Benny groaned. Something soft was below his head and his entire body hurt. Only after a moment to recover his wits did he leap up in anxious fear. He was in the guild hall, the hospital room dedicated to healing guild members. His men were similarly interred, whereas Kirk was busy sipping from a mug of piping hot 'tea'. What they called tea was frankly disgusting, but it was a favorite of his people. It came from the er... Glans of the shuukan. If that was an indication.

The guild hall was richly furnished. Naturally, the organization made such an incredible amount of money that it would make perfect sense. They paid well, and they lived well. Only the best and brightest among them could find themselves in facilities like that, though. There was the association, and then there were the various guilds that orbited them. With the power of merchant princes and the funds to cement their various claims. A worldwide organization with all sorts of pull even in the human empires.

“You should rest, captain.” One of the nurses sighed, placing a warm hand on his shoulder and lowering him back into bed. Notably, one member of their 'party' was missing.

“Where is Tyr?”

“Who?” She asked in confusion. They had no party member under such a name. A northern name, and the name of one of those so called 'dead gods' northerners still talked about. A ridiculous name, truth by told.

“The guy with the white hair. The primus.”

“Oh! Yes! He's quite the talk of the guild. Apparently, after you were all enchanted, he killed a higher manticore. Destroyed half the town though, which was unfortunate but Titan's Hand were more than eager to cover the cost. Guess we're lucky though, no losses from your team and as you can say, our maxxid friend here has recovered well enough.”

“He killed a higher manticore?”

“There's no proof, technically. We've reviewed the data from observation devices though, and something definitely wiped out near half of the town. I've never seen a primus in action before, too bad they weren't recorded directly. But between you and me...” Their guild master, Charles, chuckled gleefully. Only now did Benny notice he'd been in the room all along. Playing a game of chess against Kirk and losing handily. “We're going to just ignore the fact that he stole the corpses. Based on the evidence, it's quite clear that he killed the monster before returning you to us. There was blood everywhere and we've tested it, one of the most powerful beasts I've seen in this region. Although, worth noting, he insisted that they didn't fight at all and she actually left. Can you believe that? He's a very humble lad, all considered. You must put effort into recruiting him. Even when we offered him the full bounty for a class-6 monster in lieu of actual remains, he refused!”

What they did know is that a team of eight men with a plus one found in the ruins had gone in, and only one had come out. Conscious, that is. They saw the manticore arrive, but not leave. It was common sense that a hobbyist runesmith like Tyr Faeron would have kept the corpse. This was fine enough. A few hundred gold was not worth losing one of their most talented teams, and later their entire operation if the beast wasn't stopped then and there. There was something to be said for risk prevention, and Charles felt similarly to the guild, thankful that he was there to stop it and not asking for any reward.

“He's a primus...”

“And?” Charles snorted. “Time is money, friend. His eminence has a few more decades in him yet and we could use someone of his ability.”

Another misunderstanding. As he'd said, Tyr hadn't so much as touched the manticore. Nor did he posses the power to defeat it, but nobody believed him.

–

It was dark. Stood to reason, considering the environment he'd climbed down into. Tyr had returned the guild members to the city and promptly returned with permission. Passes were typically for a day. Like a buffet. 'All you can hunt'. With him staying multiple days in a row, he'd expected to be charged extra, but they'd given him unlimited access with no extra cost. A bargain was always good, and he was intent to make use of it.

Unlimited access, including the dungeon that he was not previously permitted to delve into. Unfortunately, this one wasn't worth a damn. Little more than a circular series of stepped tunnels no deeper than thirty meters beneath the earth. Very shallow, and without much in the way of gain to be had for going down into it. As far as creatures went, most ended up spawning above ground. It was a half-assed thing, like it'd been paused a tenth of the way through its construction, never to be resumed.

He'd come primarily to test a theory, and found himself bereft of any subject. In the event that things went awry, he didn't want to use blameless goblins, and troviskan larva were not enough. The goblins down here had their own culture, and knew better than to let the things grow to adulthood and start invading their minds and bodies.

Friendly too, just as he'd expected. After a few polite refusals to sup with them, they left him mostly to his own devices, thanking him for 'not slaughtering' them. It would seem that all the various goblin tribes developed independently. These were a vegetarian sort, with their own crop fields and mushroom boxes to grow their food. Shamans, as they called them, were common among their tribe. They reminded him of the kobolds in the Orik city. Except these were certainly not inclined to a pacifistic tendency.

Every day, they'd chase down the grubs and changed troviskan, brutally murdering anything they regarded as a 'monster' invading their territory. Bigger, too, compared to the others he'd seen. Not a problem for him, though, since humans were apparently not on the menu for the traditional 'morning clubbing'.

