In Frein’s Mind Palace

Elizzel woke up near Frein’s unrealistically convoluted Mill. A soft bed was prepared for her, a floor cushion filled with enough fluff it almost embraced her. She had two pillows, a small, ergonomic one for her head and neck, and a large one enough for her size to wrap around.

Soft music played around the Exhibit, a relaxing tune of piano and violin. The temperature was also cozy and warm, as if the room knew her preference and adjusted accordingly.

Accommodating and comfortable.

In other words, the faunel wanted to sleep herself to death with how much care she was getting. Needless to say, it took her a good full day to even consider stirring about. Even as she turned, her bed was spacious enough to keep her around its fluff.

Heaven, so to speak.

Finally, the faunel decided to open her eyes. The non-sourced lights of the Exhibit were gone, providing her with enough darkness to ease her vision. Only the green dimmed light of the Emerald Guidance glowed from her periphery. A yawn escaped her, and then a stretch.

It felt good to wake up refreshed without the hassle of rushing herself to full awareness, for the wilds of the Nightmare Lands would never provide her this much luxury.

This much freedom.

With a satisfied sigh and a smile on her face, Elizzel turned again. To her surprise, she found the door leading towards Frein’s Mind Palace opened. The owner walked around his memory room, holding a stack of paintings with a bunch more following him around. She never taught him how to do this. Then again, he was surprisingly intuitive of many things.

Catching some sort of second-hand determination, the faunel rolled out of bed—a wondrous and fun, yet short-lived experience—and brought herself up to her feet.

Her surroundings were a mess, that much was to be expected. There were destroyed display cases, remnants of materials they could no longer use, slowly disintegrating into meiyal residue, and two meiyal-charged materials neatly stored, waiting to be integrated presented themselves in front of her.

She gave those two items a keen look. Rindea’s Exhibit was filled with such incredible materials, but they were already so attached to the elven Worldborn that they chose to self-destruct rather than submit to a new master. Feisty little troublemakers, these meiyal-charged materials. If Frein were to integrate with that entire Exhibit, he would surpass Katherine overnight.

Alas, things weren’t always that easy.

Still, for a Fulgurblade of the Thousand-Year Storm and a Shinemoon Scabbard to survive out of all the things in that Exhibit was already fortuitous enough as far as Elizzel was concerned. She smiled and left them in their respective containers, wrestling against her eagerness to integrate with them right away.

For now, she was more curious at what her new host was up to.

The museum of paintings that was Frein’s Mind Palace had been converted to a workstation, or a storehouse of sorts. Layers upon layers of framed memory depictions were stacked on one another. There seemed to be some sort of organization, but only Frein held those threads. Even while trying to study him through their Tether, Elizzel only found herself confused by the complicated webs of connections.

“Good, you’re here,” Frein began, noticing the superficial tug. He didn’t even need to turn to her. “I need a soundboard.”

“A what?” Elizzel asked.

“Exactly. I need someone to bounce around ideas with. Helps me think better. This Mind Palace is amazing and all, but it doesn’t portray everything one-for-one, especially in vague or less memorable…memories. And it’s pretty confusing with all the information I have. Need to find the right clues.”

“Alright. Clues of what?” she asked.

“Everything.” This time, he gave her a glance. “Every god-forsaken question there is about all of these.”

“These?”

“What’s the real purpose of a Visitor? Why does Katherine have to be a Seeker? Who really is Schrodie? Why was your memory wiped? What’s Meiyal Arts and why is it the one Iristans use now. Why are there meiyal marks if they don’t matter at all? What’s the Nightmare Lands? Why was it called Void Region before?

“What’s a faunel? Who else is a faunel? Are all faunels good? Why do faunels represent things, like yours is Freedom and Consequences? Are they always supposed to represent vaguely contradicting concepts? For that matter, what’s the Contradiction? What’s Destiny?”

Frein looked at his Mind Palace, a collection of paintings layered upon one another, hovering in rows and columns, or stacked in a corner. They all mattered. Connected to something.

“And a lot more…” He held out a hand, summoning one large frame, and began to work.

“And these memories will show you the answer?” Elizzel asked, still bewildered at the network of paintings. Frames upon frames were still filling the pile. She admitted, even herself didn’t know how Frein managed to come up with this maze of memory images.

