“You’re almost there,” Rihal urged.

“Urgh,” Jerome grunted as he pulled, sparse muscles bunching, revealing bulging veins.

The crab raised a leg and stepped forward just as he was sure it would move. He was jerked back by a force that would kill him multiple times over.

Rihal was there to catch him before he crashed into the crab.

“Easy, you’re doing great,” he said, holding Jerome up so he could catch his breath.

“Don’t say…that,” Jerome breathed heavily between words. He sat down cross-legged on the floor and began to steady his breathing—plus his eyes were defying the laws of gravity and reality.

“Of course, you’re doing great. If this was when you were Blank, you could never have pulled this at the level it is tuned to. You just need to keep the atrophy of your muscles down a notch.”

“Tuned? You mean you cranked it up to be more powerful than it was before?”

“Hmm,” Rihal said with a nod. Jerome eyed him suspiciously. There was no way for him to verify those words.

“I bet, it’s not tuned to what should be proper for a normal Sprout,” he said.

Rihal shrugged. There it was. He still couldn’t lift something meant for someone in his Realm.

Jerome didn’t say anything. He wasn’t satisfied with the results he was getting but he couldn’t complain. Instead, he shoved down his frustration — which already had a target. But other concerns had been disturbing him since he woke up this morning. Jerome observed Rihal as he scanned him with his perception. The slightly uncomfortable pressure he felt from his core was Rihal scanning him for issues.

“What?” Rihal looked up and asked.

Jerome just continued staring at him with his brows almost touching. After a while, he took a deep breath and asked, “You told me once that I was descended from a line of people with emotional control issues. Well, what’s the cause?”

Rihal raked his hair with rough fingers as he contemplated what to say. “Maybe some type of… I don’t know?”

“You don’t know,” Jerome repeated flatly, clearly not buying it. “Why then are we all taken in by Vorthe as disciples?”

“Perhaps to help you…I guess?” Rihal said. Jerome could tell he was trying to choose his words. But he was done with the secrecy. He needed answers.

“What am I, Rihal?”

Rihal opened his eyes wide in shock for a few breaths before schooling his features. Jerome was sure he was never expecting a question like that. Rihal stood up and paced for a while before sitting back down. Jerome watched all this with the patience of a snail.

“I’m not in the position to tell you that, Jerome,” he said. “Doing that will be like opening up Zamara’s Vault of Secrets and there is no going back.”

Zamara’s Vault of Secrets, what’s that? Jerome thought. But he wanted to keep himself on topic. “Let’s not get sidetracked, Rihal. If you’re not in the position to tell me then, who is?”

Rihal sighed. “You’d have to get an audience with the Sovereign if you want to know what you are.”

Jerome gaped. “That high?”

“Goes to show you why I’m not permitted to talk about it.”

“Ahem, and how do I go about this?” he asked again. He wasn’t going to give up the chance to find answers.

Rihal looked at him with a mixture of amusement and shock. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“I am — dead serious,” Jerome hardened his face as he spoke, growling at the last part of his statement.

“Well, good luck with that,” Rihal stood up and dusted off the soil clinging to his butt. “You’ll have a better chance slaughtering your way through the Estate.”

“Aren’t you gonna help me with this?”

Rihal looked at him, hesitant for a moment. “No,” he said and walked away. “Go prepare yourself for Layla’s arrival.”

Jerome sat where he was, brimming with barely contained anger. He would let loose if he could find a proper sparring partner. Perhaps, a Blank. But that would be humiliating for him — a Sprout fighting a Blank. He would never hear the end of it. He stood up from his sitting position but quickly remembered Kilian.

“Lord Kilian might be able to help. He probably is higher ranked than Rihal,” he mused. How do they even tell who’s higher on the board — or line, whatever they use?

“Tsk!” He hissed in pain as he shuffled towards Kilian’s study. The maids he met on the way all bowed slightly as he passed by. Jerome returned their greeting in kind as he limped by, stopping to rest every time he successfully climbed a stair. After torturously climbing up to the study, he stopped to rest again before pounding lightly on Kilian’s door.

“I can’t help you, Jerome,” Kilian called out from within.

Jerome felt like growing more hands to reach inside the study and strangle the lord of the castle. His face turning red with anger, he asked through gnashed teeth, “Is Rihal there?”

