Grisla Orlith, first cycle in the Juva Solidification stage, member of the Orlith family and Grittus clan, sat underneath the scrutinous gazes of creatures he’d had no idea of their origin. Frozen to action, and the blinks had long pauses between.
I—I don’t understand. I… was just in the Northern Wilderness? Then, maybe, I died? Yes, that must be it. I certainly am dead. The other world, littered with beings like this, I can only regret.
He had glimpses of their paws and talons. Better to look at the water, or his reflection above. Dead he may be, but making himself deader by daring to look up, wasn’t wise. Under other circumstances, Grisla would have his mind trudging along. Racing, for better or worse, to an end to whatever impeded him; now a thought took an eternity to pass through the hallways of his cognition. That’s all right, he has an eternity, Grisla thought. This pressure—these presences—superseded anything he’d felt before. Are they Shade Beasts?
Whatever they are, what use was it to wonder? Grisla, knew without question these larger-than-life figures were beyond anything—anything their Grittus clan can compete with. A thought of someone, maybe Xinrei, trying to slay these creatures was so preposterous there wasn’t a sliver of hilarity in it. His father’s strength was nothing. The ignorant like himself had no idea what kind of abilities existences at this level would possess—for all he knew, they could be reading his very mind, word for word, like this. It didn’t help the fear.
The amulet lifted itself off his chest, floating. He’d thought worldly possessions like that wouldn’t follow him into the otherworld. Makes little sense, but who’s he to question the workings of reality? Or could this still be considered reality, even? His treasure hovered under the gazes of these four entities. Such a thing would be microscopic from their watch. Some guilt wormed around in him, as he watched the thing.
Afraid too, huh? Yeah, I know I’m going to be in for a very long stay here, but there’s no need to drag someone? Something like you here.
However, from the day that he picked up the amulet, Grisla had no idea to the seriousness of phenomena he’d be subjected to. To that end, the boy was surprised once again for what came next.
Four voices, in unison: “Herald…”
The world rumbled. He didn’t know when, but he brought Juva to his ears to keep them from bursting. His person shook with the world too. A psychological idea that one could be desensitized to certain stimuli; fear in this case, through repeated experiences that’ll eventually numb the mind and cool the spirit? Whoever thought of that was a repulsive liar, Grisla thought. Never had he ever thought that power, absolute, unadulterated power could be sensed from voice alone.
His spiritual sense was unnecessary—for once, in his life, or his current lack of one—would existence be more fitting? For once his mortal senses told him just as much as a spiritual probe would. Their voices: rich, but some with more guttural inflection, spoke with a language that can only be construed by as the tongue of mortals, more specifically, humanity. This shocked him.
Shade Beasts, intelligent enough to speak? Impossible.
That “impossible,” was grounded in reason. However, he was likely dead, and in a place where surely nobody would ever reach or find. This world probably existed on a different level of reality anyhow. And not even a month had passed since his discovery of another “impossible,” the amulet which mocked physics once again to float. A sentient, floating amulet, he reminded. Impossibility has no meaning.
Grisla watched as the amulet made strange movements in the air. Semicircles and flips and twists. It looked like the thing was mocking them, in a way that an object could. It did this aerial dance for about twenty seconds. When it stopped, it froze in place.
A voice came, “Him?!” Then a snort, “Lift your head, insect.”
There was a wordless understanding, that if he did anything but. He would die here. But what is death when he’s already dead? Grisla had no interest to know. Doing as asked, his head lifted and needed not swivel anywhere, for the voice came from the north—this giant tortoise commanded him. He couldn’t force a smile, regardless of how much propriety would say its owed, “Greetings, Elder Shade Beast, my name is—”
“You dare put me on the same floor as those invalids? Do you tire of living?!” It boomed out.
Grisla blinked. Living? I’m alive? Then…
“I am The Black Tortoise of the North! A divinity by right!” The tortoise spat. Its cataclysmic pressure increased with every word for emphasis, “Never, never, never, never, never, never, and never! Utter those words in my presence—in ours. Lecture finished, insect. What a waste of my time, herald.”
The amulet freaked out, making a new pattern of tricks in front of the tortoise’s black pits for eyes. The massive mountain of a thing, this tortoise, shook its head and snapped its beak an arm’s length away at the amulet. To the surprise of nobody, the boy collapsed to the floor with his heart at rock bottom.
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“Look at that, pathetic,” The Black Tortoise said. “You disappoint me. Find another one,” At the tortoise’s turning, which took ages, that same mist welcomed him in. Silhouette vanishing within. In moments, the mist was gone, and so was he. A Black Tortoise-sized gap, mountainous in space was left behind at Grisla’s north.
Grisla, with the idea that they won’t harm him for some reason, used this opportunity to identify what other creatures were here. To his right, at the east was an Azure Dragon. With picturesque scales that had the power to absorb the beauty surrounding it—and make them uninteresting in its presence. Its serpentine body had its mass wrapped and folded over in innumerable coils. It was the first creature he’d ever seen defying gravity as the amulet did. Whose eyes stared with the vested interest—of the cessation of his breathing, an intensity to it which dwarfed the wolves’ at the Northern Wilderness. It was so palpable he almost didn’t need to read body language. A discernable truth written all over it.
