Xerion startled at the sound of the knock echoing through the quiet room. His bloodshot eyes fixated on the door, burning with such intense irritation as if willing it to turn to cinders.
“Yes?” he asked in a clipped tone.
“Young master, may I come in?”
A breath escaped his lungs in a rush as he deflated, some of the tension leaving his body. He was just so close, years of research and preparation about to finally bear fruit.
“Of course you can, Maria. Please do.”
The middle-aged woman entered, the white of her outfit replaced with gray, as was appropriate for the morning hours and the duties they entailed. Her cheeks glowed with a rosy hue, looking oh-so-pretty on her beige skin. She smiled at him, a slight downward tilt of her head bringing his attention to what she held in her palms.
Xerion jumped to his feet, his books and various materials completely disregarded in his rush to seize the last piece needed to enact the working he envisioned. And then something shattered and hissed, a subtle scent of burning wood making him crinkle his nose.
Maria raised a single eyebrow. “Is everything fine, young master?”
“Peachy. Just… peachy.” He cleared his throat. “Now, is this…?”
“The Essence Blade you ordered.”
Xerion damn near whooped in excitement at the words. Yes yes yes, at long last, his plan could proceed. An impatient arm shot forward as if a python lunging at its prey, prying this beauty out of the woman’s rough fingers.
A quarter of a pace long, its rugged surface felt firm in his grasp, despite the mystical nature of the material it was made of. Golden throughout and shaped like a piece of a shattered bone, the sharpness of its tip was such that the air whined in the wake of its passage.
He couldn’t wait to stab himself with it.
It took all of his willpower to not immediately turn around and dive into his project. Instead, he stayed for an extra second, bowed his head to the kindest soul that ever was, and said, “Thank you, Maria. I appreciate your help.”
The older lady’s smile deepened. As if on reflex, she raised her arms and smoothed out his robe. “You’re very welcome.” She hesitated for a moment, her eyes focused on his clenching and unclenching fingers. “You won’t do anything too silly with this thing, will you?”
“Never,” he lied through his teeth. “I value my life too much to endanger it by needless risk.”
“Now I’m worried.”
Xerion waved his hand, dismissing the notion that he might do something stupid. “I’ll be fine, I promise.”
“Young master,” Maria said in a disapproving tone. “You said the same thing when I delivered that refinement paste to you, some years back. And then you ate it.”
A flash of heat ran through the boy’s head, filling his complexion with all the shades of red. “That was an accident, an accident! A foolish experiment gone awry, at most. I matured since then.”
The woman hummed, then nodded to herself. “I believe you, of course. But, you see, I find myself with little to do this morn. You wouldn’t mind me staying here and accompanying you, would you?”
“…Please don’t?”
“Xerion,” she said, stretching out the word. “I’ll let you be, but try to be careful, okay? I worry, and so does the mistress.”
“I will, I promise. Nothing bad should happen even if I fail.”
“You’re not filling me with much confidence. But what else can I do? You’re not a baby anymore,” Maria said with a sad smile. “Be safe.”
“I will,” he repeated, and the woman took that as her cue to leave.
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Half a decade passed since the day Xerion made the biggest discovery of his life. He found a groove! Yes, that in itself wasn’t anything impressive, but it let him find a hidden compartment in the Archives of the city of Virsha, one filled to the brim with scrolls of ancient make.
“On the Creation of a Harashatii” consisted of a total of three volumes, and each of them detailed a different part of the process necessary to bring that thing into existence.
The first explained the ins and outs of an ability creation system called “Essence Construct Formation.” His clan was well acquainted with it – even the Essence Blade delivered to him by Maria came to be through the use of it.
The second and third, however, delved into specialized workings completely novel to him and, as far as he knew, to everyone else too. Despite him spending years in that unwelcoming place of knowledge, he encountered nary a mention of such magics.
Xerion spent long nights debating whether to hand over the scrolls to his elders, but ultimately decided against it. If his brethren stood to gain much from him doing so, he would, but the reality was…
Harashatii was the name used by some long-extinct group of Practitioners for creatures they brought to life through the use of essence workings. And, to the best of his understanding, they did so for the fun of it.
Nothing bound those beasts to their makers, not a link established to command them. Such an entity would be born and left to its own devices – usually those of the nefarious kind, as they were prone to inherit the instincts of their flesh and blood progenitors.
A dog made out of energy might turn out fine, but what about a tiger? What about a being whose whole purpose of existence was to hunt?
Xerion highly suspected the destruction of the creators of Harashatii came as the result of their own folly.
