29th of Morsugnar, 2841 of Einvierzion.

The late autumn wind gently breezes Utsorion, stripe waves moving through his uniform signalling the movement and direction of the wind towards the east. While he waits for Aschwinar in front of the dormitory, he decides to walk around in the recently made garden. Partly because in a long time he finally has a little time to enjoy nature, but also to evade the students returning, and their eyes gleaming with disgust.

He slowly walks at the left on the alabaster pavement, surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colourful flowers, each more vibrant, radiant than the last. A long line of bushes and shrubs with bursting, delicate petals and twisting wines separating them, gaps fit for two or three people at precisely measured intervals of fifteen steps where the pavement twisted to both left and right.

The air was thick with their combined sweet scent soothing the mind and body, clearing his thoughts after another long day at the academy, while also refreshening him in a way. Utsorion stopped at each flower, his fingers touching the soft petals of each before walking back to the middle.

“A peculiar choice.” After reaching the end of the road, Utsorion spots a strange flower, radiating with a dark light that makes it stand out amongst the others. He leans down to the dirt, slowly pulled towards it transparent, glass like petals with the middle appearing like the gaping maw of a worm arrayed with violet glowing teeth. The soothing, yet harsh voice of an elven gardener with fair blueish skin with smooth facial features breaks Utsorion out of his stupor.

“Ah excuse me! It’s just most of the folks get creeped by the Umbriall.” He quickly apologizes with an awkward complexion, scratching the back of his head veiled in his ivory long hair.

“Umbriall?” Utsorion asks as he turns back at the flower. “Yes, it has quite the reputation since the last war. If produced in certain ways, it can negate magical prowess in a designated area so to speak.” The dark elven gardener says while lining besides Utsorion.

“But it also has less violent applications. Like we tend to use it before mating with other races. It allows the birth of the so called Kryssningrs.” Then with an awkward laugh adds about the application in how it contributes in the birth of Kryssningrs. For a second Utsorion racks his brain, recalling the lecture on the dark elves and how they breed with races of the other planes, seemingly creating perfect crossbreeds that inherit the attributes of both parents. For example, dwarven Kryssningrs would born with dense muscles while still retaining the elven nimbleness, graceful beauty granted to them as the favoured children of the Gods and the Maker, that also grants them a higher magical prowess while also a lesser risk to ossification from overuse of the minor aspect of earth. These Kryssingrs often serve as either knights protecting dark elven nobility and royalty, while some simply decide to follow a path of craftmanship.

“There you are!” Aschwinar’s melodious voice reaches their ears while the dark elf gardener lifts the Umbriall out from the earth, extending its vine before separating it.

“Take it!” He says with a friendly smile and Utsorion thanks him before turning towards his friend, getting a bit flustered when he notices Sieghildien following after him. The two were paradigms in the garden, as if they were the highlight of a painting. Aschwinar as the young prodigy destined for greatness, Sieghildien the prototypical warrior princess with a complexion inviting the eyes of the viewer walking with an air of perfect gracefulness. In this case Utsorion feeling the world slow them down as the two approached, her warm smile erasing the tiredness that haunts him on the days after each dreamless night. A steaming coffee that caresses the throat like soft elven silk the body.

“Ah, Umriall, the blossoming flower of possibilities if my dark elven is correct.” Aschwinar says with an interested look on his face as he sidesteps giving place to Sieghildien to stand beside Utsorion. “I read it tastes quite sweet, making it a prime element for interracial mating.”

“Correct your excellency!” The elven gardener confirms to the smirking Aschwinar who resembles now some handsome villain out from a children’s book. “No need for formalities, just call me Aschwinar.” He adds while patting the young dark elven gardener on his shoulders before being poked in his sides by his twin sister.

“Then Aschwinar, you may call me Skazihcrah.” He introduces himself with a playful bow. “Sieghildien!” She does too with a friendly, welcoming smile brightening her face.

“Utsorion!” And finally, he to introduces himself to Skazihcrah. “Then Utsorion, take it, may it lead you to the arms of joy!” He adds as he hovers the flower to him, then bows once more excusing himself to continue his work as a group of high elven students pass by them with veiled contempt directed at both Skazihcrah and Utsorion.

**

“What a nice fellow wasn’t he?” Aschwinar speaks up as the trio approaches the entrance to their research area, after the two stopped their conversation mostly about Sieghildien’s studies about the minor aspect of mind. As the entrance opens up, Utsorion pulls down his cloak and walks after Sieghildien and Aschwinar.

