Hoshun

Outside the Temple of the Air Goddess

Akamori paced nervously, trying to will the excess time away. He’d initially planned to protest the Rite, not having any interest in taking it. In typical fashion, though, his mother had talked him out of it. She insisted he would do more harm to his future than if he went through the rite. Lobbying that he at least had options if he performed it, whereas he’d have none if he abstained. It also didn’t help his resolve when she reminded him of how important it was that he take the Rite since he was the son of the clan’s chief. Reluctantly, he accepted the quest. Yeah, he was a momma’s boy. What about it?

The night air was cooling, and though a fire nearby cast an invisible sphere of warmth, his pacing kept cycling him outside of its influence. To complete the Rite of Passage, the priests expected him to navigate a soul walk. There the air goddess Anazzi would judge him. If she found him worthy, he would return to the mortal plane, touched by her will and, more notably, her magic. If not? She would likely just incinerate him. A prospect that didn’t exactly instill him with a lot of confidence in this whole rite of passage thing.

His people held many legends about spell riders in magitech armors flying alongside their wyrms into battle. Though there were no more functional mechs or armor on Hoshun, his people continued to train as though there were. Promised by their wyrm mother Anazzi long ago that when the time was right they would leave, and return, ready to bring retribution to their enemies. This kept the people of Hoshun mollified for a while, but eventually it became clear they’d been abandoned.

While he appreciated his mother's confidence in his worth, he was infinitely less so. Who was he to think he was worthy of a god's notice? He was just a kid with an acute case of wanderlust that wanted to have adventures. All this destiny stuff was beyond him. Why should the air goddess choose him? He didn’t want to be chosen just because his father was their leader. He didn’t feel like that made him worthy.

For his entire childhood, his father had groomed him to one day assume his position. Sure, that would mean he’d have power and influence for his people, but Akamori wasn’t sure that’s what he wanted for himself. He didn’t need those things, much less want them. He was perfectly content roaming the countryside, exploring, and just getting into mischief. Living the life he chose. Some of his fondest memories with his friends stemmed from venturing off the path others expected him to walk.

Akamori’s mind went back to racing. His father recognized this rebelliousness in him, and while he knew it grated on Kalenza’s nerves, his father was excellent at using Akamori’s antics as teaching moments. This only confused him, though, when Kalenza tried to teach him how to be his own man while trying to ramrod him into Kalenza’s shoes. What good was being his own man if they forced him to walk his father’s footsteps constantly?

“It’s almost time. Are you ready?” his father asked from behind him. There was a mix of emotions on his father’s face. Pride, anxiety, and happiness all fought a war in his expression.

Akamori turned, flexing his chest and arms intermittently to keep his torso warm. They decorated his torso with a variety of painted on markings. Many of which mirrored and echoed the designs of the tattoos that decorated his back and stomach. He wore only a Koza, a warrior's skirt that covered his legs down to his ankles. His feet bore sandals made of leather. He shook and flexed his arms one last time before turning and approaching his father.

His father wore his ceremonial robes and golden headdress. They had passed the headgear down through the generations since the clan first crashed on Hoshun and set up its colony. Their clan mother, an elderly dragon that made the journey here with them, had died out many centuries ago with no offspring, and without another dragon to extract them, or spacefaring vessel capable of leaving the atmosphere, the clan had to prioritize long-term survival. So it established a colony on the fringes of the sector. This isolation meant that no one had bothered them, but it also meant that his clan relied heavily on their past traditions.

His father placed two enormous hands on his shoulders and beamed proudly at him. “Remember, you take with you into the mindscape only what you can carry.”

“It is why we carry little,” Akamori replied. That came out so automatically for him, he was a little alarmed at how natural it felt to state that.

“For we lose all unnecessary things,” his father finished their creed. “You’ve grown much, my son. I know that your soul yearns for more than this world offers, and while you may not see it yet, I’ve done all that I can to set you on the best path possible.”

Akamori shifted under his father's hands, feeling a little guilty. His father lifted his chin, so he faced him again. “Do not feel shame, my son. You have a powerful soul that knows what it wants. There is nothing to feel guilty about in that.” His father gave him a faint smile that soon faded. “However, you lack the discipline and strength to make that a positive quality. Yet. But we’re working on it.” Kalenza patted his shoulders, giving him a playful wink and stepped out of his way, gesturing expansively to the vast air temple the clan had built thousands and thousands of years ago.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Soon you will walk in the footsteps of many young men before you. Once inside the mindscape, you will face yourself, and then you will face the air goddess. Be honest with yourself, to her, and fate will see you through.”

