one. My home took shape over the coming months, my skill in shaping growing greater and greater as I repeatedly exerted myself. By the end of my work, I could shape as fast as I could think, the liquidity of the silver glass entirely acclimated to my will. No strain found me then, no exertion of will. It was simple ¨C I asked, and it acted. The home was a simple affair, if larger than I had any experience with. Two stories of open floors were connected by a staircase of thinly-covered wood ¨C glass tools were useful. The top floor held a contemplation room, a sleeping room, and a simple relaxation room that held the stairs down. The ground floor was hitherto undecided. What else did I need? A cook-room was necessary, likely next to a harvest-room. A general room, perhaps? Did that defeat the purpose of the relaxation room? Did I plan for guests? In the end, I made a simple cook-room with a stockpile of wood and sharpened glass tools, the connecting harvest-room having a flat surface and a series of grates for blood runoff. I didn¡¯t know if there was anything to hunt around here but planning for it made sense. Oh, a garden! I ended up putting the garden around the beam, hoping the light would help whatever I planted grow. Finding dirt was difficult given the glass and sand, but some still sat beneath the lake¡¯s surface, hidden amongst the rock. I had worried I would need to go across the lake to find some, the jagged far coast far less sandy than here. But with the garden complete, my home was largely complete ¨C bereft of furniture, but complete. I sat out on the shaded front porch, a rough-hewn chair I had cobbled together letting me stare out over the gently lapping currents below me, my rainbow bridge to the coast mixed amongst the waves. They were stronger than usual, the outpouring of mana from the column of energy likely stirring the depths to greater motion. I trusted my mana, so I paid it little mind. I closed my eyes, leaning into the bulky chair, my hands tracing the grain on the arms. I was content with my abode, thankful I had a way of paying off my mistake in the lenses. It would take centuries given how long I was likely unconscious, but I had nothing but time. The quiet evening began to shift to night, the sun finally seeking refuge behind the mountains in the far distance, little more than specks on a horizon. I couldn¡¯t even see those specks from where I sat, the valley deep enough to hide them from sight entirely. Yet the day became amber all the same, colors deepening as pristine white became moody orange, the shades across the sands becoming increasingly abstract. The light interacted with the mana-rich sand in peculiar ways, even my bond with it unable to prevent some form of change. The glass was pure enough to stave it off, remaining mine and mine alone, yet the sand was not so lucky, the powers that be nudging them towards concepts I fleetingly understood. Some were simple ¨C fire, water, air, rock. Others were strange ¨C steam, gemstone, ores of all kinds. Others were abstract enough I only understood them when their emanations brushed up against my senses. The raw uninhibited fires of Hate. The gentle caress of Love. Something akin to analysis, numbers and formulae searing my senses before I pulled away. The cold, slow certainty of Entropy. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I encountered dozens, each radically different from the last. Hundreds upon hundreds of whispers of truth, be they from emotions, universal law, or something even more esoteric. Some were literal whispers from beyond, things that disquieted my mind and revolted my mana, looking to promise, to cajole, to trick. Madness screamed from a cage not on this earth, the very concept of such a thing alien to its mind. Voices of those lost to time, a few even like those of my friends so long ago, mixed with the voices of those who have yet to come. All and more played across the sands, mere single grains shifting in the reddening light of sunset. Their change meant nothing, really. Dozens could change every moment and it would still amount to nothing, the pressure of the world¡¯s mana scouring the influence from existence. Yet the possibility remained. The whispers remained, their power waxing into the night as the sun¡¯s influence waned. I sat transfixed as the energies crept into my focus, willing myself to remember every touch, every errant promise, every unprompted scream. There were stories within these traces, stories of ended worlds, dying peoples, and impossible genius. Stories that had never happened thanks to a twist of time, stories that always happened thanks to a twist of fate. All and more bled through the seams, mana¡¯s breadth remarkable across them all. It always was there, shifting and changing as the story advanced onward. It united them all, a vessel through which the stories occurred at all, and how those same stories reached me. Even at its