Extra 5: Conversations of the Oracle

Hureheh’s dreams continued in their chaotic course, flashes of things both experienced and imagined blending till there was no difference between the two.

For longer than the mind could comprehend, or perhaps only a few moments, this fog of the unexplainable continued, the final refuge of a struggling body.

Yet slowly and subtly, the sleeping delusions faded, images and memories all consumed in an endless field of gold.

Far as the eye could see and mind comprehend, a limitless landscape sprawled, both perfectly flat and viciously spiked, both a world of deep valleys and towering mountains, as if reality itself was struggling against its own existence.

Hureheh woke within this dream, body whole and unharmed, back against the cold stone of a shimmering cliff.

He stood up and walked forward, mind completely clear and unconfused, he was meant to be here, after all.

Yet as he took his first step, the landscape shifted, no longer was he next to a cliff, but falling deep into the earth, walls from every direction coming to meet him.

Yet as his body broke and bones shattered under the force, he simply refused, struggling against the urge to give in and die.

And as soon as the floor had given way under them, the world changed again.

Now he was in a vast desert of golden dunes, twisted, thin hands reaching from the dust to drag him under the scorching sand.

Yet again he fought with all his might, wrenching and wrestling to be free.

And again the land changed, this time he was deep under a ocean of gold, so deep no light could reach him as the crushing waves hoped to extract their life from his meagre body.

Yet they were unrelenting in their resistance, and soon the sea faded as well.

Yet this time he was not treated with another trial, but a figure, surrounded by fifteen others to their left and right.

Their body was like that of a human, yet ever changing in its proportions, as if struggling over its own identity.

The only thing that remained consistent was a singular, burningly fierce eye in the middle of their face, one that instantly revealed the identity of the being.

This was Orsha, the god he had spent their whole life worshipping, waiting to see.

The fifteen surrounding them were the oracles of Orsha, who prophesied of disasters and struggles yet to come, and protected the struggle of life.

Yet Hureheh struggled to focus on them, to him, they seemed as if they were blurry or perhaps far away, not fully in the dream-realm like the god before him.

The former-slave had no time to contemplate what this meant, as Orsha had decided he had been given enough time to take in the surroundings.

A scene was pushed upon him and this time he was unable to resist, mind being consumed by the vision.

An oddly familiar creature was standing upon a balcony, shaped like a Golem yet much too small and with too few legs.

In front of them, in geometry of swirling gold was Ketkershrah, the city that had once been their home.

They were celebrating the Kershakreheh, he realised, the many costumes and rituals suddenly standing out to him.

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“The figure must be a man in a costume then” he thought, it was a logical assumption, as they were wearing the traditional clothes for the apex of the moons.

A bolt of emotion shot through the Orshraka the moment his thoughts reached its conclusion, and for an instant he thought the feelings his own.

Yet his own emotions faded and changed with his mood, this new one remained resolute and he soon realised this was not his own sentiment, but that of Orsha.

The intent behind the message was very clear, he was wrong, and to correct himself he must try to remember what he had forgotten.

Hureheh obeyed, unwilling to resist the command of his god, and began to pull on the thread of familiarity that he felt when he saw the odd figure, trying to place a memory.

He quickly dismissed his childhood and past for the source of the memory, he had never come close to any contact with a Golem, and they were a rather rare Keshakreheh costume.

Upon closer inspection, the thread of deja vu came from a time after the final memory his mind would allow him to review, in a place locked away from his knowledge.

But the command of Orsha was pushing him on, he had little choice but to try to remember.

Perhaps, in the waking world, such a thing would be impossible, to find what the brain had hidden, yet this was the domain of Orsha, god of struggle, triumph and failure were things only determined by an individual's will.

Hureheh fought to unlock the secrets of his mind, and eventually, the secrets yielded.

Pain, incredible pain, but within that pain, something more, cool, clay flesh against burning skin, fleeting glimpses of shimmering gems peering into pained eyes.

The Golem, the creature standing in vision form in front of them, had saved their life.

If Hureheh had a body in this realm, he would have crumpled as the memories of things that should have remained forgotten rushed back, bringing far more pain then he wished he could comprehend.

But even these feelings, in their magnitude, were drowned out by the intense satisfaction coming from the god in front of them as the vision faded and the golden fields returned.

Before the former-slave could gain his bearings in the new landscape, he was assaulted by a hundred different emotions in a hundred different ways, a whole story being told.

Orsha had made a mistake, one that had crippled them for longer than any one human remembers, yet what that mistake was, they did not tell.

For hundreds of years, they had been searching for someone who could help them, who had the potential to not only struggle through the trials necessary to mend their mistake, but also had the naivety and stubbornness necessary to remain unchanged in their path.

That being was the Golem, Wanderer.

By the time Hureheh had processed what had been said, he had formed more questions than he ever had before in his life.

What was this mysterious mistake, why was this strange Golem chosen for this task, why was Hureheh, of all people, being told of this.

Of these hundreds of questions, the god answered only one.

The fifteen oracles, who had faded into the background throughout the length of the discussion, reappeared in full force, a golden third eye present on each of their foreheads.

They surrounded both god and man, and stood silently while Orsha delivered their final command.

The god declared that Hureheh and his group must aid Wanderer in any way they are able, both under command of their god and to fulfil the debt that was owed.

Yet this must be done silently, without the knowledge of any within the desert, and to that end, until the mistake is undone and the debt is paid, Hureheh, nor Shreshka or Retlafeh are ever to enter the land of Reshraka ever again.

The human’s questions tripled, the god’s exposition demanding so much yet revealing so little that, in Hureheh’s mind, little more than questions remained.

Yet these questions never had a chance to be voiced, as with only an instant of delay, a rush of power overcame Hureheh.

The fifteen had stopped their stoicism, and had begun to channel Orsha’s power through their hands, which the god now floating above them eagerly provided.

The former slave couldn't tell what was going on or what he should do, should he try to run or stay where he was, did he even have any chance to outrun a god in the first place?

The decision was made for him, as another wave of encroaching power brought him to his knees and made his mind spin.

Violent, writhing power seeped its way into his dream-form, directly assaulting his mind.

Yet it wasn't an assault, he found, as where the power touched, things changed and morphed, seemingly making way for something yet to come.

Hureheh’s grip on Orsha’s realm began to fade as the oncoming power redoubled, slowly falling into the realm of the woken.

Just as the last threads keeping the human under unconsciousness began to snap, Orsha sent one final message.

Hureheh had been blessed with the mantle of oracle, the sixteenth of that title, and for this reason, he must not fail in his task.

But before the enormity of this message dawned upon the human, his mind was consumed by agony, screaming in the night as his third eye opened.