“The dying religion?” S’bowynn’s body eased, and she took another sip of the warm liquid she was holding with both hands.

Brista leaned over and whispered something into Artim’s ear. He nodded his head from side to side slightly in a ‘maybe’ form of affirmation. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, holding his mug with both hands in front of him. “Kind of. Where we come from, Elemenchya is so much more than it seems to be here. Where we come from, Elemenchya is real.” His eyes looked sincere as the firelight danced across his face. He paused, waiting for S’bowynn’s reaction. Her silence was enough for him to continue. “I noticed your city has a Garden. How active are you? How much do you know?”

“I don’t. It’s not very important here,” she explained.

“Are you kidding me? What a luxury,” Brista interjected.

“It makes sense, Brista,” Artim soothed the woman. “This city is pretty safely located far from any landmarks and on the eastern side of the continent. I’m not surprised the schism is well established here,” he said quietly with his head turned toward Brista. He nodded and faced S’bowynn again. “The basics then:

From nothingness, the Genarch Vimagen created itself. Thus, Vimagen is creation. Vimagen is Life. As Vimagen expanded into nothingness, branching out like the limbs of a tree.

From Vimagen came the Archova.

From the thickest tendril came ArchEarth, Loova-am.

From between the tendrils low came ArchWater, Flovuax.

From the farthest tendril tips came ArchFire, Arovdora.

From between the tallest tendrils came ArchWind, Lovilta.

After Vimagen created creation, and brought it into balance, Vimagen produced five seeds from her core. She sent a seed to each of her children and kept the last seed for herself.

The Archova accepted the seeds and placed them within themselves, gaining the ability to create for themselves. And so, they did. The Archelem came into creation.

But they did not have a home.

Thus, Loova-am offered his body, curling up and gifting a home for the Archelem. Flovuax loved Loova-am so much, she curled around him, rounding out his harsh crevices and clefts, creating the world. Arovdora blessed Loova-am’s heart for his sacrifice for their children, keeping his center warm and promising to watch over them as the Archova slumbered. Lovilta wrapped her siblings in her comforting swirling embrace. She promised to remember.

Countless numbers of Archelem, created by and tied to the cycles from which they sprang, now had a place to create their homes. They spread across Loova-am’s skin and shaped the places they found as their own. Their shapes and influences became the Elemova.”

“The Elemova are the closest kin to us, the Vimova,” Brista finished.

Vague recollections flashed through S’bowynn’s memory from when she was young and entrusted to the pullulates along with other children her age while their parents did adult things throughout the city. Eventually the children, or the parents, would grow up and attend communal teachings led by the scholars where they learned to read, write, and count coin. All S’bowynn remembered of her time at the Garden was her interest in the flowers and plants and getting to play with the other children. A somber feeling started to spread through her body. “I guess I just grew out of it.”

Brista scoffed, “Does it really play so little role here?”

“It seems so. Aside from the zephyric winds, what else would be out this far? This city sprouted from a trade outpost,” Artim reasoned.

“Isolated by design,” grumbled Brista.

“Let’s assume that the Elemova are a lot like us,” Artim continued.

“But powerful and they can…” Brista blurted. Artim sighed loudly and shook his head. “Fine! Frass and blight,” she huffed, stood, and walked to the other side of the small fire where most of the group followed her. S’bowynn watched her leave before turning back to Artim.

“She’s fine,” he assured her. “She gets bored easily and if she’s not a part of the conversation, she’ll go find one. She’s not upset. That’s just how she is,” he gestured his hand in the general direction of the group that had already started laughing over something else. S’bowynn relaxed and turned back to Artim. He raised his mug and sipped it artfully before continuing. “We all live our lives, trying to do good; be happy; follow the rules. Sometimes though, there are those among us who do terrible things. Actions beyond reason. Deeds against Life. There is another layer to creation:

The Void was created where the Genarch’s limbs were not.

The Genarch forgot her fifth creation because it existed in all the places she was not; she withheld her gift from a part of her creation.

The Void did not forget.

Without the Genarch’s gift, The Void has no cycle to create from.

In Life’s antithesis, The Void corrupts.”

He waited for the severity to fully saturate the conversation. “When an Elemova acts opposing Life, they become Void-touched. Being Void-touched to an Elemova is similar to madness. The madness starts with their thoughts and begins to infect their shape and influence. It corrupts their body. Everything they touch becomes corrupted. The Void influences the elemova to do horrible things and eventually those things are so bad, so terrifying that anything near the corruption becomes vulnerable to the Void’s sway. That corruption spreads until its hunted down and stopped. That’s what we do. We end the corruption.”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“You and Brista…” S’bowynn decided to follow the man’s line of logic without pulling it apart even though her reality fought against what she told him, “… hunt Voidtouched?”

“Correct. We are Void Hunters,” he said plainly. Artim reclined against the bench and sipped from his mug. “We track down elemtales gone array. We were on our way to a regular hub of information when we stopped for a rest in your little city.”

“Little?” she said incredulously.

Artim smiled slyly. “While I have heard this trade-post has grown considerably, I’ve seen cities that fade into the horizon.”

A warm excitement had started to fill S’bowynn, and she wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or the possibility of cities so large you couldn’t see at their borders. Then came the thoughts of powerful elementals that could, apparently, have such an influence on the land and the vimova living there that they were almost worshiped as deities. She found herself in this peculiar place between disbelief and curiosity. The stranger before her spoke with such conviction that S’bowynn hung her reality on a wall hook and passed through the gateway the man showed her. The simple question of ‘what-if?’ filled her veins and sent her heart into a frenzy. The crumbs of storytelling she gobbled up from Sira now felt like the teasing scent one savors before a feast. Flashes of what a fire-hawk may look like played in her mind before being replaced by an epic battle playing out theatrically in the reflection of the liquid in her mug. With an imagination shattering plunk, the liquid quaked against its container as Artim carefully tapped his foot on the bottom of the mug. He smirked when she flinched back to their shared reality and met his gaze. “It’s easier to find the bottom of an empty cup.”