So why did he spend close to half a decade pursuing and researching something so clearly idiotic? Well, because he planned to improve upon the ability’s original design, of course.
Not an easy thing to do, especially given that the full use of the Essence Construct Formation system – the core of what allowed this power to function – required a Practitioner to reach the Second Rank.
Xerion’s cultivation realm advanced rapidly, but the journey to attain Coalescence was a long one. If he managed to achieve it in a couple of years, he’d already be happy with himself. But he wanted that ability, and he wanted it now.
And so, a definitely-sane plan was born in his mind.
He started on it without preamble, descending into the lands of madness, as was needed to complete the first part of his grand design. Today he had no intention of dillydallying, and so he vanquished the darkness before it had the time to truly bloom.
The realm of a billion golden bubbles came to be for he willed it so, and his will-flesh legs stepped upon the surface of this endless land with purpose. Nothing could go awry; he’d been here numerous times over the last day and a half, looking for the perfect form. And he found it.
Despite his preparations, the journey to reach the subject of his search brought him to the brink of mind fragmentation. The heaviness of this plane pushed at his thought-made avatar from every side, as if a hand of some almighty deity squeezing at an insect, one who dared to dream of things beyond their station.
But Xerion’s Will was made of sturdy stuff, and wouldn’t shatter nor retreat because of the first obstacle barring him from achieving his goal. And so he disregarded the blood dripping from his nose in the world of the true, and continued to push forward, ever forward.
Scenes of Courage entered his sights, some familiar and some new. Xerion found himself uncaring of what they had to offer or show, for he was on a mission, looking for a single gem in the land of countless pebbles.
Sure enough, that nugget of gold appeared. A scene that filled his heart with sorrow and wonder in equal measure.
A man of little fortune wandered through the dirty streets, a stolen loaf of bread hidden in his tattered sleeve. His eyes gazed at stalls of food with a hunger like no other, for suspicion of possession of a tiny bit of chow would bring pain and death and more as surely as a bow.
His home away from home – a space some might call a cranny – held smells of dung and rot, yet his love for it ran thicker than honey. Not for the bed of straw and withering grasses, nor for all the bad he had felt while trapped within those walls, but for his friend, that furry ball of white and gold.
She yipped and barked and tried to meow, for a clever beast she was, using guile in hopes of finding one who’d feed her like a cow. The man let the grim depart, a content smile within his heart as the dog saw the bite, licked her chops, and nicely waited for their feast to start.
Just before their teeth met bread, a voice of gruff and steely make brought all joy to its end. “You stinkin’ rat,” the giant growled. “Hiding food? For that, you’ll get more than just a lovepat.”
Not one but three squeezed through the gap, the cranny filled from up to up. The furry ball released a whimper, for her smarts and sadful past let her know their future would soon burn to cinder.
The man with eyes that spoke of hunger raised his hands to face this banger and the cronies that he brought. To starve to death was a fate most glum, but to save his tiny friend? He’d gladly meet his end.
“Let her go,” the loaf’s thief said, “and I’ll give ya all the bread. There ain’t a way you’ll get my mate.”
The giant laughed and roared and sniggered. “The audacity of that slug,” he thought. To let go of the dog, that runt of the litter? What a joke; it’d end up in his pot.
A clean hit struck the gruff man’s jaw; all his height not worth so much after getting brought down low. A single punch was all the thief got, for the cronies weren’t idle, the first aiming for his face and striking what he sought.
But the ball of fluff was here, a dirty, tired, and starved thing. Oh, those scum would learn of fear. And they did, as sharp jaws swung shut on a bony shin.
A shriek of pain and hurt and plea for help echoed true, Its pitch most pleasant to the few who’d give it all to save each other. Then the giant rose, vowing to make the pair beg for their mothers.
The family of two had known no escape or aid would come, but no matter how they were beaten, not once did they call for their mum.
The gang of three had learned of fear but now they tasted terror, for the pair was linked in a way that made their souls tremor. The bond between them forged so deep to reach beyond a mortal’s sight; they shared everything, but especially their might.
Despite the strength the link provided, the outcome of this bout had already been decided. The weak and frail and deathly duo stood no chance yet took a stance, simply because of unwillingness to leave the other behind. And so they died in each other’s arms, three corpses easing their way to the afterlife.
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Xerion rubbed at his teary eyes, deep and heavy breaths slowly restoring his composure. How was he even able to cry? As an avatar made of will-flesh, such a thing shouldn’t be possible. And yet here he was.
