It was a sunny day within the domed city of Virsha, for a certain definition of “sunny.” Most throughout its history insisted on simply saying “bright,” given the lack of a sun overhead.
And bright it was. The barrier, responsible for repelling the corrupting darkness so prevalent in their lands, blazed with the typical golden shine of Positive Emotional Essence. A lovely sight for those fortunate enough to see its brilliance for a moment or two. Quite a maddening one, though, if one were subjected to it constantly since birth.
Thankfully, Its intensity did decrease during the evening hours, though whether that came as a result of natural causes or through the work of the Pillars wasn’t known to Xerion. With each year people seemed to grow more tight-lipped around him.
He considered whether the ever-increasing complexity of his questions might've played a part in that, but ultimately dismissed the idea.
The ceremonial platform’s stone slabs were of a make unknown to Xerion, and, as far as he could tell with the knowledge acquired through repeated visits to the clan’s archives, unknown to everyone else as well. Deep dark grey in color, filled to the brim with sigils so arcane that they twisted the minds of those who tried to ponder their meaning.
Xerion almost drooled at the thought of all that he could learn from them, given enough time.
But as interesting as they were, the particular quality of the platform that currently occupied his mind was a simple one: thermal conductivity.
It soaked in heat as the earth would water.
Xerion’s feet were bare, as was custom for the initiation ceremony. In fact, the only article of clothing that currently clad his body was a pair of light-brown leather shorts. As he looked over them now, he noticed a small line of red running through their entire length. They needed a clean.
Today was a bright day, but a chilly one. Not enough to cause him any harm, given his enhanced body, but certainly unpleasant.
That’s why he was so thankful for the little bursts of warmth he experienced with each step. They entered through the soles of his feet and radiated throughout, giving even a bit of rosy color to his cheeks.
It bolstered his mood slightly, an absolute godsent given how his next encounter was sure to sour it completely.
A giant, half a pace taller than Xerion, waited for him while tapping his foot impatiently. His face seemed impassive, but the subtle sneer dwelling deep within his eyes was clear to Xerion’s own.
The newly-initiated Practitioner swallowed. Nerves didn’t get to him, no, but the physical action somehow made it easier to swallow his pride. He put a smile on his face, tried to do the same for his eyes, and walked forward.
“Honored Grand Elder, thank you for taking charge of today’s ceremony. I’m… grateful for your help, in my initiation.”
The geezer grunted, his five remaining hairs swaying at the slight bob of his head. “Yes, well, such is my duty. Let’s get on with this; I have places to be.”
“Of course, of course,” Xerion said, nodding his head emphatically.
The Grand Elder squinted his eyes at that but said nothing. A moment of silence passed between the two of them before he continued, “You are to head to the clan’s archives at once, to receive the full impartation of [Empyrean Heartfire]. The scraps of the method granted to you were enough for your initiation but no more than that.”
“Yes, I’ve heard that—”
“I’m not done,” the man cut in.
Xerion shut up and pretended he didn’t mind, while inwardly gritting his teeth.
“Next, you’ll get to choose your auxiliary cultivation techniques. You must already know some of the troubles associated with this choice, given your frequent forays into the clan’s archives.” He glared at Xerion. “Now you’ll learn in full.”
The young Practitioner stayed silent.
“Good. Following that, you may peruse the manuals detailing the process of ability creation. I care little for what systems you’ll end up pursuing, but remember this: a fortnight from now, you shall depart for your first mission, as is tradition. Fail to prepare enough and it shall also be your last.”
“I’ll endeavor for my actions to bring glory to the cla—”
“Stop that,” the elder said, his voice sharp. “I don’t feel like wasting my time on your little schemes.”
Xerion looked taken aback. “Whatever do you mean? I’m simply trying to—”
“Cut the bullshit, brat!” the pudgy man shouted, a single vein throbbing on his forehead. “You think me stupid in my old age? Out with it. What do you want?”
Xerion shook his head, his eyes bewildered. “I’m sorry if I offended the Grand Elder, but I—”
The old fart snapped his arm up in a threatening gesture. “I’ve known you since the time you thought tasting turds was a fine idea. I said out with it. Don’t make me bring out the cane.”
