Timbrelle opened her eyes to the wooden slatted ceiling of a cabin that undulated with aimless splashes of firelight. It was the latest in a series of odd locations she had regained consciousness. Beside her loomed an over-full bookcase filled with untitled tomes. Last she could recall, Adna had been kneeling over her while she—
The bedding bunched up around her as she bolted upright and a small house cat went flying from her chest. It landed on its feet and gave Timbrelle a look of betrayal. The indignancy was lost on the woman as she searched her chest for the mortal wound that had pierced her heart. It, like the crater at her sternum, was gone. Only supple mocha skin met her fingertips.
She’d died… hadn’t she?
“I am certain she meant nothing by it, Artax.” A low, tender voice assured the cat. It was followed into the cabin by a stout woman dressed in an apron dusted in flour. The apron itself was embroidered with cartoonish shibas chasing moths. The carefree silliness went perfectly with the woman’s soft countenance and two buns in her hair.
“I know you.” Timbrelle realized. “Are you the storyteller I lived with before the Dorark? …Cake?”
The middle-aged woman smiled. “I was not sure how much you would retain. You were little more than a newborn when first we met but, nevertheless, you have completed the task I gave you. You are a fully sentient being now.”
Timbrelle studied the woman. She was familiar and yet… something was explicitly wrong about her. Be it the lack of sound produced by her movements or the unnatural stillness of her body when at rest, the woman was uncanny.
“Cake. Just what are you?”
Cake looked surprised for a mere moment before offering a warm smile that squinted her eyes shut. “I am known by many different names, but I am, for all intents and purposes, The Soul Smith. I manufacture any and every soul that comes to Kitos. When a human from Earth is summoned through the ether, I am the one who casts their essence back into shape after it is dissolved. As you see, I reassumed the form I took when you first awoke on Kitos. Though, it would seem, you’ve become more adept at noticing the ‘imperfections’ in my guise.
“That aside. The much better question here is: What are you, Timbrelle? Have you formulated your answer to that question?”
Timbrelle blinked at the woman. “I guess you could say that. I just learned that I’m a horrid amalgamation of soul parts dressed up in a skin suit. Was that… what you were hoping I’d discover?”
Cake shook her head. “No. In fact, I specifically blocked that from your memory. That information was much more difficult to cope with at the time. You had no personal memories, no experience, no self—in full candor, I did not expect you to survive long enough to establish your prerogative on that grisly soul. During your loosening, my bindings came apart and the memories of your soul fragments were reclaimed. Cookie?”
The new thought flowed off the back of the first in such fluid motion that it took Timbrelle a moment to process the offer. She received the steaming chocolate chip cookie in both hands and Cake went about loading the rest into a paper bag.
“What changed? What did I do to ‘establish my claim’ and become sentient?” She asked, inspecting the cookie in one hand while she beckoned Artax closer with the other.
“Are you familiar with your Fate Ability? No? No matter, it only matured as you were dying. Quite the close call, I would note. Try loading your interface and checking it yourself.” She placed the paper bag in Timbrelle’s lap beside the now hesitant Artax. “I imagine your mentor will have a more detailed explanation
A green square blipped into her periphery. It expanded at her attention into a window of mint light. Another thought opened the first tab labeled “Abilities”.
Title ability: the Fragile
You are a delicate existence that cannot exist without protection. As such, those who see you as weaker than themselves feel the need to protect you. However, those who perceive you as stronger than themselves are disinclined to regard you as a threat.
-Lifelines will repopulate at a rate of 1/month
*Social abilities are largely based on the target’s identity, beliefs and disposition, as well as the user’s relative power. Effects may vary from person to person.
*Repeated use will increase your power and efficiency
Fate Ability: Hysteria
If you have proven anything it is that your instability is unquestionable.
-In times of extreme emotion, the spectral energy around you, regardless of form or vessel, becomes responsive to your demands.
*Repeated use will increase the ability’s power and dexterity.
They sat in silence as Timbrelle studied the page. She fiddled with the windows and slipped the bag of cookies through the inventory textbox where it dissolved into gossamer threads of light.
