Proud parent as Morgan was of the prodigal gecko, her sudden progression threw a wrench in the original plan's gears. The Scientist wanted to observe and record step by step both how a beginner interacted with Aether and how the budding Cultivation progressed in relation. She was to be something akin to a control specimen in an experiment. Afterward, assuming a monstrous gecko hadn't ripped him to pieces, they would do the same study on other Beasts they could find. If everything went well, Morgan was confident they could use the data to reverse engineer a method suitable for Mortals.
Nature is, of course, the greatest of all teachers.
Sadly, the fact that his little Princess could now teleport, among other physical changes that made themselves known soon after, killed the first half of that plan. May it find peace in the next life.
However, the Professor always accounts for potential road bumps and is ready to pivot at a moment's notice. Using Momo as the centerpiece of the study would have been convenient, but there would be other fish in Olympia's sea.
They planned to travel around the fog-locked island, now named Lamplight Isla, after the little bioluminescent plants growing above and below the surface in an outward clockwise spiral. Whenever a new island's hazy form poked over the horizon, its location was marked, and an expedition was launched at the earliest convenience. Originally, Momo was to be left on Lamplight to stay safe, the idea being they would return to check on her. However, her change in diet, combined with a lack of fauna on foggy Lamplight, meant the adorable Beast had to live elsewhere. So they left her on the first island they encountered, a bizarre place but brimming with suitable prey items.
Once his wounds proved non-threatening on the third day, it was time to set sail. Well, in truth, they'd be paddling the whole way, but it was the thought that counted.
By July 19th, 2074, the two had found four new islands and eight new Spiritual Beast species but had yet to overcome the first hurdle of Cultivation. Although as the 26th night began to be burned away, Man and Spirit were following up on their hottest lead yet.
----------------------------------------
[Merciful Heavens, it's so hot!] Projected Ego with alarm after going corporeal for the first time in three days. They lasted a whole minute before correcting that mistake. [I don't even have a Body, and I think I have a burn now. How are you even still alive?]
They had to speak mind to mind to each other, as the scorching vertical gales bellowing right in front of them made verbal conversations impossible. The winds also made their spy nest very hot, a fact Morgan desperately wanted to ignore.
It also didn't help his mood that he had chosen to leave his coat back in the cave, and had been without for weeks. But these expeditions, one in particular, had already destroyed three sets of clothes.
With a weary sigh, the Scientist lowered the binoculars he had used to observe Subject 6262 on the landscape below. He checked the readings from the open-air thermometer and snorted as the digital display shifted a full degree higher, now reading 40°C.
[A toxic mixture of distractions, suicidal curiosity, and a delusional hope that hardships will be rewarded in the end.] He said mentally, even as sweat pooled and dripped from his brow, earlobes, chin, and every other surface not currently touching stone. [Speaking of distractions, have you thought of a name for this island?]
The as of yet, unnamed island Morgan and Ego spent the entirety of the last three nights on was perhaps the most hostile location they had visited so far. The 150-hectare bean-shaped land mass had three key geological features; the coral lands, the red wastes, and the tower.
The 1-3 meter corallite structures that completely covered the northern, eastern, and southern shores only looked like bleached fire coral but were really just stone. A brittle stone that tended to break at the narrow sections and plunge any poor creature forced to walk over them on a bed of sharp, broken rocks. Making it the perfect nesting ground for the island's nocturnal prey species and a nightmare for anything larger than a medium-sized dog to travel over. Crossing through the red wastes encompassing the West shore was far more manageable as the only obstacles were bushes with thick black mineral shells protecting the green plant flesh within. Unfortunately, easier did not mean safer. Traversing through the wastes at night might mean a fatal run-in with the island's only predators if they catch an unfamiliar scent wafting in their grove.
However, walking in the same area during the day will kill anything not rooted in the ground, period.
