The funeral time arrived, shrouding the Clan in an atmosphere of somber melancholy. The once bustling central square was now transformed into a solemn gathering place, adorned with wreaths of wilting flowers and flickering candles that cast eerie shadows upon the faces of those in attendance. The tragedy of the young boy and his parents hung heavy in the air, their lives extinguished in a blaze of uncontrollable power.
Dalton stood at the forefront, his tall, imposing figure commanding the attention of the mourners. Dressed in dark ceremonial attire, his eyes bore the weight of grief as he addressed the somber crowd. His voice, usually booming with authority, now carried a hint of vulnerability.
"We gather here today to bid farewell to three beloved souls whose lives were tragically cut short," Dalton's voice echoed through the silent square, his words laden with sorrow. "They were taken from us by the unforgiving flames of power, a reminder of the immense responsibility that comes with our abilities."
His gaze shifted to the children in the crowd, their innocent faces tinged with a mix of curiosity and fear. The loss of a young life served as a stark reminder of the dangers that lurked within their dreams. It was a solemn lesson that they would all carry with them for the rest of their days.
"We must honor their memory by not allowing their sacrifice to be in vain," Dalton continued, his voice filled with determination. "We must strive to better understand our powers, to control them, and to protect ourselves and those around us. We owe it to them and to ourselves."
The words hung in the air, stirring a renewed sense of purpose among the mourners. They had witnessed the devastating consequences of unchecked power, and it was a lesson that the younger ones would forever shape their paths. Dalton and Artemis, standing side by side, shared a silent agreement. They knew that they had to take immediate action to ensure the safety and development of their own children.
###
In the privacy of their home, away from prying eyes, Dalton and Artemis discussed the best course of action. They needed a tutor, someone skilled and knowledgeable, who could guide Lucien and Tomas on their respective paths. The weight of this decision hung heavy upon them, for it would shape the future of their children.
“Do you think Lucky Billy would be good to Lucien?” Dalton asked.
But the possibility was quickly shut down by Artemis “Nope, besides being a drunk, their dreams are too different. Lucky Billy is more like an intuition kind of dream and Lucien has visions! These are completely unrelated things”
And they kept brainstorming for a few minutes until Artemis got an idea “Why don’t we use our influence for once and go talk to that old grandpa?”
“That old grandpa? Well, it may work… Their dreams are a bit similar and he may know something about it since he is from the knowledge clan” Dalton agreed.
After careful consideration, they came to a decision. They would seek the counsel of an old seer, a renowned runaway of the Knowledge Clan who found freedom in the Mixers Clan.
As Dalton and his young twins ventured toward the fringes of the village, a weathered wooden shack emerged before them, housing the revered elder they sought. The old man, seated on a creaking bench, fixed his gaze upon the vast expanse of the cerulean sky.
The old man had a long, flowing white beard that reached down to his chest, contrasting against his deeply wrinkled face. His eyes, a piercing shade of gray, held a wisdom accumulated over countless years. Despite his age, his posture remained upright and sturdy, a testament to the strength that resided within him.
The twins, well-versed in the customs of their Clan, instantly recognized the renowned seer, gifted with the rare ability to catch fleeting glimpses of what lay ahead.
In his youth, this elder had cherished his freedom and rebelled against the confinements imposed by the knowledge Clan. As his meditations delved deeper into the future the longer he meditated, his Clan chose to keep him protected inside walls to always be a step ahead from the other Clans in all the great matters. But the seer, as a free soul, found himself quickly yearning for liberation. The notion of being bound by walls all his life grew intolerable, and from the very first day, he plotted his escape.
Devoting an entire month to meditation, the seer received a prophecy that revealed the most opportune moment for his departure. As fate would have it, a fortuitous absence of a guard at the northern perimeter for a brief hour granted the seer his chance. From that pivotal moment, there was no turning back. He fled to the sanctuary of the Mixers Clan, where his visions became a valuable currency, offered in exchange for the refuge he sought.
For the elder, the price of his emancipation was a trifling one. He lived out his days unfettered by any other chains, forever gazing skyward, his thoughts drifting to memories of his escape and the serenity he found among the Mixers Clan.
"Greetings, Elder Kairos," Dalton spoke, extending his salutation to the aged man.
"Ah, Dalton, my boy. Do you seek visions?" the elder responded, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mirth.
"Not this time," Dalton replied. "It so happens that my child has exhibited a power akin to prophecy or visions, and I have come seeking your wisdom on how to train and expedite mastery of this ability, so he can move on to his second dream."
