Chapter 2: The nothing that has matters.

AoG: 729, 6/10 – 28;

The sun showed itself and its light scattered the remaining clouds of a rainy night, the day birds sang one after another waking up the thralls, some of them had to pay exclusive attention to the citizens demands but the majority could take turns at their servitude and their children were free to do home chores as they had to learn before serving. One could only rest after old age but most died before doing so, aging was a luxury of the citizens at the Age of Gods.

Calia was the daughter of Ulberg, who was a thrall but was also a round teller of a family of round tellers, which meant she had the chance for a sucessful citizenship trial at her sixteenth yield, just like her aunt, her sister and everyone else who failed. The trial was a mere formality by that point as it was hard for a thrall to impress a supreme being.

It was but a chance, each member of the Holy Pantheon had their own rules for citizenship over their domains, some of them were shared rules with minor gods but not Inspiration, he took the entire eastern coast after the Land’s Teeth because he wished to be the first to see the new sun and art was the law over his domain. For Calia to become a citizen, she needed to perform at the sunset, towards the East and in a quiet place so Inspiration could watch her and if the god were pleased, she would receive the poetic eyes and start a new life.

Yet people were different, being born into a family of citizens would give both time and resources to polish artistic skills and being the spawn of an appointed thrall allowed Calia to grow more than her peers who didn’t even try to improve anymore. She would give up as well but a fortuitous encounter fed her hope, they were a father and a son, who were both too old and too young for servitude and the citizens didn’t bother the. Both were also poor, they slept somewhere close to the forest and their belongings were survival stuff only useful for beggars like them, which was a problem because they didn’t beg for anything, they didn’t question anything and simply lived at their own world.

But they knew how to dance. Dowdy movements, no pattern and improvised drums for music, everything in perfect disorder to actually make sense because each movement had emotion, sometimes the father would dance to express sadness, most of times the kid would express defiance and watching them inspired her so she asked for their help. Thus was how she began her daily lessons, after doing the laundry she would meet them with some food and learn, a perfect plan that failed at the very last and important part.

“No! You’re doing it wrong! Shoulders! Shoulders!” The five yields kid yelled at her, he was a boy of messy hair, with considerable weight despite wearing a tattered cloak and ragged clothes.

“What? I thought there were no wrongs!” She was trying to play something happy and dance at the same time, she gave the best smile to her audience, tapped her feet at the drum’s rhythm and even made funny faces, she didn’t know what else she had to do to show an emotion.

“There is no right answer, but there’s definitely the wrong ones.” Explained the father, he was too old to be a father of such young child but he still made it and was doing an amazing job at keeping the kid healthy. He also wore ragged clothes with the same dark mess of a hair but he had a thick mustache as well.

“How can you be happy and have tensed shoulders, controlled breathing and helpless eyes? I only did a happy drum because you asked miss.”

Calia was not happy indeed, today was her harvest day and tomorrow she would either be a thrall or a citizen and neither of those results were good. First, being a thrall meant that she would be sold as a wife just like her sister which wasn’t so bad but she also grew a lot these past two yields and there were many stories of citizens forcing good looking maidens into depravity, she was so scared she wanted to shave her treasured white hair.

Second, not being a thrall anymore meant she would live away from her family and would most likely become a concubine of some lord but she would have status and safety as well. Were she a man, she would take up her father position and have the possibility of being an independent citizen with a family of her own to command, the best scenario for an ascended thrall.

“I know… It’s just that what I feel now isn’t something beautiful as happiness and will not impress a god.” She wasn’t expecting the kid to take offense at her words, but was amused by his face, he sure had talent and will gain poetic eyes after his sixteenth yield.

“Bergran!” The kid called his father, for some reason he always called him by the name.

“Nelvas.” He followed the call and did a stretch before pulling his drum, he had a step-long chain of wood attached to the instrument he always carried on his bag, Calia had theories about it being another musical instrument since wood wasn’t the best chain material but didn’t felt like asking.

Thum-dum, thum-dum, thum-dum, thum-dum…

The man held the drum tight with his left arm and did a rapid and subtle sound that seemed to grasp her heart as the kid performed a dance with his arms. His performance started with an act to hide his face, then he showed an angry face as he opened his arms and did brusque, tense movements very similar to those a person would do when yelling at another but he was holding his breath. The random movements would hide his face even now and then and he would look angrier each time his eyes met hers, as if pressuring her to do something.

And she started to play the guitar, an occasional strum to ease the angry kid that became faster and formed a new melody for that very specific dance that ended with the same brusqueness as it started, leaving her wishes to play the angry guitar to ease herself as well.

“See! You try to make the world a beautiful place, full of happiness! You are naive, the world is already beautiful the way it is, even if it hurts sometimes.” The kid gave her a lesson way beyond what one would expect from him.

Dong; dong; dong; dong; dong! DONG!

“SIXTH! ROUND!” Her father yelled from the counter tower, it was the time to return for her daily chores, she silently bode her farewells and left with hastened steps.

