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Toren Daen

I sat atop the ever-still waters of my soul, my legs crossed and my breathing steady. As ever, the void was silent and beckoning, while the even heat of Aurora’s soul on my back gave me purpose in what I needed to do.

“I do wonder what you shall perceive during this test of yours,” my bond said, sitting in a mirrored position across from me. “Though I was Willbearer of the Asclepius for many an age, we asura do not know the true intricacies of what a Beast Will is, nor the effects it has on the deeper essence.”

The flame-shrouded bird of my Phoenix Will sat nestled on my shoulder, the sentience within sensing my upcoming plan. After all, I was about to enmesh with it on perhaps a deeper level than any user ever had.

I did not truly need to breathe where I sat in my soul. Already, I knew the form I bore was like a shadow cast on a wall. This ‘body’ was like an image of me drawn on a page as opposed to the true vastness of my soul beneath me.

But my thoughts and flow of perception were still that of something beyond. I restricted myself to a degree to this piece of two-dimensional paper, but my thoughts were far, far more pure than anything in the outer world. A true flow of concepts and emotions and intent I did not understand.

But still, feigning the need for breath and life enhanced the calming effects of this soulspace.

“Our Phoenix Will has been the avenue of greatest growth for me,” I said absently as I prepared myself. “And if I understand how I absorb this insight and what goes into my assimilation on a more fundamental level, I might be able to improve the process. Or improve my understanding of the soul.”

Aurora smiled kindly across from me. “I’ll be here to help, however you need me.”

The Asclepius Will trilled on my shoulder in agreement, before hopping off and sitting casually on the surface of my soul. Beyond anything else, the intent of the Will was to be passed down and honed. To help its users grow.

And so I took one step forward and allowed myself to be engulfed in fire. At my command, the Phoenix Will became indistinct–a formless mass of orange and yellow–before it sank beneath the waters.

The change was immediate. I felt the rising tide of insight as my soul meshed with the expanse of the Will. Wherever I looked, I saw fire growing beneath the surface of my ever-still soul as I engaged my Acquire Phase. The water did not boil or churn, the concepts and ideas that made me me still whole despite the roaring energy deep below.

I stood, feeling the warmth of Aurora’s soul grow hotter. Though her shade stood before me, I opted to turn, gazing at the impossible star of her soul as it turned the void into a wonderful sky.

But it was closer now. The heat increased from a pleasant spring breeze to the bare discomfort of a hot summer day. The waters of my soul glowed with light, the burning fires of insight radiating from my Sea and making the colors refract and change in strange ways as Aurora’s soul drifted closer over our bond.

My mother’s shade stood beside me, staring up at her soul. “I see,” she said slowly, watching the interplay of our souls as the sheer presence of her vast power influenced the pulse of the Phoenix Will as the waters of my soul bled light. “This is how you perceive my effect on our Will. But this is nothing new, yet.”

I nodded slowly as I looked down at my reflection in the impossibly flat sea. I thought I could feel a bit of it–part of my essence stretching ever-so-slightly from the growth of kindled fire deep in my soul.

“The Acquire Phase is the barest fraction of this power, though,” I said, my voice calm. “It is like dipping my toes in the water. But if I want to really understand, I need to take the plunge.”

I turned my head to Aurora, noting the human lines on her face. She was a beautiful woman–a beautiful person. It was easier to see that, here. So close to the truth of her. “I’m going to delve deeper,” I said. “And I want to feel the effects with and without your influence on the Will.”

Aurora gave me a sideways hug, running a hand through my hair. I blushed slightly as she squeezed me tight. “As you wish, my son,” she said kindly, before moving away.

I didn’t need to adjust my hair back into place, simply will it toward what I believed to be the “proper” state. As I did so, however, I found myself contemplating Aurora’s place here.

In the outer world, she was hesitant with her touch. Sometimes I would feel a comforting hand on my back or shoulder. Aurora would grace me with a hug when she felt I needed it. But here… it wasn’t so much me that needed the tactile sensation, I understood. With the true purity of our bond and the formless weaves of intent that threaded between us at this fundamental level, I could tell.