The greatest danger on the island was the tower. This 100+ meter tall and twice as wide rock formation resembled a broken chimney with a western opening and the grove of birch-looking trees with flaming leaves growing exactly where the firebox would be. The fiery leaves weren't real fire but Mana masquerading as the chemical reaction; they even acted like mundane foliage and kept their shape as the trees periodically shed and replaced them. The constant fires and the tower's shape created a smoke stack effect that draws in massive amounts of air from the bottom, stokes the flaming trees, and blasts hot air out the broken top. At night, strong winds blew in from the sea at around 30-40 knots, equivalent to a nasty thunderstorm back home. When the sun shone on the trees and photosynthesis was added to the equation, the raging inferno sucked in air at speeds rivaling the worst tornadoes in history.
[As a matter of fact, I have, and I have a winner in mind.] The Monk smiled, which would have lit up the area if they were visible. [We should call it...]
*Drum roll* The rapid beating of a snare drum bursted into his mind.
[Trinity's Crucible.]
[Hmm.] Morgan chewed on the name as he returned to monitoring the Subject with the binoculars. [I like it. It's way better than mine.]
[What was yours?]
[The Last Hope. But I might have just been reflecting too much.]
[Well... Maybe just a little.]
The two lay prone on the lowest desolate peak of the rusted red tower, putting them at least 40+ meters from the ground. Climbing the almost vertical rock wall in the fading light of twilight and descending in the dim light of dawn was a danger in itself, but the view offered two crucial advantages. It gave an unobstructed view of the box canyon below while still downwind of the pact's territory.
image [https://images.finitevoid.dev/userImages/d375895b-a8f6-46ed-b0f4-9a63e1dd8150/540fea55-364f-4152-b3da-a7e60838bb49.webp]
Ignoring for a moment the three identical heads and crimson flames erupting from their mouths with every bark, snarl, and growl, the Cerberi greatly resemble the Cretan hound.
Each Beast was longer than it was tall and had a wedge-shaped head with pricked ears, slender legs, a snatch waist, and a long tail that curved forward to make a ring. Their short fire-resistant fur came in black soot, ash white, or a mottled mix of both colors. An excellent body plan for hunting small dexterous prey, such as the Black Iron Hares, rabbit-like Beasts with metal teeth that burrowed through the scorched ground and fed exclusively off the rocky shrubbery.
Incredible as the island's ecosystem was, only one creature here captured the Scientist's attention so tightly. Through the binoculars, a female cerberus of black fur shifted uncomfortably on a vast bed of flaming leaves, finding it impossible to get comfortable with a belly that swollen. At regular intervals, the shiny fur rippled from powerful muscle contractions that promised that a miracle would soon come. Beside her, an ashen male paced back and forth in agitation, clearly as anxious to get this ordeal over with as Morgan was. The male kept one head trained on his whining mate while the rest snarled and growled at any packmate who dared intrude on this intimate moment.
[Hey, is it weird that I feel terrible for spying?] Asked the Monk uncomfortably as the mother-to-be's triple grone reached a new high of misery. [This seems like a violation of Cookie and Cream's privacy. I know we're running out of research leads, but still… I feel too invested now.]
Cookie was the name given to the mother as Ego refused to even consider using the subject number, and naturally, the father was dubbed Cream almost immediately afterward.
[If it helps, I doubt they'd care about being spied on, it's the intruding on their territory that'll really piss them off.] Shrugged the Professor, who had made a successful career out of intruding on the lives of wild animals. [Also, we are not running out of leads; we have only ever had one lead.]
[Ah, but there is one more lead to follow.] Corrected the Monk gently as they knew the Scientist's apprehension on the topic. [So long as the Professor is brave enough to take the bull by the horns, that is.]
[Is this about the mediation thing again?] Morgan turned a frown at the Spirit grinning wickedly beside him. [I'm really not sure if something like that-]
*Tisssss* The sounds of sizzling flames cut through the silent night.
