In the center of my chest, I felt several straps coming undone simultaneously. I felt tension intensifying and releasing dozens of times. I gasped when I looked down, for I could suddenly see the 'straps' with my right eye. After staring at them for several seconds, I realized what was truly happening. These weren't straps. They were strands of a soul seal that was rapidly deteriorating. After each was released, I recoiled in pain, but half a second later, an enthralling rush of soul hit my bloodstream. It felt like drinking a cold glass of water on a sweltering summer day. I began to shake as a tremendous feeling of power rose from within me and circulated throughout my body. As hundreds of the minuscule strands snapped, I saw that they were constructed of dense yellow soul and wholly covered my aorta.
My mind raced to determine the purpose of the seal as it continued to break apart. Suddenly, a series of strands at the edge of the beginning of my aortic artery snapped, and I fell to one knee from the recoil. Despite the awful pain, I managed to keep my right eye open to observe. After the wave of pain washed away, the most powerful sensation of euphoria hit me while I watched in wonder as purple orbs of soul bubbled into my bloodstream.
Though I knew I possessed large amounts of soul, this was the first time I had seen its color. A tear fell from my right eye. It was from both the intense pain and the beauty of the orbs. My soul's color was an unfathomably wild purple. It shifted hues dozens of times per second, but its primary color was a light, hazy purple with strands of a darker purple stringing through it. Despite being able to sense the presence of soul since my earliest memories, I was at a loss for what I was experiencing now. Of course, I recognized the pattern. At certain ages, my powers had grown, but no age had resulted in changes as drastic as my 21st birthday. In my early childhood, I could only smell soul. The potency of the odor reflected the power of the soul, and the scent revealed the god the soul followed. For example, the men and women of Ertore, who all follow the god Arterion, had souls that smelled of iron. Then when I turned 18, I began to see the color of souls. Though it was an impressive sight, it became bland as the years passed. Every soul I saw was the same as that of Arterion: red. Therefore, I was confused and excited by the color of my soul, for I had always assumed my soul would be red.
When I rose to my feet, I noticed that my world had morphed further from normality. Through my right eye, I saw small amounts of red soul leaking out from every man and woman who marched with me towards The Line. The souls of those around me were also no longer the same shade of red. There was a beautiful assortment of thousands of tiny, red bubbles of soul floating upwards through the city's sky. All the soul was being drawn towards the top of the city's holiest site, the spire of the Grand Temple of Krotrean.
The soul was vacuumed through an inverted funnel of red soul. After only a few seconds of thinking, I recoiled. It was horrifying. When broken down, the implications were astonishing. The souls of those within the city were being drained and harvested. The number of beads and bubbles of red that floated upwards just from workers making their way to work was uncountable. I concluded that this was some form of taxation that Arterion drew as payment for his protection. I sensed the power that dwelled inside the funnel for the first time, and my face grew pale. Despite not knowing how much soul I possessed, I knew that the being known as Arterion was powerful beyond what words could describe.
Just as I had rid my mind of thoughts regarding Arterion, I rejoined the traffic and reached the top of Langston Hill, the last stretch of Krotrean before one arrived at The Line. From there, I viewed all the traps, trenches, roads, towers, and war machines that filled the once grassy 7 miles of the open plain. Steam from spells and the rapid respirations of the men and women below belched upwards; however, there was more to it this time. Now, I fully gazed upon all the soul pouring upwards from every worker. Dozens of thousands of men and women each produced hundreds of soul droplets that precipitated upwards. Through my right eye, it looked like the ground was pouring blood into the sky, and I truly began to understand the mechanism of soul harvesting. The more you worshiped a god by following their rules or doing their bidding, the more soul you gave them. The system wasn't taxation. In fact, for a while, I struggled to find words to describe it. It was the ultimate lie. It was a cruel, massive theft of power. My outrage grew the more I thought about how unjust it was. Without realizing it, I began breathing heavily, and the strain on the seal covering my heart reached its breaking point. That is when the change occurred.