purest, mana carried the echoes of what it had been, was now, or would be, its very existence somehow divorced from time. I even sensed my own mana, the similarity a bare resemblance instead of a mirror. Was it me from another possibility or simply me in the future? I couldn¡¯t tell, the sensation vanishing as abruptly as it arrived. I leaned back, separating myself from the call of the unfiltered mana. Whereas the world mana that had embraced me had been resolute, solid, this was fleeting and ethereal, its source unknown even as I gazed up at the mottled stars above. If it came from somewhere out in the black, the madness would make sense. A world was merely a dot in the size of it all, after all, I knew that from my learned knowledge of the sun. All the dots I could see were suns of other places, different planets with different moons. The scale of existence was incredible, and if mana was universal, touching all the corners of the stars? Confusing insanity was a reasonable response to such scale. I coughed, a tickle of sand in my throat making me exert my will, forming glass windows in place for the porch. I liked the open sightlines and breeze, but the winds seemed to slight me at every opportunity, whipping sand all about. Even without the sun¡¯s influence, it seemed that attitude was preserved, the night as rude as the day. I stood, planning to sleep in the impromptu-form-shaping pool of fluid-like glass I had managed to make ¨C after three weeks of attempts ¨C when I heard a peculiar noise. The winds had died down, the silence of the oasis deafening as even the waters stood still. I opened the porch door, striding out across my rainbow bridge as I tried to focus on the noise. It was intermittent, the noise akin to an exhalation of difficult breath. As I strode onto and up the valley¡¯s lip, the noise became louder, now obvious as a gasp between wracking sobs. I searched more frantically, worried that someone might die directly due to my mistake. The small shards of glass that blew through the winds dangerous to all but me, their presence granting a slow, bloody death. I had tried to clear the air frequently, condensing the glass to larger chunks, yet even my efforts were not enough for the sheer scale of the glassed zone, the regions outside of the valley still largely unchanged since my awakening. Long minutes of searching found a small cavern in the walls of the valley, the sound bouncing off the walls easily. I noted it might even be amplifying the noise, enabling me to hear it at all. An interesting note, but for later. I strode in confidently, little worry for myself. I had little need to worry given my immortality, but unless this person could outright kill me instantly, I would be able to help them in some way. Even nearly dead, I could dull the glass within them, forcing the shards to become flat and rounded rather than sharp and edged, letting them safely cough them up. Beyond that I could do little, though an attempt with my blood mana might be necessary if they were to truly approach death. I was not prepared for what I found in a heap upon the cavern floor. It resembled a disproportionate little girl, her limbs too long and lacking the fat of youth. She was short, maybe half my height and then some. She lay in a ball on the floor, fresh and dried tears staining the cloth around her eyes as she sobbed, seemingly in her sleep. I frowned. What made someone do that? I quietly approached, a simple hand against her shoulder letting me sense the glass within her. It was bad, yes, but likely not for several weeks. This sobbing was not born of pain ¨C not physical pain, at least. This close, I noted the dried red flecks of blood surrounding the cloth on her eyes, a semblance of the picture coming together. It was not new, sending the undesirable to the Lifeless Lands, yet the blinding spoke to a cruelty I did not understand. Little survived out here even before the glass, so why was blinding necessary? Was it spite? Malice? Simple security? The girl ¨C unless such a thing had changed in the years of my slumber ¨C shivered under my touch, the tears becoming more prominent. I drew back immediately, fearing hurting her more than I already had. In the same moment, I observed the oddly large ears, their length and grace ruined by missing pieces and clipped tips. The more I saw, the deeper my frown became. Despite my touch, she remained asleep. I wasn¡¯t sure if that was a good thing, but it gave me time to think. Should I try and help her? The answer was an obvious yes ¨C I rarely saw more beaten-down people, even in the days of village pettiness ¨C but how? She could live in my home, sure, but what of food? What of social needs? I could tell she needed time to herself, time to build herself back up, but my worries ran deeper than that. As with my home building, if the foundation truly failed, then it might not recover. I snapped my fingers, making an impulsive