“No, of course not,” Frein replied as if he already expected the question. “I’m just making sure I have all the details, so I don’t make the wrong assumptions.”

“Like what?”

“Well, the most obvious one is assuming that there’s still a way to prolong my life.”

“You don’t think it’s possible?”

“Being hopeful isn’t a bad thing,” he began, studying the painting on his hand and reaching for another. “Relying on it under the pretense that it might exist is the mistake. Lots of effort and time spent on wishful thinking only leads to regret down the line. I want something more concrete.”

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He mumbled to himself a bit. This is redundant, Elizzel heard from their Tether. She expected him to throw one of the paintings away, but he just chucked them both on the same pile.

“Here,” he said, directing the faunel’s attention to a collection. Five paintings hovered together. “These are all the information I have regarding the definition of a Visitor.”

Each painting depicted a person. Himself, Katherine, Schrodie, Elizzel, and Rindea. A small frame also hovered beside them with Alphazzel’s name on it followed by a question mark.

“It’s so few compared to the rest of your collections,” she said.

Frein nodded and sighed. “To tell you the truth, no one in Irista Nation knows my purpose here. They only know that I’m someone not from this world and is destined to die after one year.”

“Did you ask them?”

“Probed. Not asked. I did it to King Urzic the first day I arrived here, remember?”

“What’s the difference?”

Frein pondered for a while. “Trust, for one thing. The title of the Visitor is famous and prestigious enough that opportunistic people would make up crap to manipulate me into working for them. It’s not like asking questions is a bad thing. People often take it as a sign of intelligence, which is wrong in my opinion. I think it's only a part of real intelligence.”

Elizzel gestured for him to continue when he clearly waited for some sort of retort. She didn’t want a debate.

“Intelligent people, first and foremost, observe and analyze every bit of available information, and only ask the right questions to the right people. And in my ten days in Brymeia, so far, nobody affiliated with Irista Nation is the right person to ask. Lots of clues, though.”

“Even Princess Kristel doesn’t know?”

“You’re doing a real good job being a soundboard,” Frein commented with a smile.

“I did tell you before that I only want to help you. If you need a soundboard, then you’ll get a soundboard.” Elizzel sat beside Frein and enjoyed watching him work his process. Patience was at the center of it all. How, she wasn’t sure, but she decided to mimic him. “What of the Princess?” she asked again.

“I asked her, and she’s as clueless as we are. Like the rest of them, she thinks I’m here for a glorious purpose. A lucky omen. She thinks I’m here to save the world or something like that.”

“And what do you think?”

“Well, Brymeia does have a problem, obviously.” Frein pulled a painting that depicted the three Jaws Lurking in the Forest. “But I have no idea how to deal with the Nightmare Lands, let alone just fight these guys without breaking a sweat. I, sure as hell, don’t see myself getting rid of that within a year.”

“Why not?”

“Well, if it was that easy, my predecessors would’ve done it. I assume most of them are more qualified than I am.”

“I thought you’re not supposed to make assumptions?”

“Wrong assumptions.”

“What makes you think this one’s right?”

Frein paused as he began to speak. He then walked and disappeared into his labyrinth of paintings. There was silence for a while, only disturbed by his frantic rummaging, until his voice resonated from behind the frames. “You’re right, I could be wrong.”

He appeared a second later. “I assumed that the previous Visitors knew how to manipulate meiyal or have a superior source of magic, but I never got to ask Schrodie for clarification. Thanks, I’ll strike that off.”

“That still doesn’t mean you can deal with the Nightmare Lands in one year,” Elizzel said, ever the great soundboard.

“Correct. It just makes my job harder.”

Elizzel caught the implication. “You’re thinking of saving Brymeia?”

“I mean, that’s the only logical prospect there is. At least the one I prefer.”

“What are the other options?”

“For one, being a sacrificial lamb of sorts? Schrodie never really admitted it, but with just the ritual of how I got this meiyal system, it’s definitely special in a way.”

“You mean…”

“That when I die, my soul, my memories, my existence somehow gets absorbed into this meiyal system and Schrodie then collects it for some other purpose. Good or evil, that’s beyond me. I would hate that, either way.”

“Morbid,” Elizzel commented.

“You’re not going to refute?” Frein asked.

