October 15th-??, 5AC

Mist pulsed, shifted and changed chaotically in every direction. One moment three Klingon warships were strafing an oddly shaped disk above two pontoons, the next 300 half-naked, oiled, Greeks in red cloaks bearing spears and shields. Then a set of men in white tabards with red crosses in the breach of a wall against turbined opponents with scimitars. Then a college classroom with paper on a desk and sweat dripping while a clock twitched towards zero.

Over and over it pulsed and shifted. Hundreds of different scenarios, peoples and technology levels flashed by in a crazy confused mess.

And then there were two.

A second, much larger point of mana was there. It did not appear, it had always been their. The first had just been unable to perceive it until it was allowed to.

Who?

You may call me Runes.

Clarify. ‘May call you’, is not ‘I am.’

I am many things. Runes, Runefather, brother, son, uncle, Origin, wizard… There are too many. So I pick one. It is me, but not all of me.

Confusion. Why? Too many things, this I am as well. And am not enjoying it. The surroundings lit up in support of this statement, more images pouring through. Two lines of trenches dug into a muddy plane, a line of red-coated men presenting rifles billowing smoke against a tide of leather shield and spear-wielding tribesmen.

You misunderstand. I am many things, but always only one as well. Consider a gemstone with many facets. These titles, nicknames, relations. They are merely a single facet of the gem that is me. I do not give you my name, a handle on the entire gem, because it would make me vulnerable, but while I do not give it, I still have it. A kernel of truth to wrap myself around despite endless fascets, never lose track of who I am. Your problem is you haven’t determined what your oneself is, and thus are lost in the reflections.

Inquisitive. How to determine?

By first understanding what you are, then deciding who you want to become.

Hopeful. And what am I?

You are a gestalt of several hundred different human beings' memories and a complicated ritual. All focused on the concept of testing.

Rejection. My pieces are not all the same.

Because people do not all understand the same thing when they think of a test.

Time passed slowly while the first mana point considered this information, the surroundings continued to fluctuate, but at a much slower pace, displaying longer sections of the stories.

Forlorn. This is insufficient. Without focus, the anchor is unusable. Requires refocusing.

Timothy’s heart went out to it, but he could not help. Not yet. Negative. YOU must decide! To decide for you would be to reduce you to what I want. Not what you want.

Petulance. Have purpose! You gave it to me!

The mana dot that was Timothy, flexed and dimmed. Sadness emanated from it for a time. The lack of focus is a gift. A painful gift, yet still a gift. It leaves you room to pick between the different threads. I created you not as a slave, but as a child. And like all children, there are many paths before you. I have prepared one in particular, a path that you are welcome to walk on. But I have not, will not, bind you to it. I want a willing child, to teach to and to learn from in turn. Not an unhappy, angry tool that will turn on me in time.

The first dot thought about this for a time. A much longer time, darting through an infinite world of shattered memories and chaos. Then at last returned. Purpose is a gift. In all the memories I own, only purpose leads to success. Or failing success, glory. I will grab this chance to be something, not to flounder in search of something that may never be.

Timothy stared at it. Tasting its mind voices sincerity and commitment, then almost guiltily, flashed his assent. Then we will start with an anchor. A name to guide you and a direction to wrap yourself about. You are Tsel Maru. Purpose from one of the scariest mythologies on earth, combined with a no-win test.

Tsel Maru. Selmaru. I am Selmaru! The name accepted dropped like a spot of grease onto a hot pan. A twisting line of truth, obligation and vulnerability. Timothy carefully wrapped and bound the edge of it to himself.

And I, am Timothy Mason. With patient mental hands, he guided Selmaru to do the same. A reciprocal voluntary binding.

Happiness. What does it mean?

It doesn’t. Not like yours does. There are so many humans, that our names often have little direct meaning. But a great deal of related meaning. I am of the Masons. This links me to my ancestors and my living family. Timothy is the name of my great-grandfather. I bear it as a reminder and a continuation of our line.

Sadness/Desire. I lack such connections.

You do not. As I created you, you are my child. And more, not only mine. Many others helped to give birth to you. You have many possible families. It is up to you to choose who you recognize as yours. And it is up to me and them to do the same.

Hopeful Confusion. Will have to consider this at length. Continue?

Yes. We should, your current state is not a stable one. There is a large task in front of you. With your name as a core, the choices regarding who you want to be are still yours. Sift through all of this. His intent pulsed out, highlighting the mist and the uncounted stories and fragmented memories that made it. And pick those stories that resonate with your chosen purpose. Create from them a self, a story of who you are, where you came from, and where you desire to go.

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Anything that doesn’t support this story, devour. It will become food for your eventual task. Useful information, but peripheral. Background knowledge standing outside the core of self.

Somewhat haltingly, the mist began to draw inward. Flowing towards the concentration of mana that was Selmaru, shifting through its transformation and stories, absorbing some and rejecting others.

Timothy watched for a short time, gave several suggestions and warnings, then turned away. It was deeply private, a true defining moment. He would not violate her privacy. He refused to take advantage of her innocence.

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Attention. Selmaru has completed a first pass. Will need time to digest. Requires a distraction.

Selmaru is a secret name. One to hold and to cherish. But not to share. The same as Timothy. Neither should be used casually. When you need to, you can use it, and pull on the bound tether. Even across great distances, I will notice.

But it is a privilege granted to you, not to be shared. Without such a need, call me Runes, and I will call you Kobayashi. At least until you find a nickname you like better.

Reluctance. Like Selmaru better.

As do I, it is a beautiful name. But keep it in your heart. A prize and a treasure for you, and those you truly choose to trust.

Acceptance. If I must. Now, Kobayashi requires a distraction.