decision. She could hate me all she wanted from the safety of my home. If I could simply help her not cry in her sleep, then that might be enough. I was being selfish too ¨C the loneliness had worn on me even with my loner resilience, so company would be appreciated. The first snap of my fingers barely ruffled her. The second made her roll over and sniffle once. The third ¨C placed a short distance from her large right ear ¨C had her snap upright and glare at me, a remarkable reaction given her presumed blindness. Immediately the hostility fled, replaced by fear. A normal reaction, given her blindness and my ¡®stealth¡¯ skills. I don¡¯t know if it counted as stealth when your target was out cold when sleeping, but it didn¡¯t matter. She began to pull herself backwards with her scrabbling hands, seeking the deeper darkness of the cave. I simply stood still, staring down at her as she did so. After perhaps a foot of frantic, scrabbled movement, she stopped, glancing back at me as if seeing me clear as day. I tapped my foot, beginning a rhythmic tapping that she could, hopefully, both hear and feel through the rock, sensing my lack of pursuit. ¡°W-Who...?¡± Chapter 2 - Help I stopped my tapping, shocked for a moment at the fact that I understood that. I had no clue what she was speaking yet understood it all the same. Maybe this is part of that ¡®knowledge¡¯ from when I awoke? It didn¡¯t matter. I was excited to have my first conversation with another person in so long I had lost count, my face breaking into a wide smile. I took a deep breath, looking her in her eyes as- she looks rather pale, yes? She seems to be shivering. Is she...? That was all I got out before she vomited on her shoes, blood and sickly sludge pooling at our feet as her head lolled. Maybe the damage was worse than I thought. I frowned at the pool of gunk spreading across the cavern floor. Some of it was blood, yes, but most of it was pale, the sight tickling the back of my mind faintly. It was... the stuff in the stomach, the stuff meant to break down food. That wasn¡¯t supposed to leave the stomach though, so... I shook my head. This girl needed help, and although now I couldn¡¯t ask her questions nor properly heal her, I could clean her lungs and keep her safe until she recovered. I grunted, leaning over and picking her up, my ministrations careful to avoid the sickness spread across the floor and some of her clothes. I¡¯d likely need to get her out of those, but given I had no replacements, it would need to wait. I had the most fascinating idea involving a particularly interesting type of glass I had made, but that would take too long compared to simple weaving using tree fibers. I hefted her up on my shoulder, surprised at the ease with which I did so. Was she simply light, or did I become stronger than I thought? I navigated the ridge of the valley easily, my path down into the valley proper only barely hindered by my passenger. Although the lip of the valley was rough and rocky now, there existed clear paths to allow ingress with little strain. Perhaps I should make those official somehow? Now they were simply more flattened, cleanly sloping parts of the impromptu hillside, but I could turn them into routes in and out of the valley ¨C if I needed such a thing. I gazed at my temporary guest. Perhaps the routes would not be for me. It was a simple affair to whip up a new place for her to rest, the mimicking of my liquid-glass-bed a minor effort of will. Placing her down into it, I watched as she sank minutely into the strange fluid glass, her body buoyed on the quicksilver pool of liquid. I began to mentally assemble a list, detailing all the items I felt she might need in the immediate future: First, water. Life without water was not possible, as the Allmother taught me.Second, food. A lower priority than water, but food drove life, just less urgently than water. Third, the clothing she had was largely ruined. Either she needed replacements or those to be cleaned, preferably both. Fourth... something to do? I had kept myself busy during the years by teaching myself crafts and skills. I doubted I did them efficiently or effectively, but I tried to learn as best as I could with no teacher. Her, though? I knew I was an outlier for my drive for learning and loneliness, but what could she do to keep herself busy? She could collect glass for me, aid the garden, perhaps teach me what she knows. Maybe that was enough. Turning my mind away from my unaware guest, I thought of my next goal. I did want to work with the strange glass-string I had accidentally made, but how much time could that fill? I suppose it only needs to fill the time until she wakes up ¨C however long that might be.