He sighed, giving himself an extra second before diving back into work. The pressure on his body continued to climb, ever stronger, a constant reminder of his imminent disintegration.
A couple of quick steps brought him to the scene’s epicenter, and from there, he extracted the pup’s image and branded it onto his heart. He searched this land of countless possibilities up and down, but nothing else came close to being as worthy to assume his ability’s form as this.
And then he half-ascended, arriving in a space of seemingly limitless mists. Xerion raised his arm and clenched his fingers as if he were pulling at invisible strings.
His Heartspace quaked, all within its depths rushing to enact the vision of their sovereign. Uncountable tiny lines of gold emerged from the walls of darkness, and each shot through the mists of brilliance to arrive at the center of this realm.
Xerion’s open palm became a fist. In answer, the core of this plane acted like a star in the middle of a collapse. Every single radiant line he gathered fell under a force so strong, all the scattered pieces reunited to form an image of the faithful dog.
There, the first step was done.
Then he truly ascended, returning to the world of the true, though a sliver of thought was left behind. It’d keep his creation in the state in which he needed it to be.
Actual-flesh legs took him over to a pre-prepared circle, this one built according to the “Essence Construct Formation” system. Where Rituals needed little more than a few simple lines and wooden stakes, the making of this monstrosity required him to spend almost all the savings he accumulated through the years. Just the thought of how much he paid for powdered gems – a necessary ingredient to establish the markings – caused his eyes to fill with moisture.
Xerion bowed his head, sending not a prayer but an ask to the Empyrean. Please, wherever you are, watch over me. I’d rather not die so soon.
And then he slammed his palm in front of himself, a working within activating the magics outside. The circle sprang to life, its glow so intense the room seemed as if it contained a sun.
An ethereal flame burst forth within its depths, devouring all the offerings he arranged. Everything from the tendons of a Darkfiend Wolf Alpha to the teeth of a Juvenile disappeared beneath the dancing fire, its size further growing as Xerion supplied it with his impressions of those beasts. The taste of their blood, the roughness of their fur, the eeriness of their inky flesh; he pushed it all into the circle.
Immaterial heat licked at things hidden from his sight, bringing warmth to parts he didn’t know existed. And he’d much rather remain ignorant of them, as spiritual burns weren’t something he felt equipped to deal with.
Then the flame transformed, taking on a denser form and shifting to a shade of gray, now resembling smoke of the arcane sort. It was a Wisp of Life’s Foundations.
If Xerion was a normal Practitioner of the Second Rank, one creating a typical Harashatii, he’d only need to activate a second circle and bring that creature to life through [External Essence Manipulation] workings. Alas, his cultivation realm was lacking and he aimed for greatness.
And so, he steeled his determination, activated [Resolve Augmentation] for an extra boost to his Attributes, and inhaled the vapor-like substance. As one does.
Maria would be so disappointed in me. She can never know.
Lines of golden essence ripped their way into existence all around him, each seeming to flow with density akin to magma. A soundless scream tore its way out of his mouth as they sunk into his flesh. As if an hour of slow roasting of his skin and muscles was condensed into a single instant, the pain he felt was quite unlike anything he ever experienced before.
Those rivers of energy rushed through his body, not damaging it in the least yet forcing him to his knees.
“it hurts…” he croaked out, and then [Resolve Augmentation] finished its groundwork. Power exploded out of every corner of his form, his mind whispering sweet false-truths of his invincibility.
Xerion rose and shook his head. There was work to be done, and the Wisp was coming.
Two thick, gray tentacles of mist plunged into his nostrils, causing them to flare wide. His eyes shot open, blood capillaries bursting as he did something not mentioned in a single piece of work held by his clan. He was beginning to suspect why no one thought of this brilliant idea before.
This arcane substance rampaged through the pathways making up his being, each stream acting like an enraged flood dragon of myth. But those insolent things forgot a very important detail – they were on his home turf now.
Xerion’s form was his temple, his territory, the truth universal to all Practitioners. Nothing could happen within him if he didn’t will it so. His body, mind, and heart worked in perfect consort to restrain those who dared invade their sanctum.
Alas, the magic he invoked this time wasn’t so easy to tame. Despite being thoughtless, its wrathful nature couldn’t be more apparent. Prepared for such an occurrence, the boy went with his plan b – guidance instead of domination.
Minutes passed as Xerion coaxed the smoke to travel to his Heartspace, the destruction brought by its “gentle” passage causing him to cough up blood every few seconds. A vial after vial of pure filth entered his throat in response, the rate of his healing keeping up with the damage he was enduring.