Forgetting the conversation entirely, Morgan put the binoculars back on and zeroed in on the plump Cookie and the fast-fading cloud of steam near her rear.
[Her water broke!] Gasped the Monk excitedly, likely they were tapping into the Scientist's sight.
[Prepare yourself, dearly departed Spirit, for we will witness one of life's greatest miracles. And if we're lucky, make some real headway into our research.]
For most canine breeds on Earth, there would be a 20-40 minute gap between fluid release and delivery. But it seemed the Beasts of Vajrayana couldn't afford such luxuries, for a membranous sac was already emerging.
"Ouuuuwww!" Cried one of the mother's heads while the others each let out a 3-meter pillar of flames that cast the world below a reddish glow.
[Incredible.] Said Ego in equal parts horror, sympathy, and awe. [Having to push out one head already seems like a trial, but to contest with three simultaneously sounds like a calamity.]
[Life, if nothing else, is a tenacious thing.] He agreed before narrating the scene so Ego could scribe it later in the log. [The pup, referred to hereafter as Subject 2229-]
[We're calling them Biscuit.] Ego interrupted insistently. It took the American a moment to understand they meant the English treat, not the buttery baked good.
[-has fully emerged from 6262 while encased in an amniotic sac. There are no signs of movement from 2229, and visibly, the Subject has no birth defects or abnormalities... One of 6262's heads has bitten through the amniotic sac, exposing 2229 to air and direct contact with fire leaves… No visible reaction. Subject 7272, the father, licks the unmoving Subject… No visible response from 2229.]
The Professor's heart sank at the all too familiar scene playing out below. As an Ecologist, tragic events like these were simply par for the course. The creation of life might be called a miracle, but it only took one foul line of DNA or one bad fall during pregnancy to snuff out potential before it ever saw the light of day. Life could be cruel, and death could be cruel, so why would birth be any different? Yet, even after witnessing hundreds of such misfortunes, it never got any easier.
A shame. But nothing could be done, even if the pack would allow Morgan to help.
[Guanyin, Bodhisattva of Compassion and Mercy, Deliverer of Sapient beings from unhappiness and hardship.] The mala beads tapped against the stone as the Monk started to chant. [By will of Heaven and self, This Mortal implores with honest resolve, May all hardships leave young Biscuit behind, Let them dissolve into the winds of Fate.]
The Monk would finish a third repetition, but there wouldn't be a fourth.
"Yap! Yip! Afr!" The triple cries of the newly born Biscuit rang out into the brightening sky.
"OUUUUUWWWW!!!" Howled the pack soon after.
The Monk jumped to their feet and cheered for the new squealing life that protested heavily to the relieved parents' persistent fussing and nudging.
[They did it! They did it! Oh yeah, yeah, yeah!] Ego half sang, half screamed, on the top of their avatar's incorporeal lungs. All pretenses of a Zen monk were lost as they got into the spirit of celebration. [No death up here today, woo!]
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[I'm triggering the Bloodline now.] The Scientist snorted with amusement before he rolled the dice with his Soul yet again.
Through the binoculars, he could see nothing but the darkened outlines of the quadrupedal Beasts surrounding the pup's own outline. Morgan made it a habit to always start 'Perception' this way, as Ego confirmed that most of the Bloodline's cost came from translating the energy.
He willed only Biscuit's Eternal Foundations into view, and just as hoped, the newborn's Prana energies were as dim and feeble as the Humans. This was good, incredible even. Birth occurred over two minutes ago, and there was no hint of Aether infusion. Now, the Professor filtered out the Qi vines and Mana halo and allowed the ambient Aether within a meter of the Subject to be displayed at 50% opacity. Little pinpricks of ghostly light swirled around the glowing red shroud of the stumbling pup, and Morgan waited for all his hopes and dreams to come crashing down.
...
And…
Nothing happened.
The Scientist offered the dancing Spirit an open palm, and they high-fived.