Calia only had free time in between the fifth and sixth round and after the sixth past tenth so her father just ended the last lesson before the trial and she had to endure the building frustration, yet she couldn’t. The idea of efforts leading to results and the illusion of having control about the future were curses, she was lost trying to blame her circumstances, trying to find an excuse or even an exit as her mind sparked at the idea of fleeing to another domain just to find out to be useless, unless she pleased a god she was bound to become a thrall.

A severe mental strain kept her from paying any attention to her tasks, she arrived at home, was asked to sweep away the morning dust, then she went to her neighbor’s to do the same and lost track of herself. However, people could still appreciate her dedication, the neighbor’s son also took initiative to court her and because she didn’t reject him the lad got a huge morale boost and would try to impress her parents in the following days.

Calia returned home once again, now her mother asked to slaughter a tusker for dinner so she did it, unaware that she never killed an animal that big before. Sure, she had done plenty of day birds, they were easy because they had thin necks but not a tusker, she had to put her weight over the thing and do a deep cut at its throat to collect the blood for sausages as the hopeless animal died, it had to be done this way since blood flows better with a living heart.

And she thought her life was no better, she cried but her mother didn’t get the reason right and asked her to do the vegetables for lunch instead, this proof of incompetence soon brought shame into the turmoil of emotions, Calia needed a break to do anything she truly liked.

She hadn’t a deep interest in art, her friends brought up the citizenship topic last yield because Esdena’s mother had a forced affair with a citizen and her enraged father took the family to flee the domain. The guitar she plays was a parting gift from Esdena and a reminder that citizens could break into her house and do the same, before that she was trying to spend time with her mother and was yet to have her first romance when people began to call her fair maiden.

An entire yield of fear, she only returned to herself when dealing with kids because they were too innocent to notice her, Nelvas had a cheerful heart and was sure everyone could improve, her neighbor’s daughter pestered her but showed a sweet side if she went too far and her nephew Dalgor was strong as his name and took too much of Ulberg’s side.

Then, at one of those times she was certain a god was messing with her, Dalvena came with her son for a visit. She had a good time with her sister and played the hunter for Dalgor and they ran all over the neighborhood as the boy called more children to play along, which made it harder for him because the preys had to join the pack once caught.

Still, he made about three jabs of pursuit at the end and had the moral victory when his mother called for lunch. That day Calia had bark-wine birds for lunch, like any fall person she loved the strong flavor of bark-wine and it relieved her mind for the brief time she took to bring her father’s lunch to the counter tower.

Despite being a thrall, her father was a social man and his stoic side pleased the citizens, yet she didn’t know he was close to one. A sculptor over thirty yields with strong hands, who was tasked to renew the tower and liked to share a drink with her father, he had the name of Fasdren and of course he wanted to court her.

A thrall shouldn’t have a dream to marry a citizen, Fasdren was already married and simply wanted a mistress because his wife could no longer bear children, she was the one who came up with the idea and he was sincere about his motives because he already had an idea of her fears.

“I greatly appreciate your offer Mr. Fasdren, may I have time to think about it?” Calia knew her father put some work to convince his friend so she was doing her best to not be rude and buy sometime, it felt good to have a backup plan.

“Sure, although I recommend to not take long because Silvena wants a child for the next yield.”

Fasdren dismissed her and she went home to work what remained of the sunlight as it was already three past ten. Dalvena also took time to teach sewing skills since her mother was terrible at it, she almost forgot about the time when her father yelled “FIFTH! ROUND!” and she quickly ran to her guitar, it was time for her trial.

The guitar was missing a chord, an important one and the looks of her sister quickly told her about Dalgor’s misbehavior and she felt it unfair to raise her anger, kids were prone to break things and she was supposed to hide the instrument. She had a replacement as well so fixing the guitar was a matter of time.

Time leaked away and she fixed the guitar, time ran away and she made it to a quiet place, time seemed to dislike her and did its very best to keep the slowest step possible so she could watch the moon because the sun was already gone.

She couldn’t play it, her heart was full of afflictions and each of them fell away with a single tear, leaving a mourning shell at the pitch-night, soon her father would come to take her home and tomorrow Fasdren would have his answer. Yet it felt like a waste to not play for the pale moon and her fingers moved by themselves as the guitar cried.

Time danced away with a partner she wasn’t aware of and the moon broke into her eyes, the blue became white, her skin shone in light and power covered her so she could bring forth her full potential as a musician and have her audience dance to their hearts’ content and finally time was over, the sadness came to an end as the changed Calia looked around.

Clap! Clap! Clap, clap!

For some reason she hoped her audience to be her father but that androgynous man was the exact opposite of her expectations, he had long blond hair, tanned skin exposed through his few white clothes and eyes of many colors, the poetic eyes.

“A woman of dirty birth and with the most disgusting impurity within her beauty. Just like a pearl but even better because you know it and it saddens you.” The god came closer, his seductive voice hurt her feelings but she couldn’t get away.

“I need your cry, white woman. So you have to accept this.” He made a small pearl appear in his hands. “It will reveal the ugliness of the world and you will cry for me, white woman, every single night.”

