Where am I?

Everie blinked. She stumbled, knees buckling beneath her, as her consciousness returned to her.

She was standing in a hole in the ground.

Mud and wet sand slithered between her bare toes. Everie tripped on her feet and tumbled backwards, falling on her back. She felt cloth on her arm - roughspun fabric, woven into patchy brown threads. Made to blend in. To hide. To survive.

To carry out the will of the cult.

She gasped. Everie realized now just what felt so wrong about her current self. It was both a familiar and uncomfortable sensation - like that feeling of returning to one’s past. To one’s trauma.

To one’s origin.

Tightly-corded muscles, hidden beneath a layer of frail, pale skin. She looked like a regular girl but had the strength of twelve men - or at least, that was what the underworld, the cult, and her victims would have said about her.

Instinct flooded her. Everie leapt out the hole, her old body twisting midair to lie flat on the ground. She scanned the area around her, hands already reaching to her sides - though her knives were gone - before pausing.

Ah.

I know this place.

A mirthless chuckle escaped her lips. She hadn’t been here in over a decade. It was night; Everie could tell because the skies were dark and full of smog as the Brass Cities burned their massive furnaces to keep warm, and the Cult militiamen and Sisterhood huddled in their caverns miles way from this place, relying on the natural, subterranean, thermic processes to keep warm.

We called it the Graveyard.

The desert yawned. What was it her Sister... that Selena had told her, long ago? To her, and oh-forty-four and oh-forty-seven. Or Addie and Ellie, as they had been named.

You three should know. We all should know. The world wasn’t always like this. There were trees, once. The skies were blue at day and star-filled at night. Our ancestors harnessed the weather and flew across the stars.

But then they consorted with things beyond them, and all that was lost. Leaving us with this.

Everie sighed, shuddering. Because of them. Because of it.

She strode forward.

Until they came. Because of the war.

It had sounded mysterious at the time. As oh-thirty-three, then, two, then one, Everie had largely ignored what her Sister had told her. The others listened, if only to humor her; Selena loved history, and reading, and all things to do with the past. Most of all, she believed - and though the seeds of that belief had been planted in Everie’s heart, they’d had yet to bloom.

The war.

But they did bloom. Slowly. As the years passed, Everie had grown taller. Stronger. She had learned to use a blade. A gun. She had learned to kill, and to survive. Selena taught her how to navigate the desert, braving the sands during the scorching heat of day and the sepulchral chill of the gray nights.

The Fragmentation.

Until...

Thunder flashed. Everie stopped just before two small mounds in the sand.

She clenched her fists.

Everie told herself that she didn’t care. But as brokenhearted as she might be, the Sister remained within her. And another one of the skills oh-one had learned was to discern rudimentary lies from truth.

Even from herself.

She swiveled, stiffly, towards the center of the courtyard. The Cemetery. Selena had called it a place that contained the bones of the past - and indeed, even now, Everie could see the metal cylinders sticking off the sands. Twisted rebar. The burnt chassis of ancient vehicles that ran not on not just gasoline, but on electricity.

And... in the very center lay a cross of burnt steel, fastened into place in the ground with waterlogged rope.

“So you remembered, huh?”

Everie spun, fist extended, only for someone to catch it. She followed by twisting her body, forcing her momentum on the attacker.

The figure spun past her attempt easily, before flipping Everie onto the ground. She rolled, picking a jagged stone off of the ground, and stood up, shakily. And for the first time, she squinted.

Everything seemed to go still.

Brown hair. That tattered cloak. Musculature, hidden under her clothing.

And those moves...

“Hello, Everie.”

“No,” Everie said, shaking her head. “You’re dead. You’re gone. You can’t be here.”

Selena - or this thing that looked like her - smiled. “Why are you so confident? After all, didn’t you come back to life?

Souls endure, Everie.”

“Not like this,” she spat. “And you’re not her. I can tell. Selena would never talk like that.”

The… thing laughed. “Once again, how can you be so sure? Did you really know Selena that well?”

Everie spluttered. “What are you-” she shook. “Of course I knew her! She saved me. She helped me realize-”

“-she taught you what you thought was hatred. She gave you a thing - that you now know as the Sereph - to hate. And for good reason, too! You might have doubted before, but it’s all but confirmed now, isn’t it? Your- our homeland was destroyed by those... meddlesome interlopers, during the War of Heaven.”

“What do you want.”

The thing chuckled. “For you to realize. You didn’t know Selena. She didn’t want to teach you hatred. What was it she said again? That... you have a purpose. A life.”

She wanted to teach you to live. And, pray tell, how well have you been fulfilling that?”

She shook her head. “Oh, well. I suppose you wouldn’t know. You were the one that killed her, after all.”