She did it for herself, here. While in all other times the ghostly phoenix supported me, the simple act of ruffling my hair and holding me within our souls centered something deep inside of her spirit.

“Okay, Aurora,” I said, finally ready. “Here I go.”

I dove deeper into my Phoenix Will, embracing the touch of Soulplume.

And the change was immediate.

My entire soul swelled. That wasn’t truly what happened, but it was the closest word I could give the experience. As insight swam within my mind, the water all around me began to shift and change. No longer was it just the waters of my soul. Now, the fire that grew from the center was overwhelming it. Overriding it with sheer volume.

I reasserted my being, and the sudden expansion of the Phoenix Will slowed. For the first time, the ever-tranquil trace of my soul changed. I wasn’t reflectionless water anymore. Waves churned and roiled all about me, breathing fire and refracted light. The sheer injection of energy served to stretch me beyond what I was ready for.

Waves crashed over me, the water somehow fire-yet-not. I was left unaffected–this was but a projection–but I understood deeply what was happening–and I finally knew precisely what an asuran Will was.

Its intent meshed through me. The desire to learn and grow and observe. Even as my once-still Sea rocked and churned, expanding exponentially as knowledge was injected deep into its core, I finally understood.

Without the need to consciously call for her, Aurora’s soul edged closer to mine in the void. Or did mine grow closer to hers? It was difficult to tell with the sheer difference between us. Even as the growing expanse of Soulplume turned my tranquil spirit into a roiling storm, she was still a star.

And as she grew closer—as she always did to help me draw greater power from my Phoenix Will—I began to burn. I felt it, felt it deep in my essence. The searing light scraped away at the roiling waters, leaving steam in its wake as my very spirit began to boil. Mist of what I was rose higher into the void, concepts and ideas and the foundational parts of my being becoming less than full.

Memories, I thought distantly, trying desperately to understand and know as much as I could all at once. It was hard to comprehend everything with so much bombarding me at once. I was so much more than I had been a moment ago, but also so much less. The water is what I am. And it evaporates as she grows closer.

But I needed to learn. Needed to take this insight back into myself. Needed to–

Then came the pain. The searing, burning, overwhelming pain. Of my very soul scouring away. I watched the water that contained my memories of Naereni and Sevren as they simmered and boiled, drifting out toward the void. The life-giving motes of water that were my love of books and care for the dwarves were next, overwhelmed by the tide of energy.

But pain wasn’t even the right word to describe it, because pain was a physical thing. Pain was the sensation of nerves firing signals to the brain in electrical waves, indicating something was wrong. But this… this was void. The burning, then sudden absence as it drifted away. The sensation that there should be more, but the ache of nonexistence in the face of it.

And suddenly, Aurora’s soul blurred, drifting away from mine at speed as sheer and utter panic-horror-guilt-worry-fear washed over me over our bond.

It sobered me instantly, and I achingly reasserted control.

The roiling tempest of fire-water gradually stilled as I pulled my Phoenix Will away from the edges of my soul. Where we were once a collage of intent and insight, now we were separate again, the birdlike form of the Will drawing itself from the surface of the Sea.

I collapsed onto the water, noting how fast the churning expanse had become serene once more. Despite this, however, I didn’t feel that normal peace. I stared out into the sky-void, my gaze hazy as I stared at the gathering clouds above.

“Toren!” Aurora’s voice shouted, thundering in every manner possible as her shade rushed for me. She grabbed my limp form, holding me tight with trembling arms as her eyes roamed over me. “Oh, by my father, no. Please. I didn’t want to… I didn’t mean to–”

I felt a weak smile stretch over my face as I brushed an arm against my bond’s trembling shade, noting her panicked tears. “It’s okay, Mom,” I said weakly, before pointing up at the sky. I knew what she was worried about. What she feared she had done to me. “The rain is coming.”

