Chapter 3: Path to Reality

He wrinkled his sculpted eyebrows, in thought.

“What are you here for?”

She pointed to herself; her expression clueless, “You’re the one that led me here.”

“I meant,” He voice contained his impatience, “What are you doing in the astral?”

“I’m not here by choice,” she said.

“Need I phrase myself so specifically? Fine then, what are you trying to do?”

“Find a way out,” she said, “And put Humpty-Dumpty together again.”

She peered at the contemplative face of the golden man. “Hey…do you know where dead souls are supposed to go?”

“The realm of the Reaper?”

“Can you lead me there? If I’m dead, I might as well be proper dead, right?” Her gaze was drawn into the distance, “I would prefer death to whatever is going on right now. I’m confused. I’m tired. Eternal rest or the next step, whatever it is, would be release.”

He debated the request, stalking back and forth across the ground. His golden hair swayed mesmerizingly, and she resisted the urge to ask to touch it. It was like sunlight had been spun into a thread, an incomparably precious silk. Would it be hot to the touch?

“I can do that,” he finally agreed, “This isn’t normally my role, but I am able to do so in some compacity. Clean up whatever mess… created an anomaly like you.”

“Lead the way,” she said, gesturing forwards towards nothing in particular, for there was nothing to gesture to.

They got up, and they trekked through the astral. She couldn’t describe movement here. It was more mind-over-matter, a thought of movement than actual movement. Let alone time, space itself seemed a suggestion. Destinations were a matter of knowing how to navigate, not the ability to travel. She had been making do, using her distant threads and her realm as beacons within the swirling, chaotic space. She always had somewhere to return to, at the least. It was a relief she couldn’t both lose herself mentally and lose herself physically, if it could be called that.

He led her to another city. This was one physical, but still a location within the astral.

“This is Interstus, the city between realities,” Chrome said.

She followed Chrome, and discovered with shock that many people could meet her eyes. Not her eyes, per say, but her perception. They saw her. Whatever she was, those within the city, while briefly curious, had better things to do. It was a comforting sight of modernity and busyness she had long forgotten.

She was led through the gleaming city. The buildings were tall and made of metal and glass, with sleeker and more impressive designs that what she remembered of her previous world. It was a fusion of high technology and magic with floating buildings, flying vehicles, and mystical creatures.

“Is Allais here?” Chrome asked a receptionist, “I have a matter that pertains his master and its realm.”

“He is,” the receptionist glanced down at her, “I see. This is a matter he should address. I will notify him.”

After touching an orb and speaking a few words into it, she gestured to a door—a floating platform-elevator that rose within the tower to bring the two into the top floors. Step stepped on to it, watching as they climbed to incredible heights to the top of the tower. There were no elevator doors, so the two simply stepped the platform. As the platform moved back down, the ground reformed where it once was, preventing anyone from falling down the shaft.

A man sat at a simple round table on a balcony, overlooking the city. Stoic and unmoving, he looked like a human. There were some differences, but aside from Chrome, it was the closest thing to a human she had seen for a very long time.

The man felt too handsome to be a real person. Perfectly sculpted features, like he had been sculpted by the hands of God. He had an austere, noble impression. That the area around him was graced by his presence. He felt one with the environment, not as part of it, but its core. He was the most important person in the immediate area, and his surroundings revered him.

“Hand of Time, I heard you have business with me,” the man said, gesturing for Chrome to sit across from him. A second chair appeared, “You as well, Wanderer.”

She obediently sat.

“I have business with the Reaper. I have found this stray soul wandering the deep astral. Has the Reaper been negligent in his duties?”

The man seemed used to Chrome’s attitude, unfazed, “The Reaper is not negligent in his duties.”

“How do you explain this?” Chrome said, gesturing angrily to her like an enraged Italian.

The man glanced at her. “I don’t know.”

“Well, she’s one of yours. Take her to where she belongs.”

“Yeah. I’m up for death now,” she cheerfully added, “Life was a little short, and limbo was kind of long, so I’m ready for the next final step.”

The man closed his eyes, suddenly meditative. His aura and expression changed, even more placid than it had been before, if that was possible. As she gazed upon him, she felt the same vastness as the being that had once tortured her being. He was another of those Lovecraftian outer gods, and she found herself shivering from her past experience, fearful of another eternity of pain.

“Reaper,” Chrome said, “I’m surprised to see you here personally.”

“That soul is not one of my realm,” The being said through the man. His voice contained a gravitas, like the vast cold, emptiness of space. But she had a feeling the being within was not so uncaring as the void, “This soul has not yet died.”

