I begin to pick up speed, blasting off a torrent of rock from my newly bare soles, pushing me more and more until I reach a ludicrous amount of speed.

Soon I leave behind the space station below and pierce the white veil that covers my home, and I find myself in the beautiful astral. Which is an even more wondrous sight now that I can understand more of it.

Behind me, I see a glimpse of a series of grand royal purple mountains peaked with a shock of pure white reminiscent of snow. Surrounded by an ethereal purple mist.

I peer past the sight scrying the bloom, and I feel a solemn grandeur—the majesty of something that stands above the blood and dirt below. Even if it's made of the same earth, everything else is made of.

I see a dark pink, its color approaching a soft purple spirit; its form covered in softer swirls and white highlights, grappling what seems to be a wondrous dark blue cloud, with a scattering of shining stars on its surface.

The dark pink cloud seems to be sinking some type of tendrils into the cloud, and some strange dark gray substance leaks in the space in between. As they twist into a strange new shape and color.

Hmm, I wonder what’s happening there; it’s so alien and strange that I don’t even know if the pink one is devouring the other, if they're melding into one greater being, or if they’re doing something entirely different.

Dismissing it as none of my business, I move on, and I eventually find myself in the midst of a vast golden river, curling in on itself with glee as it twists through the dark sky. Lighting up the world around it with a light of pure joy.

Smiling and entranced, I see beyond the surface and scry the vast bloom in front of me. Determined to understand something so wondrous.

I see a boundless sea of wanderlust. I see a million million, women, children, men, in between, neither—all set out from home and feel the infinite joy and beauty of the world around them.

I feel the thrum of the truck on the road. I hear the crunch of gravel as it gets crushed. I taste the last bit of sandwich from 50 miles back. I see the rolling countryside above. I feel the back of my head on the cheap aluminum of the truck bed. I smell the wet hay around me. I hear my own whistle in response to the wind's song. I hear a clack as I make a crooked smile, as I feel the dust through my worn-down shoes, as I feel the world I’m so glad to be a part of.

I feel their grasp leave, I hear the tear as I fall free. I taste the wind and unfurl. I hear a tiny swish as my wings of leaf catch the air. I swim as I twirl upon nothing at all. I smell the dirt below and the water that hangs in the air. And for just a second, I feel all the glittering wonderous possibilities before me.

I feel the tug of hands pulling my hair into a pigtail. I smell the last bits of breakfast, I hear the scrape of sand on wood as my new shoes slip on the stairs. I feel the scrunchy tighten and hear well wishes as my shoes thump, thump, thump as I tumble out the door, mama in tow, and I feel the wind on my smiling teeth.

I drift back down to my own eyes as I see the golden river of wanderlust and pure exuberant joy swirl around me for a brief moment, wrapping me in a cocoon of wonder.

And then, just as suddenly as it came, it left. Speeding past what I can properly see.

I let out a little giggle as I feel a flame of joy spark deep inside. I look around and see the world around me, and I feel the thrumming pulse of the universe around me as it delights in experiencing itself, through itself.

Strangely enough, as I see the last vestige of the river, I feel a slight prick. And I realize two things: One, it's probably pretty rude to peer into the core of someone's being. Two, I’ve felt that prick before, when I've passed by one spirit or another. Usually after I scryed the spirit.

I think that pinprick might be what scrying feels like to the recipient. Huh, staring up at the various blooms above me, I wonder what that beautiful golden river saw when it peered into me. Did it see my struggles, my anger, my journey to be more?

I sigh, knowing that I have no way to answer that, so I turn roughly towards my previous direction, flip the switch on my boot, and blast away on a torrent of rock.

—

Moment after moment in this timeless place, I see more and more beyond my ken. I see monsters the size of cities curled around motes of joy. I hear the tinkling laughter of a court long dead. I see the dance of the cosmos in miniature all around me.

But still, the sight in front of me is quite strange indeed.

I see a grand building of some sort perched on top of a mountain that fades out of existence. The building is an intricate thing of marble, the gray speckled and streaked stone almost shining. A series of sharp, pristine stairs leads up to two sets of three marble columns, with their edges carved into regular curves. Atop is a vibrantly painted traingular roof, with intricate carvings that shift in the light, adorning the bottom of the roof, visions of battle, string and wit.

And inside, I see an ordinary human man. Clad in a linen chiton, with a rectangular brown cloak thrown over his shoulder, held together with an ornate pin. Curly black hair and a bushy beard surround warm olive skin and well-worn laugh lines.

As I speed past, I hear the man say something, and I slow down with a touch of Freedom.

As I slow down in front of the gates, I hear him say, “Come traveler, it would be a shame to eat this food by myself.”

A bit intrigued and frankly feeling more than a bit of disbelief, I approach the strangely illusory mountain and feel the grasp of proper gravity again, at 1 earth standard unit. Falling to the marble floor, I quickly stand and feel the stone on my newly armored and enhanced soles.