Xerion licked his lips. He should’ve known this wasn’t going to work out. The geezer might’ve been past the first half of his second century, but his nose could still sniff out bullshit from half a mile away. And so, he went for broke.
“I want to study the wolves. And the corpses.”
“…What?”
“I’ve heard rumors you have one of the largest packs in the clan, and possibly the strongest alpha.”
The Grand Elder grew silent, but in a way that was positively eerie. He stood stock still, while his eyes scanned Xerion from head to toe. They seemed calm, too calm. The look of a hunter assessing his prey.
An overbearing aura pressed down on Xerion, stealing his breath away. Cold sweat started oozing from every pore on his body. He thought to speak, but something warned him not to. And so, he waited, taking in the elder’s wordless anger.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Half a minute passed before the man spoke. “What are you asking for, exactly? To kill and dissect my beasts?”
“No! Of course not!” Xerion wheezed out. “I just want to see them move, touch their fur, experience the sharpness of their fangs. Nothing more, truly.”
“…You asked for their corpses.”
A statement, not a question. Xerion winced as he thought back to how his words must’ve sounded to the Grand Elder. He shook his head from side to side. “Not of your wolves. Just… any corpses, really. Those brought back by the teams.”
The pressure disappeared as suddenly as it came. The geezer didn’t apologize, nor even look like he was sorry in any way. He did, however, seem to consider his request.
“I’d ask why you want those things, but I won’t even bother pretending to care. I’ll think on it. Come and see me tomorrow. I do have to assign you a mentor in either case.”
Having said his piece, the pudgy old man walked away without sparing Xerion another glance. And he was just fine with that.
A couple of deep breaths allowed him to center himself. The elder’s anger was something he was subjected to many times in the past, but this, right now, was his first time experiencing his wrath.
Xerion decided to try and avoid it in the future.
A few quick steps brought him from the courtyard and into the corridors of the building proper. The Grand Hall wasn’t an often visited place, and its interior design showed as much. Endless walls of smooth, bare stone brought more chill to his bones than today’s temperature did.
And then there were the occasional murals. Things of rough make, created at a time when the influence of the Empyrean Clan covered half the globe. Such power, it did things to people.
Death was a common theme among the art portrayed here. Death by decapitation. Death by throwing people to the beasts. Death by fire.
Just so, so much death by fire.
His ancestors found little worth in the lives of their fellow men. Xerion read as much as he was able, and he knew some of the reasoning standing behind their actions, yet still… for a clan focused on cultivating positive emotions, they sure were ruthless.
If he ever escaped from the endless void, he hoped to be better than that. When, he corrected himself after a moment. When I escape.
Beyond the Grand Hall laid the central square of Virsha.
In its very middle stood a pillar of gigantic proportions, easily over a dozen paces in diameter. Made entirely of some purple rock, three-quarters of it carrying sigils not dissimilar to the ones present on the ceremonial platform. Its power was well-contained, no doubt about that, but the oceans of essence held within its confines made the hair on the back of his head stand on end.
Xerion gulped and averted his eyes. He knew the warnings. Don’t look at it for too long, or it’ll take ya soul. Surely they were joking when they said that, but discretion was the better part of valor, wasn’t it? Better to be prudent this once.
Surrounding the bottom part of the colossus was a squat, rectangular building. The first word that always came to his lips at its sight was “utilitarian.”
It looked as if a heavenly being took a grey, brick-shaped dump onto the majestic pillar and decided it shall forever stay there. Truly, the thing was so ugly, gazing at the Grand Elder’s balding, pudgy, sneering mug almost seemed like the better option. Almost.
Magical symbols covered it as well, though those were less alien to him. He had seen enough enchanted objects in his lifetime to gain some familiarity with them, even if he never learned about their deeper workings.
That building was an absolute fortress, filled to the brim with magics enhancing its durability. But Xerion already knew that. Everyone did. This was the final bastion, the place they’d retreat to if all other defenses failed.
Added to the square after the Dawn of the Dark, when everyone who survived scrambled to find a way to continue doing so. Made with no regard for aesthetics, but made to last. And that it did, given the countless generations that passed since that apocalyptic day.
The fact it didn’t endure unscathed always brought a pang of worry to his heart, however. Some of its sections carried… not signs of damage, but signs of numerous repairs. And that was telling enough.
