“Three, Three, wake up, Three, it's time to go for Mhen Agrh’ur!”
Three woke up groggily. ‘What’s going on?’ He rubbed his eyes with frail, skinny arms, ‘Who’s Three? My name is...what’s my name? Why can’t I remember my name?’
Three stood up and steadied himself. The day breezed past his eyes as he found himself sitting in a bustling square with many other kids his age. Every one of them, cycling to sense the essence.
‘I’ve been here before...with friends.’
He found himself next in front of a beautiful palace. He was welcomed in, bathed, fed, and taught self-defense. Now he’s talking to a man wearing a beautiful and expensive robe with the image of a golden sun with an eye at its center designed on it.
‘Vorthe!’ he remembered, ‘Rihal brought me to Kilian’s Palace. My name is Jerome. I remember now!’
Jerome was confused. Was he trapped in some kind of illusion? But it felt real, like a memory from long ago. But whose memory? And why was he trapped in it?
Three grows up into a fine young sacred artist in the Spirit Realm. He’s beginning to have anger issues getting into fights and destroying properties around the city. Jerome tried to stop Three from destroying things around Farryn. To see if it was all a memory like he sensed. All was to no avail.
Three was a nuisance to society. Always angry. And always spoiling for a fight. But soon, something deep in the mountains started calling to him. He followed the feeling and wandered deeper into the mountains than any other person had. He felt it in his bones that whatever was calling to him would make him more powerful...
Jerome woke up, sweating and panting heavily. He gazed up at the sky which was beginning to brighten with the first blush of dawn. His heart raced, pounding in his chest like a wild animal trying to break free. He sat down for a long while trying to collect his scattered thoughts, confusion etched deeply into his face.
What the heck was that? he thought. Have I lived more than one life without knowing about it? His ‘dream’ clearly showed that he had a life in Vorthe before. He grew up in the same orphanage, went to the same square, and was also taken in by a Vorthe.
No, these are not my memories. But whose memories are they? Whose life did I re-live? Who is Three?
Jerome didn’t have an answer. But he turned his gaze North. Deep in the mountains, something had called to Three. He had felt it too — a longing for power. The mountains in the distance seemed normal to his enhanced sight.
Though, far away and blurred by the morning fog, he felt nothing different from looking at them. And though curious, Jerome recognized he was not ready to go that deep. Three was a Spirit Realm artist when he felt that longing to go deep into the mountains. He was still Blank and would end up in the belly of a magical beast as fodder.
He got up to put out the dying flames of his campfire and set out.
~~~
Farryn. Estate of House Hroth. The House of Textile.
Dreamer had never had a life quite like what he had now. Who knew being a sacred artist could be this fun? This was the definition of the dream life, just as his name implied. His training with his brothers and the blind Rihal had been preparation for a life as a sacred artist. He had never bothered with asking why they trained, never knew the significance until now.
“Next form!” his instructor shouted.
Thirty Drudges — more or less — who were accepted as novice disciples into House Hroth, the House of Textile, mimicked the instructor’s form. Every form was quite difficult to maintain for more than a few breaths as Dreamer had run many laps this morning before the training began. They had all run — some more than most as a lot of novices were not good at taking orders.
Compared to many of the novices though, Dreamer was doing excellently. He could see how Jerome’s exercise routine — even with how strange they were — had helped him maintain some muscles in his belly and limbs. He had a very good balance and he used it to his advantage. Dreamer promised himself to thank Jerome when next he saw him.
“Dreamer!”
“Sir!”
“You are distracted! Run ten laps for me!”
Shit. Dreamer picked himself up and started running around the training ground. The Hroth Estate was huge. Able to accommodate at least a thousand soldiers. They were the leading house in textile production and made some of the silk and cotton textiles, and also the best leather armor in Vorthe. All the Great Clans bought their armor from them.
Dreamer made sure to breathe slowly so as to fill his lungs with enough air to help him preserve his strength. He had been a Drudge for a little less than four tendays, yet he could see a whole lot of improvement in his endurance. Maybe it was the frequent meals he ate. Yes. Maybe that was it. But he was more hungry than ever before now.
“Stop, Novice Dreamer!” the instructor commanded. “You’ve run more than ten laps already.”
Really? He wasn’t counting. And he wasn’t even tired.
“Pair up for unarmed combat!”
The group of novices paired up as quickly as possible. Dreamer paired up with a girl a few yards away from him. He saw her visibly relax as he stood in front of her and thanked him with her eyes. Many of the novices here thought they were all in competition. What with the instructor always pitting them against each other? He nodded lightly to her and readied himself. What was her name again? He couldn’t remember. She was probably numbered and not named.
Dreamer sighed, thankful that he wasn’t given a number in the orphanage. Now that he was around so many people without names he felt lucky. He wouldn’t have loved it if he was known by a number instead of a name. It would have been annoying.
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“Set!” the instructor announced, and everyone took a defensive stance.
“Fight!”
The girl lunged forward with a quick punch and Dreamer slapped her hand to the side, punching with his other hand. The girl, knowing his intention, blocked his punch with the elbow of the arm that was slapped aside. Dreamer took the chance to grab her hand and twist. Her lighter, flexible frame gave her an advantage as she twisted, righting her arm. Dreamer brought his knee up, hitting her in the brow.
The girl staggered back, losing her balance. He reached out and caught her before she hit the ground.
“Good. Very good,” the instructor said from behind him. “Now reset and go again!”
“Yes Sir!”