Walking up the stairs one at a time, I soon find myself in front of the man again, I see he sits on some sort of blanket made of the same material as his cloak. Seeing this, I sit down in front of the blanket in a criss-cross applesauce motion, and I twist off my helmet before putting it to the side.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Shaking my head, I let the enormous weight of my currently tightly braided curls shaped into a swirling bun, decompress from the helmet.

I then sigh, look at the man in front of me with a broadly smiling face, and admit something. I am currently slightly falling apart. I knew there was something strange going on when I saw marble and the distinct look of a doric collum.

But I cannot kid myself; I’ve taken History of Fashion before, and that man is clearly wearing linen cloth. A type of cloth that exists nowhere else but Earth due to the fact that what few planets that can sustain life always create different life even if they fulfill all the same niches.

This man is undoubtedly a human from Earth, my Earth.

Yet despite my slightly crumbling mindscape, I maintain a pleasant enough expression. Thankfully, I have plenty of experience hiding these sorts of things.

As thoughts race through my head at a mile a second, the man reaches behind himself and pulls out a dried grass basket, pulls off the lid, and reveals a small spread. He quickly gathers two eggs, a handful of olives, and two rolls of bread and hands them over to me with a smile in a small bundle of rough cloth.

Smiling, he says, “My name is Mnesikles; I am a humble architect, and it is my honor to offer you what I can while you stop by, traveler.”

I want to burst into a torrent of questions, my understanding of all of history currently shattering behind my eyes. But mumbling a thanks, I look down, grab one of the rolls, and bite down.

It’s a simple barley bread; most likely, it is just some ground wheat that was held over a fire, it’s not even leavened. And yet, it still brings a tear to my eye. I haven’t tasted anything in, oh, so long. It tastes like nothing more than a helping hand while you’re falling.

Mnesikles, his face forming a frown for the first time, says, "Oh, what brings you sorrow, traveler?”

Quickly wiping the tears from my eye with hard-earned experience, I say, “It has been a long, long time since I had the simple pleasure of a meal, or even anything at all down my throat other than blood and bile.”

Mneskiles, something glistening in his eyes, replies, “Then eat, eat; let no one say that I was an improper host before Zues [-Protecter of Strangers-].”

Taking that advice to heart, with the dried remains of my tears still on my face, I tear through the food. I taste the sourness of the pickled eggs, and I tear the unleavened bread into pieces as I shove it in my mouth. I taste the saltiness of the olive, and it damn near makes the floodgate burst open again.

Strangely enough, I don’t think I ever ate them back home when they were up on the table at every dinner. A little chuckle tears through me as I think that I ate my first olive in the depths of another dimension after years of pressure from my family. And I think it tastes great.

Hells, Earth, and the rest of humanity don’t seem that far right now. Although I guess they weren’t ever that far away.

I can try to make up an explanation for why it’s somehow completely normal that distinctly human people are casting spells and communicating with spirits and gods. I can say that it’s an alternative universe or that humans somehow popped up in an entirely different place with the exact same animals, plants, and cultural practices.

But no, that is not the case. What is more likely—that humanity found magic early in its development and then gradually lost it—or that I somehow stumbled into a perfect copy of humanity with the same exact history, cultural practices, and environment?

Occam's Razor, the most likely answer is the simplest. Humanity reached for magic long ago; in fact, we reached for it so long ago that I truly have no idea when or where the tribes and people of the Shaman age are. I can guess that they're before Mesopotamia and the other precursers, since otherwise, we would have found their unique cultural artifacts, and that their location is somewhere in Africa due to their skin tone and their descriptions of their climate.

Although this brings up incredibly confusing questions. The most important being, how the fuck am I talking to someone who seems to come from Ancient Greece at the very same time, as I take weekly lessons from someone who lived in the time before Mesopotamia.

Okay, okay, okay I cannot shatter here, I’m just going to accept that time is not functioning properly, as I’ve already suspected for most of my time here.

I must move on and address what I know more about and admit the truth. That I am no grand destined princess of fate, the first human sorceress who stole magic from tragedy and the gods. Instead I’m just one amongst many.

Oh well, it is not like being the first sorceress was a core piece of my identity. If I took magic for myself, why couldn’t have other humans in the past have done so. They are no duller or lesser than me. Especially since the history I’ve learned from Patient Bridge and the Dual Tribe indicates that spirits have meddled with the development of humanity. Gifting us magic and knowledge beyond our wildest dreams.

But when you stubbornly hold onto a view long past its usefulness, it can become hard to dislodge. Closing my eyes, having eaten all the food I was given, I sigh, a strange peace coming over me.

Piercing this peace of mine Mseikles gently asks, “What brings you here traveler?”

Answering with a laugh, I say, “Simple, I seek out unique and strange loot to bring back.”

Laughing with me, he says, “A common enough answer for those who venture beyond the walls. After all, what’s the point of all the danger if you don’t come back with riches galore!”