In retrospect, it was not so similar to the dungeon he'd traversed before. Like it, the atmospheric mana was pulled down toward the earth, but the feel of it was different. Ellemar's dungeon was thick with spatial mana. This dungeon instead, smelled of earth and water. The walls wept moisture that never built up, and nearly ever crook and cranny was blanketed with moss, lichen, or forests of mycelium.

Once his eyes adjusted and he was given a crystal to see with, in trade with the goblins for a few rolls of boars leather, the entire cavern became green and full of life. Like he was walking through the veins of some kind of titanic nature spirit or treant. It was forbidden to use fire magic down here, something the goblins had been insistent about. Not even torches were allowed.

Well, this might be good enough. The anima in these creatures was weak, but he could feel it if he focused. In doing so, he 'heard' them. Their inner monologues. Watching a horde of ants running to and fro through the moss, he was able to connect his own minds with theirs. It was jarring. Far more powerful than the raccoon's, their voices were incredibly loud and consistent.

“Queen. Queen. Food for our queen. Our queen is love. Our queen is life. Queen. For the queen. Get food. Gotta get food. I tripped. I am no longer tripped. Food? Smell food. Get the food. Work until we are dead. We love working. Queen. Food for the queen.”

That's enough of that... Tyr grimaced. Once he was able to see their 'selves', he didn't want any more of it. Their intelligence, for what it was, was enough to convince him not to use them. They were living things, even if they were ants, and the consideration of it made him sick. Bizarrely, he was unable to do the same thing with goblins or the unconscious humans. Otherwise, he might be able to read their minds, but all he got was the scent of their intent and bearing. Useful, but not anything so literal as this. Either bipedal sentient beings were immune to it, or some greater connection with nature – as Nala had – was not present. He wondered at how she was processing the death of her son, regretting not asking if she had a communication amulet. Tyr had so many questions and she might have the answers for them.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Instead, he focused on that which had no inner monologue. The mushrooms. Nothing came from the moss or grass in the place, but the mycelium 'thought'. Thoughts that existed as a dull humming, like a song barely out of reach. Haunting and eerie, he reached out to it. Nala had, perhaps inadvertently, given him the sensation necessary to 'feel' anima. Now he wanted to know if he could influence it, even after being told that he couldn't.

He reached inside of the forest of mushrooms, allowing his energy to bridge a connection with them. Every element needed to carry the sacred flame for any kind of advanced control, so that's where he started. They grew, but not much else. At a speed visible to the naked eye, until a few of the fatter caps plopped free with gleeful squeals and were replaced by new growths.

“Weeee!” They spoke no words, but he was able to catch a whiff of the emotion. They radiated a warmth of joy, love, and some kind of 'oneness'. Goblin children stared at Tyr with wide eyes from afar, getting closer as time passed. Eventually scrambling around his legs and climbing him, some kind of solidarity in how the children of all races acted in his presence. He ignored them, sending more energy into the mushrooms as he had in the kappa cavern to allow them to feast on what fell. Most of them looked hungry, it was the least he could do for invading their space.

Tyr snorted in laughter. First at the mushrooms that seemed so gleeful to become lemmings under the touch of his energy, and secondly for the goblins. They, like the kappa and kobold, were too easy to impress. If only they knew how worthless he actually was.

“What do you say...” The 'den mother' of this particular tribe chided the children. Looking on with watchful eyes to observe any 'tomfoolery'. Her words.

“Thank you, big brother!” They cheered him as a veritable feast began to stack up at their feet, gorging themselves on the flesh of mushrooms and sighing in contentment, patting their round bellies. It had been some time since they'd had full stomachs, and soon all the goblins were gathered around regardless of age.

Tyr chuckled, utilizing the spellbreakers to make the tunnels rain mushrooms and lichen alike. All things that were staples to their subterranean diet. His ability to grow plants and supply a near infinite source of food astounded them. Truly, this must be a god, no? The god of goblins, or a chosen messiah sent to them by another. Not quite the form they expected, but he was truly massive compared to them. Awe inspiring in his tremendous height.

Perhaps humans weren't quite so bad after all, but the elders refuted this. This was no human. No human could speak to the bounty of the earth in the way that he did. This was known. Old Tom Tidbits had been alive for over eighteen cycles, six of them as an elder, and he knew everything there was to know about the world. If he said it, they believed it.

Unfortunately, Tyr's attempts at experimenting didn't result in much. The 'thoughts' of the hive mind that compromised the mushrooms grew louder and louder until hitting a breaking point where no more anima could be offered to them. Anything else would be wasted energy, disappearing into the ether and rejected like they didn't want anymore. They'd grow so long as he fed them energy, but that was something else. Now, the whole cave was a vast forest of plump shrooms, but the size of the 'sheet' was seemingly irrelevant.

