“What kind of bad news do you mean!” I say while pacing, my thoughts swirling around a fact that is slowly forming in my mind.

“Do you know what I’ve just done for you? I have bled, fought, and broken myself to save your people, and this is how you repay me!” I scream at him, pain and anger choking my throat.

“And I did all of this with no information at all because you didn’t want to own up to your own mistakes, so please tell me how you failed, just like when you enslaved your entire people based on a pointless stand that wouldn’t have produced anything of worth without me,” I say, my voice burning with vitriol as I finally turn to Patient Bridge.

But as I do so, I see a shrinking figure, his eyes and heart filled with pain, so I sigh and say, “What is this bad news of yours?” Unwilling to beat someone with my words.

The shaman gestures for me to sit down, saying, “This will take a while to explain, so it’s better if you are sitting.”

Reluctantly, I plop down, leaning against the foot of my throne. Although it is quite strange because it’s not really leaning, it’s more pretending to lean so that I don’t slide around.

“The thing about Perspective is that it dictates what you can see; as you have probably guessed, I personally see strange dark soil for me to step on, and you float on nothing drifting in the night sky.” He says slowly, pulling me through his dance of words.

I listen as patiently as I can, considering that he is repaying one piece of his debts here, but I don’t see how this has anything to do with whatever terrible news he has.

“But as you know, what you can see affects what you can do; I can stand and run on ground that is invisible to you while you fly like a bird. And this affects things beyond just our environment,” he says, building the foundation necessary for a later point.

“Magic operates on three pillars: emotion is the fuel; through it, magic is born, with each emotion holding domain over a certain section of magic, but it can do nothing without belief; for you can only do what you believe you can do; and finally, perspective.” He says rising and falling before coming to an abrupt stop.

Pausing carefully as he constructs his next words, he says with a sigh, “As the name suggests, it dictates what you can see and thus what spells you can learn; after all, how can you learn from voices you cannot hear or gain insight from instruction you cannot see? And that’s the problem Tara.”

I am taken aback by his free illustration of apparently some of the most important pieces of magical knowledge available, but as he does so, a thought starts to take form in my mind. A thought most grim and plausible.

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“I found the spell for someone to move physically between the Astral, and the Mortal plane” He says, sadness emanating from his voice, as he reaches into a bag and pulls out a piece of paper.

My heart swells with hope but I quickly smother it, this day is not one for hope. It is for hard truths coming from people you don’t neccesarily like.

“But the perspective is so antithetical to yours that you can never learn this spell, or any of it’s like” Shaman says as he reveals the piece of paper to be completely blank.

“When I took a piece of your perspective in, I felt overwhelmingly your dependence on sight; if you can see something, you can believe in it, which grants you a very high ceiling in magic, one not restrained by self-doubt,” he says, getting into the rythm of a teacher.

“But what happens when there is nothing to see? When the mystical simply cannot be observed, changed, or experimented on. What can you do?” he says obviously posing a question to me.

“The facts are that sometimes you just have to have faith because faith is what this makes this world more than dirt, but your perspective is one that ignores that dirt can be more than that, and accepts the world as it is, boring and dull” the shaman says his voice echoing grim certainty. But I refuse because what does exist outside of my sight, especially when I can see beyond my own eyes.

The shaman noticing my dibelief writes the spell right in front of me but no matter how hard I strain my eyes or try to diligently note down his movements I see nothing at all, and it fills me with a burning rage.

I snatch the page and stare at its emptyness, crumpling the useless paper as I say, “How is this possible? It makes no sense that you can essentially be blocked off from using certain magics, dictated by what, your assimilation tendencies!” outraged at something that just refuses to make sense.

But a thought suddenly leaps from my mind: “Wait, when we shared perspectives, could I have used spells you could? Now that I see spirits in your manner rather than mine! If so, then all we have to do is find someone who holds that perspective and swap!”

But the cold, solemn shaman immediately shuts it down “When I shared my perspective with you, I shared the belief that led to a bit of my perspective with you, essentially layering my views on top of yours.”

“And your perspective is made of dozens of those beliefs weaved together. Your perspective is more than just what magic you learn; it is how you interpret and view your existence. And your interpretations are what make you, you,” he says, pointing at me.

“And if I were to replace your perspective with that of one with honest faith, it does not matter if they were to have all your memories; they would be a completely different person; the person who would walk through the portal would be nothing more than a stranger wearing your skin.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do now? How do I get home? How do I escape this horrible nightmare if I can’t do it with my own two hands?” I say in despair.

“But that is just the thing; you don’t have to do it with your own two hands,” Patient Bridge says, gently gripping my shoulder and comforting me as the tears I didn’t see fall down my face my face a glistening mess of snot and tears as I furiously sob at the devastation of having all my hopes ripped out.

“I swear on the core of my being that I will make this right, Tara, so that you don’t have to do this alone,” he states, and as he does so, something rings in the world as his deepest oath locks onto him. The very world guaranteeing his word with steadfast power.

And I sob even louder upon this offering, unable to even describe my despair at all my efforts leading to nothing but toys, and violence. All my experiments, all my different scrambling efforts to survive in this desolate world, all for naught, because I never could escape.

“I see you desire to be by yourself a bit; I will go but know that you may always call upon me,” he says, leaving behind a strange wooden badge adorned with two feathers behind as he shimmers away.

Was what he said true? Or is this some strange mirage to trick me farther away from the light. To turn me into his little trapped errand girl, here to exchange a favor or two.

And does it even matter, I’ve failed; there is nothing left for me on this road, and now I must take another.

I chuckle this sinking, empty feeling familiar as few could be, the feeling of being torn from everything you knew in a dark and strange world. But despite it all, I smile as I grab the little medallion, for perhaps this time my journey won’t be as lonely.

The End of Book 1 Uncharted Waters.

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