“Go away, Jerome,” Rihal answered.

Jerome ground his teeth until they hurt. The sons of bitches were working together on this.

“At least, tell me how to get to the Sovereign. Or point me in the direction of someone who could get me an audience with him.”

“You’re on your own in that, Jerome,” Rihal called back.

Jerome stood there brimming in silent anger. He couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t help him with this. Was he not worth it? That must be it. To them he wasn’t worth it. They saw him like a useless piece of broken doll. He had been useful for the time he had been full of vigor. Now they discarded him because he was no longer useful to them.

Surprisingly, his anger calmed, only to be replaced with coldness. He wanted to speak, to say to Rihal, ‘you’re dead to me’. But what was the point? Rihal was dead to him. There were no words that could communicate that better than silence. And so he kept his words deep in the recesses of his heart.

Jerome shuffled back to his room, using the pain in his knee and his rage as fuel to propel himself forward.

~~~

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Sitting down cross-legged in his room, Jerome submerged himself in his senses. He opened his eyes and was already inside Autumn, the other Plane. He chose to call it Autumn. It sounded right. The cold wind hit his face as he waved his hand and the leaves on the ground and in the air seemed to obey him, flowing in the direction of his hand, and unveiling a scene midair.

Hedon stood holding up Doti as he screamed his ‘words of power’. This was something he wanted to ask Rihal as well, but his anger got the better of him. Not that he’d be asking him anything ever again. Autumn immediately reacted to his state of mind. The trees began to freeze over, ice covered the ground and the temperature dropped further.

Jerome took a deep breath and exhaled, he visualized his breath carrying warmth with it. The moment the air left his mouth, it spread everywhere melting the ice and warming the atmosphere.

“That’s not a true Epos.”

“Who’s there?” Jerome whipped around at the strange voice. Someone appeared in his field of vision and memories flashed in his mind at the sight of the stranger.

Jerome stood there stunned as fear overtook him, his legs paralyzed as he trembled all over. Autumn also stilled. The air became stifling and fog rose from the ground to obscure the trees, like the plane was trying to hide itself from the newcomer.

“Who are you?” Jerome finally asked after gathering his wits.

“You know me. You see me…in your nightmares,” the stranger said as he began walking in circles around him. He walked slowly, yet he was fast. Almost like he glided above the surface of the ground. “Tell me, Jerome. What do you see in your nightmares?”

“I die,” he said, unable to hold back or to look his killer in the eyes, “at your hands.”

“Beautiful,” the stranger said. Jerome looked up at that. The stranger had stopped to admire the beauty of the forest around him. Even though the forest was still obscured by the fog.

He caught a leaf floating midair and observed it curiously. Even in his curiosity, the man was regal. Jerome watched him, mesmerized by his movements. His pure white robes added to the air of superiority he carried himself with as he walked around investigating everything around him with elegance.

“Are you here to—”

“Kill you? Of course not, Jerome,” the stranger looked back at him. “Until you lose control of the Beast inside you, I’ll leave you be.”

Jerome remembered Rihal’s words about his ‘emotional control issues’. “What beast?” he asked. He was uncomfortable with how this person talked about killing him as if it was just another mundane task.

The stranger raised his hand, index finger pointing up — an indication that he wanted silence. Jerome shut his mouth and turned his attention to studying the memory from Blade’s Edge Canyon. With a death sentence hanging on his head now, however, he couldn’t concentrate.

“Still looking at that? He executed it poorly.” The stranger turned to face him.

Jerome nodded, caching his questions about that for later. “If I may be so bold, Sovereign,” he bowed deeply. “Might I ask where this is?”

The Sovereign smiled at him. Like he knew Jerome had seen through him. “Rise,” he said.

Jerome rose and watched as the Sovereign sat down on the ground. He joined him, sitting cross-legged as well. Even that casual action looked like it was done on a throne, he thought with a sigh.

“You created this world from your memory, Jerome. It’s a mental plane that exists within its creator. Here, you are God.”

Jerome nodded silently. It was true that he could control everything here. But what were his limits?