Everie lunged, rock outstretched in her hand, only to freeze. There was steel on her fingers. And the scent of gunpowder wafted into the air.

It mixed with the petrichor and disappeared quickly, but at that point Everie already knew.

The thing just laughed, then disappeared. Vanished, into the night.

Everie stumbled. The pistol, still warm, slipped out of her hands. Thunder rumbled, and she sank to her knees, clutching them to her chest, nestling herself in the folds of her robes. It was a position she knew well.

What do you live for, Everie?

“I don’t know,” she choked. “I don’t know.”

A boom. The skies split apart. Figures, spiraling in the air. Clashing. Rending day into night and into the layers beneath again and again.

Everie didn’t look. But she felt it.

The Crying Demon’s presence buzzed in her ears. Reality seemed to distort. Everie let out a gasp of pain as her soul - and the space where her core was supposed to be, had she been in her new, child-body - throbbed.

Beware of the Marked, it boomed.

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Everie screamed into the gray night.

None heard her but the dead, cackling from the recesses of the desert darkness.

—

She woke with a shout, throwing her covers off of herself. The wild application of her strength sent the miniscule amount of ether Everie was able to control flooding through her metaphysical veins, blasting the top of her four-poster with wind.

Wind generated by the force of her strike.

It’s because my ether is so... pure, Everie thought, shivering. Even as she tried to recollect herself, the analytical part of her brain spun. Like she’d been taught. That’s what Vernas said, when he tutored me yesterday. That means...

It was also why Everie, now only four, was closer in physical appearance and bulk to a six-year old than her actual age. Her hair had fully grown out, spilling over her shoulders in locks of violet- streaked black. She had skin a far sight paler than Everie had had in her old body, which had been burned and scarred and torn apart by the ravages of the heat of day and cold of night.

Everie’s eyes flickered across the room, before coming to rest on the floor-to-ceiling mirror visible from the foot of her bed.

She looked like a pampered girl.

No. I am a pampered girl. At the very least, I am now, Everie thought, sighing. She buried her face in her hands, catching the sweat trickling down her brow.

Everie sat there. The silence of the ‘morn seemed so loud to her.

“What am I doing?” she whispered to herself.

Everie didn’t know. It was clear that... the being known as the Crying Demon had some sort of plan for her, and that it all had to do with the thing that was embedded in her core and gave her magic.

And... what was that? That voice-

“Beware of the Marked,” Everie said, frowning. “Beware of the Marked. The Marked...”

She shook her head. “What was that about?”

Nightmares like that had been growing increasingly common these past few months. In her past life, Everie hadn’t had time for such things; every last moment in her days had been dedicated to survival. The world had moved regardless of her, and she had to run to catch up if she wanted to stay extant.

That meant leaving things like memories in the past. What was it again?

“Regret is a sin,” Everie intoned. “Emotion is a blind. All that exists is Zabaniya and those who reject him.”

“What do you live for, Everie?”

Her expression hardened.

“Shut up, Selena,” she said, bitterly, slipping out of her bed as she did so. “You don’t know anything.”

—

In these past four years and some, Everie had learned much about Existence and her place in it. The revelation that the... Sereph, as the Crying Demon had called them, were very real threats and after her life hadn’t been as jarring as she might have otherwise expected. Not even Selena had ever denied that the so-called gods were real - looking over the wasteland that was their homeworld every day was enough to remind anyone that something truly terrible had happened in the past. Something surely no human could have done.

What am I thinking? Everie said, scoffing. Of course we could. We aren’t much worse than these ‘Sereph.’

Cruelty is what we as men excel at best.

Her death had given her four years of peace. That meant four years to heal - but one wound, regardless of how she approached it, remained. It was the question of purpose.

What am I doing here?

Why did the Crying Demon send me here?

Why was I reincarnated as Medea's descendant?

What really happened in the Fragmentation?

Who were these Heroes, really?

Why did that thing turn into Selena-

Everie stiffened, before yelping, and dodging the flat of Vernas’ wooden sword as it swept over her head. She readjusted the knives in her hands - real ones, as she’d insisted - and cursed how weak her new body was.

She could become stronger, yes, but only for brief bursts. Everie had difficulty maintaining what Breakers called the Literal State, which meant she couldn’t permanently enhance her strength.

That meant she was essentially fighting Vernas as a toddler. She was physically two years older than she should be because of whatever the Crying Demon had done to her new body, yes, but that was nothing compared to what a Seventh-Layer warrior could do.

“Good!” Vernas yelled. Her… uncle was moving painfully slowly, especially in contrast to the speeds Everie knew he could output, but even still Everie had to strain her every nerve to dodge his blows.

Aren’t I his boss’ daughter? Everie grumbled to herself, before rolling to Vernas’ side as his blade slammed into the smooth-carven cobblestones of the Medean courtyard.