Calia accepted the pearl, the moon revealed her own selfishness and she didn’t want to return to that dirty place she had for home, she was better than them and even a god recognized the importance of hear tears while those thralls were too fixated on her body, on her value as a child bearer and would do nothing without a clear profit on the line. How foolish of Nelvas to call this world beautiful and call her naive! He must hide something really dirty as well.

Calia placed the pearl closer to her forehead and it created tendrils that pierced and changed her head, carving the flesh for a third white eye, she felt pain but was moved by a predatory instinct.

“Where are you?” She raised her head looking for the child.

*

Bergran left Alsen at the ninth round for his daily track to the Black Tooth, like always he brought a fence worthy of a rope, his old hammer and ten wooden stakes, he would usually return by the seventh round past ten but this time he parted for good and took his disciple with him.

The plan lasted for almost a yield, everyday Bergran would climb the eastern side of the Black Tooth, prepare the way for Nelvas and return. This took time because he had to avoid the Pantheon’s vigil and needed the mountain’s shadow to hide him from the pervert Inspiration.

“Argh!”

His sore arms almost gave up, the climb was way harder than he expected because Nelvas wanted to climb as much as he cold by himself and he had to held and support the kid and then let him mount his back and proceed. Sometimes Nelvas would also find a flower and want to come close and even get too bored so he had to make even more pauses.

The pampering was necessary, Nelvas was a pure child raised with only kindness and wisdom, an effort to reproduce the old ways of raising spirit callers and the kid developed a sixth sense strong enough to detect a god’s presence, strong enough to detect the Spirit’s presence.

“Wow! We really made it!” The view made him happy, many things made him happy but this time Bergran also felt happiness because his self imposed mission would end.

“Urf… Try to hold your voice Nelvas, we’re not welcomed here.”

“Why? Isn’t just a mountain? Oh! Ruins! Are they important?”

The peak was flattened at the end of Primal Age to accommodate the Spirit’s house, it was originally a garden of exuberant life and the Black Tooth was green like the rest of the mountain range, however the betrayal leaked some power into the stones and the green was gone.

“Yes, it’s the Spirit’s house. Remember the betrayal?” A test to conduct Nelvas into perceiving what motivated him to leave the Holy Citadel for twenty four yields.

“Six holy men took pity for the humanity and could no longer bear the Spirit’s plan, they begged for a chance but the Spirit had nature above all, the Spirit didn’t like us for we were not welcomed here in the Land and we had to obey because Land and Spirit were one and a whole…”

One of them watched the rain drown his tribe, another had his children end at the stomach of a beast. The third defied the Spirit’s order, he took the Land’s blood to make iron and couldn’t accept his punishment and the woman wanted to stop children from dying from diseases and her pleas took convinced the other two. Six holy men full of noble reasons made the decision to threw away their nobility and trapped the Spirit within it’s home, they sealed it’s body and preyed over it, eating each part until nothing else remained.

“And we came here to undo what they did, hopefully.”

“Why? Weren’t they right? People are actually better without the Spirit.”

“How are you so sure? It’s hard to know because we have few documentation but the numbers tell us we have more people dying now and the nature is dying as well.”

“And you are not sure.”

“Of course not, the present Temple of Death was built over the ruins left by the shae as the gods chased them, what motivate us is the need to change and the fact that people have less power now. Think, what is easier? To please a single Spirit with no human desires or to please six gods full of human selfishness?”

“I don’t think it’s enough reason.”

“Me neither, but the people I treasure believe so, the shae who they hunted gave me the knowledge to save hundreds, the wood warriors are still cursed because they had to defend the Land and many ask for our help against those bastards of gods.”

“What about talking? No negotiations?”

“We can’t negotiate because we have no power, actually you are the most powerful of us as you are a pure child with the strongest sixth sense.”

“Don’t think I’m pure.”

“The sixth sense part is the only that matters, don’t worry. So, can you help me?” He conducted Nelvas to a stone table, where he believed the gods devoured the Spirit.

“It’s not like I have a choice. What am I looking for?”

“A mispronunciation.”

“Come again?”

“Think, the gods themselves told us this tale, why would they left the part of eating the Spirit? If so, why tell us that nothing remained? They were shae and shae didn’t know the concept of zero, they hadn’t a word for nothingness.”

“Then something remained.” Bergran took the child’s hands and put them on his cheeks before moving his mouth, but the sound never came.

“Huh?!” The child asked and Bergran repeated. “I think it’s broken, the word is broken.”

“Exactly!” Bergran liked to teach so he always looked for an opportunity, the broken word was utterly ignored at the Holy Citadel and after some investigation he discovered it was a word spoken through the sixth sense. “Whenever the Spirit had something important to tell, it would break a word and the entire Land would know. It’s what commanded the wood warriors, remember that they are made of wood? The five basic senses don’t work with wood.”

“So we are looking for the thing, how are we supposed to find it?”