Finally, at long last, that arcane substance arrived to where he wanted it to come.
The realm of endless golden mists greeted its visitors, two tiny gray serpents looking a lot less intimidating when faced with an army of thirty-nine near-dragons. Not wanting to be an ass, he asked them politely to follow his will from now on. They did so obediently.
The previously-empty shell of the faithful dog filled up with arcane smoke, yet even a mortal could perceive the inner and outer layers to not be in sync. And so, herein came the second circle.
The first – responsible for the creation of that magical vapor – carried the name “Extraction.” This one was “Molding.”
Xerion shouldn’t normally be able to operate a working of such complexity before reaching Coalescence, but he was in his kingdom, and to label a sovereign’s might as miracle power wasn’t far from the truth.
Will-flesh arms rose high, and his Heartspace stilled as they did so. The world seemed to hold its breath, waiting in anticipation for the events that were soon to transpire in its depths.
As if a conductor of some ancient play, Xerion’s avatar started gesticulating wildly, each movement he performed changing freely floating mists into shapes which he desired.
A ring of gold formed along the edges of this realm, the image of a gray-filled dog at its epicenter. The markings appeared next, their mere sight hurtful to the mind of his and all below the Second Rank. Their creation required little understanding, thankfully, but the sheer process of their memorization wasn’t one for the weak of heart.
Rivers of essence bent and twisted into patterns as arcane as the smoke, whose angry yet subdued presence still lingered in the not-air of this dark space. Connections bloomed between them, tiny lines growing and changing the many into the one.
The completion of the circle made the Heartspace tremble, each second bringing it closer to total collapse. Magics beyond a Practitioner’s stage shouldn’t be conjured lightly, and him doing so – even at the seat of his power – threatened to end his journey of cultivation at its very beginning.
Xerion’s thought-made fingers curled, the darkness of this realm stretching at the movement. The circle blazed with pure reality-altering might, two beams descending from its confines – one onto the avatar, and the other onto the gold-gray dog.
Now with the link established, the Molding could proceed.
A being formed of will and little else kneaded nothing in its hands, yet the image at the center of this space changed in answer to the action. Gray and gold became cold white, as the tiny pup became a wolf with sharpened fangs. Those palms crushed, and pressed, and pinched, shifting false into the true and bringing blue to that hound’s eyes.
A quarter of an hour passed before the essence came alive. The Wisp of Life’s Foundations fused with the form chosen from a land of endless possibilities, all thanks to the workings enacted with a Courage-attuned power.
As a result, a Spirit was born.
Xerion took a couple of deep breaths in quick succession, for his work wasn’t yet done. The last part awaited, and he expected it to be quite unpleasant.
A tool made of solid golden energy found its way into his palm, its sharpened tip glowing and making the air groan while touching its surface. This bone-like Essence Blade stood as the pillar of the Totem Engravement system, and with its use, his ability should be completed.
Hopefully.
“Okay,” he said out loud, then repeated the word a few more times. “If it hurts, it means it’s working. Yes. Here we go.”
Xerion stabbed himself, just below his neck and to the left. A not-so-subtle scent of roasting meat tickled at his nose, as his skin beneath and around the puncture wound burned and sizzled.
All air escaped his lungs as he used one of his arms to hold onto the other, desperately trying to keep the spike stable. The carving should start by now, yet the unusual way in which he went about the creation of this power led to an unfortunate occurrence – he didn’t know what form his Totem should assume.
To his rescue came a yip of pure excitement.
Four paws of snowy fur trotted through the pathways located throughout his body. A tiny pulse of essence echoed after every leap they made, a soft tap tap tap ringing in his ears as his new companion neared the source of his pain.
Xerion sent a bit of his energy into the Essence Blade. As he hoped, a set of chompers clamped down onto it, a link established between the two beings sharing a single life. With that connection came not knowledge, but… instinct? Impulse? A simple want for things to be a certain way.
The bone-like tool lit up with power as the boy began changing his flesh into a construct worthy of housing a Spirit.
First, the golden swirl appeared. As if feathers, mists, and waves combined to form a jagged flowing river twirling through the endless dark before arriving at the center of a painting.
With a backdrop of a storm and light just peeking through the stifling clouds, a wolf of black and gray and with gold markings emerged from the turbulent waters of that mighty swirl.
Essence took the colors he and his companion desired, his skin acting as a canvas for the masterpiece born of their two minds. And yet, the falling drop of red broke him out of his concentration.
