Chapter 75: Reverie of Memory

Wisteria’s tattoo studio looked the same as any other building around it. It was a nice area, but quiet, with noticeably smaller buildings than the city center. There was a small plaque etched with a bundle of purple wisteria flowers, the only sign indicating the shop was there at all. Similar to a speak-easy, Wisteria only took on customers by word of mouth. She no longer needed the money, but was something she did since she enjoyed it.

Wisteria was waiting out front, wearing a robe of dark violet.

“Wisteria! It’s good to see you again. Chrome has made something for you.” Nara handed Wisteria a bundle of nicely wrapped snacks for the woman to enjoy.

Nara had introduced her new familiars to those at Innovation’s Retreat, and Chrome quickly laser focused onto Laius. He hassled Laius until the stealthy cook imparted some of his recipes and techniques, then spent an inordinate amount of time in the suite kitchen. He had even badgered Nara to learn cooking ritual magic from a skill book.

‘Those that don’t help don’t eat,’ he had one-sidedly declared.

That was an avengers-level threat.

Chrome, as a familiar, couldn’t cast ritual magic himself; So, Nara served as his kitchen hand, master and servant reversed.

Chrome briefly to speak his piece to Wisteria, never content without offering an explanation to preserve his honor. “These are my failures, not fit for consumption for myself.”

“Ohoho,” Wisteria laughed, “Your failures, is it?” She briefly opened a paper bag to peer inside. Immaculately crafted glazed bon-bons peered back, begging to be eaten. “If these are failures, I wonder what a success looks like.”

“Those I don’t give freely.”

“Well then, can I interest you in a game?”

“Careful Chrome,” Nara said warningly, “She’s a strong opponent. She may filch you for all you’re worth.”

“Your pathetic skills serve no applicable frame of reference for my expertise.”

“Big words, Goldie,” Wisteria smirked back, matching Chrome in competitive spirit, “Can you back them up with victory?”

“Your taunts don’t phase me, hag, but I’ll play along and put you in your place.”

They shared a good natured and challenging glare-off.

“…Your familiar is pretty wild, Nara,” Encio said.

“I think you’re just afraid of Wisteria.”

He stared for a moment at the two bickering. They were hashing out what game would set the stage for their battle of wills.

“If our family falls destitute,” he mused, “look no further for the culprit than Wisteria.”

*****

The full team funneled inside the studio and sat down in a refreshingly furnished waiting room while Wisteria consulted with the team for their individual tattoos.

Immortal Crests were atypical. Magic tattoo artists like Wisteria usually tatted magical tattoos. These tattoos provided additional magical effects, almost like an additional ability. Each essence user could only have one, else the magic of the effect would interfere with each other, rending both worthless. Additionally, these tattoos disappeared on rank up, when the body was remade with higher quality magic, while the immortal crest would be recreated by the body as a reflection of the soul.

On top of her immortal crest, Nara would get a tattoo to reduce the ongoing mana costs of abilities. While she could’ve gotten a tattoo that decreased mana cost across the board. It would help reduce the load of Phase Shift, and her constant expenditures with Infinity Domain and Cosmic Path. It was important that those two abilities were constantly maintained. The speed enhancement on Cosmic path was integral to Nara’s fighting style, which affected reaction speed, movement speed, and reflexes, which in turn allowed Nara to make tighter Phase Shifts and use Dream’s Wake and Astral Return more effectively.

She hadn’t thought she would be, but it turned out she was a DEX build.

“Four immortal crests, one per day,” Wisteria said, “Who wants to go first?” She said, twirling her needle with a grin that did not engender trust.

Nara knew this world had no stigmas against tattoos, but she could not help it when the reservations within her heart resurfaced.

It was a tattoo. It was something she had never considered back on Earth. She never had a reason to mark something permanently on her skin. Since she was half Chinese, she hadn’t fallen for the trap of some Chinese characters that translated to ‘Rice Fried By Pork Fat’ or ‘Man Head Empty’. Nor had she a particular symbol, animal, or media character she cared to immortalize on living skin.