“What!?” Chrome said, glancing down at her. She was far shorter than he was, but she didn’t know if dimensions were reliable in the first place, “She’s not dead?”

“I’m not dead?” she echoed Chrome’s surprise.

“She is something else now,” he said, “Tied to the astral by her own hands.”

“Can’t I untie it? Can you untie it?” she asked.

“I cannot,” The Reaper said.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Oh. What can I do then?”

“If you cannot enter my realm, what is it that you seek?”

“I way back to reality,” she said, “If death is off the table, I want to remember myself, and my family. If they’re still alive.”

“They are,” he said simply.

A breath of relief washed over her, like a wind carried from the sea to cleanse her mind.

If she had a mouth she would have grinned, “So they’re alive. That’s fantastic.”

“Your time has stopped,” the man said. “Until you enter reality, your family is as you left it. Take care in what time you chose to enter.”

“What time?”

“Should you choose a time beyond their lifespan, they will be dead.”

“Oh,” she said, “That would be very bad.”

“Hand of Time,” The being said. “A decision has been made regarding the Wanderer.”

“The Wanderer?”

“We refer to that soul as such, temporarily. Teach the wanderer what is necessary to re-enter reality, at a time that fulfills her requirements. You are commanded so by your progenitor.”

“The Keeper of Moments said so?”

“It is so.”

“Fine,” he said grumpily.

“Wanderer.”

“Oh, me?” She said, suddenly aware she was being addressed.

The being held out two objects for her. One was a plaque around the size of her hand. The other, a gem. It was black, but speckled with stars like the night sky. As it shifted, so did its starry vista.

“What’s this?”

“Gifts. According to the deal.”

“What deal?”

“The Weaver of Dreams has overstepped its authority,” The being said, “It will need to be addressed. This is part of the compensation.”

“Oh, okay then?” She didn’t know if she was supposed to do something about it, or if he was just letting her know. His face was expressionless, and she just could not tell.

She held open her hands, and the being gently placed the two objects within them.

“Thanks, I guess?”

The being inclined his head, indicating its acknowledgement. He closed his eyes, and the vastness slipped away from that man, leaving him looking strangely empty, like a carton of milk without any milk inside. He looked tired, like a drained battery.

“No, Wilson, my analogies are not weird. And yeah, he’s probably some major introvert if he thought that conversation was tiring. I relate,” she said, talking to herself and nodding to herself.

The man shook his head, not having her nonsense, “Leave here, Hand, do as you are commanded.”

*****

“Sit,” Chrome indicated.

She was within her holorealm. She created a small classroom, with Chrome at the front with a whiteboard. He wore a casual white shirt and slacks, dressed as a university professor.

“Why am I dressed like this?”

“I thought you should look the part.” She said. “If you’re going to teach me a lesson.”

“I’m going to teach you a lesson about external ritual magic.” He said. “This is hardly the appropriate clothes.”

“Well, I don’t know what a teacher of magic should be wearing.” She countered. “Yes, Wilson, I realize he said ‘magic’. But you know Wilson, that isn’t the wildest thing that happened to me, so I think I can buy into magic.”

He signed, pushing up the glasses on his face that he didn’t need to see. “And what are these?”

“Glasses.”

“What for?”

“To help with those with faulty vision.”

“I do not have faulty vision.” He said.

“Yeah, but glasses look nice.” She said. “It might be a kink.”

“I am not a sexual object of your fantasies.”

“I’m kidding,” she said, “I’m asexual. Demisexual, really, but uh, less people know about that one. About the fantasies part…like, I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating or dreaming so.”

“You think I’m some sort of elaborate hallucination? You really have lost your grasp on reality.”

“Yep. Completely lost my marbles.”

“Focus,” He growled, tapping his instructor’s stick to the whiteboard. He offhandedly thought the implement was useful.

“Yessir.”

*****

His sigh was completely drawn out, comically so.

“We’ve gotten through the basics… basic astral magic, the dimensional membrane, ambient magic fluctuations, purgation of chaotic energies, stabilization of the ambient, reactivity… We’ll start practicing basic rituals.”

He passed her some sort of dust.

“Start drawing.”

“Yes, teacher.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Okay, Chrome,” she said in a pout.

She drew ritual circles for who knows how long, each becoming more and more complex. Memorization seemed strangely easy. A property of her soul form, which did not forget? She was after all, picking up the aftermath of a soul that contained everything it experienced. Every. Single. Fragment.

‘Days’ extended into ‘Weeks’, ‘Months’, then ‘Years’.

