It was a few hours later when they stopped to rest. Clouds had gathered and rain had begun drizzling lightly. Jerome had caught a buck and was now skinning it of its hide on a makeshift table made out of living steel. The buck's hide was tougher than he had expected, perhaps due to the fact that it was already close to becoming as powerful as a Sprout.
Herbivorous magical beasts weren’t uncommon. But they usually didn’t have a cultivation as high as this — at least none Jerome had seen did. They’d become some lucky predator’s meal before they could ever wield essence, even if they had a higher cultivation than the predator.
Jerome sighed as he worked. Life was not fair, and such was the situation he found himself in with Hedon. With a powerful Ancestral Spirit behind him, Hedon was able to escape death once again. Leaving Jerome to ponder what his next move would be. The Alvric heir would become more careful now. He’d leave nothing to chance in the effort to prevent such a thing from happening again.
If only you hadn’t stopped me, Achilles, he’d be dead by now.
“In my defense, Xerae. I was looking out for you.”
“Of course you were,” Jerome replied flatly. He was really angry at the turn of events but now he knew that Achilles would put his life first even if it meant manipulating him. This was the part that stung. “Never do that again, Achilles. Your plans must go through me.”
“As you wish, Xerae.”
Jerome put thoughts of Hedon out of his mind and concentrated on the work before him. He had checked to see if the buck had a core but there was nothing emitting essence from it anymore. He knew the buck wouldn't have a core but there was no harm in checking.
Since the beast hadn't tapped into its bloodline powers, it couldn't condense a physical core yet. Whatever meager essence it must have gathered throughout its life had dissipated the moment Jerome killed it. But its body would have retained some even in death. Which would make its meat a sort after dish for Blanks. The amount of vitality and essence left in the meat wouldn't make any difference for a Sprout like him though. But Jerome wasn't bothered about that.
Csala was gathering wood to make a fire. By the time she was done, Jerome had already cleaned up the meat. He removed the innards, separating the lower body from the upper body and put aside one hind leg for their meal. Csala watched as he placed his hand on the other parts of the game and it froze over—not quickly, but quick enough that she saw the ice spread.
“I didn't know you could command ice,” she said.
“Cold is the absence of heat. I can’t command ice, but I can take away heat.”
“Huh,” she exclaimed, never having thought of it that way.
Jerome smiled. What he did actually required very fine control of one's essence and mental energy.
“You’d be teaching me how to use my me…psychic energy from tonight onwards. After the meal, of course.”
Csala put some of the wood she had gathered at the center of their small camp and looked up at him.
“What?” Jerome asked as he felt her gaze on him, though his eyes were on his makeshift table. He wanted to try something with wood like this. Some of the knowledge he'd gained from the library in Sanctum debunked the laws he'd grown up believing.
The Fae didn’t need to absorb elements of a certain kind before they could wield it; they just had to have an understanding of it and…sense it? He wanted to try. He had lots of ideas flying around in his mind with no time to practice them. He felt he could manipulate wood like he did steel, and gems like he did earth.
“You’re on the right track, Xerae,” Achilles said.
Hmm.
“...Jerome?” Csala called out to him, bringing him out of his musings.
He coughed and looked behind him to see the beautiful succubus staring him down. “Sorry about that. What did you say?”
Csala raised a brow at him, a mixture of anger and confusion on her face. “Light the flame,” she said tightly.
Jerome walked over to the firewood gathered at the center of their camp. He moved them out of the way and made a hole deep enough to fit the wood. He then made a smaller hole beside the first, facing upwind which connected to the one for the fire.
“I see,” Csala said, understanding what he did. “For the air, right?”
“And also to prevent smoke…and predators from seeing the fire,” Jerome said, filling the first hole with the fire wood. The wood burst into flames the moment they were all in the hole.
“It sure is nice to wield essence,” Csala muttered, quietly. Jerome had made those holes as though it was nothing. Not even a wave or a hand gesture was done. The holes just made themselves. He also didn’t throw or spit fire at the wood like he did at her in the mountain, but she felt the essence being used, as well as the tight leash on it.
When sacred artists used essence—or even if they didn’t—succubi could ‘see’ it as aura. There is always a slight leak of that essence that slips their control and dissipates into the world, becoming a part of the ambient essence. Jerome’s control on his essence, however, was a lot firmer than the average sacred artist’s.