*Smack!*
There was no reaction in the Aether's chaotic movements, no unsynchronized movement between the physical body and Essence shroud. Such a result was precisely what they had hoped for. After 26 days of watching Beasts Cultivate, he noticed a distinctive characteristic that they all displayed. Without exception, their Essence shroud could be consciously moved without any help from the body. Somehow, by this willful action, the ambient Aether behaved differently than simply being repelled, as was the case for Morgan.
Souls of Spiritual Beasts could interact with Aether as if the motes were physical objects. According to his research and observations, that ability was absolutely necessary for Cultivation.
There was a fear that this ability was something akin to a beating heart or being able to flex a limb; that would mean game over. However, if control over the Soul was a skill, like flying for birds or walking for children, a fresh newborn like the pup wouldn't be able to do it. Their elders would need to show them the ropes, and the Scientist would be happy to catch a few Cultivation pointers from an experienced veteran.
New plans began to form in his mind as Cookie laid on her side to allow her child to drink her milk. He and the Spirit would have to watch Biscuit's lessons from the shore. They'd likely miss much, but that was fine; these Cerberi lived in an environment that was too hostile anyway. It'll take time, but another pregnant Spirital Beast was bound to crop up soon, hopefully on a less extreme island.
While the road ahead was still long, the future looked brighter than a star.
Morgan watched in satisfaction as the pup's triple noses twitched and rose in the air after catching the scent of milk; they crawled with haste to the nearest nipple. As all three heads bent down to suckle, Essence Shroud's heads did not follow. Instead, they began turning in different directions to start nibbling on Aether, each head consuming a different affinity.
Then that beacon of hope went supernova as Morgan's heart collapsed in on itself.
[Son of a-]
[Is something wrong?] Asked Ego mentally. [Remember, I can't see what your Bloodline shows you, so from my perspective, you're just silently seething at a new family.]
[Wrong?] Sighed Morgan, deactivating the Bloodline and flipping onto his back to stare dejectedly at the sky. Most of the stars of this unfamiliar galaxy were already hidden as the easter sky crept dangerously close to a blue hue. [Nothing's wrong. Just because I don't like the facts doesn't make them wrong.]
[Ah.] They grimaced in sympathy before sitting next to him. [Little Biscuit is already a Cultivator?]
[Started before their first mouthful of milk. Its official non-sapient creatures, like Biscuit the Cerberus, are born with Soul Sovereignty as a reflex action.] The undeniable truth put the final nail in the original plan's coffin. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration because it was a better outlet than tossing the irreplaceable tool like he desperately wanted. [Sunrise is less than 15 minutes out, so we'll stay put until the pack moves on.] Morgan offered the binoculars to Ego.
The Spirit maintained eye contact, a beat too long to be casual, before taking the binoculars to see if the claim was valid. Thus, the Professor was left to dwell on the last 26 days.
In a fit of total apathy, Morgan triggered the Bloodline with no filters. Like all newly discovered islands, the Crucible hardly held even a tenth of the ambient Aether as Lamplight. So, only a flurry obscured the sky instead of a blizzard of motes. He looked at his hands, at the Essence in particular, as a cloud of white Yang came within reach. He knew doing so would be pointless, but all the same, he tried to grasp the cosmic energy.
As always, his Soul got in the way. The fiery shroud covering the fingers repelled the cloud almost as if the two forces were like magnets of the same polarity. With a sigh, Morgan disabled the Bloodline, finding the view too depressing to continue.
Soul Sovereignty, the ability to either directly or indirectly control one's own shroud of Essence to manipulate and absorb ambient Aether. But after 26 days of island hopping and Beast watching, Morgan could read the writing on the wall. These expeditions have taught him much and could likely teach him so much more, but obtaining Soul Sovereignty would never be one of those lessons.
The fact that the Celestial Court Sect so easily offered what the Human so desperately wanted, poisoned fruit that it was, galled him to no end.