“I want to know,” the Sovereign said, looking him in the eye. “This is not your first life, is it?”

Jerome looked away guiltily, like someone caught with meat from his mother’s pot.

“And this memory we’re in — it is from your previous life, it is…staggering!” the Sovereign looked around with excitement in his eyes. This was perhaps the first time he saw such an emotion on someone of such import.

“Mankind has always believed in reincarnation, but we never had proof of it, no one ever remembers. ‘Every man goes through the cycle of death and rebirth, never retaining past memories upon receiving new life’.” The Sovereign looked deeply at Jerome with a kind smile. “That was a quote from Zamara—Keeper of Secrets and Truth.”

“Zamara? Rihal mentioned him… something about opening ‘Zamara’s Vault of Secrets’,” Jerome blurted out. “Apologies, Sovereign.” he bowed, having realized he spoke over the Sovereign.

“Her,” the Sovereign corrected.

“Huh?” It took a moment for it to sink in. “Oh.”

“Yes, Jerome. Zamara was a woman. A very powerful sacred artist in her time. Zamara’s Vault of Secrets is only a myth… or so they say,” the Sovereign said, ignoring his blunder. “Said to contain the secrets of life and death and everything in between.

“Zamara: keeper of secrets and truth, seeker of knowledge. Worshiped in ancient times as the goddess of truth.” The Sovereign sighed, almost sorrowfully. Something told him all of that wasn’t just a myth.

“But here you are, Jerome. A living evidence of our belief.”

“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, feeling uncomfortable under the Sovereign’s scrutiny.

“It puts some things into perspective as well, like your ability to restrain the Beast. The beast is your rage and each fated Dark One before you was consumed by that rage till death. When it rears its head, it never goes back to sleep.”

Jerome didn’t like where this was heading, but he very well couldn’t tell the Sovereign to put a pin in it.

“You have felt it, have you not? The call of the darkness.”

“Ah! So, Rihal’s story was true and not…half true?” Jerome asked partly out of curiosity partly out of wonder.

“Even Rihal knows not how true and how ancient this tale is. That darkness is your inheritance, Jerome.”

Jerome scrunched his brows looking away, “I don’t want it. I don’t wanna kill people and…drink blood.” He quickly stopped himself from saying ‘become a vampire’. That was not a word in the vocabulary of Vorthe.

“I can’t help you there, Jerome. But you have shown that you can suppress the Beast with your stone — something I believe you did even before finding the stone, am I right?”

Jerome nodded silently at that.

“When you take up the darkness in the mountains, it’ll be much stronger. I hope you can suppress it then.”

“That’s a lot to ask of me don’t you think? You’re asking me to become a demon,” Jerome complained. He felt like he was losing control of his own life. Of everything he envisioned to be, becoming a demon was not part of them.

“Dark One is what we call you. And it is ‘daimon’, not ‘demon’.”

“Dark One…That’s a scary name.”

“Hmm, it is meant to be scary. Not many know about what you are, though. Some Great families have their suspicions. Some have even tried to capture your predecessors, all to no avail.”

“But why? Why all of this? What purpose does the…Dark One serve?”

“In due time, child. It is best we do not spend too much time here. I will however advise you not to take out your anger on Rihal.”

Jerome would’ve glared at the Sovereign if he wasn’t the Sovereign of Vorthe. He looked away, unwilling to cede his hatred and anger toward his master.

The Sovereign sighed. “He wishes what is best for you. He only ever has done that. He stopped living his own life just to make sure you lived yours. He has sacrificed much for you, Jerome. Don’t let it all be in vain.”

“Why then did he not want to help me see you?” Jerome asked. He realized he was whining and he hated it. He hated what he was now — a weak cripple. This was not who he struck out to become. But reality had fucked him up.

Now in the presence of the Sovereign, his weaknesses were baring themselves to him. Not just that but also his deep-seated thoughts and intent.

“You know why,” the Sovereign said, and he did.

This was the Sovereign of Vorthe. He wouldn’t drop everything just to see him. But apparently he did drop everything just to see him. Maybe he had been listening in on their conversation. Well, of course. If he was this Dark One, he must be important enough for the Sovereign to observe.

“Sit still, close your eyes, and take a deep breath.”

Jerome did as he was told.

“Visualize the entirety of this world. Do you see it?”

“Vaguely.”

“That is good enough. Now, reach for it and push through the boundary in your mind…”