“I don’t remember what happens when a Visitor dies.”

“Which leads me to my next topic,” he said. “What happens after I die?”

He made a grand gesture towards a stack of paintings on one of the corners. Three rows towered over them.

“These are all the books I’ve read here in Brymeia,” he presented with an excited smile. “I hoped, since Schrodie’s bound by some greater will which stops her from sharing her secrets—”

“Wait, a sec,” Elizzel interrupted. “Schrodie’s bound by what now?”

Frein pointed towards another stack of paintings. “These are all the moments I tried to get answers from Schrodie. All of these will show you how I got rejected.”

A Recollection played, portraying increased difficulty during Frein’s training sessions when he annoyed Schrodie with his questions. Elizzel got a good laugh out of it.

“And this one,” Frein pulled out a single painting. “Is the only time she gave me a vague answer.”

Elizzel focused on the new Recollection. It was the time when Schrodie gave Frein his meiyal system. At the end of it was a single line that the Recollection emphasized for the both of them.

“You need only know for now that Brymeia is not the only world involved here.”

Frein continued his presentation. “This ominous line pretty much tells me a lot of things.”

It only made Elizzel confused. “Explain.”

“Either Schrodie knows so much more, but is afraid to influence my decisions and—or—she’s bound by some sort of oath or a greater entity than herself, or she’s just acting silly and grandiose. Former tells me that I’m bound for greater things, latter means I’m a sacrificial lamb.”

“That feels forced.”

“Yes, until I met Rindea.”

Elizzel’s mouth turned agape. “How’s that connected?”

Frein moved out of the corner of paintings and fully committed to their tangent, pulling one of the five paintings involved on the definition of a Visitor. Rindea’s depiction was on it.

“Rindea told me to find something. To glimpse into Destiny in order to locate this something. It’s not unreasonable to assume that Schrodie will only tell me more once I get this something. If that’s true, then there’s a lot to pick up from that. I don’t suppose you can tell me more about this Destiny thing?” He asked, pulling Elizzel’s painting.

The faunel shook her head. “I already told you what I know.”

“That it’s a tug-of-war between everyone and everything.”

“I can’t tell you how to look at it, because I don’t know, but I can tell you why Worldborns, Deitars, and gods are so obsessed with it.”

Frein released the two paintings. “Go on.”

“Remember when I asked you what separates gods from mortals?”

“I thought this is something you’ll tell me far later.”

Elizzel shrugged. “I didn’t think we’d be talking about Destiny this early either.”

“You’re saying it has something to do with Destiny?”

She gave a nod. “Worldborns and Deitars can look at it. See down the road, predict the future.”

Immediately Frein replayed his Recollection of Rindea Fallsween. “When she mentioned Evanclad Irista couldn’t end The Four Sealed Ones, it’s not just because of the Divine Severing… Deitars on the brink of godhood…”

Elizzel waited for Frein to find his conclusion.

“Gods can manipulate Destiny…”

The faunel nodded. “The Four Sealed Ones, while not being full-fledged gods, have a strong hold on their own Destinies, thus making them immortal against those that couldn’t hold it.”

Frein looked perplexed and suddenly jolted around his maze of paintings.

“What are you looking for?” Elizzel asked, her curiosity suddenly spurred by the spike in his activity.

“I’m trying to find…” Frein began but quickly lost himself in his internal thoughts. Immediately, a number of paintings hovered into a pile in front of him.

“I’m trying to find all the information I know about Worldborns.”

“Why Worldborns?”

“To be a god, you have to be a Deitar. To be a Deitar, you have to be a Worldborn. This is the only path I know so far. But how does one become a Worldborn?”

Rindea’s Recollection immediately played back.

“It means the creature had gained enough favor from the gods to be reborn anew.”

“Well, that pretty much makes it useless,” Frein sighed.

“How so?” Elizzel asked. It warranted a frown from Frein.

“The Divine Severing makes it impossible to gain favor from a god,” he answered, but with each word, a form of realization slowly appeared on his face. “You know there’s another way.”

Elizzel nodded. “Not all gods were pushed away by the Divine Severing.”

“What?”

But even as Frein’s excitement surfaced, Elizzel couldn’t help but feel disappointed for him. “That’s all I remember.”

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