Morgan's hand instinctively reached for a dreadlock to fidget with, but he had to slap it away out of fear he might actually rip the cord out, so great were his frustrations. To be able to see, yet never touch. To know the method, but lack the means. To have the unwavering resolve to risk the untraveled path, only for the circumstance of birth to be the chains that bound him.
Was this to be his Fate? Either give in and fly on borrowed wings or die at the foot of the mountain like a stubborn mule?
NO! Body, Mind, Soul; Every aspect of the Human rebelled violently against such vile futures. It was unfair! It was wrong! It was maddening! Accepting such a Fate would be ridiculous. It was… It was like…
[It's like trying to write…] Ego suddenly muttered.
Morgan turned, but the Spirit was no longer beside him. He craned his neck forward and found them sitting patiently, legs crossed and open palms resting on robed knees.
So the Zen monk had chosen now to return?
[I've been thinking and concluded that Cultivation is like writing a story.] The Monk said with a calm certainty they've rarely displayed before. [You are the Writer, reality the Paper, your actions are the Words, and Aether is the Ink all chapters are written in.]
[If what you're getting at is that Soul Sovereignty is the Pen that directs the Ink, then I've already come to that depressing reality, and I'm not ready to fork over the cash to rent one.] Morgan shrugged dejectedly before looking at the golden sun about to peek over the horizon. [Dawn's almost here. We should go before-]
[I disagree.] Said Ego evenly, though a corner of their mouth turned upwards. [Since we have determined that all that is needed for Cultivation is a Soul capable of manipulating Aether, then the Pen is the Soul.]
The Professor sat up; his curiosity peaked.
[...Alright, I'll play along. If the Pen is the Soul, then sovereignty over it is the Writer's ability to use it.]
[Hmm. The more appropriate phrasing would be to 'write with it'.] They sniffed. [Far more symbolic.]
[I majored in Biology, not English.] The Scientist deadpanned. [Either way, you're telling me what I already know. I lack Soul Sovereignty, meaning I. Can't. Write.]
[I think you can.]
[Not a chance, no.]
[If I can do it, well, you can do it.]
[Ego, we're not doing this.] Morgan threw up his hands and looked westward as the very edge of the far too nurturing sun pierced the horizon.
Damn it. Where on Earth was Ego going with this? They had 12, maybe 15 minutes, to descend the rocky tower before the sunlight hit the trees. If the smothering birches made the environment unbearable now, then the photosynthetic boost would make Death Valley seem like Moscow.
Even the Cerberi thought so, for they spent all of the daylight hours on the desert beaches far away from the grove. In fact, the pack had already left, ready to start the day with a hunt.
[Hee-hehe! Sorry, I couldn't resist.] They said, bursting into a fit of giggles before regaining composure. [But in all seriousness, I want you to ignore the metaphoric comparison momentarily. Let's say you're really a writer with an empty piece of paper in front of you and a pen full of ink in hand. You wish to write a meaningful story. The story can be whatever you want, so long as it's meaningful. What's stopping you from writing?]
[Hmm.] Hummed the Professor, now wholly engrossed in the mental exercise. [In that case, it wouldn't be from an inability to put words on a page… I guess I wouldn't know what to write in the first place.]
[Why is that?]
[That prompt is too vague to go off; just wanting to write a story isn't enough for an amateur. So, I would shore up my lacking experience by reading the work of other writers.] He gestured around the two of them. [But something tells me that won't help in this scenario.]
[Help?] They asked with false innocence. [Of course, that would help. By learning from others, you were able to understand story structure, character design, tone, grammar, the whole shabang. With this knowledge at your disposal, could you write a meaningful story then?]
[...Before I answer that, why don't you tell me what your definition of 'meaningful' is in this context.]
[That's a fair question.] The Monk flashed a grin that might've spread ear to ear if the avatar weren't so realistic. [Let's say 'meaningful' evokes a powerful response to your innermost self.]