And then those clouds of condensed soul-essence finally began to weep their tears. The pitter-patter of each drop in my soul reminded me of something I had forgotten. The way Naereni’s fingers always twitched when she wanted to grab something. Sevren’s passion for artificing and creation. How the page of a book felt beneath my fingertips.

Souls were strange. The way they pushed and pulled on each other and themselves, greedily demanding memories and knowledge.

I breathed out as I gradually became whole once more, the rains washing away the scalding heat of my bond’s soul. Aurora watched with an expression that told me of her deepest fears and horrors as all paradoxically returned to what it once was, the silence of the endless expanse marking it all.

“It’s okay, Aurora,” I said after a moment, my bond still holding me as if I would simply melt into the water beneath me. “We both expected this. Or something like it.”

My bond swallowed, turning away as guilt wracked her features. Her soul. “I know.”

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She didn’t need to say any more. As close as our souls were, I understood what she feared.

Agrona’s cruel malice in tearing apart my mother’s thoughts was at the forefront of her guilt. Of that gaping, awful wound in her mind that let Agrona know the face of Chul, but not she.

“It’s not the same, Aurora,” I said quietly, putting voice to the intent already radiating over our bond. “He did it to hurt and scald. But we’re working to understand something together. I knew the risks involved at the start.”

Aurora didn’t respond, staring back at the vast expanse of her soul far beyond. “I’m supposed to be your mother, Toren,” she said at last. “I’m supposed to know the path forward, so that you may tread a better one. But I know nothing of this path you take, and every touch of mine risks scalding instead of warming. You travel it alone.”

I contemplated this for a moment, before sitting up and staring at the shade of my bond. I waited there silently. Because there was more to this feeling of hers. More to this grief that she had yet to share, but wished to on some level.

“You’re growing so fast, Toren,” she finally said, staring down at the now-tranquil sea. “Growing faster than I can help you. Already you have found a nest-mate close to your soul, and now you seek to spread your wings with the teachings of others around you. I have hardly had the time to keep you in my nest, yet it feels as if you are already straining to fly.”

My inner world was silent as these thoughts coursed through me—and I found I did not know how to respond. I sat there quietly in the wake of this revelation, trying to find the right thing to say. To convey with my soul.

Before I could do so, however, Aurora shook her head, her feather-red hair swaying. “It is not my duty to burden you with such worries, Toren,” she said after a moment, retreating slightly from our bond. “Think nothing of what I said. It is inconsequential.”

“No, Aurora,” I responded, shifting closer on the tranquil waters. “This is something that’s eating at you. We should talk about it. Our bond isn’t just a one-way thing. That’s not how souls work.”

But then the shade of the phoenix looked up at me. “Please, Toren,” she pleaded in a way that made me hesitate. “Not right now. Not so close to the Hearth. Just… tell me what you have discovered in this trial. I do not wish to linger on unhallowed thoughts.”

I clenched my fist at my side, feeling strangely helpless. I should be able to help her. Be able to address these fears of hers that she kept locked up deep in her soul. That was my job as Spellsong, wasn’t it? To give hope and joy?

But there was one thing I’d known for a long time about souls that only became more and more apparent. Within the depths of each, there was a push and a pull. A gravity that drew souls together and thrust them apart. And it was a universal thing across all worlds that pushing too much would only break things.

“My Phoenix Will is a remnant of a soul,” I said after a moment-turned-distant. “I suspect that’s what all Beast Wills are. Slivers of souls imbued to grow and collect more insight. That’s why I can mesh with it at all. But this sliver has grown far, far more than what a normal soul should be, I think.”

Aurora tilted her head, her attention finally drifting away from her darker thoughts. “What do you mean, Toren?” she asked, sitting leisurely across from me.

“I can barely contain all the insight I receive in my Second Phase,” I said after a moment. “And I know that that is still barely scratching the surface. It threatens to tear me apart from within if I am not careful. I suspect that if I were to use my Third Phase—to its truest, greatest extent—I would eventually just… pop.”