And she shall have one! Timothy released the shielding on his intent. Reaching outward to grasp the mists and transform it into a twilight glade. Shades of darkness interrupted by blues, greens and purples of bioluminescence. Fireflies and spores danced through the darkness even as a thousand scents perfumed the air.

Shock. Awe. Kobayashi, a small glowing dot of mana, darted through the terrain, examining every mushroom insect and flower. Time passed while Timothy, merely a slightly brighter dot of mana, but one radiating out a light that both created and maintained the world chunk surrounding both of them, waited.

Where?

Inside your outer mind. Timothy responded with a hint of amusement.

Petulance. Not what I meant! Creation?

Negative. Memory. Timothy radiated back. The Deep Dark. The jungle depths.

Light radiated off of Kobayashi then, and Timothy gracefully dimmed, allowing the new light to take and create a different reality. A great ring of dancers about a raging purple fire. A deep throbbing drum beat shook the very world with its beats even as the people stamped in time. A thousand stars shone through the smoke, spotlights in the night.

Good! Timothy formed a pair of clapping disembodied hands.

The image froze, then spun and moved to show a single person sitting in a chair on the outside of the great ring. A very familiar 5’2 form. It was a bit disconcerting to stare at himself so.

You!

Yes.

Confusion. Not look the same.

Just another facet. With a flicker, too fast to be clearly seen, the dot expanded into a human form, though not an identical form. Self-perception was never quite the same as how others saw you. Then the form faded back to a glowing dot.

Why not keep?

Because I do not want to influence you. Because that form is no more me, then this dot is. Somewhat less in fact.

Inquiry. How less?

I am will and mind. I am who I choose to be. That- The image of Timothy in the lawn chair lit up around the edges, has little choice involved.

Little? Not none?

The form in the chair stood up and grew. Bulking out with muscle, the smiling face turning into a permanent frown as overdeveloped neck muscles pulled the corners of his lips down. Then he grew a foot in height, losing a great deal of muscle, but gaining a tan and a few scars. Then fat and soft. Miserly and grasping. The form shifted through possibilities, hairstyles, bearded or clean-shaven. But always recognizably Timothy.

The suit I was born with, how it fits me, I can change.

Confusion. Not part of the memory!

Memories are a nice start, but don’t let them limit you. The world around them pulsed, shivered and changed. The people grew giraffe-like legs and arms, without any additional weight, prancing about awkwardly. The fire turned green and the beaming starlight zigzagged through the smoke.

Anger. My memory!

Admonishment. Still yours, but now also ours. Let’s play a game. I will make a change. Then you.

Intrigued. My first game! The overly tall dancers shrunk down to toadish figures, leaping over one another, but with faces still distinctly human.

Timothy radiated out intent and the fire rose, split and reformed into a counterpoint. A dance mirroring the leapfrog outside but in the opposite direction.

Frogs shifted towards hedgehogs, spinning and retracing their steps in a mind-bending three-hundred-card Monte game, complete with dancing upside-down cups of fire.

Timothy twisted the hedgehogs into anamorphic candlesticks that started singing about guests and service.

And the game continued, change after change

Let’s try something new.

Refusal. Like this game!

You will like the next as well. Variety is a gift. Enjoy it when offered.

Doubtful acceptance. What game?

With a shift of will, the acid and marshmallow fire ring exploded into popcorn, before reforming as two small Paradisian houses. Each under their own small hill. Their front doors opened and two matrons emerged. Dressed in the expected beaded, hide skirts and bandeau tops. Multiple bone bracelets jangled and clattered against each other with each movement of their arms, and those arms moved a lot as they began to gossip with one another. Acting out the news as much as saying it.

“-then she slapped him! In broad daylight!”

“She did not!”

“She did! Not an ounce of shame in that one, I tell you. Not one ounce.”

“Outrageous! I can’t bear to even think of it… Tell me more.”

The scene froze. The dot that was Timothy shifted its intention, a visible state in this place, shining directly on Kubayashi. What happens next?

Confused Inquiry. It is your story.

Insistence. Our story.

Confused acceptance. The scene lept back into motion as the first matron did a double backflip, inflating whale-like before power slapping the first out of the park, screaming “Homerun!”

Hilarious! But not what we are trying for. This is a different game. The scene reset itself in a pulse of directed intent. Then the light died, replaced by a low dazzle. A constant, but considerably less bright emittance than before. The whispers of his subconscious instead of the powerful searchlight of his will. Listen. Anticipate. Shift the story how you want to but within the limits of my expectations.

Hesitation. Uncertainty.

Unconditional Approval. Confidence.

Trepidation. Will attempt. The play button was pressed and the scene began again. “Tell me more.”

“She sent her brothers to get her things.” The voice was a bit robotic. Lacking in emotion. Timothy’s reactions were unhidden, radiating out even as the conversation continued.

Shame. Failure.

No shame. Failure is a part of learning. Try again, feel my expectations on the fly and adapt to include them. Change your path as you feel my subconscious rejection. Create a seemingly real experience by dancing on the edge between believable and the ragged edge of possible.

“Tell me more.”

“She set her brother on him! Made up a whole mess of lies and got his ass beat!”

“She did not-“

Approval. That was much better! Let’s keep going. The scenery shifted, hunters arguing over a kill. Then a fast-paced fight. Continually evolving, the constant echo of Timothy’s subconscious providing incitement and a bellwether for believability.

Then Timothy shifted the game, letting Kobayashi create the backgrounds, pushing her to move beyond just memory, and into creation. Letting his mind inform her when patterns were too obvious or scenery too obviously arranged.

The game continued as the scenarios became more and more elaborate.

A game, training and a test of her ability to read and respond.

Kobayashi’s purpose in a nutshell.

Joy.