Xerion moved, his feet carrying him to the archives on reflex. They weren’t far, and he made the journey to them so many times through the years, he would’ve got there with his eyes closed.
The clan archives were placed in a building that seemed barely worth a look. That was likely the idea, though. Just a simple door, placed in a tiny wooden building. Not that it would cause much confusion to the clan’s enemies, given that those who survived were of… rather insubstantial intelligence.
Next to the entrance stood a woman, maybe a decade ahead of him in years. Two paces tall if she’d put on a large hat, the unassuming height took little away from her intimidating nature.
Her body was thin. Not in the way of one who often goes days without a good meal, but more like a construction worker. Wiry muscles made up the bulk of her frame, like steel ropes, able to explode with enough strength to pulverize rock.
A single scar marred her doll-like features, red and big and fierce. It started just beneath her ear, traveled through her jawline and neck, only to end somewhere on her chest. Removing it would’ve proven little trouble. She chose to keep it.
One of her hands perpetually laid on the scabbard of her sword, while the other held a book titled “127 Ways to Incorporate Mushrooms into Your Every Meal!”
Her name was Duene, and Xerion considered her to be somewhat of a friend.
“Duene,” he said in a way of greeting.
The book in the woman’s hand snapped shut with an audible ‘thump,’ and Xerion found himself being scrutinized by two piercing, green orbs. The small smile hiding below them took away most of their sharpness.
“Heyo, Xer. You here to make my day harder?”
“Nah. I was ordered to come here, if you can believe it. I’m newly initiated, you see.”
He stood up straighter as he said the last part, and the widening of Duene’s eyes only added to his pride.
“Well well well, Xer’s all grown up, ain’t he?” she said to herself, her smile turning predatory. “What great news! And I’ll be done with my guard duty by this time next week. I could help you train! Isn’t that just perfect?”
Xerion paled, then sighed. "You gonna beat me up and call it sparring, aren't you?"
"Of course not! You'll have plenty of opportunities to fight back."
He very much doubted that, but the thought of trying to deny her didn't cross his mind. It wouldn't have worked. Once Duene decided to do something, it'd get done, no matter the protests of all involved.
“I see you came around to the idea. Good. Now head on in. You’ve got places to be, yes?”
Xerion nodded, not meeting her eyes, then opened the wooden door and entered his favorite place in Virsha.
He breathed in air through his nose and caught a whiff of an all-too-familiar scent. Sure enough, the archive’s keeper – old man Lindani – sat at his desk with a small mountain of scrolls.
Lindani’s body might’ve been frail, given his very advanced age, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever. They followed Xerion’s every step, watching as he came closer.
“Well?” he rasped. “What’d ya want?”
“Nice to see you, too,” Xerion said, then pointed at himself. “Newly Initiated. I’m to get the rest of [Empyrean Heartfire] method and to choose my auxiliary manuals.”
He gave the man a second to process his words, seeing clear displeasure gather in those grey orbs of his. Then he innocently added, “Oh, and I’m free to peruse through the ability creation techniques. All of them, if I understood correctly.”
Lindani made a sound that could only be described as a strange mix of a growl and a whimper. The man’s hatred for all who came to lay their sticky fingers onto his books and scrolls was fierce, which was quite unfortunate, given that that was exactly Xerion’s biggest hobby.
He wasn’t certain about the gramps’ feelings toward him, but the way he saw it, there was a bit of respect there, the kind reserved for those with a passion similar to one’s own. Mostly spite though, with a tiny, tiny bit of respect.
“Come then,” Lindani barked, getting up from his wooden stool and slowly moving, hands clasped behind his hunched back.
Then he stopped in place and sharply twisted his neck toward Xerion. “If anything, anything goes missing, or gets damaged in any way, you’ll lament the void didn’t get to you first. You hear me, boy?”
“Yup,” Xerion said, his tone light. “C’mon. I’ve got sooo many shelves to go through.”
They started descending, going down the dozens of stairs that led to the true storage space of the clan’s archives. All while the old man kept cursing under his breath.
Xerion just smiled. Nothing could ruin this day for him. Mere minutes from now, he’d have everything he needed to start growing in power.