Jerome could sense Csala’s wistfulness and indignation. He knew it stemmed from the fact that she naturally couldn’t wield essence like humans or Fae. There may be something he could do to help her out but until he tried, he wouldn’t be sure. With the fire set, Jerome went ahead to spit roast the pieces of meat he had prepared for them.
They sat around the fire waiting for their meal to be ready and Jerome took the time to test out his theories.
“How is it you’re still alive?” Csala asked.
“Huh?”
“You were at death's door before the sun set today — all bones and mummified flesh. I had to carry you as carefully as possible so as not to break you.”
Jerome paused. He fixed his gaze on the spit rotating over the fire as it cooked the meat impaled on it. “I guess you can say I’m different.”
Csala raised an eyebrow giving him a skeptical look. Since he didn't share more though, she didn’t ask.
“I know you can’t wield essence, Csala.”
Csala stiffened at that. She had suspected that he knew, but having it confirmed still made her wary and defensive. “What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice tinged with fear. If Jerome tried to take advantage of her, she’d bolt. He couldn’t catch her — maybe.
“I was thinking about finding a way to help you with that. Maybe a rune of some kind that can help to gather essence for you to wield,” Jerome said with a thoughtful look on his face, seemingly not noticing anything out of the ordinary. “I haven’t worked on anything like that before but, I think I can manage it.”
Csala looked at him as if she was seeing a mad man. She had feared the worst, but it seemed her fears were unnecessary. She knew it was impossible for her kind to wield essence. She had tried and discovered long ago that she could only sense it. Essence was forever within reach but she was unable to hold it, talk more, use it. “It’s not going to work,” she said, looking away from him.
“We’ll see,” Jerome picked up a twig and focused on it.
“Are you really being honest?” Csala asked.
Jerome turned to look at her. He could see hope in her eyes, even though she tried looking nonchalant. “Hm-hm. It’s also gonna be a challenge for me…and I love challenges.” He smiled and turned back to the twig in his hand, extending his senses to scan the piece of wood.
He took his time to slowly feel its surface. Then the inside, layer by layer; from the bark, sapwood, heartwood, and finally the pith. With a tiny push of essence — a trickle really, he covered the bark with his essence and attempted to push his essence into the twig. The twig disintegrated in his hand, turning to dust in an instant. It was unable to bear the potency of his essence.
“Maybe you should try with something bigger, Xerae,” Achilles chimed in.
Of course. He stood up and looked around. There was a fallen log of wood not far from his position and went over to test his skill with it.
“Have you thought of a name for your spear?” Achilles asked.
I do have one in mind — Charybdis. Either that or Devourer. I’m not good with names.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Achilles chuckled. “I like my name.”
“Of course you do,” Jerome responded sarcastically.
“But I understand Charybdis…and your love for classical myths.”
“Ah, yes. I had nothing else to do but read in my previous life. In the Odyssey, Homer’s epic poem. Charybdis is described as a huge sea monster — or whirlpool — that was said to swallow oceans of water—”
“Oceans of water! Really, Xerae,” Achilles interrupted.
“Ahem.”
“Sorry…you may go on.”
“As I was saying… It swallowed ships, and even entire islands! A spinning vortex that posed a grave danger to sailors traveling across the Strait of Messina. Ships that came too close to Charybdis would be swallowed by the vortex and obliterated. Therefore, Charybdis was viewed as a devourer. A voracious natural force in Ancient Greek.”
“Of course this is all myths, Xerae. As you yourself believe. If you don’t believe so, then I wouldn’t believe so either. After all… I’m inside your head. Ahahaha!”
Jerome scowled. Damn mind reading AI, he thought. How do you even know how to make jokes and understand humor? That sho—
“...Shouldn’t be possible?” Achilles asked with a chortle.
“Who are you talking to?” Csala asked from afar, breaking the awkwardness of the moment. Her voice still reached him, soft as a whisper even from a dozen feet away. “The meat is ready.”
“I’ll be there soon!” Jerome called back. I gotta learn to do that.
“I hope to one day see ‘Charybdis’ — that’s what you're calling the spear, right? I hope to one day see it evolve into a massive sea monster; swallowing seas and islands,” Achilles mocked.