It was so close to home, so normal, that her common sense which had long been shot back in the head and dumped in the ocean was temporarily fished up so she could stare into her own, blank eyes.

Her mom was going to fucking flip when she saw her with a full back tattoo.

Her self-contemplation was interrupted by John, who offered himself up to the chopping block first. If she squinted hard enough, Wisteria’s spinning needles almost looked like meat cleavers.

“I’ll go first. What should I do?”

“Take off your shirt and lay down there.”

The rest of the sat and waited as Wisteria tattoos John’s back. First, the placed the immortal crest item over his back. It was a thin sheet, between silk and paper. Once it settled on his back, it subsumed within it, melting away like rice paper against saliva.

She spread out her tools, bundles of needles and colorful pots of ink. One by one she dipped a needle into ink, then placed it on his back, turning John into a needle porcupine.

Wisteria was a master artisan at work. Nara hadn’t seen this side of her: intense, serious, and focused. Often times she paused, contemplating her work so far, then she’d rebegin in a flurry of gold rank speed and precision Nara couldn’t even perceive, and she sort of wondered if she was just showing off for the peanut gallery. Sometimes, she was slow and steady. Methodical, as if working to complete a pattern only she could see, as if creating a masterpiece to present to the Emperor of a thousand-year long dynasty.

After a few hours, she was done. She sat for a brief moment, admiring her work and John’s new race change from human to cactus, before reaching a hand to help him off the tattoo chair and into a standing position, with John’s face towards the team.

“Now we wait.”

John did, grinning at the team to dispel the quiet. They waited in silence, minutes drifting as leaves on the stream of time.

Finally, they heard a sound: a clink as a needle fell to the floor. The first needle was an impetus that started the rest, all raining down in a cascade of metal raindrops.

John started to move, but Wisteria glared at him, “Stay still. You cannot rush art.” If John hadn’t needed to stay still, she may have slapped him still.

He froze, looking parts curious and sheepish from her admonishment.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Once all the needles had dropped, forming what Earth would call a biohazard on the floor, she held up a blank cloth to his back for a moment, then handed it to him. It had copied the tattoo on his back for him to see, the better version of a barber handing you a mirror while you tried to cane your neck to see the result and awkwardly thank them when you couldn’t understand the haircut from your reflection.

“Hurry up and let us see. Quit it with the suspense,” Eufemia said.

“Only if he wants you to see,” Wisteria said, with unusual seriousness. “If he wants no one to see, he never has to show anybody.”

Sen and Encio knew the procedure, and sat quietly throughout.

John smiled and stepped out of the circle of needles that had formed around him, and turned around, baring his back towards them.

On his back was a massive, flourishing oak tree. A zoo of animals rested in its branches and within the shade at its base, ranging from birds, to reptiles, to insects, to mammals, which all basked in the protection it offered. At the center of the trunk at its base was a family of four animals—Nara wondered if it was John’s own.

“What’s with all the drama,” Eufemia rolled her eyes. “That’s a great tattoo.”

Wisteria grinned, “Nice or ugly, it is always your choice. Well, let’s get some of your magic tattoos done, shall we?”

The next tattoos were more relaxed, Wisteria chatting with the group as she emblazoned their skin.

“So, you’ve seen bad immortal crests then?” Nara asked, once the intensity of the room had relaxed from as Eufemia called it—the drama.

“Oh dear, oh yes, I have. I was worried that our dear little Aciano’s would turn out terribly, but I did what I could to salvage the unseemly blight on his back.”

Encio rolled his eyes, smirking, “You weren’t worried about mine at all.”

She cackled, neither confirming nor denying.

“You didn’t answer the question,” pressed Eufemia. She was curious how bad a tattoo could turn out, in part because she was worried about her own. Eufemia acted for so long that she sometimes wondered if she had a true face—was the personality she presented to her teammates her? Or just another mask she could no longer remove, with only a blank void beneath it?

“Now don’t rush me. Let this old woman think…why yes, there was the one child whose tattoo was just his dick.”