Xerion’s gritted teeth relaxed a tad as he noticed blood streaming from his gums. The task of engraving his Totem relieved his mind of the anguish this process subjected him to, leaving his body as the sole carrier of all that pain. And it was starting to give out.
Unfortunately, until the total completion of this ability, he couldn’t imbibe any healing concoctions. No matter; he’d survive those few extra minutes.
The tattoo of mystic make gained in detail as he worked. An open maw and eyes like magma looked with malice at a distance, as if warning monsters dwelling in the clouds to beware, for a hunter just appeared, one ready to feast on some prey.
A lick of gold then grazed the beast’s forehead, marking tufts of ashy fur with the brilliance present on all kings. And a king this visage showed, not an Alpha but a being whose sheer nature surpassed that of its lesser kin.
When the last stroke of the blade concluded, the Spirit in his pathways leaped into that essence construct carved upon his flesh. The Totem solidified upon its entry, a bit of life now present in the tattooed wolf’s blazing eyes.
Xerion fell backward, his head hitting the hard floor with a loud thump. Fresh and dried blood marred his robe and face and hands and more, as the damage he inflicted on his form exceeded all of his previous hurtful forays combined.
His Heartspace ached in that dull way, like a muscle put through abuse that surpassed its tolerance limits by leagues. A quick peek into its depths revealed no tears or other signs of permanent injury; he simply pushed it too far. The fact his stores of essence neared zero certainly didn’t help things.
And for the love of the Empyrean, the magnitude of his headache must’ve rivaled those migraines he heard about from mortals. The pain was already bad when he journeyed across the land of Courage bubbles, and it only grew in intensity as the ability creation continued.
Never in his close to two decades of life had he felt more miserable than at that moment. Brief thoughts of regret flitted through his mind, for maybe, just maybe, this whole undertaking wasn’t worth all the coin and hurt and effort he put into it.
But then a tiny weight settled onto his chest.
Cloud-like fur of milky white caressed Xerion’s tender skin, the pelage ever-shifting, ever-flowing, as if consisting of mist and liquid both. A nose no bigger than a button sniffed in curiosity, for all smells were strange for one so new to the world of the true. Its onyx-black color seemed to glow when placed on top of the chalkiest pup since the Dawn of the Dark.
Wee-sized paws tip-tapped their way up until the cutest muzzle appeared above the boy’s face. The snout opened, showing teeny yet sharp fangs, and from behind those chompers came a white-ish tongue.
Xerion’s creation, the highly-modified Harashatii he spent a quarter of his life researching, was here, licking at his bloodied face and whimpering in distress at the pain of its companion.
An unexpected taste of salt spread throughout his mouth, and he realized hot and burning tears streaked along his cheeks. And yet, not one reached his lips, as they were all lapped up by the puppy on his chest.
He gazed into the Spirit’s eyes, those depthless swirls of blue, and felt the bond between them. A mighty, nigh-unbreakable link stretched from his heart. It was anchored in his flesh, and connected the pair on a level so deep, the boy could find nary a word to describe it.
They shared fates, to a degree. The pup would survive for as long as he was whole, and it could tap into his strength, and so much more.
Xerion’s gaze traveled upward, until it rested on the ceiling of his room. Despite the wood blocking his view, he saw the top of the golden dome surrounding the city of his birth, and what lay beyond it. The endless darkness of the void pressed at it from all sides, as it did since time immemorial.
And yet he knew, in his heart of hearts, that somewhere out there was a sky of the clearest blue. He dreamed of it often, the image of that limitless expanse of azure carved into his mind. The biggest of smiles appeared on his face each morn after being graced with that view.
His eyes took his companion in, only now noticing the golden flame-like aura wafting off of its form. The same grin threatened to creep onto his face as he looked at the cub.
“Ether,” he said to the Spirit. “Your name shall be Ether, okay?”
Ether rose to its paws and howled the cutest of howls in acknowledgment, its misty tail wagging as if a hurricane was whipping it back and forth.
As if existence waited for this moment to proceed, for the name to be granted before the magnitude of today’s events could reverberate through the fabric, a pulse exploded out of the pair. Invisible and immaterial, no one felt its passage other than a duo responsible for its appearance.
Xerion froze, in body, mind, heart, and soul, as a gaze of something more immense than the life of all settled onto his form. An instant passed – an eternity for the boy subjected to the weight of that stare – and with it, a judgment came.
Without an ask from him, a Sui Scroll unfolded. He read it, amazed and baffled in equal measure.
“What, in the name of the Empyrean, is a Worldly Feat?”