Amiri awoke with a gasp and a frantic flail for her dagger, her action rocking her and sloshing the¡­ strange waters she laid in? The sight of the silver sap-like goo froze her panicking mind, thought screeching to a halt. This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source. What in the¡­? Her sight fled from the silver stuff, her gaze widening as she viewed the room she lay in. Walls of perfect crystal surrounded her as if cut from the ground by a titan, their opaque dullness in contrast to the shimmering vat she lay in. Windows were made of simple translucent panes, each the exact same consistency as the walls. She couldn¡¯t see a single seam, let alone the nuances that allowed such incredible crystal to stem from the same base material. She coughed, her hand covering it before she drew it away. No redness stained her breath, a pleasant sign that jogged her memory, her mind reorienting at once. How did I get here? I was in the cave, then¡­ A shadow of a memory arose, one of a towering figure that gazed down at her, eyes glimmering like glass. Glass. Her breath hitched, her heart beginning to hammer as she remembered that figure. Its eyes were just like the fluid she floated in, which meant she was trapped in some lair. She briefly entertained the possibility that It ¨C whatever it was ¨C was just a weird kind of Jollen. She had seen weird tall Jollen in her journeys, their exact names escaping her. There were the sharp-eared ones, the flat-eared ones, all kinds of them. A tall one with oddly glassy eyes was possible¡­ But the room! She had met two Touched in her entire life. Both were hopelessly mad. Touched were rare and typically estranged from their kin in peculiar ways, meaning encountering them was rare. Nobody agreed on what caused the Darkening, but the Touched only came about after it, so few ever risked that they were Tainted. With few Touched and even fewer non-Tainted, the chances of the Touched being ¡®good¡¯ wasn¡¯t worth the risk, so they got killed almost anywhere they were found. Jollen were an exception, of course, but using mana wasn¡¯t on the same level as this. Shamans and Sages could make balls of fire or sling whips of water, but making a castle of crystal? That was far outside the boundaries of simple magic. More likely she had been captured by some mad Tainted who was planning to sacrifice her or worse. Not gonna happen! Seeker ingenuity go! She was still clothed, the faint smell of dried vomit wrinkling her nose but promising options. Her traveling robes were flush with tools and weapons even before she got exiled, so she was a veritable walking emporium now. Steadying herself with a hand on the rim of the ¡®bed¡¯, her other hand dove through pockets at a frightening pace. Kracklebombs, snippers, swellberries, the odd ¡®whittling knife¡¯, all were dumped out of her pockets as she searched for her ¡®I need to not die¡¯ item. She went through nearly three dozen pockets ¨C half of which were concealed ¨C before she found what she was looking for. Gotcha. Drawing out a browned roll of paper, Amiri pumped a fist in celebration before stashing most of the items back in their respective pockets. Except for a kracklebomb, the largest of the whittling knives, and a single whipwire, everything found its way back into a pocket. Armed and prepared as she could be, she rolled from the pool-bed, her feet landing on the smooth crystalline floor cleanly. Six wide steps carried her to the doorway ¨C the doorless doorway ¨C wherein she braced herself against the frame, peeking out into the lair she found herself in. What met her was sunlight. Not natural sunlight, oh no ¨C night bled through the windows and doors, the darkness of night battering against its enemy within the central chamber. That central chamber bore a pillar of the brightest light Amiri had ever seen, the act of staring at it singing her manasight and earning an involuntary wail. Of all the shortcomings of my gift, this is the worst! She slumped, the fight fading from her as she struggled to avoid breaking down in the face of such monumental power. ¡°Hm?¡± A noise came from one of the rooms, a head peeking out from the doorway moments later. Glass eyes met her wet ones, her gasped reply enough of an answer. He ¨C it, she reminded herself ¨C was nearly made of mana! It pulsed and shifted within them like some sort of second half, the swirling vortex opposite their heart nearly as bright as the beam of sunlight. ¡°Oh,¡± the figure said, striding fully from the doorway, their impressive height once again on display. ¡°You¡¯re awake, good.¡± Definitely not a Jollen. Chapter 3 - Ties I stared down at the diminutive figure, my gaze crossing her many wounds. Once-wounds, as many were completely healed and mere discolorations of the skin rather than injuries. I watched as she began to pale, blood fleeing from her face- ¡°None of that again, please.¡± My comment seemed to startle her out of her growing paranoia spiral, her face locking onto my own again. ¡°How do you speak Jolari?¡± The question was barely a whisper, my ears only picking it up due to our relative proximity ¨C plus my oddly enhanced senses. ¡°What¡¯s Jolari?