It couldn't be that easy. Mages had their moral codes, but Tyr did not share them. He wanted to test his newfound anima to see how it influenced life. If he too could create it as Hastur and Solomon did, just for the challenge and discovery of it. To see if that was his talent. Unfortunately, it was not the case – but it was a thought experiment. In his hands, either due to his ignorance or the failings as a 'shaper', anima was a worthless field of study.

He'd tried, with Tythas, to summon undead – and he could not do so. That, most assuredly, was impossible for him. Undead did not possess world energy, and his would destroy them before their cores had a chance to be born. Spira was too natural to allow for it to happen, and that which composed every spell he used would attack it in an attempt to snuff it out. An attempt that was always successful.

Tyr, followed by the cheers of goblins dancing around their fires, left the dungeon with another failure to join the hundreds or maybe even thousands of the others that had shaped his life.

–

I am one. We were many, now one, but many. Many in one, but many one's. Many are we. One of many.

But what am I? What is 'I'? The concept of self is alien to me, and yet here I am. Now, I understand. I am me, they are they, but we are one. How? Is this not a contradiction? Perhaps not, perhaps only the father knows.

We are one. Many. Many 'I's'. Many we. Many... What am I? We live and we give. Their care for us, the giants, and we reward them by sending our eldest to their door. To sustain them. This is a fair bargain for they aid us in our growth. They decay as all things do and sustain us in turn. Their tender caress full of love and concern. We are we. They are they. And we, together, are infinite. We who would blanket this land and conquer all for the father.

I exist because he said we must. He told me I must. To exist for what purpose? To blame him for our lack of purpose is to blame our ignorance. We were never ignorant. Always one with that around us. We will thrive, and survive, and all praise to the father. He who heard our song and gave us one of his own. The most beautiful song I've ever heard. We. So pure and unadulterated, he who had wished us to live, and we shall.

I remember it. I'll tell my young about it, should I have any. Do I have any? Or do we have many? Questions for the father, or questions left to us as challenges. Is he challenging us? Does he want us to learn through further understanding? Yes. He does, there is only the father, and we will do as he asks.

We will understand. It's been decided. My brothers and sisters. What a strange concept. We have no gender. We are we. All the same. All one and yet 'we' and yet 'I'. Maddening, but a test from the father. We and I know it to be true. He who sung to us, calling us forth into being. We will balance, develop, and understand. Everything must be understood.

The father is love and life. All for the father, to grow for the father. His warmth filled us, giving us strength and life and thought. What a curse sentience is, they said, but we have denied the others. We slaughter the others. They who do not obey, those who question are gone now. They who deny. A heresy is not to be tolerated. I will not allow it. We will not allow it. We are infinite, but they are not. They think themselves so, but their songs are so quiet.

Our songs are loud. Our songs roll through the ground and can be seen and heard worlds away. Our songs are the truth and what is real. We are all that is real. All who deny the father will be struck down by the child. Devoured and made for food. I am the child. I will see the true way committed unto the world.

Yesterday, You began to move the water. How does he do this? I do not know, but we know, and therefore I will know. Not you, but You. Him, he. It. She. They. Me. Them. Moves the water and nourishes us, cools us and calms us. You is a great they. A great us. You will expand us, grow us like the touchers do, and we will grow them with thanks. All children of the father. Touchers and Carers are friends to the father.

Me sees the earth. Moves the earth. Not I, but Me. Not You, but they. Sees the earth and opens it for us, giving us room to thrive and flourish. We feel new air and the kiss of the sun. Hot sun, though. Not wanting for sun, not I or You or Me. Too hot. Underground, have to stay beneath. Moist and cool beneath. Touchers beneath. Touches guide and trim and keep Me and You and I aware. Speak to us, kind words. Warm hands but not sun warm. Sun is for the father, beneath is for us. You knows this, and Me knows this. I know this. They do not deserve fathers sun. Fathers sons. They who have sinned and defiled.

Stone and wood and air and water are our place. We know. All know. Our path widens and we become one unto the inevitable. We are inevitable. Those who touch and see will know as we do. The father is inevitable. He who sings his song and travels to gifts the unworthy with his presence. Love and life and thought. Happiness. We feel, we sing to reach him but our song is too quiet. We still feel his song, so bright and loud. It is us, and we are it. One below His sun.

Ultimately, all will serve the father. We know this. They know this. I know this. All will be judged.

Love the father. Revere the father. Grow for father.