Hear ye,
For according to ancient lore, when the first practitioners of the sacred arts laid hands upon the essence of the world, they wrought great upheaval upon the universe. They waged a fearsome war against the powerful beings that held dominion over coveted lands…
And vanquished races that once struck mortal terror into the hearts of mankind. They were as gods amongst men, their powers unmatched and their might unfathomable.
These paragons of the sacred arts bequeathed upon their progeny the knowledge of how to sense the essence of the world, to draw it in and mold it to strengthen their earthen vessels of flesh.
Through the passage of time, their descendants shed their mortal forms and ascended to the ranks of beings that stood at the apex of the universe's hierarchy. They imparted the secrets of their fathers to their children and their children's children in a continuous cycle that persists to this day.
When a child reaches the age of maturity, they undergo the arduous ritual of 'sensing the essence'. This sacred rite may span an entire day, or even three, as the young initiate absorbs the very essence of existence and relinquishes their mortal trappings.
The ancient humans christened this solemn occasion as Mhen Agrh'ur - the Day of the Shedding!
~~~
Jerome closed his eyes and slipped into a meditative stance, his consciousness sinking into his soul as his breath evened out, slowing the frenzied pace of his thoughts. His mind, a canvas, awaiting the touch of the brush.
He recalled the wise words of the blind Rihal, urging him to search within himself for the elusive essence he sought.
“Let your heart be tranquil as a lake at dawn. Don't reach for it, let it reach for you.”
“Do not look beyond yourself, but within. The essence you seek cannot be found by searching outside you, but by searching inside you,”
Then he felt it. Like a gentle breeze. A shift in his emotions, peculiar yet comfortable. A spark in the dark.
Jerome held on to that feeling, to the vision of that spark in his mind’s eye until it was the only thing on his mind. Then there was a trickle, like formless energy seeping into his body. And then another, and another. As time went on that trickle became a drizzle, and then a downpour.
Jerome’s whole body was flooded with essence, which seeped into his bones and muscles cleansing him from the inside out. Purifying his body thoroughly. Soon it was like a dam was broken and world essence rushed into his body without pause.
The only thing on Jerome’s mind was the essence. Like the brushstrokes of a painter, it righted his very nature, changed it into something new, something capable of more. He felt like his body now truly belonged to him, like all the while he’d been living in this world, he was living in someone else's skin. Like he'd only now fit into his own skin. He felt elated, invincible.
Jerome felt the beginnings of the saturation of world essence in his body. He felt it gather behind his eyes, ears, in his nostrils, and throat. He felt these parts of his body burn and his eyes water as he shed tears involuntarily. He knew those weren’t tears, but blood mixed with impurities.
After the pain subsided, he felt lightheaded and a lot better. Then he felt the essence gushing into every part of his body move to his center, just beneath his navel.
Now the real work in cycling begins. As the threads of essence gushed into his center, he willed them to compress and found out it was a lot harder in reality — next to impossible even, but he continued nevertheless. He persevered, compressing the threads as they gushed in. Trying to make the essence take the shape of a sphere yet failing again and again.
Time went on as Jerome fell into a deep meditative state. His newly created core was filled with essence as it spun round and round in the shape of a mini cyclone.
As more essence gushed in, the cyclone became denser and purer. Giving off a white glow. Although his newly created core was giving off a dense and powerful radiance, it felt weak. Fleeting. Like it would fade away at any moment. Jerome concentrated on spinning his core faster and faster which in turn created a suction that pulled in more essence and he compressed it with great effort and focus.
At long last, the essence of the world seemed to drizzle to a stop. Still in that deep meditative state, Jerome kept cycling and compressing his core. He cycled continuously until he could sense that the cyclone no longer felt weak or fleeting. He could sense its vigor and life like it was another organ in his body.
~~~
Jerome opened his eyes and the first thing that assaulted his senses was the putrid smell. He looked down at himself and gasped in surprise. He was covered from his head to toes with smelly black mud-like impurities mixed with blood and the surface had dried up during his long meditation.
As he stood up, his body made cracking sounds and he felt tender everywhere. Most of the dried-up impurities fell off of him but he'd still have to wash up to be completely clean.
Jerome looked around and found that he was the only one of the children who came for Mhen Agrh'ur who was left in the city square. Everywhere he looked, adults stared back at him. Most of them glowering at him with unrestrained hostility.
Beside him was someone he least expected though. The blind man who usually visited the orphanage to tell the kids stories and kick their asses was sitting cross-legged half a step behind him to his right. Cane on his shoulder, and back straight like he was standing at attention. Now though, Jerome could feel an oppressive aura coming from him. It pushed against his senses to let him know that the blind man was a lot more powerful than he let on.
Jerome could tell the blind man had been protecting him. But he asked anyway, “Why are you here, Rihal?”
“Come with me,” Rihal said as he stood up and walked towards the north entrance.
Jerome followed silently as he observed those around him. He found that his sight had improved dramatically. Not only could he see more clearly, but his peripheral vision was sharper like he had the eyes of an eagle and could not only see farther but also wider.