¡± ¡°But you¡¯re¡­¡± I shrugged. Whatever I was speaking was something I knew, not something I learned. I was using it to communicate and speak, sure, but I didn¡¯t really get how I was accomplishing that. ¡°I¡¯ve gained much strange knowledge in the time since my transformation, little one. This barely cracks the top half of that list.¡± A red began to tint her cheeks. What was wrong? I barely caught another angry whisper as she plastered a smile onto her face, her eyes containing a film of annoyance and anger. ¡°¡­just because¡­taller than a house¡­not little!¡± Ah, height sensitivity? After reconsideration, her height did seem unusual in comparison to my own. Were her people naturally shorter and sensitive about it? Best to leave that alone then. ¡°I apologize, but what are you called? I wish to avoid causing you discomfort again.¡± Her head cocked to one side, gaze looking up into my eyes. What did she find so fascinating about my eyes? ¡°I am Amiri, Sir Touched,¡± she replied, her follow-up shutting my mouth. ¡°Do not ask what a Touched is. You ARE one, that is all you need to know. For the Nine¡¯s sake, even looking at your mana hurts my eyes!¡± I instinctively drew my mana within me, slowing its eddies and swirls in an effort to not¡­ wait, she said eyes? She can see mana? ¡°You can see it?¡± I dropped to her height, gazing into her faintly glowing amber eyes. Yes, I felt something from within them, some call and response between her mana and my own. ¡°Fascinating. It is as if your eyes are lined with mana, serving as a net to catch it through your eyesight.¡± Does eyesight interact with mana uniquely, or is just a quirk of chance? Could someone gain other mana senses ¨C mana touch? Mana smell? Mana hearing? I barely noticed as she flinched back at my motion, the corner of my mind idly noting it. I didn¡¯t move particularly fast, so that seemed¡­ odd to me. Maybe she was still afraid of me due to my nature as, what, a ¡®Touched¡¯? It was simple enough to figure out what a ¡®Touched¡¯ was ¨C someone who can manipulate mana. But then was she not Touched, as well? ¡°Why am I a Touched and you aren¡¯t?¡± She seemed confused at my question, as if the very idea didn¡¯t make sense. ¡°The Touched are affected by the Dark Mana and changed by the experience ¨C usually. You seem flush with the mana of life, but no simple Wielder could make this fortress.¡± That didn¡¯t really help, but alright. So apparently she ¨C or people with mana in a more limited capacity ¨C were Wielders, not Touched. What did I have that she didn¡¯t? What made the distinction so important? I gazed hard at her, my stranger senses roaring to the forefront at my behest. I traced the routes of her body, the tiny droplets of mana that floated errantly throughout her form, lacking in focus and direction. The routes were there, the same ones I used faintly present in her flesh, yet nothing ran through them. I traced them all the way to what I knew as her Core, the crux of all mana and where my three spinning cores of mana sat. What I found was a dying grassland of worldly power. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon. Thin roots crawled across the wrinkled surface of her Seed, the tiny flow of mana completely unable to combat the natural drain of the body. Where my Seeds had become glorious cores of self-sufficient power, hers lacked the spark of ignition, laying in disrepair due to a lack of fuel. What was left without that ignition was a slowly dying Seed, the slow death of dehydration shown in its cracked surface and desolate surroundings. I pulled back, a righteous frown on my face. This felt wrong, like there was something being wasted instead of nurtured. The instincts, interestingly, did not come from my mana, the cores silent on the issue ¨C except from the faint resonance emerging from my blood core. It came from something deeper, almost akin to the foreign knowledge I gained. I traced that sensation, seeking deep within myself even as the odd girl looked onward, her face a mix of apprehension and fear. The route I followed was nothing more than an echo of a memory, the process of isolating it ¨C let alone tracking it ¨C took much of the focus I had trained. Tiny micro-traces of concepts fueled my search, each pulled from a thing I once knew nothing of. In the space that bore my knowledge of the stars and the sands, I pulled bare hints of the origins, each building a more complete picture of what I sought. I dug for years of relative time ¨C a new concept I gained along the way somehow, the trace from that continuing my pursuit. I dug like a man dying of thirst, each step closer to the knowledge I sought a droplet against my ravenous mind. That analogy proved suspiciously apt when I found the source of my alien knowledge, the origin point of everything I knew about the magnificent world I was born into. It was a river. It contained nothing as base as water. What I found