Silence ruled the room.

“I assume it was his dick. I hadn’t checked,” Wisteria added, as if anyone had mistakenly assumed she did. Nara didn’t know if Encio’s contemplative expression meant he thought she could’ve.

“What did he do to deserve that?” Eufemia gasped in abject horror.

“I didn’t choose it for him dear, that’s just what his soul looked like. That child spent his days at brothels or at the church of fertility and lust. Didn’t put any effort into training or making use of the essences his parents bought for him. Ended up a wastrels whose only true effort was the depth of his plunge and the stamina in his lower body,” she chuckled despite himself, even making a vulgar demonstrative motion with her hand that made Nara squint and lean back, “I suppose that’s its own talent. The church of lust would welcome him with open arms.”

“I’m sorry you had to tattoo that,” Eufemia said.

“Oh ho ho, don’t be. It was hilarious. I can imagine the look on his parents’ faces—they should’ve known better than to get him a crest.”

All the team was left with was the reassurance that if their crests looked terrible, they’d be the next hapless victim of Wisteria’s stories.

At least she didn’t give out a name, although Nara wondered if she would’ve if they asked.

*****

John leaned over the balcony of his room, staring out into the sunset that glittered over the sea. He could feel the new tattoo on his back—it had already fully healed, yet it felt as if his skin was ablaze with warmth. Not with pain, but with the recognition he had made a permanent change to himself. It may have been genuinely warm, but John could not separate the crest which seemed etched into his soul from the sensations he experienced in physical reality. This feeling would fade, he knew.

He saw it there, at the base of the tree, a family of four bears, perhaps plucking inspiration from children’s stories. His wife, Olivia, his daughter, Sienna, his son, Noah, and himself.

He couldn’t help but feel a bout of homesickness, despite his optimism. So he stood here, gazing off into the sunset like an abandoned puppy waiting for his mater to return home. He was having fun in this world; he tried his best. His wife was passionate for arts and music, a talent he didn’t quite have. But she loved his sloppy paintings they made for each other on each anniversary.

If she knew he was in a magic world, she would tell him to enjoy it—see the sights, experience all it had to offer. So he did. He was freed from shackles of work and day-to-day life, and lived a lifestyle he would have never predicted for himself with a gun to his head.

John heard a knock and Nara’s voice from behind it.

“John? It’s me.”

“Come on in.”

She walked towards him, joining him on the balcony.

“I could feel you moping. You aura control is still pretty sloppy.”

“Can’t say I have the knack for it like you have.”

She gave him a soft smile, “Feeling homesick? Your face changed after you saw your own tattoo.”

“I certainly am,” John admitted. He was never one to hide how he felt—he always wanted his own children to be comfortable with sharing their emotions with others.

“That’s a sane thing to do so that’s good.”

“Hell of a thing to say.”

“Your ability, Magic Camera…do you have a picture of your family?”

John shook his head.

“Would you like one?” Nara tentatively offered.

“Can you do that?”

“You know that thing I ‘invented’,” Nara said, her tone matching her air quotations, “the soul communication thing?”

“I heard a bit about it from the god Healer. It seems like it was a big deal.”

“Well, I’m not really pursuing development on it. I was just doing joint research with a friend. He was looking into it as a vector for therapy. Soul therapy through music.”

“They do say music touches the soul.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty much the logic here. So, for the test run of this thing, Redell—the friend in question—had me access one of his memories. It was like I experienced it for myself, through his eyes and mind. I felt his emotions and heard his thoughts in that moment—everything. So, by using this ability, I can see a memory of your that you chose to show me. Then, using my own Astral Domain ability, I can create a picture for you, which you either keep or take a picture of for yourself—or both. The only downside is that it’s…a pretty personal experience. For both sides. Let me know if you’re down for it.”

Nara pushed herself off the railing, about to leave after having said her piece.

“Hold on, I’m ready for it now. What do I have to do?” John said, awkwardly gesturing to the balcony area. “Should I sit…or?”