He really pulls no punches, does he?

“Excellent work, mistress!” he said. Then his eyes narrowed, and a devious smile stretched across his face. “But now, to tune it up!”

Fire erupted from his blade. It was a measly flame, that Everie was sure wouldn’t even singe her clothes if it did touch her, but what it did do was extend the length of Vernas’ sword by a good two meters.

With little to no added mass - not that it would change the way Vernas swung it even if it was.

Hells! Everie cursed internally. She looked at his blade enviously. Why can’t I have something like that?

“Because you haven’t tried hard enough, miss!” Vernas said, smirking. “It’s quite simply, really, if you just learn to watch and-”

Everie stumbled to the right, barely sidestepping Vernas’ lunge. The blast illuminated half the courtyard. The heat, however, dissipated before it ever touched her.

“Watch what I’m doing with your internal eye, little Everie!” Vernas yelled. “Look at the flow of my existing ether. Look at how it hardens a little whenever I apply my will to it.”

“I’m trying!” Everie yelled back, stoic facade discarded. “But it’s not working!”

She tried flexing her core, which did yield that annoyingly high-purity ether of hers, but it dissipated into the atmosphere almost immediately.

“You can produce it, miss, but you can’t bind it,” Vernas explained, matter-of-factly - as if he wasn’t swinging a nine-foot blade of molten steel. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Usually with my men, it’s the opposite that’s the problem.”

Shit! Everie thought. A wall of fire loomed in front of her. Her core flexed, and ether exploded out of the Well within, stabilized by the fragment. She redirected it to every part of her body, knowing it would disappear-

Her hope had been that the resulting blast would lead to the fire dispersing. She doubted Vernas would let that happen, though; after all, it wasn’t the point of this exercise.

Instead, though, Everie gasped as a sudden power flooded her body. Her hands blurred, and a blast of force erupted from her arms.

Except this time, it didn’t vanish.

The illusion-like fire flickered, then dispersed. Everie fell to her knees, panting. Her dagger clattered to the floor.

Then Vernas started to clap.

“Excellent work, mistress!” Vernas said. Everie looked up at him, dazed, to find him looking at her with a smile on his face. A smile of pride.

“What-” Everie blinked. “What was that?”

Vernas smirked, before reaching down and hauling Everie back up to her feet. She winced, slightly, as her muscles throbbed. But almost immediately after, her eyes widened.

Oh. I see.

“Congratulations,” he said, poking her in the forehead, to which Everie didn’t have the fortitude to react. “You’re getting close. You’re not quite there yet, but there’s definitely progress - you’ll be past this block of yours soon. I’m sure of it.”

Then he smiled. “But the fact that you’ve learnt how to literalize without even harnessing your magic - that’s talent, Everie. I’d expect nothing less from my niece.”

Everie bent her fingers, feeling the magic circulating through it. It was... hard, as Vernas had called it.

No, Everie thought, frowning. There’s more to it than that. It’s almost like... the ether in me is more ‘real’ than the stuff in my core. It might be because it’s less pure, but- no, that’s not it, either.

Vernas had called it Literalization.

Honestly, Everie thought. She clenched her fists in frustration. There’s too much going on. Layers? Phases? Ceilings? Literalization? Actualization?

She sighed. I guess I have to hit the library again.

The twisted visage of the Crying Demon loomed in the corner of her vision. Everie shivered.

Why am I here?

“What do you live for, Everie?”

Vernas, ignorant to Everie’s thoughts, gave a raucous cry. The guardsmen who had been watching them cheered, raising their sheathed swords and firearms into the air.

He leaned down to whisper to her, his eyes glistening with... pride? Everie didn’t know.

“But to be four-years, and already capable of activating your Core?” Vernas said, grinning. “Honestly, I’m starting to worry you’ll turn out like that cousin of mine, only three-years worse than he ever was. Just don’t go running off into the forest, alright?”

“The forest?” Everie repeated, blinking. “Ha- my father ran off into the forest?”

Vernas scoffed. “Oh,” he said, shrugging. “Well, if people call me a rabid fan of the First Hero, then Haswalth’s an unapologetic follower of the physiologist. He was a bloodthirsty brat back in his heyday.”

He winked at her. “Well, I’ll be off now. Stay safe, niece.” Then he sauntered off to rein in his men, leaving Everie by her lonesome.

The seconds ticked by

Everie heaved a sigh.

Needless to say, Everie did not feel as enthusiastic about her progress as Vernas did.

Three years ago, she had learned to produce ether. It had taken her three years to even begin using ether. And that wasn’t even getting into the individual disciplines of controlling said ether themselves.

Actualization and Literalization, Everie thought. Her eyes were grim. Three years of practice, and I’ve still yet to truly grasp how to use my magic.

What is it I’m missing?