“Wow!” he exclaimed excitedly.
“What?” Rihal asked.
“My vision!” Jerome responded.
Rihal nodded slowly and said, “Keep your questions in your heart for now.” Rihal knew the kid would have a lot of questions, but he had to get him cleaned up and ready for everything else that would come with being a sacred artist.
Jerome focused on listening to the sounds and voices around and was pleasantly surprised as the voices of the people fifty steps away from him assaulted his ears. He wasn’t overwhelmed by these voices though, as his mind was able to keep up with them and sort through them. He found out he could even focus on specific conversations in the crowd by tuning out the rest of the voices around him.
“...sat down for nine days doing heaven knows what. He’s just trying to show off is all!”
Jerome immediately knew he was the one being talked about, but he kept his expression calm and indifferent. His heart thundered in his chest as he thought to himself, nine days, really? It doesn’t even feel like a day’s gone by!
~~~
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
They quickly left the city square and walked northward towards the closest mountain to the city. The tapping of Rihal’s stick on the stone-paved floor was a constant reminder to the people on their way to move aside. Either the people were considerate or scared of the blind man. Jerome felt it was the latter, for the blind man in front of him was not as simple as he seemed on the surface.
They got to the bottom of a very long flight of stairs leading upwards into the mountain with two guards standing on each side in front of the stairs. Jerome observed the guards, he could tell at a glance that these two were more powerful than he was — though their auras were weaker than Rihal’s. The knowledge of this was instinctual — deep down inside him like an awareness of sorts.
Rihal turned slightly to his left to look at a man sitting cross-legged and meditating a few steps away from the left guard. He walked up to him, and Jerome noticed the man was wearing an emblem on the breast of his royal blue robes. The same as the ones on the armor of the guards standing in front of the stairway — a golden sun with a single eye at its center.
Jerome studied the man in the meditative stance. His aura was restrained, like a sheathed sword, but Jerome’s instincts told him he was most likely as powerful as Rihal was. Especially based on their exchange.
Rihal threw a few coin-like crystals at the man who caught them without opening his eyes. Jerome noted that the coins were giving off an aura similar to earth, like they contained earth essence. He realized that since he came to this world he knew nothing about the economy or currency. Actually, he hadn’t bothered to learn, only focusing on training. They had never had a need for money in the slums too; they hunted everything they ate. From rats to lizards to bugs — or worked for it. A few times they ate food brought by their caretakers. What with the illusion array holding a veil over their vision of the world outside the slums as well. Inside the slums, all you see was more of the slums.
Jerome chuckled. One time he and his friends had tried to leave only to find guards waiting for them. No one would have mourned the loss of a few orphanage kids so they had turned and went back to their orphanage.
That’s a study for later, Jerome thought. He had time. He could learn about the currency any time now. And now that he was a sacred artist, nothing could hold him back from attaining heights unknown. He had been bedridden almost throughout his previous life, and being able to have a taste of what power meant now, he wanted more.
After the man caught the money, Jerome felt pure powerful essence pierce the ground from the man. An array of golden lights lit up the ground around him with tiny scripts barely visible, and a slab of stone jutted out beside the lowest step of the stairway, between the man and the guard.
The stone was pristine and smoothly cut, flat and as thick as two adult fists. The top was wide enough to contain four people. Rihal got on the stone slab and Jerome joined him. He sent his essence into the stone and an array lit up on the surface.
The slab began moving upwards and Rihal stole a glance at Jerome. He saw that Jerome was looking down at the stone slab with interest which raised his impression of the kid a notch and he smiled lightly to himself. He expected Jerome to gawk at the new sensation of moving on an elevator.
Jerome noticed something, however. I did not sense his essence as I did the blue-robed man’s, he thought.
“First time on an elevator, right?” Rihal asked with a smile on his face.
“Hmm,” Jerome muttered and nodded slowly. “It's an interesting concept.” But it was the form that baffled him. This world clearly had its own technological patterns and advancements that should rival his previous world’s.
Rihal laughed heartily saying, “And here I was, thinking I could surprise you with this. I guess it'll take a whole lot more than this to see those eyes of yours nearly pop out of their sockets,”
“Strange,” Jerome said, giving Rihal a strange look.
“What is?” Rihal asked.
“This is the first time I’m hearing you laugh,” and now Jerome didn’t know whether he preferred this new Rihal or not.
“Hmm,” Rihal hummed, dampening the mood as he looked away. He only laughed and spoke more around people he cared for, and where they were going was home to him. A place where he could relax and be himself.
Jerome gave him a wry look. The man probably wasn’t used to being called out so bluntly. “What about my friends?” he asked.
“They attracted the attention of some good families and were adopted as disciples,” Rihal said, his cold demeanor returning. They were almost halfway up the mountain now. He couldn’t wait to get out of the filthy cloak he was wearing. He looked over at Jerome wrinkling his nose at the smell coming from him. The kid needed a bath as well.
Hmm, Jerome thought. With resources from good families, they should make great progress in their developm—wait ‘good’ families, what’d he mean by good families?