I could imagine it, too. Referencing what I knew from The Beginning After the End and what I had seen personally, Arthur was lucky that his body gave way before his soul. I wondered if some bare remnant of Sylvia within had limited the power granted, or maybe some unseen hand of Fate pulled the strings.

But that wasn’t all. As I let my eyes drift to the far edges of my soul, I recognized that it had changed. By absorbing the insight held within Aurora’s Will, I expanded the boundaries of my spirit. I hardened them and prepared them for more knowledge, like muscle training to grow stronger.

I rolled my metaphysical shoulders. “But we can talk about this more outside,” I said, feeling my grip on the Sea of my Soul shifting slightly. “It’s getting harder to maintain this state.”

Aurora nodded slowly, her thoughts awhirl as she acknowledged the need. It was easiest to enter the Sea of the Soul when I was the most tired—right before bed, or right after waking up. I suspected the soul was less bound to the body during rest, but I couldn’t be sure just yet.

I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I found myself lounging on a sideways-thrusting trunk of a rust-colored jungle tree, a few vines drifting nearby.

Except it wasn’t really a tree–more like a hundred snaking roots thick enough to be called trunks. The light was low where I lounged despite the rising sun, and the air was cool and humid.

I was in a wide ravine deep in the Beast Glades–but it wasn’t a normal ravine. The walls were coated in stretching plants that crisscrossed the space, creating a tapestry of browns, reds, and greens as I sat high above the bottom of the chasm. The entire place was incredibly noisy to all of my senses. The chirping of insects, croaking of mana beasts, and grumbles of things far deeper in the darkness.

It had been a couple of weeks since I’d first set out for the Hearth, and the going had been slow. Working with Aurora, I’d intentionally been taking roundabout and seemingly random paths forward, the fear of discovery or being tracked by Viessa Vritra always present in the back of my mind. That had slowed progress immensely, however, as I intentionally went along more dangerous routes and put myself through deadly peril.

I’d used the time wisely, though. Seris’ recommendations and hints on how I could craft the puzzle of my abilities into a cohesive style had begun bearing fruit.

I slowly stood, stretching out my aching body. As I did every morning, I took stock of myself. Hair all in one piece? Check. All my fingers and toes where they should be? Check. Dimension ring with literally everything I owned? Check.

I sighed as I sifted through the aforementioned dimension ring, listening to the sounds of the not-forest around me. The twisting patterns of roots connecting across the ravine looked like the world’s strangest spiderweb, and part of me worried that I’d suddenly find myself face-to-face with a massive arachnid.

As I sifted around in my ring, I noticed a few items that I hadn’t had the time to tend to in a while. The glimmering white pelt of the four-armed frost yeti from the Relictombs stood out to me, alongside the contrasting darkness of the Echo Vespertion’s black hide. I’d promised myself that I’d eventually make some sort of cloak or mantle of the two, but I’d never found the time.

Instead, I withdrew my journal. It had started as notes on The Beginning After the End, but had slowly evolved into a way of keeping my thoughts and plans centered throughout the time I’d been in this world.

As I leaned back against the bark of my perch ready to write about my recent experience, however, I had a thought.

I’ve been in this world for over a year, I realized, blinking in surprise. Easily.

“And with luck, you shall stay here for many more,” my bond said as her shade shimmered into existence nearby.

I smiled slightly as I began to scribble in my worn and faded journal. I was going to run out of pages soon. Here’s hoping, I thought back to her. But as I wrote down my observations in the Sea of the Soul, a thought occurred to me.

Aurora, I thought, feeling a slight breeze drift through the canyon. How should I expect the phoenixes of the Hearth to treat me? I mean, I’m basically a stranger to them.

Internally, I worried how the phoenixes of my adopted family would react to the anomaly that was me. Was I family to them? Or would they view me with disdain, as most asura would? As Aurora had for a time upon our first meeting?

I’d been having doubts as I gradually trekked deeper and deeper into the Beast Glades under my bond’s direction. I’d never really allowed myself to think about it before. I’d never been married in my previous life, but I wondered if this was what it was like to meet the in-laws.