“Imitation, of course. I raised you following what I learned from the spirit callers and now we will follow what we learned from the shae to see how they managed to eat the Spirit. The shae men! Their name bore the word shame because what they did was shameful in the eyes of normal people.” Bergran took away his clothes. “After a life of poverty I find out that being naked is shameful, and you?”

“Dancing without music is shameful!” Nelvas also took away his clothes and danced.

“Following the lead of a child is shameful!” He did as he announced, only the moon was left to illuminate that dark place and their silhouettes became shadows ans their shadows stood to accompany them, mundanes were unaware of the supernatural and couldn’t perceive the consequences of their acts.

“Oops! Falling is shameful!” Nelvas didn’t pay attention and collided with his own shadow.

“Hehe-! Trying to hold your laugh is shameful!” Neither did Bergran, the one who laughed wasn’t him despite hearing his own voice.

“Scratching your ass is shameful! Ouch! What made me slip?”

The kid was still dancing but Bergran felt the need to know what caused him to fall, he came close to a spot near the stone table and put his hand on it to kneel as he was tired from the climb.

CRUMBLE!

“Braking ruins is shameful! Hahaha! -!?” Nelvas laugh was stopped as he noticed something amid the stones and leaped to catch it.

“Did you find it?” He got up in time to see the kid do a motion similar to eat something. “Hey!” He quickly ran after Nelvas and the kid gave him a look full of satisfaction before falling into convulsion.

“Hey! Nelvas! NELVAS!” He tried to stop the convulsion, but could only do the basic first aid to avoid any tongue damage, he yelled too much so he had to quickly dress the both of them and leave.

“Someone’s there?!” A voice came from the entrance, he had to make a run for the backdoor and escape before incurring the gods’ retaliation.

Bergran pushed his body to the limit and jumped his way down, the ropes were useful to conduct his fall but his legs were deeply damaged as he tried in vain to find a solid foot. At the end he had to change his approach to lessen the damage instead, doing a maneuver for a final roll at the approaching ground.

Stolen novel; please report.

“ARGH! Arf, arf!” It was hard to stand, yet his instinct pressured the body to protect Nelvas at any cost as he limped his way throughout the night, followed by the shadows.

*

AoG: 729, 7/10 – 16;

The Rift’s Holy Citadel was originally a hideout for the remaining shae, it was built a hundred fences away from the chasm and the anger mist affected the mind of those who dared to approach, forcing a frenzied state into the poor souls who would attack illusions and lose their mental faculties over the time.

In order to occupy such a place, the shae had to abolish violence from their minds, it was an actual easy choice since they couldn’t face the gods and their legacy founded the Temple of the Spirit’s Death, a bastion to those who wanted to practice the old teachings and defy the gods.

Bergran had the body of a warrior, he knew martial arts and could easily subdue any man, but being a priest rendered this option impossible, the only way to do a remotely violent action is through a deal were the other party would either know in advance of the incoming aggression or have a worthy compensation. It’s also the main reason the priests prefer to flee, hide and conspire against the gods, who could only direct their anger towards the common people, a coward method inspired by the wood warriors.

Wood warriors were spirit callers, predecessor of the shae who followed the Spirit’s teachings to an extreme where they would feed upon the sunlight and use their powers to avoid stepping the grass, people also called them ghosts as they were also able to trespass solid matter and become illusion. However, in order to face the Conqueror they cursed themselves into solid wood armor with a powerful enchantment to raise their resistance each time the wood suffered damage. At first they lost, some would burn, some would break and some were eaten but those who remained became immune to fire, physical damage and acidic secretions and together they would dance to stop the Conqueror from progressing any further.

The climax of their battle against the Conqueror happened after the invader clashed with the Spirit and the Spirit redirected the cluster of power against a prepared wood warrior, carving the scar known as the Rift. The powered wood warriors danced once again, they stopped the enemy and drained every bit of his power until it became a normal man who died in anger, affected by the very mist born from his power.

The priests treated them as heroes, some would try to follow the wood warriors and learn more about the nature, the so called priests of wisdom who had chains made of their own hair and would only return to the citadel to share what they learned. It was Garvat, a high priest of wisdom, who taught Bergrand about the sixth sense because he was the one to have success at teaching something he himself didn’t know.

Priests of modesty had the mission of teaching people using their own lives, they would bet, drink and commit many social mistakes to show people the consequences of those acts and then work their lives to compensate the damage and live in poverty. Begrand had the talent to teach about those mistakes without real experience, he would perfectly learn from his fellow priests of modesty and then share it after some meditation as if he lived another life.

In theory Bergran was able to teach about the sixth sense right away but the practice took too long, Garvat died of old age and many forgot about the existence of Bergrand so his return became a historical event.

Watchers saw Bergrand at the pitch-night, the limping priest had difficulties with his torch and his back had a very important cargo, one that incurred the gods’ rage and made him travel in a half dead state. Bergrand was hurt, starving and had almost no water in his body, but just like the wood warriors he moved, he tried to bring his cargo into the citadel and for that he was promoted to high priest and put to rest besides Garvat, who never doubted his potential.