For a second, the sensation of the freezing wind ceased, and silence engulfed me. I heard a horrible ripping sound, and with a devastating recoil, every strand of the soul seal over my heart tore apart. The pain snatched my breath from me, and as I stared at my chest in horror through my right eye, I saw what the seal had been concealing. A purple, triangular door became visible within my heart's left ventricle. It slowly developed density, and I began to feel its weight settle within my chest. Suddenly, it slammed fully open, and an ungodly amount of soul roared into my heart. I seized up as my heart pumped a river of boiling hot soul through my body. Though smaller amounts of soul being introduced to my bloodstream had left me feeling euphoric earlier, the overload of soul rushing through my blood sent me plummeting to greet the ground face first. However, my actual reserve of soul was not the only thing that had been waiting for me inside the door. Even as my face planted firmly into the hard street, something else emerged from the door in my heart.
"Terrifying, isn't it?" asked a deep voice from inside the door. I heard the voice clear as day, and it answered its question with a hearty laugh. The voice was followed by countless others yelling, laughing, screaming, and talking. With great vigor, they rejoiced in their freedom. Tears ran down my face as my muscles convulsed. I was unable to take in all that was happening. I held my hands so tightly to my ears that it hurt, but it was to no avail. The voices were coming from my heart's door.
I writhed on the ground until a pair of hands clasped both of my shoulders, and they lifted me onto my feet. The second my feet touched the ground, the voices dissipated. I slowly opened my eyes, and Craytar was there, yelling. I shook my head dizzily and lowered my hands. He looked at me for a minute before repeating what he had first asked in a softer tone.
"Atrein, are you ok? What happened?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm fine, and I don't know," I said.
The concern was evident on his face, but he let his grip go after several seconds. He frowned in confusion before patting my shoulder.
"Alright, let's just get to work then," he said louder so that others could hear him. Many snickered, and then I felt ashamed for embarrassing him. I sighed.
"Yeah, let's go," I echoed.
We marched down the other side of Langston Hill for what felt like an eternity. The wind blew our robes in front of us as it rushed down the hillside towards the inner wall. A series of three "HURRAH'S!" sounded off as we approached the gates, followed by another three as we entered. The wall was pure stone, and the gates were 10 feet high. The gates covered smooth holes cut through the stone by magic. The gate doors were made from several trunks of whittled ironwood bound together. Ironwood only increased its density upon impact, whether from arcane or blunt force.
As I walked, I realized that the opening of my heart’s door had changed my eyesight even more. While I glanced at the souls around me through my right eye, I noticed that some were rough, some smooth, some spikey, and some full of ridges and depressions. I assumed that the features indicated a person's abilities, as all mages I saw had a smooth soul. It was an odd experience to see through both eyes at once, for they saw the world increasingly different. I saw endless detail and definition through my left eye, no matter the distance. Every color I saw was vibrant, and I began seeing some shades of colors I had never encountered. On the other hand, my right eye presented an alien reality. It showed what dwelled within the being of all individuals.
Soon after, I passed by two men working beside each other, one much harder than the other. I noticed that the soul of the harder worker was a much darker red than the soul of the slacker. It was proof that a soul's color reflected their dedication and love of Arterion and his commandments, or lack thereof. The coloring of their souls explained my colorlessness. After all, I never found myself genuinely praying or worshiping Arterion, and I did not worship my clan's goddess. My war clan, also known as the Diablon, had worshiped the goddess of fear, Daemas, but she was nowhere to be found.
"Are you proud of that name?" asked dozens of voices at once, angrily.
"No," I said out loud.
Several workers next to me grew quiet and looked at me quizzically. A second later, they quickened their pace to get away from me and continued their conversations. I sighed in frustration before I got back to their question. Just who was Daemas? From what I had heard in church, she was a mysterious seductress and terror of the past, but it was strange. I knew the recorded history of Rania was limited because no one could ever describe to me how she was so 'evil.'
They only claim that she was, and that was because Arterion said so. We were taught not to ask questions if it was not already explained. I had no intention of staying silent now, however. My clan had been the only known worshippers of her, so I suppose her days were over.
"No, they're right. She's sadistic," mumbled a voice with a thick accent from a place I couldn't identify. I slowly nodded and thought, "I'll take your word for it."
