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 state, his consciousness sinking into himself 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.”

Jerome calmed himself down. His thoughts fled and were replaced with a comforting nothingness. Nothing could shake him. Nothing could appease or move him. Feelings and emotions diffused to nothing. He wanted nothing. Even the search for essence became a non-existent urge in his mind.

Then he felt it. Like a gentle breeze. A shift in himself as emotions and need came back, it was a peculiar yet comfortable transition. Like 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 gushed 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 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. He could visualize it in his mind’s eye as a cyclone because he sensed its movement.

As more essence gushed in, the cyclone became denser and purer. Giving off a white glow — a glow that he attributed to it with his mind. Jerome knew that this color wasn’t real but it helped to visualize the workings of his newly created core. And although it 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 ambient essence 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.

He spent a long time just cycling and observing the nature of his newly created core. His core was pure. That was the only conclusion he could come to as he observed it. It was pure energy compressed into the shape of a spinning cyclone. This was when logic rushed back to the forefront of his mind and mysticism almost went on the back burner.

What made this possible for humans in this world? The tiny little core of energy below his navel did not feel like a mirage. That position was one his mind produced for him. He couldn’t tell if it was the original position of said energy or not. It just felt right in that position — below his navel.

But this was energy in his hands! He wanted to unravel it, to find out what made it so! Why could humans do such a thing in this world? Did they use tools to discover essence at its inception? If not, how did they discover it, through meditation? That sounded like a load of bull to him, yet he had just absorbed essence into his body and had a tiny cyclone of essence spinning inside him. And how did he make that happen?…yeah, right.

Stolen story; please report.

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. He wondered if this was normal. If he had known this would happen, he would have prepared some water from the well in the slums. Was he now going to go back home looking and smelling like months-old piss?

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. Seriously? Whatever happened to everyone else?

Beside him was someone he least expected though. Rihal 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. The same Rihal who had brought him to the orphanage as a child. Jerome knew his interest in him was personal, but to what degree?

Cane on his shoulder, and back straight like he was standing at attention, the blind man was definitely there to protect him. Well, he’d remember to thank him later but for now, he needed to clean up.

Jerome glanced at Rihal once again and only now noticed that he could feel an oppressiveness coming from him. It was stifling and suffocating. An aura that could cripple him, he surmised. But it wasn’t directly targeted at him and seemed to just be oozing off the blind man. It pushed against his senses to let him know that Rihal was a lot more powerful than he let on.

“Why are you here, Rihal?” Jerome asked.

“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.”

He had a lot of questions now. Like, how on God’s green earth was this possible?! He could see like an eagle. What else could he do? 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 Light 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 has gone by!

They quickly left the city square and walked northward towards the closest mountain to the city. The tapping of Rihal’s stick on the cobbled-stone 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.

The beauty of the city quickly lost much of its novelty to Jerome. So he lumbered along, watching the people and their reactions to himself and Rihal. Everyone steered clear of them. The well-dressed ones in the crowd made sure to cover their noses with handkerchiefs made of embroidered silk. Some of their fragrant perfume drifted his way but he couldn’t enjoy their scent, not with the foul smell emanating from him. Some just held their noses in their hands to prevent from inhaling his horrid stench.

Jerome snorted. Nobles were the same everywhere. A bunch of self-glorifying cunts that knew not how stale they looked — like 20-day-old loaves of bread. Jerome didn’t mind, though. He had a vision of what he wanted his life to look like, and he sure wasn’t going to make it look like that. But now that he was on his way to becoming powerful, he wondered what ‘power’ would turn him into. Would he become like the very nobles he was scoffing at? He scoffed again, choosing not to think of such things for now.

The houses grew smaller as they moved northward. They were still Victorian, but the stories climbed down as they went. Jerome felt it was done intentionally. One wouldn’t realize it until one thought of it. The houses that lined the streets now felt like homes. They still had shops at the front and many businesses were open, even though the sun had almost completely set.

Jerome got bored quickly but found something else to occupy his mind. Colors were more vivid to his eyes now. The colors of the sun-kissed clouds in the sky were astonishing to behold. Like his eyes could see it through the lenses of a digital camera. It was incredible.

He also found out it was almost impossible for him to trip. Even though he was looking up at the sky, his legs knew where to step as if he’d been here, and walked passed this road a million times with a blindfold. It was nothing short of mind-blowing. So this was what it meant to be a sacred artist. Jerome chuckled quietly to himself. When they got to where it was Rihal was taking him, he would make sure to ask all his questions — and celebrate however he liked. Where were his friends anyway?

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 as they bowed to Rihal. 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. And why did they bow to the blind man?

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 emerald green 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. The emblem of the Royal Family.

You’ve got to be kidding me, he thought. He now had a clue where they were going but waited patiently for Rihal to explain.

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 four coin-like crystals at the man, who caught them without even opening his eyes. Jerome noted that the coins were giving off an aura that reminded him of the earth like they contained earth essence. They shone like little golden brown suns as they spun through the air.

So, that’s what the crystal coin looks like, he thought. Would these ones qualify as low-grade or mid-grade? Ms. Tara said that high-grade stone crystals were either pure in nature or fire attributed and the fire-attributed ones were extremely rare.

Rihal’s crystal coins, however, were earth-attributed. Which meant low-grade or mid-grade.

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. A scripted formation of golden lights lit up the ground around him with tiny scripts barely visible, and then 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 activated the stone and a formation lit up on the surface.