The one who assumed the responsibility of taking care of the Nelvas was the high priest of faith Zerlon, who was also a friend of Bergrand and the one to dug his grave. Priests of faith had a chain made with the vertebrae of their fellow deceased priests, the more friends a priest of faith had, the bigger and heavier would be his chain and they would carry it until it became long enough to cross the Rift, this process gave birth to the Bone Bridge, the Temple’s last resort against the gods’ rage.

Each chain had its purpose, the chain of wood is supposed to be small and is made to lure people, the priest would attach the odd chain into an object he thinks will solve the target’s pain and await their realization.

Hair is the only material that causes no disturbance to nature and have the purpose to facilitate the priests of wisdom localization as they tend to get lost, they just have to burn the chain that grows every yield.

The women use the bloodiron to teach morals because Pleasure betrayed the Spirit to protect children and ended up as the goddess of depravity, it’s their way to cope with the shame.

And the chain of bones serves to remind the priests of faith of the sacrifices they had to keep, priests of faith don’t leave the citadel and they can’t risk a scenario where a faith priest behaves like a superior caste.

Zerlon gently caressed his dear friend vertebrae, it was the very end of a chain rolled over his left shoulder. Everyday Zerlon would visit the child, wash his body and feed him soup. The room was the most comfortable they had, which wasn’t enough as the child body could get hurt from resting in a stone bed so they had to use their spare clothes to arrange a mattress and have a brazier to keep the room warm.

“Oh!” The priest let his voice out, he noticed a small tear escaping at the kid left cheek and was moved to placate his suffering. “Hush child, it’s about time to let your dreams go.”

Zerlon watched the boy attempt to sleep again, the little thing was trying to hide but the tears forced his eyes to open and he used his hands to cover them, it was clear that he knew of Begran’s fate.

“Sar seir, the priest who teaches?” The apathetic had a message that didn’t fit the speaker.

“Bergran forced himself to travel faster, we are not sure how but he became a target and as his death was certain he chose to die protecting the fruits of his mission.”

“We tried to keep the sar seir alive, but he didn’t know how to use the will.” The boy sat on the bed and Zerlon made contact with his blackened eyes and felt grief.

“We?”

“Us, both the child and and and and…?” Zerlon never saw a child suffer from dementia, but he knew the correct approach was to play along with his delusion and try to sort out the facts.

“Don’t try to separate yourself, I’m asking who are you. How can I refer to the boy before me.”

“We… I stayed for too long in the dark, it became a part of myself and I was desperate to feel life again. Then I found myself, not sure which part was found first and I could feel again but the dark came with me as well.” The boy gave a confused expression. “Am I the Darkness?”

“Darkness is a thing, not an identity. I’m asking who are you and not what are you boy, because I already know you are sad child right now.”

“I don’t know.” He seemed to recall something. “Six of my precious things were mad at me, they blamed me for their mistakes so I proved them wrong. Many times I would show how they could prevent those mistakes but they didn’t want to follow my reason and were mad because of the consequences. The madness drove them to an old enemy, they listened to the bastard’s last words and learned how to poison me.”

“You are the Spirit.” The priest recognized the story, it had new details but the numbers were the same.

“No! I’m not that being, the six of my precious things were not mine anymore, they devoured that being and took part of it along its power. The fools wanted the being’s power but were unable to pay for it and their madness prevailed over the mind as they feasted to their hearts content, only the [Ethr] remained.”

“So you are the Spirit’s remains?”

“No. That’s what I am, I would love to know a name of myself but the dark don’t leave me alone so it’s not possible to have a name because the dark already has one for itself? Priest, I think I’m broken.”

“Then we have to fix you first.” Zerlon bowed in respect, the Spirit’s remains were the closest thing to the Spirit itself and he felt immeasurable joy, his dear friend just gave the Temple an opportunity to raise a new god to replace the Spirit, one that had the innocence of a child.

*

AoD: 312, 2/10 – 33;

Eights flowed away and Talana watched the seeds of change, her son being a potential magical asshole deeply wronged her so she tried to work around it, she tried to give him a normal name instead, something like Radamar but the broken name was a curse far too strong.

A broken name can’t have anything directly, Talana knew she was the mother of [Bhal] but this relationship was true because it’s also a fact that she gave birth to [Bhal], it’s not possible to formulate a phrase were [Bhal] does have her as a mother without implying a submission, even when that asshole took [Bhal] he did so through the means of bargain and submission.

[Bhal] didn’t have any toy unless she gave him the toy and this possession would only last while he was playing with it, then he would drop the toy and completely forget its existence and cry the next time he notices that he doesn’t have any toy. It was necessary to always have someone to give him the same toy again, a bonfire-like behavior that fitted his broken name.

The broken name had its uses as well, with the correct syntax she could investigate those with broken names and discover their secrets, one example was the identity of her baby’s father, who was not Galbar because it wasn’t possible to formulate a phrase that implied this fact. This uncovered truth together with her now less attractive looks seemed to break the guard’s delusions and they finally managed to have a proper discussion.