Hmm, I’m not seeking something that simple. I need bargaining chips, and subjects to study if I’m ever going to make it out of this place, not simple money. But considering his dress and the architecture surrounding us, he comes from a time when many who would venture out would be soldiers or soldiers of fortune. The type of man who would seek out glory and power through the tip of their spear and the strength of their arm. Although the notion that we're experiencing different times at once is still extremely disquieting.

Although, frankly, if that's who he thinks of when he thinks of an adventurer, I wonder what he’s doing here then. He doesn’t look like some sort of soldier or mercenary, here to plunder and conquer. His reason for venturing out must be truly bizarre.

Curious, I ask, “Why are you in the astral yourself, kind stranger? It’s not a place one should stay long.”

Settling down into a more comfortable position, Mnesikles says, “I seek out the confirmation of Athena of the City for my humble design of the entrance to what will be her greatest temple!”

Slightly bewildered, I ask, “And she will respond? Surely Athena would have more important things to do?”

Waving the idea away, Mnesikles says, “Of course, it is a common arrangement after a foolish architect who lusted after Athena The Virgin was given the honor of building and designing a temple of hers. He persuaded his servants that it was only right that Athena The Virgin be worshipped as the woman she is. So with their help, he built a sacrilegious temple devoted to his lust and not her virtue. And when the day came to have it consecrated so that Athena might reside inside, she descended and struck down the temple with a spear from the heavens, so alight in fury was she that she anhilated every villain, and exterminated their bloodline to the last."

I wince, that man was disgusting, but did his wife, all his brothers and sisters, and children deserve to die for the crime of not stopping a madman? No, no they did not.

Mnesikles, shuddering, says, “After that, Athena of the City made sure that nothing so horrific would ever be built in her image. So we must bring our designs to her feet for review. I am not so foolish that I would build something so vile, but Athena despises all those who hold hubris in their hearts, so I submit to her divine judgement. So that under her eyes I shall approach perfection.”

Hells, the spirits apparently cannot leave humanity alone, even after the shamans drove them back. I would say that they’re more subtle now, but considering that they’re slaughtering people to the nine generations, they aren’t exactly acting subtly.

I was a bit hesitant to ask more, but my curiosity guided me to ask, “Is this the usual spot for these requests of judgment? Why are you here specifically?”

Mnesikles, chuckling, answers, "No, this is not the place where my design would be judged. It is my design.”

With a flick of his wrist, the temple rearranges and jumps around me; the columns shift from doric to ionic, from six to nine to sixteen. The marble ceiling far above flys away, and I can see above me the beauty of the astral, complimented by a swirling hurricane of marble.

I look down and see the floor beneath me flicker and shimmer like a glitching mirage. And I find myself with Mnesikles all one on a magnificent column that spears into the infinite space below, surrounded by the crunching, cracking splendor of the remains of the entrance swirling all around me.

And with another flick of the wrist, it all comes back to normal. Or, as normal as the astral gets, I still see gargantuan monsters formed out of the remnants of human desires, concepts, and emotions, twisting in the sky beyond Mnesikles.

With that now-expected smile on his face Mnesikles says, “If Athena [-Bright/Sharp/Owl Eyed-], is dissatisfied, she shall strike down my plan and continue to do so until I fit something that fits her divine image. Until I build something that captures her essence, her perfection.”

I simply reply, "Huh,” not knowing what else to say.

Well, I must leave. I can’t exactly find a bargaining chip or a subject for further research here. And I might get smited by Athena if I stay when she strikes down his design.

Looking down at the small cloth in my hands. I decide I can’t leave him with nothing for this kindness I haven't felt in so long.

Reaching into my bag, I pull out some iron dust and shape it into a small disk with my hands before melting it with a hot hands spell, and then quickly freezing it with a burst from my gauntlet.

Now brittle but usable I carve in a durability rune with a quick varving beam to make up for the weaknesses caused by the quick cooling. I carve in a rarely used emotional recharging storage function since I doubt Mnesikles has access to lightning or electricity to recharge the disk, and a small button on the back of the disk, and then I use all the space I left on the front to make the stasis rune as large as possible.

I hand it to him and say, “Press this rune, and it will freeze you, keeping you safe but unable to move for 600 breaths. May my gift save your life one day.” as I begin to stand.

Mnesikles, surprised but joyous, says, "Thank you, traveler; I see you are leaving. I would offer you an escort as a proper host, but I see that I am far weaker than you and that my escort would be a burden. Instead, take this with you."

With these words, he pushes another bundle of cloth into my hands, the other half of the meal meant for him, and he says with wild, vibrant eyes glistening with passion, "I see you have sorrow in your heart, traveler, and while we shall never meet again, I must say. We humans are never as dull, cruel, and small as we imagine we are."

After this, I get up and begin to fly off, and as I leave behind his grand work, I hear a piercing owl screech and a now familiar chuckle as I move on.