S'bowynn laughed and obliged, chugging the cup’s contents until it was empty. Her face cringed after such a large amount of the burning liquid. “Woo, good stuff,” she laughed again and handed the empty cup to Artim. “Found it,” she smiled and stood after he took her cup.

“If you’re correct about what caused the refugees from Boaurj, Brista and I will be headed there tomorrow,” Artim said. Disappointment crept onto S’bowynn’s face. “Have you ever been to Boaurj?”

“No,” she blurted out, thanking the alcohol for blushing her cheeks before her embarrassment and giving her the courage to continue. “I’ve never left Janoiah,” she finished with a big sigh.

Artim smiled. “Truthfully, I’ve never left Janoiah either.” S’bowynn chuckled at the accuracy of his statement. “Come with us,” he offered.

The shock that filled the air paralyzed S’bowynn. She moved her mouth but could only manage fragments of an actual response. “I can’t… I couldn’t… My family… my job…”

“Girlie!” a voice snapped just as hard as the shock, breaking its hold over S’bowynn. Brista appeared to the side of S’bowynn with fists curled and resting on her hips in a disapproving manner. “Aren’t you tired of living other vimova’s adventures? I see how your eyes light up each time you listen to a something you haven’t heard before, and I barely know you.”

Brista’s question exposed a pit within S’bowynn that she hadn’t known was so empty. A yearning grew there, like a tiny flickering light on a shoreline while S’bowynn was cast adrift in a tumultuous sea. A need to reach that light and the safety of the shore pushed her to reach for it. Lost inside herself, a rope cast from the shore made its way through the water to S’bowynn, if she would only grab onto it. Artim’s voice traveled along the opportunity, “Brista and I have a lot of errands to complete before we leave tomorrow, so I doubt we will leave before mid-day if you need the time.” In the firelight, Artim stood and took a step away from S’bowynn before turning back and bidding her farewell. “Have a good night, S’bowynn.”

Brista was still grinning at the woman flailing in the waves of her mind. Like a thunderstorm, her voice called to S’bowynn. “I promise you, it’ll be different.”

The promise smoothed out the waters on of her mind where S’bowynn floated easily, just out of reach of the rope that floated beside her. S’bowynn blinked her eyes and was standing alone next to the canvas covered cart that Brista and Artim climbed inside of. The rest of the raucous group had also dispersed as Arovdora had finally disappeared completely behind the horizon. By the time S’bowynn thought to say goodbye, her feet had already started carrying her through the camp that had grown still and dark. When she passed through the entrance to Main Market, she came back to herself fully, outpacing the formless thoughts that hid amongst the still waters of her mind. She walked past the storefronts in the darkness. In the quiet, she looked at each sign hanging from the rafters with their bright colors and depictions, muted in the dusk. Each sign was unique, but to S’bowynn they now felt meaningless. Every store was someone’s story and all the memories S’bowynn had attached to them suddenly felt tangential. While they were her memories, they were never her stories.

The profound detachment effected S’bowynn as she passed under the far archway that opened the heart of the city before her. She had passed under this archway every day for more than a decade but this time, she felt her body walk casually toward the Garden instead of turning toward the Residential District. She stood at the entrance to the building and allowed her mind to wander the smoothed stone halls. The paintings on the walls and ceiling slowly pierced the fog of S’bowynn’s mind, becoming clear and vivid in a way night would not have allowed. In her childhood, S’bowynn had listened to the stories and dismissed their fanciful nature so that she could play with the children after and share in the snacks the pullulates handed out. Never before this night had she wondered what would inspire someone to join the Garden and design the way they lived their lives around teachings inspired by forces that didn’t exist and held itself apart from the bustle of the market. That had been where S’bowynn found her excitement. New and different goods each day. Strange and exotic vimova coming into the city and leaving to return to the innumerable places they came from. These are the stories she had reveled in.

The emptiness she had felt before reminded her now that none of these stories were her own, plunging her back into the still waters of her mind, far from shore, just out of reach of a tether cast out to her by a stranger. S’bowynn collected the emptiness and cradled it as she shuffled the remainder of the way home. The door she arrived at towered before her. She traced the rood grain with her eyes in the dim of night. The door’s familiarity was banished by trepidation. The realization that the door held no warmth for S’bowynn. Behind her, the building she grew up within suddenly lost all sense of home to her. Inside its walls, all her memories were contained, neatly and suddenly small, gently fading into a grey repetitive blur. She turned away from the unchanging building with a newfound melancholy. Within a moment she realized that this new feeling wasn’t new at all. Instead, it was newly acknowledged. A few controlled breaths did little to soothe her heart before she finally willed herself into motion, opening the door and slipping inside.

In the dark of the small shed, she placed her clothing perfectly in the places she had removed them from innumerable times before. Though she couldn’t see well in the dimness, she knew where the hooks were on her wall and where her bed was placed. She let herself fall onto the bed without feeling for its placement, trusting it would catch her. Her fingers swam through the dark, unlacing her boots in a practiced motion. In the stillness and the silence, S’bowynn accepted she had a choice to make.

The longing inside of herself was solid. She wanted to go. The firmness of her desire met a sharp wall of thought as S’bowynn played out anxious conversations with loved ones. She imagined their anger, their hurt, their denial. Each time it broke her heart. She wondered how she could possibly hurt those around her until she imagined letting this opportunity to pass her by. The fictional future that played out in her mind was a singular event, playing out indifferent to the passing of time. Her chest ached and turned to stone, anchoring her to the bed she laid upon. And she cried.