“Now? Are you sure?”

“You get to see my family a little early. I was going to introduce you anyway.”

“Well,” Nara said, “Just don’t show me anything too intimate. If the vibe gets suspicious in the memory I’m backing out.”

John looked scandalized, “I would never.”

“Okay! Just saying. Just uh…stay focused.”

She gave him a pointed stare.

He stared right back. Pointedly.

Nara brought out the Path Seeker Lute. Even with John’s unperceptive eye for art, he could tell it was an exceptional piece of equipment. Or at least, he could tell it was expensively magical, which may as well be synonymous in this world.

Nara conjured a chair on the balcony, sitting in it and centering her focus. John felt her presence shift from carefree to calm. He let that sensation wash over himself too, reactively pulling himself into something close to meditation.

Her finger brushed against the strings woven of moonlight, playing the first note. It was as if the world draped itself across her shoulders, the colors of dusk woven with her hands into music for the soul.

“Close your eyes.”

John had the vague awareness that she hadn’t said so with her voice, but with her mind. He let his perception expand, pulled into a fully meditative state by the flow of the music.

*****

“John.”

He opened his eyes to find himself in that familiar lakeside pavilion. At least, that location and more sprawled out behind Nara. In the distance, he saw the whispers of a city hidden behind trees. He himself was sitting beneath the shadow of his oak tree, soft grass brushing his crisscrossed legs, the rich smell of oak, fresh soil, and flowers enveloping him.

“Where is this?”

“Sort of a middle ground between our souls. I’m using my Astral Domain as a medium for the both of us. Your soul isn’t really physical, not that mine is either. It’s a bit more convenient than sort of moving around as thoughts. Less instinctual, more physical, which I find makes things easier, more focused. Less prone to…wandering thoughts.”

He gave her a disapproving look again. He wasn’t some horndog teenager.

“Is that what your soul crest will look like?” It was like his thoughts spoke for themselves. He put his hand over his mouth—he hadn’t intended to say that at all.

“I’m not really sure,” Nara said, “But it’s a nice view, isn’t it.”

John paused for a moment to take the view in once gain.

“Yeah, it is. What do I do now?”

“Focus on the memory you want to show me—show us. It’ll be like you’re reliving it. One that has all four of you together in it.”

John did, sending the two of them into a reverie of his memories.

*****

John opened his eyes once more back to reality. It was night now, the sun had long set. He couldn’t tell how much time had passed—it felt like a long time yet simultaneously nothing at all.

Nara roused as well, her eyes flickering open. Her hands still rested against the strings of her lute. It disappeared, vanished to her inventory.

“You have a nice family. Invite me for dinner sometime, yeah?” She focused for a moment, then one by one conjured a small stack of photographs which she extended to John. “Here. Like I said: This is a temporary conjuration so do something with it.”

John kept the original copies, storing them away in his inventory. Then, a new photograph appeared in his hands, one of the many she had given him—an exact copy.

He stared at it in warm and wistful silence. He had just relived his own memory in great detail, together with Nara. His soul remembered details his mind did not, so the impact of the photograph was less than he thought it would be. Still, he was grateful for a physical object he could hold within his hands.

“Thank you, Nara.”

“I’m just glad the thing I made came in handy,” Nara said. She stood up, stretching herself out like a cat after a lazy afternoon, “If it helped just one person, I’m already satisfied.”

“You could stand to have some more aspirations for it,” John said, “You’ve made something wonderful.”

“Nah, that’s not my role in this,” she denied. “The only thing I know how to do with it is share a memory. Redell’s the one pursuing other methods of application. I’ll leave the mind-scratching research to him. Beside,” she grinned, “I’m already standing.”

“I really walked into that one.”

“You’re not really walking, no.”

“I really shouldn’t take this sitting down,” John said, hefting himself to his feet. He still stood like a middle-aged man, habitually grunting despite his rejuvenation, “How about we raid a diamond ranker’s kitchen for a snack? I’m knackered.”

“Oh, say less.”