In any case, he had no recourse for such hostility and so, had to bear with it and pretend otherwise. Upon the meeting of the eyes, the Azure Dragon instantaneously shot himself higher up to the sky, with such force and power it created thunderclaps in his wake. And, like before, the mists were there, waiting.
As it sat up in the clouds, as it were heaven itself, a word descended like a commandment: “Unworthy.” The reverberations said it many times, told Grisla as much as he needed to hear, to have it engraved in him. To the marrow, if necessary.
This time, the amulet and chain moved to the direction behind him. His south. Grisla followed along, there was another creature who possessed flight. If the Azure Dragon could be the definition of “Azure,” then this one would doubtless be the definition of “Vermillion,” and all its aspects. A scalding heat rested on him, but there was no fire. No brazier at his feet or forge with its rising embers. If he were at home and a painter made up a concept based on what Grisla described, then it would be a red chicken, flying with tailfeathers too long for its own good. That disrespectful thought and artwork would have both in unimaginable suffering.
But in the real world, this creature would be worshipped by them instead.
The Vermillion Bird, unlike the previous two, wasted even less time in its assessment: “Unworthy,” It also added, “Return home, we’ve no use for you. To think that your standards have fallen so low. We understand that times are dire—but we are not paupers.”
Grisla was lost as to who they were referring about. And wouldn’t get an answer either, as he figured. That was correct, as like the Azure Dragon, the Vermillion Bird took to the skies; unlike the Dragon, the Vermillion Bird made a point of screeching as it flew, darting for the mists and seemingly barreling through them. His amulet seemed to stretch for the bird, making the chain tug at Grisla’s neck.
They were beings far beyond his understanding. Still, with each one’s departure he wouldn’t pretend that a breath of relief didn’t run under him. Whatever issue they had, it certainly fell into the purview of their business, and not his. He wouldn’t even bother to ask about the recent events within their clan, let alone feel slighted at the judgement of entities and their standards. What were they judging for, again?
“Do not mind them,” said a voice.
Grisla turned to the speaker, the White Tiger, whose visage was complex; indiscernible. If he were to say, all of them were equally frightening in appearance yet not so. As if the idea of the outward markers for a threatening beast was below such creatures, and he would agree wholeheartedly—for they brought him something he would never forget, even under duress.
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The White Tiger’s body was as said. It relaxed over the water, unsinkable just as Grisla is. Possessing fangs white like a newborn’s, polished as if done in obsession. Having those black stripes would make Grisla consider it a descendant—no, possibly an Ancestor of the tigers back in the real world. It had all the markers for pure ancestry. But what ancestry? Ancestry to whom? The beast lazily gazed at Grisla as he swam in these pointless questions. Wait—The tortoise said he was a divinity, right? Like, divinity divinity?
Grisla felt the ground draw away from him. There he was, being lifted up by a nail. How such a gargantuan thing managed to have the delicate control to bring him up—the comparison would be if Grisla tried to grab a snippet of a dead leaf—without splitting him in half, he’ll never know. Even better, his tunic in question had not a tear in it during this. To be impressed or sink into further terror? Grisla chose both.
“It’s not kind to act daft. Is that how you were raised, human?”
“Huh?”
“Speaking to you. Who else?”
“Oh, of—of course!” He forced a smile. “To what do I owe the precious words of you, Lord Tiger—”
The White Tiger growled. “White Tiger of the West. From now on, you will address the other two as ‘Azure Dragon of the East,’ and ‘Vermillion Bird of the South,’ understood? Also, I’ve no interest in making a smear out of one such as yourself, its beneath me. Beneath us. So, cut out that fake supplication, it’s disgusting. I prefer my subjects with a little more meat and hips to them,” He inspected Grisla up and down.
“Really, then?” Grisla’s compulsive smile came to bear, “I appreciate your honesty. But a question, White Tiger.”
“Speak.”
“Is this the afterlife?”
“No, it is a realm after the one you preside in, and before the other. We have carved out a section of this for our personal use.”
“Interesting. By the way, has anyone ever told you you’re huge?”
White Tiger blinked, “I am?”
“Yup,” Grisla nodded. “Largest cat I’ve ever seen.”
“How large? Bigger than the other three?”
“I wouldn’t say that… but you’ve got a little bit of height on that turtle for sure.”
The White Tiger flashed his feline grin, “Well, least you can flatter when you need. It’s a start. What is your name, human?”
“This one is named Grisla Orlith, member of family Orlith and clan—”
“We both are aware that that means nothing to me.”
“Agreed, but formality sticks to me though.”
“Different than our last, then.”
Grisla raised a brow, “What?”
The tiger’s smile dropped. “There’s a reason for everything. Just like your arrival here. Death hasn’t claimed you boy, but—” A tiger’s sadism was prevalent now— “you’ve only taken a detour, I promise you.”
“Listen up,” The White Tiger said.