“Fate,” Akamori muttered, his lip curling in disgust. He detested the word, even though his father used it so positively. He deflated a little and sighed, then nodded. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Kalenza stepped out of his way, unable to school his features neutral. Akamori could tell his father wanted to say more, but decided against it. A few feet away, blocking his access to the temple, was a priestess in white robes. His childhood friend Amara. She’d been born blind in one eye, and so she always kept that eyelid shut. She smiled at him with so much life shining from her single eye he’d never notice. She greeted him with an irreverent bow and traced the right side of his face from forehead to chin in the custom of their clan.

“I see you Akamori, son of Kalenza, grandchild of Anazzi the clan mother. I see your soul is ready for the Rite. I see the air goddess is ready to bear witness. Let us begin.”

Akamori bowed his head, and Amara went through the runes, sketching the hand gestures necessary to begin the ritual. Several Soul and Mind runes floated up, along with Air, weaving into a grid work and creating the spell. Finally, the runes fused together and showered down, creating an arched doorway made of pinkish purple aetheric energy. Ethereal and whimsical motes of mind magic rippled away from the edge of the doorway. Once the spell finished resolving, she turned to Akamori with a nod. “The temple is ready to recieve you now. May your soul win the goddess’ favor.”

An update popped up. “Quest Update: Enter the Temple of Anazzi… and survive.”

Gee. This should be fun, he mused to himself.

He didn’t move for a moment, remaining still, studying the ethereal doorway. The portal into the pocket realm where he was to commune with their goddess. Footsteps behind him signaled his father's approach. He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder and he turned to half face his father, who gave him a reassuring nod. Ahead of him, the swirling ethereal doorway stood open. Magic rippling and pooling like living energy. A destiny beyond that awaited him. His body ached to turn away and not look back, but he stood firm. He could do this. He would do this.

“It’s ok. I have faith you’ll come back. So do that. Come back to me.”

He turned back, steeling his resolve. He had to face this, whether he wanted to. The traditions of his people tied his hands. But it was the faith his friends and family had in him that gave him the strength to do this. It wasn’t much, but enough that it took the edge of his apprehension off. Somehow, their faith and belief in him tilted the balance just enough in his favor. He sucked in a quick breath, fists clenching. Before he could move, though, his father spun him around one last time and presented him with a spell sword.

“You won’t need this, but from this moment forth, it will denote you as a warrior of the last Wing.”

Akamori bowed respectfully to his father and looked up with curiosity and wonder in his eyes. “For me?” He’d not received his own blade yet, and to be handed one now on the eve of his Rite meant he was now a man to his father, a warrior of the clan. Pride welled up in him from deep within. A feat he previously hadn’t considered possible. He accepted the blade, bowing deeply, then quickly tied it to his waistband. The weapon was light, tugging at his waist sash only slightly.

“It is young. But if you expose it to enough magic, in time, it will grow in power as you do. Take care of it, and it will do the same for you.”

Akamori gave the spell sword a soft squeeze on the grip affectionately. His own blade. The corner of Kalenza’s lip tugged upwards ever slightly, cracking the unemotional demeanor of his father. Akamori caught the look and appreciated it.

“Now go, son. I’ve delayed you long enough.”

Akamori nodded, “Yes, father.”

He turned and marched into the portal of the doorway without another second of hesitation. He felt his skin tingle as he passed through the doorway. Akamori’s body glowed with the aetheric pink energy. It wrapped around and covered him. His eyes glowed white with energy as his mind was elsewhere. He advanced on the temple. The body and soul separate, and would either reunite at the top of the temple, or his body would burn to ash if Anazzi judged the soul unfit. Once he was gone, Kalenza sat down just short of where the pink doorway had been.

“It’s all in your hands now, son,” Kalenza said as he closed his eyes to pray. The priestess Amara stood nearby, mirroring him.

The rest of the village stood watch silently, waiting as the newest member of their fold took the rites. These soul walks used to be held in the past to forge pilots for the spell mechs that would accompany the dragons when they rode to war. However, with time, those mechs fell into disrepair and lost their magic, most of the salvageable components being stripped out for general purpose use.

Amara folded her hands together and whispered a silent prayer to the air mother for Akamori’s safe return as his mother and father both stood vigil at the foot of the temple. Old man Kaiden, Mrs. Ito, Kusinaki and more. The entire village supported Akamori’s walk.

Amara smiled softly as she looked on at all the faces lit softly in the glows of the lanterns Kusinaki had forged. Akamori may not realize it, but he really had the hopes of the village supporting him. She just prayed that it would be enough for him to come home. It had been a long time since the air goddess rejected a soul walker. On the other hand, she knew Akamori wasn’t exactly easy to get along with.

“Please don’t say anything stupid in there.” She prayed.