At the end of ‘Years’ she was drawing ultra-elaborate large-scale rituals spanning hundreds of feet across.

“Chrome-sensei,” she said, “Are you sure this is all necessary to re-enter reality?”

He had gotten used to her antics at this point, ignoring her flagrant use of Japanese. “Who is the one that knows better here, you or me?”

“You…”

“That’s what I thought. Let me take a look,” He pushed his glasses up, a gesture he had unconsciously gotten used to.

“What? Pretty good?”

“Hardly,” he snorted, “Inefficient and delicate. Anything less than the most optimal of conditions would result in failure.”

“But we have optimal conditions.”

“Yes. We do.”

He used his foot to smudge away part of the ritual.

“Hey! That was childish!”

‘Years’ had long since extended into ‘Decades’, perhaps ‘Centuries’.

“This is it.” She said, hand on her hips, admiring her handiwork. “A ritual to find the ‘gate’ to reality that fits my requirements.”

“What did you select as the appropriate timeframe?”

“5 years.”

“Is that fine? You could make the search narrower.”

“The narrower it is, the longer it will take right? Any number of rituals are accessing the astral across all of space and time.”

“Just do not chose a time you will regret.” Said Chrome. “You have spent this long patient. A few ‘year’ longer, what is it to you but more waiting.”

“You’re right, Chrome.”

“I always am.”

To pass the time, she told Chrome stories of Earth. The tangential knowledge that she always seemed to piece together first. She told him everything. He complained about all this extraneous knowledge forced into his mind, but didn’t do anything to stop her. To her delight, he occasionally made references to Earth culture himself.

She had discovered that the threads she aimlessly followed behind were slowly dragged by her soul back to her, so all she needed to do was wait. It’d all come back. Picking them up hurried the process, sure, but she had been occupied with other activities and let the automatic process do its work.

“You have awful taste in movies,” Chrome said, “It’s all action, nothing cerebral. Where is your sense of culture, of finesse, of subtlety?”

“Everything, Everywhere, All At Once was really good though, isn’t it? And it sort of fits my situation.”

“You are not some all-powerful un-killable multiversal god-being.” He thought about his statement for a while.

“But you might be unkillable.”

“What?”

“The Reaper won’t take you, what do you expect?”

“Is that all death is? Whether the Reaper will take you or not? Isn’t that too arbitrary?”

He shrugged, “I am not a being that dies either. It’s not anything special. Don’t get a big head.”

“Head is shrunk and reduced to its proper size,” She said placing her hands around her ghastly head to forcefully shrink it.

He glanced at a cushioned pedestal placed in the corner of the classroom-turned-ritual room. On top, a volleyball with the word ‘Wilson’.

“You’ve stopped talking to Wilson,” Chrome said, “That movie was better than most that you watch. That Avenger stuff is so mundanely repetitive. Entertainment of the commons.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a bit of mindless action. Besides, I’ve got you to talk to now,” she said. “But I guess that’s ending soon.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” He said.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckled, “I’ll leave it as a surprise of fate.”

*****

“It’s time.” He said. “The gate is found.” He checked the readings of the glowing ritual circle, displayed in a magic hologram above the ground.

“2 months passing,” he said, “That’s acceptable?”

“Yeah. It’s way closer than I thought I’d get.”

“I’ll review this one final time,” Chrome said, “And maybe you’ll remember it for once. You are a soul, who has luckily or unlikely shifted yourself into the midway point of a process you were not originally supposed to undergo.”

“The Outworlder transformation.”

“When a soul crosses dimensions, the body is destroyed in the astral, and the soul tunnels from one reality to the next. When the soul re-enters reality through this brief, magical connection, a physical body is created by the soul using residual magic of the astral crossing. You are converted from whatever you were before to an outworlder.”

The magic ritual shifted, entering the second phase of its purpose. A golden door manifested. Sun gold, and an aura of passion, energy, responsibility, strength, and kindness manifested from it. A strong warrior of the sun, passionate and powerful. The door gleamed and shifted, illuminating the holorealm with its glow.

“Thus, all we need to do is find that chosen dimensional connection, out of all possible connections in the cosmos. Then, your soul and the residual magic will do what all souls naturally can.”

She turned to him. He had been her constant companion for an untold amount of time, painstakingly teaching a nobody soul magic that had no basis in magic to begin with, just so she could have her shot at life once more.

Her freedom.

“I’ll see you later Chrome,” she said, emotion welling within her voice.

“Until the sands of our time cross again, Wanderer.”

She pushed open the gate, her path to reality.