She made a side-long glance at Cake while slowly lifting Artax into the inventory window. The shimmering green eyes of her host clapped onto her, startling Timbrelle into a laughing fit. Those eyes tracked her as she set Artax back on the bed and placed two pats on his head. The cat maintained the consistency of yogurt and purred wildly through the attempted kidnapping.
“You know it was a joke, right? I’m not going to steal from a God.” She assured.
Cake looked mildly amused when she said, “You already have. At least, that is what Nerrus seems to believe. He will be here shortly to reclaim His property, I am sure.”
The air of their conversation congealed into a viscous awkwardness. Timbrelle munched at her cookie until the God’s unwavering stare pried the questions out of her.
“Can I ask you something?” She asked, hesitantly. It was entirely possible that her question was one best left unanswered. …Maybe. But maybe it was about time to be prepared for “Why did you make me this way? I don’t think this is how you made everyone else. Why would you do something like this?”
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
The Soul Smith frowned to herself, looking away. “You were not one of my creations, but I can lay a small claim now that your sentience has been recognized by the Miasma. Rather than one of my children, you were a flightless bird that matured beautifully after graduating from my intensive care. I do not know what your intended purpose was. So let us be clear about one thing: I did not make you—nor did you form on Earth. Your creation was performed by a heavy hand that left behind the fetor of mortality as surely as a fingerprint.”
Timbrelle snorted. “Wait. You couldn’t possibly have made me because my soul is of such shitty quality? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I am pleased to hear that you understand.” She patted Timbrelle’s knee.
“God-Cake has jokes, eh?” She laughed. “So… what happens now? Can you send me back to Adna? I must have scared her when I died.”
The God cocked her head. “Diadna? Are the two of you familiar? I was unaware. Very well… I will summon her.”
As her final word ended, a soft knock sounded at the door.
A voice spoke from beyond. “Soul Smith, I have received your summons.“
“Enter, child. You have my gratitude for your promptness. Time is in short supply.” Cake responded. The door swung open at Her glance.
Timbrelle gasped at the visage of pure flame in the doorway. Their body was radiant as the sun and mulled the hues of superheated gases across her skin. To behold her was to look upon an atomic bomb stuck at the instant of detonation. Her body thrummed with power.
This was clearly the wrong Diadna.
Timbrelle, still in bed, launched into her explanation with hands up in apology. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to bother you, I just wasn’t clear. I’m looking for Adna, my Adna. Her full name is Diadna, so I can understand the confusion. She was right next to me when I died—can’t have gotten too far.”
The God shot a puzzled look at her, then turned to Cake for an explanation.
Cake returned the look and said, “There was no one beside you when you died. An Unmade by the name of Brandon was the only soul left in the room with yours.”
“My Adna. She found me in the Dorark. We share a soul. How can you not know about her?” She demanded, frustration peeking through her tone. “I spend every hour of virtually every day with her.”
Another knock at the door, this time insistent, was her only answer.
“Soul Smith.” The voice of Nerrus drifted in. “You have something of mine, I respectfully demand it returned.”
“Enter, child, and understand that you will have no authority in my domain.” Cake said, not nearly so warm as when inviting Diadna inside.
The inferno of a woman politely stepped aside to allow Nerrus space in the increasingly cramped single-room cabin.
“Hey Cake. Can I say ‘fuck you’ to a God?” Timbrelle whispered.
Nerrus’s lips pulled back to reveal a contemptuous snarl. “I’ve already heard it from your friend, Adna.”
Again, Diadna and Cake shared a look.
“What do you know of this Adna, Nerrus?” Diadna asked.
He sniffed at her, deigning to respond. “I believe she is a figment, however it would be my first time encountering one. This wretch has been fueling the thing.”
Timbrelle was tempted to answer when the God’s bony finger stabbed in her direction but changed her mind when Cake’s attitude turned suddenly icy.
“State your business and leave.” Cake’s voice took on a new timbre whose promise of confrontation ran like sandpaper over Timbrelle’s nerves.
“She has my medium and a divine quest mandating she hand it over. I have every right to expect it returned.”
“It is no longer your medium, Obsidian. The topaz has been cast into her soul during the Unmaking. I am afraid it is her medium now.” The Soul Smith appraised Him openly, inviting His next move.