“What do you mean by good families? Do you mean like, high-class families or...?” Jerome asked. He wouldn’t want his friends to end up in places where they wouldn’t get the resources and training they needed to become stronger.
“I meant good families, as in good families,” Rihal said, not bothering to elaborate.
Jerome’s face fell. He wanted to say something else, but Rihal beat him to it.
“Is this what you want to be talking about now?” Rihal asked.
Jerome swallowed his next words and asked about himself instead, “What’s wrong with spending nine days in Mhen Agrh’ur?” He’d just have to find out about his friends some other time.
“I believe the question you want to ask is how did you enter deep meditation for nine days?” Rihal said, “My answer..." he hunched down to look Jerome straight in the eyes as he spoke, '”It’s not possible for a twelve-year-old to enter a deep meditative state. But here’s one right in front of me. You, my friend, have made history!”
Rihal straightened and looked upwards towards the peak of the mountain they were ascending as he finished his words folding his arms over his chest.
“There’s always a first time for everything,” Jerome said, deciding not to think too much of it, “What can you tell me about the changes I’ve gone through?”
“Correction. The changes you’re going through. Those changes aren’t over yet.” Rihal said and smiled at him. The kid clearly didn’t know the magnitude of what he had achieved. Well, let’s fix that, Rihal thought.
Jerome looked at him stupefied. He was shocked by that. “You mean there’s more?” he asked.
“When an adolescent starts to sense and absorb essence during Mhen Agrh’ur, they take in a few strands of essence throughout the whole three days,” Rihal began, “Those strands of essence will be cultured, multiplied, and cultivated for a period of say two seasons and a few days before it becomes what you have today.”
Jerome’s jaw dropped.
Rihal continued like he didn’t notice, “The Essence-Forming Realm, the Realm that succeeds the Essence-Gathering Realm.
“We call those in your Realm, Blanks."
“What?!” Jerome exclaimed. He wasn’t expecting that, but Rihal just chuckled and said, “You’re a blank slate, aren’t you? You’re just starting out in life.”
“Well if you put it that way it does make sense,” Jerome said, “but it’s still insulting,” Why should anyone choose to be called Blank? he thought. It was insulting and degrading.
Rihal chuckled as the stone slab came to a halt and they both alighted. Jerome was too smart for his own good but he’d learn. He’d make sure the little essence in his core dries up consistently.
That’ll teach you to be humble, Rihal thought.
“At least you’re called Blanks, you know what those in the Essence-Gathering Realm are called?” Rihal responded.
Jerome didn’t even want to think about it. He stopped for a while and took in the sight before him. A good distance away was a majestic Palace that put every other edifice he saw in the city to shame. Its immaculate white walls exuded an air of opulence that elevated the beauty of the adjacent courtyard and lush greenery that spoke, Nobility, like nothing else.
“This is…” Jerome started to say but was short of words. The magnificence of the Palace was overwhelming.
“This is where the most powerful family in all of Vorthe resides — the Royal family.” Rihal said. His voice carried pride in it.
“You mean to say that the king of Vorthe is in there?” Jerome questioned, his heart pounding rapidly. How the hell did I attract the attention of such powerful people? he thought. He had heard stories about how powerful the Royal family was — many of which were exaggerations. Apparently, the king had the power to seed the clouds with rain with a thought. He just chalked it all up to myths and legends anyway.
“Oh no, this is just one of the Royal Palaces. There are several of them. It’s an Estate out here.” Rihal said with a smile as he stood with his arms akimbo, “And we call the king the Sovereign of Vorthe,” he added as he walked forward.
“Is it true the king — the Sovereign…can seed the clouds with rain with a thought?” Jerome asked as he caught up with Rihal. If nothing he had to clear up this misconception. How could a man seed the clouds with just a thought. There should be quite a lot involved, shouldn’t there? Jerome wasn’t convinced. Such a man would be a god amongst men.
Jerome noticed the constant tapping of Rihal’s stick was nonexistent now. Strange, he thought as he scrutinized the blind Rihal. You’re not so blind afterall, are you? He thought. He felt cheated. How many times did he have to fight Rihal. 34?…35? How many times did Dreamer call it? he thought. Now he had more questions than he did before.
“Why did you bring me here, Rihal? I’m an orphan from the slums. I have no value to Royalty.” Jerome asked, clearly confused. He could only hope he was here to be taken in by the Royal family as a disciple. That would make for a really good story to his friends, he thought with a smile.
Rihal chuckled as he walked forward with long strides, forcing Jerome to keep up. “To answer your first question: yes, all the rumors you hear about the Sovereign are most likely true. Have you ever seen snow in the slums?”
Jerome was shocked, “Are you saying, he—”
“Yes,” Rihal interrupted, “but that’s where you get it wrong. The more accurate rumor would be that supposedly, a Sovereign of the past made the climate around Farryn suitable for agriculture all year round. That my disciple,” Rihal stopped to look at Jerome at the entrance of the Palace, “is an even greater accomplishment,” he finished and walked in.
“Wait, did you just say ‘disciple’?” Jerome asked, elated.