As their group expanded gradually the past five decades, so do their research area. Now the corridor was wide enough for two to walk beside each other, the previous single room turned into a lounge from which a single twisting corridor leads to the members respective rooms. This includes Sieghieldien’s room where she hones the aspects, she has no affinity with, Ashcwinar’s and Utsorion’s room where they continue their studies on the aspects, even including the forbidden ones as they try to solve his problem. And a few other rooms for the other members who joined, either not caring about Utsorion and his curse or because they are interested in it.

“It breaks my heart, but me and Rii are here!” Aschwinar says heavily teasing the two with his tone and gesture, locking his arms together while dancing with one leg. “Ouch, not fair.” He says after Sieghildien touching his neck and sending a shocking sensation into his mind making him almost lose his balance while Utsorion laughs genuinely, but also to mask his blushing.

“Now I feel bad leaving you with him.” She says turning to Utsorion. “Don’t worry I’m used to him already.”

“Ouch, rude much?” Aschwinar says as he pumps his jacket and tunic collars, straightening his uniform. Sieghildien then bids him goodbye and disappears in the left turn while Utsorion watches her. Achwinar practically yanks him inside before closing the door with an air spell.

“Oho, is that the stone from Midgard?” Aschwinar asks after watching his friend unpack a blinding white crystalline stone from his bag wrapped in soft, silken cloth dark as the feathers of Odyrion’s ravens after placing the Umbriall into a glass jar.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Yes, Hidetsuriar got it from a wood elven merchant that travelled there a few centuries ago.” Utsorion says as he unwraps it and places it into the Adryemite gauntlet’s top cavity.

“According to the merchant, they use it to regain their magical prowess amongst the new-born wizards.” As the white crystal clicks into it. A white magical wave courses around the gauntlet, then Utsorion slowly slides onto his right hand.

“Let’s test it out.” Utsorion says and the two head out from the room, heading to the nearby training and testing area.

“Just take it slowly brother. I wouldn’t want to see you burn to cinders or to see you become a living sculpting.” Utsorion stands a few meters away front of the target dummy, a featureless humanoid made from velvety grey stone, in a running position shaped by Aschwinar as a joke. Utsorion raises his arms, and then inhales, exhales in five second intervals while clearing his mind out. He rids himself of the memories filled with disdainful eyes, the mocking of his peers and teachers, the coldness his father looks at him. Even clears out the warm memory of meeting Sieghildien and Aschwinar, how they stood up to him, choosing to stay with him after learning the truth about him. The last thing that leaves his mind is the warming smile of Sieghildien then he opens his eyes and focuses his own will at the dummy. But in the end, nothing happens. He tries and tries again, but nothing.

“Gods damn it” He screams, flinging the gauntlet off of his hand, collapsing onto his knees. “Why? What did I do wrong?” He asks into the air, his voice broken as the hope that he felt the past few days fades into nothingness.

“You’ve done nothing wrong!” Aschwinar jumps at his friend, embracing him as he breaks down in front of him while making sure the sounds don’t escape the room.

“Look at me. You’re not alone! This is not a setback, but something we can build upon, towards the solution!” He comforts him while lifting his head up, swiping the tears off his cheeks. “Take your time.” He says, his voice a soothing thrumming that calms Utsorion a bit down as he continues crying on his shoulders.

**

“Better?” Aschwinar asks as he offers a cup of sweet beverage to him.

“Yes. Sorry for seeing such a sight.” He says in a weak voice as his eyes remain fixated on the velvety surface of the drink filling his nostrils with a sweet scent reminding him off the Sakura Garden in the east when his father took him there once, a rare thing even back then.

“Don’t fret it. I’m already used to your ugly mug brother.” Aschwinar replies jokingly as he sits in the adjacent sofa.

“What do you mean by its not a setback?” Utsorion asks after the drink calms him down.

“Well…” He starts then lifts his notebook into his lap and start crossing out a whole page. “For starters we can definitely say it is not some possession. I mean if it would be why rid of you the ability to use artifacts. That doesn’t make an inch of a sense.” He continues while levitating cyanarette from his coats inner pocket.

“That’s a sure thing. yeah.” Utsorion says with a light cackle.