within ¨C what little I understood ¨C was akin to plumbing the depths of the minds of all humanity. Knowledge flowed past me in titanic constructs of data that would shatter me with the barest graze, concepts so weighty I could barely gaze upon them without my soul flickering like a desperate candle, the breeze invisible yet nonetheless lethal. Tiny deltas split from the stream, the flow in both directions simultaneously, each flow pulling knowledge to and from the minds it rubbed against. Deep in those hostile waters, those waters that carried monolithic minds capable of comprehending the universe in its entire infinitude, I found a name. Rivers were historically named, either by those who found them or by those who dwelled near them. This river was no different, possessing a name as simple as could be: Akasha. I swam back down my tether to the mystical river, returning to my body just in time to see the girl ¨C woman? ¨C making a break for it, her pace carrying her to the front door within moments. She blew through the door, the solid thump as she knocked my newest ¡®door¡¯ off the hinges. Sure, it was little more than two waist-height pieces of glass that could sort of pivot, but I suppose they were doors to those of her stature. I watched as she confusedly sprinted across the rainbow bridge, eyes all over the place as she made for the wastes beyond the valley. Where was she going? The glass spread nearly to the horizon, my senses unable to note where it ended and normal desert began again. Yet she ran on, jacket bouncing with the considerable weight of whatever those strange pockets bore. I had seen the strange metal ball she held, its size nearly that of my fist. Where was she hiding those in that jacket? It was bulky sure, but that bulky? I sighed, shrugging my shoulders as I loosened up. I guess it didn¡¯t really matter what she was doing. She didn¡¯t enjoy my company ¨C for whatever reason ¨C and so fled rather hastily. Likely it was due to my alleged ¡®Touched¡¯ nature. It seemed those with active mana powers tended to be¡­ less than pleasant, in her experience. I thought of the night mana from far distant places, equal parts strange futures and impossible truths. I suppose that would turn almost anyone mad. I turned back to my work room, my gaze following the strings of glass I was working with. It was a fickle material, hard to shape and harder to weave, but I saw great applications for it, least of all some new clothes.
She ran until she could barely stand, deep breaths becoming desperate gasps as she tore up ground in her escape from the Touched. Sure, he had seemed nice enough, but she wasn¡¯t about to take her chances with the one in a million chance that he wasn¡¯t madder than the night winds. She groaned, remembering her next task. As was the duty of all Wielders ¨C even the exiled ones ¨C she needed to report the Touched to the Council. Whether he was directly a risk or not really didn¡¯t matter, sadly for him. The Touched cannot be abided no matter what. The Council would, hopefully, send a collection team to peacefully bring him in for binding. Once bound, he would be free to live as he pleased ¨C just without the influence of the energies within him. A poor solution, but one better than outright death. Truthfully, Amiri was worried. He was by far the most powerful and level-headed Touched she had ever seen. His very being vibrated with the energies of the world at large, the streams even something he could slow down or shift, as she saw firsthand. Her senses also told her of the strength of that domain he lived within. The valley was already defensible, yet his bond to the very surroundings would make conflict problematic. She bit her lip. It wasn¡¯t her place to worry about it. She would report it, get a stiff drink from Dender¡¯s, then forget about the whole incident. She couldn¡¯t help the pang of guilt she felt ¨C he had saved her, if she remembered correctly ¨C but she knew better than to hide this. Touched were unpredictable, their motivations shifting on the drop of a coin. Yeah, she needed that drink. Announcement/Explanation Apologies, but I will be putting this on hiatus until further notice. I am struggling create compelling narrative hooks that would propel this story towards, y''know, actual plot developments. I might return in the future to this story, likely with a rewrite and restructure in an attempt to properly ''drive'' the story, but as of now, this story is on hiatus. There is a chance I start posting another story soon-ish as well, but right now I need to storyboard and properly prepare what I plan to write before I do it, otherwise I''ll fall into the trap of all my other ideas: four chapters in and no clue where the plot will go. The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Regardless, thanks to everyone who read this little attempt, especially those who left comments (and the one review! Thanks, Reading Boi!).