From their conversations Talana learned that his wife Jasila liked the forced fetish and hiding at her friends’ house was part of the play, she was also the one pressing Galbar to take accountability. Out of sudden she lost the will to pursue the matter and gave up on her charges. She actually became friends with Jasila who still treated [Bhal] as her nephew, which was a great blessing because Talana’s pottery lost its charm and she needed to learn a new trade.

She also had to get stronger because the asshole said he would return to take [Bhal] and she wanted to go along, only her presence would stop [Bhal] from growing into an asshole as well, thus she asked Jasila to have Galbar teach the arms and joined the hunters.

Every morning she would leave at the fourth round, do a lot of trekking with an empty backpack and check her traps, then she would try to find and pursuit a tired animal and collect herbs all the way back. Talana was yet to have a big game, most of the times she only managed to have a wild lunch, barely enough to keep her muscular growth.

Talana changed a lot, her new burly self could do more activities and it felt good to work her abs and legs as well, her hair didn’t grow like before but was still blond and could do a small tail, she was like the stronger version of Senova after two yields.

“You knew.” Norane broke the uncomfortable silence and her trekking became really awkward, she will not find anything today.

“It’s not that simple.” Talana had to accept her new assistant, the previous days went to the vortex after she had a much needed delayed conversation.

Norane avoided Senova at all costs, she tried to work at odd rounds, she had her meals outside and when everything failed she went to her aunt’s skirt, it almost felt like she was doing everything possible to create more troubles, she was being young.

Talana gave her a tender smile, good yields awaited this new generation who might not even know about wars, abominations and plagues, the western assholes were also doing their best at not troubling people so it was hard to explain the purpose of walls to kids these days.

“Don’t be so mean to her.” Talana proceeded as she finished the snare. “Use your brains instead, how old is your mother?”

“She’s my sister.” Norane let a bit of her anger out as she denied the fact.

“Really? One thing is being dumb, another is putting effort at being dumb.” Talana silently hoped her son would actually learn faster from his mistakes, well at least Norane had her backpack and spared her back for tomorrow.

“Thirty two.”

“Thirty one. Her harvest happens midwinter, she’s just ten yields older than me and sixteen yields older than you.” Talana went for the backpack to get her fishing line. “She was younger than you wen it happened.” Her right hand was going to pound Norane’s head but ended up patting her head.

“Her giving birth?” The question surprised Talana and she felt guilt for her next words.

“Rape.” She didn't say anymore and greeted her fellow hunters before going for her place, the river had a lighter green and it was possible to use javelins for those who could fight the current.

Norane had some experience from the sisterhood, in theory she already knew the rough side of reality so discussing the matter was pointless. Talana threw her line at the rocks, mudfishes liked dark places, were fat and delicious but hard to pull from their holes.

“Haaaa. I’m just mad that she lied to me, why did you tell me that?” Norane pouted, now her aunt was guilty from telling the truth.

“The rape? It’s not that big of a deal, mine happened when I was twelve.”

“Shit!”

“Shit indeed, it messes with your head, your dreams and flesh. You feel disgusting, the men will show you eyes full of pity and try to shove their dicks as well because they know you are helpless, fucking you is but a way to show how noble and dominant they are, you have no idea how many got horny after listening to the details my story.”

The fish took the bait, a small tension made its way to her arms and she began the battle to tire the fish, pulling with enough strength to keep the line heavy and tire the fish after some jabs.

“But someday we learn there’s more to fear and get over it, for me it was the day I lost my arm, for your mother was the one she lost you in [Dson].” Talana saw another expression of confusion and cursed her tongue. “It was this crazy woman who tried to snatch you and this enraged your mother so hard she moved here.”

“And you know all of that?” Talana nodded at the question, she felt the fish a little bit tired and took more line but the fish put more strength so she was forced to give line instead. “You know everything about her, she knows about you, you share the room although [Bhal] is already two… Are you really just friends?”

“Arf! Let’s just say that not liking men leads you to more options. I don’t think I can answer anymore and get my lunch at the same time.”

*

Aldava didn’t return to her mother’s house, the idea of giving her unwanted child and return to her old life as if nothing happened failed at the beginning, actually she spent a good time studying her own behavior and tried to find any supernatural reason to justify her own stupidity.

Mother Falnore did her part to placate this suffering as well, she taught Aldava with many real examples how young women get caught in fight or flee state, how stupid ideas were followed to the end despite the obvious consequences and how petty reasons had the strength to justify war.

The mature Aldava would judge her past self many times, mother Falnore advertised it was precisely what people do to grow up because it’s not possible to teach how to live, therefore it wasn’t right for anyone to judge her mistakes after she learned why they were mistakes.

For sure, the holy warrior took her baby and even healed her while doing so but dealing with mages was a bad idea, many tales taught children this common sense. They would always demand a sacrifice because it’s only possible to incite the supernatural through sacrificial means and the Temple also asked them to put an extra weight just so people don’t try to defy nature for selfish reasons, like wanting to return their mother’s house.