Except the in-laws were functionally deities, most of which usually had a discrimination complex and reacted poorly to change.

I knew the phoenixes of the Hearth were different from most asura, but part of me still worried about being accepted.

My bond tilted her head, narrowing her eyes as she thought. “I have no doubt in my mind that my brother—and your brother—will accept you for who you are, Toren,” she said soothingly. And that did brighten my mood somewhat, but…

Aurora, I thought to her as I finally scratched out the last of my observations on the soul, that’s leaving out, like, ninety-nine percent of your clan, I pointed out, feeling my anxiety grow a bit at my bond’s roundabout words.

Lady Dawn sighed, setting her shade down on the branch. “I understand your worries, Toren,” she finally said. “I admit that… I bear them too. Or at least similar fears.”

Then should I prepare to be called ‘lesser’ a lot? I replied sardonically, feeling a bit miffed.

“That is not my worry, Toren,” Aurora replied sourly. “You are Willbearer of our Clan, now. That has meaning that you may not comprehend yet in full. But in asuran tradition, it is the Willbearer who is elected as the leader of the clan and is tasked with choosing their direction. My brother was already one to break tradition in passing his Will to me while maintaining leadership of our clan, but precedent ignored once does not negate its existence.”

I frowned, absently keeping my senses alert for mana beasts and predators within the darkness of the ravine as I oriented on my bond. So you’re saying that… what, I’ll be some sort of contender with Mordain for power over the clan?

The phoenix shade slowly shook her head. “You shall represent a force of power in the clan, Toren, but not in the way you suspect,” she said cryptically. “As I said, my brother was something of a tradition-breaker, and that includes how he leads. But in a very real way, Toren, you represent the Will of the Asclepius Clan itself.”

The Will of the entire clan? I asked, surprised. But isn’t the Phoenix Will just a compounding of the direct line between you and Mordain?

Aurora’s hair—which was blowing in an Unseen breeze—stilled. “No, my son,” she said softly, speaking as if she were teaching an important lesson. “The greatest clans in Epheotus practice the tradition of Willforging—where the collective insight of each dying asura is passed to a singular being: the Willbearer. As the Willbearer naturally holds the Will with the most compounded insight, theirs swallows and draws the dying asura’s into itself, compounding even further. The cycle continues ad infinitum for millennia upon millennia, concentrating unfathomable power into a single sliver of a soul.”

My eyes grew progressively wider as Aurora spoke, the implications making my blood run paradoxically cold and hot. “Then what you’re saying,” I whispered, shocked, “is that the Asclepius Will has slivers of every phoenix soul that has ever graced the clan inside it?”

Aurora nodded slowly. “This is the basis for leadership among the greatest of clans,” she said somberly. “But you must look at our arrival in our Hearth from a broader perspective, Toren. You, who bear the collective weight of a hundred generations of the Asclepius, will arrive to speak with asura who have never known you. They will not look upon you with prejudice, as you worry. No… they may look upon you with fear, Toren.”

Fear… Why fear? I asked, feeling numb.

Aurora was silent for a time, falling deeper into her thoughts. “When you see,” she finally said, “you will understand. That is your gift. I have told you of the Forum that we must call when we reach our home. You will know then.”

I swallowed slightly, feeling unnerved from the conversation. With a flourish, I withdrew my notebook back into the dimension ring on my left hand. I moved my limbs as the Unseen World misted away.

Indeed, Aurora had told me of the Forum. An old tradition taken and altered from the djinn, but it was an all-or-nothing gamble.

My mother and I didn’t have the time to slowly convince and talk to the Hearth. We worked on a lesser’s timescale, not an asuran one. One of days, weeks, and months, not centuries. The war with Dicathen would be ending soon, and I could foresee no other time when we would have a chance to directly assure intervention from the phoenixes.

I felt the anxiety building in my stomach, twisting and churning it with questions I could not answer. But as I attuned my ears to the reddish root canopy around me, listening for worthy prey, I knew the best way to relieve my stress.

Through a hunt.