~~~
The Northern Mountain Range. Pilgrims’ Keep.
Hummm!
Jerome ran through the forest following an elusive hum of a signature. He had been tracking this mysterious wave of energy for a few days now. It was like a beacon that called out to him from time to time.
The overgrown forest was thick enough to block out the sun and slow him down. He had to make sure to carefully make his way through even though his body was bursting with adrenaline. He was forcing himself to calm down as it were because his emotions were on the verge of going out of control.
The rage had grown and now that he felt murderous impulses. He wanted carnage for some reason and all attempts to calm himself had failed. Now he just wanted to take his mind off of it. And that was when he started hearing the hum from afar.
He quickly swerved left as something dived at him from his right. Jerome scrutinized the creature that glided out of the bushes. In front of him was a Three-Horned Python. A mud-colored constrictor, fairly large, with three tiny horns on its head, but not enough to be a threat.
Jerome drew his spear as the python dove for him once again. It tried to wrap its body around him with quick reflexes, but Jerome slashed at it. It swerved that part of its body to the side still coming at him. The spear rotated with blinding speed, taking a chunk of scales and skin off the python. Blood poured out of its wound and it folded in on itself, baring its tiny rows of sharp fangs.
It hissed.
Jerome shrugged. “You started it,” he said and attacked. Fast and hard. He had to resume his search quickly before someone else took his find.
The Three-Horned Python was a tough opponent to deal with, however. Now it was attacking and backing up to get away. Prey that fought back was not worth it. Jerome stabbed at its eye as he dodged a swipe from its tail. It increased its speed as well, attacking like a whip.
Jerome vaulted up into the trees and as expected, the Three-Horned Python scurried away into the foliage. His spear tore through the air with enormous force and speed, piercing through its skull and into the ground. He jumped down from the tree and walked up to the Three-Horned Python, pulling out his spear and squatting down to inspect it.
The python was really large; large enough to swallow someone twice his size but it had a tiny head. He wasn’t fooled by its head though. Snakes had the ability to unhinge their jaws from their heads and stretch their mouths wide enough as they swallow prey that was a lot bigger than the size of their head.
The flexibility of their muscles and skin was a gift of nature. And those sharp rows of fangs? This bad boy must have been a descendant of the prehistoric Titanoboa; an extinct snake that lived during the Paleocene Epoch, around 60 million years ago on Earth.
But that was Earth’s history. This python just had a really good resemblance to the pictures he had seen while he was Isaac. Then again, it could be the Titanoboa’s descendant. Who knew?
“Fortunately, you haven’t tapped into your bloodline powers yet,” he muttered and packed the body into his storage bag. The hide could be useful.
“Hrm,” a moan came from a nearby bush and it sounded human. Jerome quickly readied his spear to defend himself. He could sense someone there now.
“Come out,” he said. A twig snapped, and someone rushed out…and ran the other way…crying?
“Huh?” he stood there confused. Why’d she run away?
He could understand that the Blanks were now afraid of him because of the fight with Hedon — and the ensuing manhunt that followed and failed. Everyone he had challenged since he arrived two seasons ago had been defeated in combat.
Interesting that I’ve been here for two seasons: that’s roughly six months, he thought, almost proudly. But why run away? At least he got a chuckle out of that. He had been feeling only murderous rage for a while now. That girl had made him smile a little. Props to her for that.
Jerome looked around to judge his location so he could continue searching for the energy signature. The rays of the sun peeked through in places, giving the green of the surrounding forest a beautiful golden sheen. He climbed a tree and sat down to meditate, taking deep breaths to calm his mind. He could no longer maintain his grip on his murderous impulses. He took multiple deep breaths before he felt his impulses start to abate.
Hummm!
His eyes snapped open. He quickly launched himself off the tree and sped off northeast, foregoing patience and wariness. He could care less if anything bothered to get in his way. He’d just have to get rid of it as he did the python.
Was this confidence or recklessness? Jerome knew it was the latter but his sanity was more important to him. He knew he was strong-headed and hot-blooded but he wasn’t a psychopath. And that was what he could become if he didn’t find that energy signature, he was sure.
The humming sound felt right to him. Like it would calm his mind. He didn’t know how he knew it, he just knew it. And he felt if he didn’t get to the source of the humming, he would lose it forever.
There! The humming was getting louder. Almost there! Jerome landed on a branch that gave way and he crashed into the den of a Giant Wild Boar. He quickly got up and scurried away. However, a magical beast was hot on his tail now. The Giant Wild Boar was incensed, testosterone going wild, it chased after him, determined to destroy the pest who had disturbed its rest.
Jerome looked back only to see a seven-foot-tall mountain of a beast, barreling through the forest after him. Now he was irritated. The boar might be big, but he didn’t feel pressured by it. It was, however, closing in on him. Jerome took to the trees, giving himself the advantage of height. The Giant Wild Boar continued its chase, not slowing down in the least. It barreled through a huge tree, disintegrating its trunk, yet it didn’t stop, or slow down.
“Piss off!” Jerome screamed, but his voice hadn’t broken yet, making him sound like a child.
Jerome concentrated on the humming sound. He was close, he knew it. But I can’t stop to concentrate, damn it! He pulled a branch from a tree he dived past and released it. The tension in its spring-like body forced it to whip backward into the boar.
Thwack!
The Giant Wild Boar stumbled as the branch hit it in the face. Jerome pushed off another tree and shot backward in the direction of the boar. He came in hot. Before the Giant Wild Boar steadied itself, a spear was buried inside its neck.