The holy warrior took the child but changed her appearance to eliminate the last drop of empathy her mother could feel, he forced both of them to let waters go almost as if they were awaiting his intervention. Her mother found the bravery to stop being a mistress and moved to [Olcn] to restart her life and Aldava took an active role at the sisterhood, now her heart had a hole that could embrace every single orphan in [Ethr].

Aldava, mother Aldava now, soon was recognized as the apprentice of mother Falnore and took pride at it. She carried the bloodiron around her waist and wore clothes of dark color to show her grief for the lost child, her days were devoted to feed orphans and learn the letters, the letters were specially hard because she needed to repeat the same thing for rounds until it started to make sense and then she would have the proper lesson with her exhausted mind.

Literacy required time, a day of twenty rounds was barely enough to finish her chores so she didn’t buy the idea of mass teaching people, even though it was happening in [Dson], it had something to do with having more people than jobs.

“Dear, you just don’t know because we live the good waters now.” mother Falnore answered her question, once again they were at Rovag’s but this time the place was different as he now resided at the annex and reformed the house into a proper tavern, for some reason he was serious at business now.

“What changed then?” She was having soup this time because mother Falnore aged too much last yield and couldn’t eat solids as before.

“The walls have little purpose nowadays, did you know we paid people to expand and fix them every yield? Because they did break a lot and the abominations would cause carnage, this made people move away to a place equally distant to four villages.” She gave a dry laugh. “It almost look premeditated but it was pure survival instinct telling those refugees to use a formation of four villages to keep the abominations away and this allowed their settlement to grow independent, they didn’t need the help of a holy warrior.”

“But the place is called [Dson]?”

“He was just a passerby who had the name borrowed, does the name provoke any feeling?”

“No.”

“Because [Dson] is already dead, many towns will keep the holy names from now on since there’s close to no reason for a holy warrior to live with mundanes.”

Holy warriors could die. Mother Falnore last lessons were about death, her weakness got a new piece of her each morning as if she was poisoned, she could no longer fulfill her priest duties and had to push herself to instruct Aldava.

At the very least she did a great job, she too a look at her apprentice and yawned, her belly was full of warm vegetable soup and she adjusted her back to take a nap, unlike before she didn’t snore. Mother Aldava let out a heavy sigh as she wen to pay her senior’s debit, today she would finish all of mother Falnore’s matters in order to take her body to the Holy Citadel.

*

Gallery was the place designed to held the remaining abominations and explore the effects of the supernatural over nature. As obvious as it may sound, sorcerers didn’t have a proof of will-warped organisms til the events of the Long Night and there was too much misinformation over the facts.

For example, it was said that the magical waste corrupted the beasts, but it was not explained what was considered magical waste. Magic was a term derived from mage, which was an offense for elder priests back in the day, somehow the false gods took a liking to this term and created an entire pseudoscience to teach their biased way to conduct the supernatural.

It was biased because each of them had a variations of pseudo energy, their own random symbols and many more elements to keep track, the false gods simply tried to copy the old shae but had too much ego and changed every single aspect on a whim. Therefore the sorcerers had to catalog those magics to deduce which principles they worked on so they could translate it into the simplistic manifestation of will.

And after three centuries they found an explanation, the so called magical waste was actually a heated field of stale will-warped air. Because it went through the process of will-warping it had temporary will properties, because it had high concentration the air didn’t move and the animals consumed the breathable part of it, both of these somehow made the animals breathe the temporary will properties and will-warp themselves into abominations.

The sorcerers still had to find a way to reproduce the events of the Long Night and uncover the effects of the heat, this necessity led them to capture the remaining abominations and farm them as the population wasn’t sufficient to work on. Learning how to will-warp nature was also a demand of the wisdom priests, who wanted to restore the ancient fauna the false gods exterminated, the said Gallery was actually an entire experimental habitat for abominations.

[Vant] didn’t care about any of the Land healing process, just like his brothers he was a hound made to finish off the sealed enitities, perhaps he could help after he’s done but for now he needed power to act before Fate breaks the seal of his friends. He had to resort to every known way to reach his target’s level, will-warping himself was a good solution.

[Folb] didn’t agree with his reasoning, the flora master argued that an abomination with the power of a spiritual artist would cause even more trouble than the false gods and [Vant] agreed with him so he asked for ways to ensure his mind would prevail after the transformation.

This request seemed possible, finding a way to keep a mind and let the body change would forge [Vant] into the ultimate god killing weapon and they wouldn’t have to worry about his loyalty because he went through the rites of [Ethr], it was so tempting [Folb] had to think.

Thinking was not typical for flora masters, they went through the Rite of Origin and the Rite of Seasons in order to have the same spontaneity of the wood warriors, they would have and test their ideas at the same time. Only an old man like [Folb] would stop, sit and become wood for an entire eight to think.

[Folb] woke up with a hypothesis, [Vant] being a shapeshifter already knew the madness of assuming another form, he was naturally close to the abominations but didn’t pass the threshold of his reason because spiritual artists were raised after three rites instead of two. What if the amount of rites had an influence over this limit? What if [Vant] became the first sorcerer to go through every sort of transforming rite?