"A simple query, indeed," the elder mused. "Should the child possess the gift of prophecy, there are no shortcuts; only through the act of prophesying can one improve. However, in the case of visions, it is a matter of discerning their true meaning. The mastery of such an ability may be achieved after one vision or even a hundred, contingent upon the nature of the dream. There is no circumventing the process," Elder Kairos affirmed.
The elder proceeded to recount a tale of an old companion, who, like himself, had caught the eyes of his previous Clan. "Once, I had a friend who obtained his second dream mere days after his first," the elder divulged, capturing the twins' rapt attention. "When he finally comprehended the symbolism behind his vision of a fat rat pilfering from its fellow, he instantly acquired the fundamental mastery needed over his dream."
Mastery achieved within a week? The twins marveled at the sheer expediency. Typically, procuring a new dream required years of arduous dedication, and most people received less than ten in their whole lifes. Lost in their own reveries of gaining mastery within a week, the twins clung to the elder's every word as he continued his narrative, recounting the incident. "In truth, it represented his brother's surreptitious raids upon his secret stash of food, known only to him. It was quite a funny day, one etched in my memory as vividly as if it were yesterday."
After finishing his tale, elder Kairos paused, his eyes radiating an ethereal luminescence for a fleeting moment before he returned to the present. Casting a sympathetic gaze upon Lucien, he imparted his final message, laden with warning, "Child, I have granted you a glimpse into the future as a token of aid, for your father's pilgrimage merits such. I can affirm with certainty that understanding a single vision shall suffice for you. But temper your expectations, for the journey may demand more time than you desire. Stay strong."
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Lucien, unaware of the gravity in the elder's words, instantly dismissed the cautionary undertones, fixating on the optimistic kernel. "Only one vision? Piece of cake," he exclaimed, his excitement palpable. Dalton, mindful of the elder's warning, tempered his son's enthusiasm. "Did you not hear, Lucien? Exercise caution and temper your expectations. The elder suggests that the path to mastery may extend far beyond a week. Focus and work diligently, my son," Dalton interjected.
With their exchange concluded, Dalton bid farewell to the elder. "Thank you, Elder Kairos, for granting us your time and wisdom. Your insights have kindled a newfound motivation within my child to hone his utility dream.”
"Damn it, I wish mine were as easy!" Tomas exclaimed, taken aback.
"At least it will be fast," Lucien chimed in, relieved. He had already charted a mental course to expeditiously navigate through this phase and embark on his true dream path.
"We shall see," the elder replied with a knowing smile, fully aware of the unfortunate fate that awaited young Lucien. Dalton and his twins exchanged parting words with the elder before resuming their journey, their footsteps heavy with the weight of both knowledge and uncertainty.
The twins and their father set off from the creaky old shack, the wind whipping past them as they made their way towards the bustling market. The young Tomas couldn't contain his excitement as he bounced along beside his father, eager to know more about the mysterious person they were going to meet next.
"So father, who's the person we're going to see to help me with my dream?" Tomas asked, his voice filled with a hint of playful curiosity.
His father gave a mysterious smile and replied, "It's a secret, son. But I'll give you a little hint. We'll be meeting them at our home."
Tomas's eyes grew wide with excitement. "Okay! I can't wait to find out who it is," he said, a hint of genuine happiness in his voice.
As they continued on their way, the anticipation and mystery of who they were going to meet only grew, adding a touch of excitement to their journey.
As they made their way to their home, Tomas and his father wove through the bustling market, with vendors shouting their wares and the pungent scent of meat and blood filling the air. The market was a hub of activity, with people from all walks of life bartering and trading, from hunters selling the fruits of their labor, to blacksmiths showcasing their latest creations. The family was no stranger to the market and made their way to a secluded corner, where a mysterious figure was perched atop a wagon.
"Greetings, Duke," Tomas's father said, approaching the hunter.
"Hello, my friend," Duke replied, his voice deep and commanding. "Today I have only caught some avions, nothing worthy of note." He leaned forward, his piercing gaze scanning the market. "I fear that the death beast in the region may be on the move once again."
Tomas's father nodded, a look of concern flashing across his face. "I'll have to send some of my men to investigate. I can't afford to take any chances with the safety of our people."
"Indeed," Duke said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And it will give your men something to do, instead of complaining all the time at your headquarters."
"Precisely," Tomas's father agreed, then turned his attention to the avions. "So, how much for these?"