[With that context in mind, I could write a story, but whether or not it was meaningful to me depends on the purpose inspiring the piece. I'd have to write about something I really cared about, or it won't evoke anything.] He looked out to the eastern horizon and paraphrased the words of the dead. [If the art could not move the artist, then how would it do so for others?]
The Scientist only had a shallow understanding of the phrase's meaning; again, he was never a devotee to the arts, but the person he quoted was one. If they swore by it, then he would as well.
[So, what you're saying is,] teased the Monk, their blue orbs sparkling with anticipation, [that the reason you can't write is because the Pen lacks purpose?]
[The Pen?] He frowned. [I am the Writer; I move the Pen once I know what to write. The Writer is the one that requires purpose.] His frown became a scowl as he realized the nonsense he just said. [Wait, if the Soul is the Pen and I'm the Writer, then doesn't that mean I am both?]
[The self and the Soul are one, yet they are separate. A Writer without a Pen is as useless as a Pen without a Writer. Meaningful writing is a collaboration between the two, just as Cultivation can only be achieved through a purpose shared by the self and the Soul.]
[So I don't have sovereignty over my Soul because we lack a shared purpose?]
[Morgan, be honest with me.] They sighed with dramatic flair and looked at him skeptically. [Do you even have a purpose for Cultivating, outside of your goal of understanding Aether?]
Uhhh…
Crap, he'd never really given it much thought. But he had a purpose; of course, he had a purpose for Cultivating.
[Yes.] He sniffed, his poker face impeccable after over half a century of practice.
[You do, do you?] They snorted. [Please share with the class.]
[I really, really wanna.]
Morgan sat up like he didn't just give an answer that any toddler would, and started stretching out his legs to climb down. Yet, somehow the Monk found his ironclad response to be lacking, if their cocked brow and head tilt was any indicator.
[Didn't you say wanting something isn't enough for an amateur to create something meaningful?]
[Why does the purpose have to be meaningful?] He challenged and started to walk around the peak, careful not to trip over or knock down any of the rocky debris.
[If the purpose is not meaningful, then how would it evoke a response in your innermost self? Aka your Soul?] They fired back, rotating their avatar in place to keep him in sight. [Your words not mine.]
Morgan stopped the pacing to give Ego a look of his own. One that a generous soul might only call sour.
[That answer was used as an analogy for creating art. It was never meant for the field.] The Scientist gestured to all around him in utter frustration. [Damn it Monk. This is real life, not a story where things just happen because it sounds like it should. Out here, there are rules that govern the course of everything and-]
He stopped mid-sentence and mid-step as he remembered where he was.
This was not Earth. Hell, this wasn't even Cosmos. Who was he to lecture Ego, a literal Spirit, on what the Soul could or couldn't do? Vajrayana had rules; it was a functional universe after all. He simply didn't know all of them. After so long of knowing how the world worked, it was easy to forget that was no longer the case.
The man collapsed, first on his ass, then flat on his back. A rock poked sharply at the back of his head, and he tossed it aside; the red mineral dust mixed with the sweat on his hand and stained it red. He didn't care. The Mental and physical exhaustion Morgan had been repressing for weeks saw an opening in the armor and reminded the Human that he was just that. A human, looking up at a sky that seemed so much farther away than it did yesterday.
Someone tapped his shoulder, and Morgan rolled his head to see what they wanted now.
[Purpose is not so hard to find if you know where to look.] The Monk smiled kindly at the chained Mortal and offered a hand. [I know a great place to start if you're willing to let me guide you.]
The dawn's golden light finally broke over this scorched corner of planet Olympia. God rays bathed the Spirit in an aura of brilliant hope, and something fundamental shifted deep within the Professor's mind. When Morgan agreed to assist Ego in their journey, he believed their relationship to be one of simple convenience. The Scientist wanted a helpful native willing to break a few laws; the Spirit wanted a pair of legs to chase after their past.
But now…
Now, he suspected there may be the potential for something... More.