The Rite of Seasons would transform his body into a frail tree for a yield, it will reduce his soul to a bare minimum and conduct the excess to form a flesh fruit that could be eaten after the soul regenerated itself and increase it even more, giving the unusual spontaneity of the flora master.

The Metamorphosis, a unique ritual where the sorcerer is kept from the world in a cocoon made of beeswax, the mind will flee the body and see the true colors of the world through the life of an insect and return with the ability to see the past, it was a high-risk ritual as there was only one mothman alive somewhere after the Rift.

The Haunted Ritual, the creation of the Holy Citadel’s guardian that allows the sorcerer to talk to the dead, this ritual forces the possession of a thousand souls and the sorcerer would have to find his own mind to control his ever changing body. Many tried to gain such power but were taken by the dead instead and were terminated on the spot.

The Pact, where the sorcerer would join the [Mnny] for a day, this is only possible with a strong ego and the prize is the ability to access the knowledge [Mnny] reaped from their souls, elder priests would use this ritual to try become sorcerers as they are already close to death.

And the Rite of Harvest to replace a sorcerer’s blood with that of a beast, this one was specially tricky for [Vant] because he had to suppress his spirit arts and not convert the beast essence, he would need to convert his body into the one of a beast instead and overcome this transformation without spirit arts.

Five of the most maddening rituals should be enough to give an epiphany, what worried [Folb] was the odd development. Last yield he conducted the ritual to plant [Vant], he chose a young waterpalm tree to cut and properly prepared the stump and even called more flora masters to help.

However [Vant] had a charred body that didn’t heal, somehow he caught the fire within his soul and it affected his sorcery at the core, his chants raised smoke and the touch would burn if he didn’t keep high concentration, [Folb] was actually inspired to see the charred man interact with nature without raising wildfire.

[Vant] had assumed a form of a gray dead tree, full of thorns and roots so deep it looked like Land wanted to take him, his will interacted with other plants as well and the experimental habitat became hostile, full of thorns and this putrid secretion that burn without raising flames.

[Folb] spent the following yield dealing with collateral damage, a prelude of the disaster he would face if [Vant] failed at keeping his sanity so he had to put more effort and send wisdom priests all over the Land to locate the sorcerers who could conduct [Vant].

And once more [Vant] finished a ritual at the strong bell of a counter, the one [Folb] carried in his loyal backpack,. Soon the sight of the tanned elder with his odd skeletal limbs came to his view, alongside a scenery far more exuberant than his memories. [Folb] wasn’t alone, he brought a short man in loincloth who had too much body hair and a mane made of hair and beard, his presence brought some confusion but soon [Van] noticed the hair chain tied to the man’s left leg.

“A priest of wisdom! It’s awesome to finally have some help!”

“I know! But this one is also a surprise, he’s a body of the [Mnny]! Hahaha! [Folb] and [Vant] almost yelled as they jumped at each other for an amorous hug, their laugh soon made every other flora master laugh as well.

[Mnny] averted their eyes, they didn’t like dealing with flora masters because they would cause a commotion for every single minor discovery and their names all had an annoying meaning.

Well, some o the [Mnny] actually found it funny as the old man name had the memories of the unexpected laugh they had after the wind tickled their intimate parts in the morning. Just to be sure, [Mnny] checked the name of [Vant] and it brought the memories of a distant relative who always had a strong laugh ready for every moment.

“Sigh. Please, let us have some focus. We are here to help you join us but what we see doesn’t look strong enough to go against our cohesion.”

“And you know how to get stronger, I suppose.” Optimism was a curse, [Mnny] had to keep this fact fresh in their hivemind to not misjudge their new hope.

“Maybe, we are friends with the guardian and can introduce you both, however we also believe the guardian will try to evaluate the risks of your transformation. Your will has too much strength [Vant], what you did here isn’t supposed to happen.”

[Mnny] had complete control over their focus, every single step required the coordination of an army, every single word had to be perfect to not give in the many souls speaking through the flesh as they also fought an entity of high power at every single tone.

“Glad to know that being powerful is also a problem, who could tell?”

“Indeed so, we almost stopped our operations here but we took the time to rest our tired minds so we are grateful for your presence.”

“Don’t mimic us, it already creeps some of us being here.” [Mnny] was quick to notice a basket being offered to [Vant] and snatched it. “Also don’t become stronger, there’s no reason to eat those things now.”

“What? I want to know my taste, can’t I have a bite?”

“Aye! He made eight fruits, he can eat one.”

Some of the [Mnny] were trying their very best to not hate flora masters now, the Rite of Seasons should produce only one flesh fruit not eight, yet being exactly eight fruits was an important hint to connect [Vant] and Fate. Just like themselves the new sorcerer was having a battle of influence and they had to discover who brought up the transformation idea. Was it [Vant], who is trying to end Fate or was it the entity who is trying to cause more destruction? The Haunted Ritual will tell.