Shut the fuck up, Achilles.
Jerome knelt down by the log and placed his hand on it to feel it. As before, he extended his senses around and into the log, he could ‘see’ the beginnings of rot on its surface. The rot hadn’t eaten into the log but it was just a matter of time.
With a loud exhale, he pushed his essence slightly — a fraction of what he pushed into the twig. Jerome saw it in his mind's eye the moment his essence seeped into the wood like ink staining a piece of paper. His essence was a foreign invader and the wood began to slowly disintegrate. Jerome pulled on his essence and twirled it around the bark. The bark of the wood was shaved off in an instance. The little bit of essence he used to achieve that didn’t dissipate which surprised him a little. He willed it to push on the log.
A slight depression was made on it and his hand sank a little into the wood, as if into a semi-solid material. Jerome smiled at the hand print that was left in the wood. He stood up and went back to camp to eat his meal.
The meat was barely tasty since there was no seasoning or spices to go with it. At least the little fat from the meat served as oil to keep it moist. With a twirl of his fingers, Jerome extracted water out of the air and filled two cups he made out of his flowing steel for the both of them.
"Exactly how much can you do with your essence?" Csala asked, stomped at his display of powers.
Jerome just smiled at her. He wasn't going to tell her everything about him. They weren’t friends so he had no reason to reveal secrets about himself to someone who had been trying to drain him of his vitality a few cycles ago. Csala also didn't ask again as she saw he wasn't willing to share.
“So, how do I do what you do?” Jerome asked after they had rested a bit.
“First, what’s your understanding of psychic energy? I know you humans call it mental energy, but that sounds shallow. So we would use our word for it: psychic energy.”
Jerome nodded at her suggestion, grateful she cleared that up. She wasn’t wrong. Mental energy did sound shallow; it didn’t convey the depth and meaning of what it could do. “I know that psychic energy can be used to perceive things without the eyes—even through walls or solid objects. It can also be used to hold up, or carry solid mass.”
“Is that all?”
“Well, apparently it can be used to carry sound to someone's ear…” Jerome trailed off as he remembered the Sovereign and his daughter, Princess Aeldra, conversing without words during the Royal Banquet. “...and it can be used to communicate without words.”
“Hmmm. It can do a whole lot of things but your psychic energy is not evolved enough to do those things, even though it is very powerful,” Csala said, not surprised at him revealing that little bit of information.
Which meant that she could either do it herself or she knows it can be done. Which wasn’t surprising since succubi were one of the most powerful psychic species in Terra Praeta.
“So mine is like a big baby with flabby muscles?” Jerome asked jokingly.
Csala shrugged, smiling. “Let’s get to it,” she said, sitting forward. “Sink into your mind and center yourself.”
Jerome did as she said, closing his eyes. He didn’t cycle — just sat there centering himself.
“Now imagine using your psychic energy with your voice. The vibration of your voice is the medium through which the energy would pass. You must preserve that vibration until it gets to your desired location.
“First start by humming. Loudly.”
Jerome hummed aloud, feeling the vibration of his vocals and transmitting his psychic energy to it. The ground beneath him shook and the rock he was sitting on broke into pieces as a result of his psychic energy being transmitted through his voice.
“That was too much,” Csala said. “If you had spoken, you could have destroyed my eardrums — if I was as weak as a human.” Csala mocked.
Jerome scoffed at that, remolding the rock he was sitting on. “So I just have to reduce the force of my psychic energy,” he said, more to himself than to Csala.
He hummed again, this time reducing his psychic force by more than half. He was going to have to figure out the limits of his abilities in relation to everything around him. This time the air vibrated around him.
“Hold it. Sustain it. Keep the pressure on your vocals stable, because your psychic energy can magnify the vibration in your voice.”
Jerome struggled to do as she instructed for a while. At times the vibration of his humming seemed to fade out a little but when he pushed, he caused the intensity of the vibration to increase. This continued for a long time before Csala switched to using speech.
Jerome understood the science of it all. Transporting the vibration through the air to his desired destination could be achieved, but he needed to work on his control of psychic energy. It always came back to control, and fine tuning to use little to do more. But knowing how to do it, and actually doing it were two different things. What he ended up learning to do, was to make his voice louder even when he whispered.