A realization struck Timbrelle like a bolt out of the blue.
“I had one of your mediums inside me?” She cut in, Cake and Diadna momentarily forgotten. “No way… Is that why I was your chosen—why you gave me no direction? Oh Hell no, Is that why you never showed up during my death? You were just waiting for me to die so you could snag it back, weren’t you? I prayed to you! You sick son of a bitch!”
Nerrus raised a hand to deflect the book she sent hurtling end over end. It bounced off a ripple of blue aura. The second and third books met the same forcefield.
Anger raged through her, causing her to instinctively reach for a well of power that slept deep within her abdomen.
Ping!
You have activated your Fate Ability: Hysteria.
Timbrelle hurled another book from the shelves beside her. This time, just as Nerrus tried to intercept the projectile, she felt the energy He emitted pull ever so slightly toward her. The blue aura faltered and the considerable tome flew through to clip the God on the shoulder.
The room went still as three pairs of godly eyes fell on her. Timbrelle lowered the final book from where she’d raised it over her head in both hands.
“Leave, Nerrus.” Cake commanded.
“She is my devotee, Soul Smith. It is not your concern that I intend to twist her in half and reclaim my medium. That is my right as her owner.”
“Her body is Kiton, her soul has been Unmade by me and she has attuned both the eye and medium. Whatever divine quest you gave her, it lapsed when she died. You know that you have no foundation upon which to stake your claim. In point of fact, if you wish to reestablish your contract, it will now be between yourself and an Unmade. So once again—and for the last time—I suggest you leave.” Cake placed a blue gem on the table that Timbrelle knew to be the single gem Adna had fed her. “And take this disgusting thing with you.”
He snatched the sapphire from the table and made for the exit.
“Wait! I just remembered that I have a promise to keep. ” Timbrelle scrambled to stop the God. He paused with a hand on the doorknob but did not turn up face her. “Ahem… Jir is a pretty cool dude and you should consider hanging out with Him.”
The deific man slammed the door behind Him.
Timbrelle lasted four entire seconds after divesting their company of Nerrus before rounding on Cake. “What’s going on? What’s a figment? Don’t think I didn’t notice you shut down when He mentioned that. Is Adna in danger as a ‘figment’?”
“You’ve developed a much more brazen personality since last we met. You were once so timid in my home. Such is the domain of the Unmade, I suppose.” Cake patted the wooden stool next to her in an invitation that Diadna accepted. “A figment is a category of proto-soul. Any God of my tier can create one simply by reanimating a corpse. The resulting person is nothing more than a projection—spectral energy fed through their brain like light through a prism. Neither myself nor any other God can exert power over another’s figment as they, strictly speaking, have no soul.”
“Soul Smith,” Daidna gave a deferential nod, “I understand that my summons may have been unnecessary. However, may I ask your guest some a questions?”
“Please.” Cake smiled and busied herself, allowing them the illusion of privacy.
For a short time Diadna asked simple questions about Adna’s condition, memories, physicality, disposition and behavior. Each question grew more pointed than the last until Timbrelle pitched her theory.
“Excuse me,” she paused the woman’s endless questioning. “Is it possible that you know Adna?”
The corner of Diadna’s mouth twitched upward. “I can assure you that I do not know your Adna but I believe that once upon a long-distant past… she was mine. Should you bring her to my Temple in Florenta, I can make certain.”
Timbrelle nodded, eagerly accepting the responsibility. It was the first bit of direction she’d been given that promised answers about, well… anything. If the Goddess was willing to help them, Timbrelle would stan Her in an instant.
“With that being said, I must depart. You have my sincerest gratitude, Soul Smith. I am in your debt.” Diadna gave a slight bow to Cake and nodded at Timbrelle’s wave. “I will be awaiting your arrival.”
“She is a good kid.” Cake mused to herself, then addressed Her remaining guest. “You cannot remain in my domain as a fully formed soul. The time has finally come for you to begin the tutorial. Say goodbye, Artax.”
Ribbons of white light rose as her body unspooled. The final thing she registered was Artax jumping off the bed and landing in the form of a young boy. He grabbed Cake’s skirt and watched Timbrelle dissolve.
“Remember us this time.” He requested softly.