Duke quoted a fair price, and the transaction was made, the two men exchanging goods and pleasantries before bidding each other farewell. As they continued on their journey, Tomas couldn't help but feel the same sense of awe and mystery surrounding Duke he always felt when he met him, a powerful figure who seemed to command respect and fear in equal measure.
Back on the road home, each child clutched two lifeless avions, their sharp beaks and talons a reminder of the dangerous world they lived in. As they walked, their father engaged in casual conversation with the vendors and locals they encountered. The avions, overgrown prehistoric chickens, were a common sight on the entire continent of Taknoa. They were known for their role as the cleaners of the world, feasting on the remnants of other beasts.
As they walked, the conversation about the mysterious death beast that inhabited their region heated up. Tomas, brimming with confidence, declared, "Of course, dad's bird could take down the death beast!"
But Lucien, wise beyond his years, countered with a dose of logic. "Tomas, how do you know the death beast isn't ten times bigger than dad's bird? Uncle Jason said death beasts got their name because if you don't have a powerful enough dream, you're as good as dead. Right, dad?"
Their father nodded gravely, "You're correct, Lucien. Even that brave bird would be no match for the death beast that roams the Blizzard Mountains. The best it can do is try to survive because, after all, flying is the best defense against our region's death beast."
Upon reaching the grandest home in the Clan, the family stepped inside their spacious wooden abode. The firepit in the center of the room was surrounded by rocks, and the walls were adorned with the trophies of their parents' hunting expeditions. The largest skull on the wall caught Tomas' eye and he couldn't resist questioning its size in relation to the death beast.
Dalton, the father, saw this as an opportunity to set the record straight and explain the true nature of death beasts.
"You see, son, death beasts are not just any ordinary species of animal. It is a title given only to the most dominant predator in a region. Most beasts don't live to see their full lifespan, and those that do, do so by hiding. It’s common knowledge that beasts grow and become more powerful through living and eating and, when an individual surpasses its own species in cunning or food-finding abilities, it begins to suppress its competitors and hoard resources and become a special existence. When this kind of anomaly beast is born in a predator species at the top of the food chain, it has a clear potential to become the death beast of its territory."
His mother added, "The skull on the wall is not a death beast at all, but rather an armored leopard, a creature from the same species as the death beast. In all Taknoa there is only one person that I know who can kill a death beast without the help of other top experts, but even then, casualties are expected."
With a glint of satisfaction in his eye, Lucien seized the opportunity to mock his brother.
"If you took the time to educate yourself, you wouldn't be so clueless about the world," he sneered, thrusting out his tongue.
Tomas, fueled by anger, shot back without hesitation."Shut up, you useless support dreamer!"
Usually Lucien didn’t care about Tomas' taunts, but after all he had been through, specially to accept this useless dream he was stuck with, he couldn’t stand to be called neither ‘useless’ nor ‘support dreamer’.
Lucien, incensed by the insult, lunged at his brother, throwing all his weight behind a punch, trained for arduous four years, aimed straight at Tomas's face. This was the same punch that could reduce Tomas to tears just a few days prior, but at the moment, he forgot Tomas was powered by newfound strength, having recently received the gift of "tank" abilities.
The outcome was, as predicted, crushing for Lucien. His fist throbbed in pain and his brother stood there with a smug grin, sending tears streaming down Lucien's face. Tomas' tougher bones and muscles to resist pressure made a mess out of Lucien’s hand.
The unfairness of it all was overwhelming, reigniting memories of his own frustration at receiving a "noncombat" dream. He took off again running to his bedroom, with his mother Artemis following to console him. The living room was now left with just father and son, as they struggled to make sense of the recent events.
"Son, you understand, don't you?" Dalton's voice was heavy with gravity as he spoke. "The moment you received our powers and he didn't put you and your brother in different leagues. There's no need for pointless taunts and provocations anymore.
The moment you received your powers, your fate was sealed as the future leader of this Clan, while he is destined to play a supporting role. No matter what he gets later, It will be pretty impossible to beat a mix of mine and Artemis dreams. You are simply on different paths, my son."
Tomas felt a strange and unfamiliar emotion growing within him as his father spoke. He watched as Dalton continued, his voice taking on a more dismissive tone.
"From today onwards, he will never be as important as you. So just let him be."
These words were like a strike of lightning to Tomas, realizing that even his own father had given up on Lucien. All their competition and bickering was over and he had won. But encouraging him, and giving up on Lucien were two different things. The feelings inside him boiled and raged, threatening to spill over, until finally, with a sharp crack, he let out a resounding SLAP.