“But I think the curse idea could also be crossed out.” Aschwinar says prompting a questioning look from Utsorion while he continues to sip the sweet beverage.

“How?” He then asks not sure how that could be the case.

“I don’t necessarily say it isn’t one. But maybe it goes deeper than your soul. What if your Nym that is cursed, or maybe even altered?” Aschwinar says turning to face his friend with a serious complexion.

“If that is the case, who could do that? I mean only the Maker possess the truth about the Nym.” Utsorion says. Nym one of the known mysteries of the world, or to be precise the whole World Tree. Something that even the Gods only know as the element that construct all living, thinking beings. The element that sets their fate, their possibilities.

“If that is the case, then I’m even more doomed.” His eyes that just started gaining back their light, faded into gloom once more at the thought.

“Could be. But I don’t think so. I looked a bit more into the other ‘Hollow Ones’ and not a single one of them committed any of the sins that would warrant such a sentence.” Aschwinar says as he flips through his notes, the air spell he uses breezes Utsorion a little, cooling his drink a bit.

“The worst was murder commited against a Cognitore. But I doubt that would prompt such a sentence.” He continues while his lips curve a little.

“So there has to be a missing link. Or in this case a missing source.” Utsorion adds, hushing the hopelessness out from himself.

“Yes, maybe. But, and a part of me still thinks it may not be a curse.” Aschwinar adds as he appears to be deep in thought. “How could this be not a curse?”

“Well, it is just an early conjecture, but its something that crossed my mind when you dreamt for the first time. Once more he flips through his notes. “If it is a curse by the Maker, for one you would dream just like the Midgardians. Secondly, not a single one of them dreamt in their lives, and they did live for at least four thousand years.” Aschwinar starts adding together his notes into a new page.

“True, I have not thought about it honestly. But still not a single dream since then.” Utsorion adds as he too starts thinking deeply.

“Now hear me out. It may sound crazy, but what if you are a test subject for an experiment to make something better than us. It wouldn’t be the first time.” Aschwinar looks up from his notes, his eyes glaring into Utsorion like harsh rays of the sun.

“If that is true, could we accelerate it somehow?” Utsorion asks without hesitation as he meets his friend’s glare.

“If it falls on me, we will. But I warn you, the Cognitore may view this as heresy, maybe even the Gods if they are aware.” Aschwinar adds, sounding the most serious Utsorion ever heard him. “Are you willing to commit such heresy? To taint maybe his greatest work?”

**

The warm rain beat the glass windows of his room, the shadows flickering, mockingly dancing around him as he sits on the bed. His friend’s words still ringing within his mind and heart. Would he capable of committing such a sin against the Maker or the Gods?

He is not so sure of that. While growing up he resented his existence, taking away his mother’s life, depriving his father of the one he once loved the most, depriving his brothers and sisters of the one nurturing them, showering them in the warmness of motherly love. And the shame he brought upon their family. Although its not concrete, there is a reason that in his hundred years they only returned to the East once. And its not just because of the elves’ patience.

Recalling the despair, he felt when he tried to use the gauntlet, memories flow back when he cursed the Gods and the Maker for his inability to use magic, to feel the mana flowing in the air unseen, or its course through the body and soul. To dream instead of just losing your conscience, drifting in the sea of nothingness that deprives one from bettering themselves, to envision a clear path to perfection. He would not mind it, if he would be incapable of tiredness.

But it still gnaws him, calling him to the soft embrace of his bed. Beckons him to the nothingness that awaits him, to experience laying down and waking as if just a minute passed between the darkness and the light.

As he lays down, closing his eyes Utsorion once again finds himself drifting in the endless nothingness. But for the first time he feels the possibility of moving his limbs, to swim in this sea. Yet when he lifts his arms to inspect them, the void greets him. He looks down to see his body, the void greets him.

A weird calmness fills him. He should dread a bodiless state, yet it strangely soothing. Then once more a colour indescribable shines distant, slowly growing from a far point revealing itself into be a strange shape. He does notice some gaps with wiggling parts that the closest he could associate with is tendrils with shapes vaguely similar to eyes. They stare at each other for what feels like one second, one minute, one hour, one day and so on so forth. Then when a thousand years or maybe more passes a hunger awakens within him.

His unseen jaws gnaw the vague shape of indescribable colour. It makes a sound, a sweet ode that soothes him before he awakens, sweating profusely as always, not remembering.