“You’re doing good,” Csala said. “It took me weeks to learn how to project my psychic energy with my voice. But it seems you already know how to do it. Let it drift towards me; don’t try to force it.” Csala watched as Jerome tried and failed to project his voice with his psychic energy.
Jerome grunted in frustration. He had started by swirling the energy in his throat, then when he spoke, he visualized sending his voice to Csala’s ears. The vibration of his voice diffused in the air every single time, instead of moving in the direction he wanted it to. To his senses, it felt like he was trying to herd wind with ordinary hands.
After hours of practice, Jerome decided to rest. At least he'd learned how to magnify his voice, even if that wasn't what he'd practiced for. They had a long day ahead the next day and Jerome needed to conserve his strength if he wanted to fly all the way to the Northern hemisphere. He got up and went to the edge of their camp. Squatting down, he began drawing scripts on the floor to create a domed shield for protection. But instead of using his hands, he used his psychic energy.
“It’s all about fine control,” he muttered to himself.
“Yes, Xerae,” Achilles said. “I’d teach you myself but I don’t have curves and a pretty face.”
Jerome chuckled at that. “You’re gonna hold that against me forever, aren’t you?”
“Your words, not mine, Xerae.”
When he was done, he stood up to survey his work. The shield had a transparent golden film that appeared when touched, indicating it was there and would not easily be detected, except if someone comes in contact with it. Other than that, it was invisible to the naked eye. And since it was powered by ambient energy, it would be very difficult to perceive with psychic energy. It would be up till dawn, when they rose to travel to the Northern hemisphere.
“Brilliant,” Achilles praised. “Took more time than expected but brilliant all the same.”
Jerome nodded appreciatively. A domed shield like this could probably only be created by the best array masters in Vorthe. He didn't know enough to judge, but he understood it would be the case. The knowledge he’d gained wasn't common knowledge after all.
“I wish I could take the whole library with me.”
“You can, Xerae. Even Sanctum, if you had a void world instead of a void space.”
“But that’ll mean Terra Praeta…”
“Terra Praeta would stop shuffling people around. The main reason for that was to prevent those who weren’t chosen by Mother Nature, entrance into Sanctum. But now that Illyrrah’s chosen as arrived, that function is not needed anymore.”
“Maybe we should hold off on that for a while. It should be possible for me to come and go as I please, right?”
“Good call, Xerae. And yes. If you want to stay in Terra Praeta after it ejects everyone else out, you can do that. But maybe follow them all out so as not to arouse suspicion.”
“That’s for the best,” Jerome said, walking over to the campfire. He stretched before lying down on the other side of the campfire opposite Csala.
“Sleep tight,” Jerome said.
“Sleep tight? Is that something you humans say to each other when you go to sleep?" Csala asked, befuddled. She turned to face him, welcoming the warmth of the flame on her face. One needed enough bed space to enjoy sleep, why tell someone to sleep tight?
Jerome smiled at that as he turned to face her as well, “It’s just an expression. You could say it means, ‘have a good night's rest’.”
“Interesting…”
“Interesting lot you are, Xerae — you humans,” Achilles chipped in, earning a chuckle from Jerome.
“And what do you Terra Praetans say to yourselves before going to bed?” Jerome asked.
“I don’t know about all Terra Praetans as a whole, but we succubi say, ‘rest well’ or ‘good eve’.”
Figures, Jerome thought with a shrug.
“And when a loved one is sick and needs to stay in bed we say a prayer for them, ‘may Tialana’s affliction pass you by this eve’.”
Jerome could hear the pain in her voice. She must have lost someone dear to her. Maybe a sister. Were succubi even social creatures? Did they socialize with themselves? The only other succubus Jerome had come across had tried to take Csala’s body for herself to prolong her life.
“That sounds foreboding,” Jerome said. “Who’s Tialana?”
“...Good eve, human,” Csala replied, turning the other way. It had taken her a moment to speak those words because she didn't want to sound wimpy. She was not going to appear weak, not before a man. Not before this man. He may have all the power now, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he had it.
Jerome sighed. The succubi had a lot of secrets they didn’t want getting out. He understood the secrecy and he supported it. But it made holding a conversation stifling. And now she was back to calling him human. He turned to lie on his back and let the sounds of the forest lull him to sleep.