The sound of laughter echoed within my chest. I could sense that there were countless voices within me, so I decided then and there to call them 'The Others.' The voice's claim made my curiosity grow, though.
"Stop thinking and look more closely at your heart, At-Rein," suggested a youthful voice.
I followed its suggestion, and my jaw dropped. Tied firmly to my very being was a braided strand of yellow soul. The only physical thing I could compare it to was the type of rope used in The Line for construction.
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"How did I never notice this?" I thought in bewilderment.
"It was well hidden. I made sure of that," rumbled the first voice I had heard speak.
His words suggested that he was in on whatever was happening to me, so I marked his voice as important. I stared down at the rope of soul anchored to my own. I hesitantly attempted to hold it in my right hand, but it passed right through. Unlike my soul, it did not produce heat. After my hand passed through it, I felt my emotions had been altered. I became wearier of the soul, but my curiosity was ravenous. I sent a small amount of my soul into my right hand. Right before my palm contacted the soul rope, I saw yellow static form in the air through my right eye. It produced a slight zapping sound, and I pulled my hand away. Several workers again looked at me questioningly, but I kept my composure. I had felt nothing, for my palm had been saturated in soul. This made it clear that if I wanted to cut the rope, I would need to be at least a mile away from the nearest person, for the rope didn't want to be cut.
Suddenly, my red armbands constricted and began to bug me, so I focused on the teachings of Arterion and anything positive I could think of the cherished deity of my kingdom. Despite strongly disliking him, some of his rules were low-hanging fruit. The rule that saved me time and time again was, "Hungry dogs hunt best." I thought back on my overly meager breakfast, and this made it become an outlet of Arterion. I focused on my hunger for a minute, and by its end, I held an orb of red soul in my left hand. The red soul orb was around the size of a large orange, and it flowed gently with the breeze as it hung on to my palm. When I touched the orb with my right hand, I felt nothing. However, when I shot soul into my right hand and touched it, I felt a substance similar to jelly.
I released the orb, which made off in a zipline towards the Grand Temple's spire. This also startled me, for all other souls I had seen today appeared to move slow and sluggish, yet mine moved with astonishing speed. My orb of soul did not disperse or join with any of the soul bubbles on its way up, which led me to believe it was one unit of my soul. Following that line of thought, it was reasonable to assume my soul must be enormous, and this fortunate blessing must have been what had allowed me to work at my own slow pace for so long. The day's revelations put much of my adult life into perspective, and suddenly today wasn't so bad. After all, work was always a breeze.
After another minute, my soul reached the temple, and the triangles embedded in my armbands grounded to a complete standstill. Now, the bands were loose to the point that they were almost comfortable. I knew this was a way of control, and I now suspected it was a way of ranking citizens within Krotrean. The amount of soul given to Arterion would give you your rank. Though I had only known of soul being collected a few minutes prior, I knew that the more you focused and followed his commandments, the easier life was. For example, every time I focused hard on his teachings in the past, I mysteriously gained a seat alongside the most devoted citizens of Krotrean at Sunday teachings.
Based on the soul beads floating in the air, I estimated that my fellow workers must have given off hundreds of beads and bubbles of soul throughout each workday. However, I always only focused on Arterion's teachings once a day. Just as my armbands loosened, Donan Peak came into view.
A great wind rushed across its surface at all times, giving off a rattling, whooshing sound for the poor workers stationed there. It was the site of countless battles between Ertore and Donan. Upon its ruined surface were hundreds of stone bunkers, watch towers, and scattered remains of walls. Donan Peak was still heavily fortified to this day. It had remained in Donan's hand for generations until ten years ago. A bloody battle led to Ertore successfully conquering the area. Azeus, the highest-ranked member of The Red Shadow at the time, essentially secured the victory by besting the then-teenaged high priest of Donan, Krom.
Their duel drug on for ten hours before a winner was decided. Krom was defeated, but he managed to escape with his life. Sometime after that, he gained the title 'Unkillable.' They inflicted hundreds of scars and fault lines upon the face of the mountain during the duel, and Azeus received ultimate respect for the feat. The mention of the two names ignited a conversation in my chest. I felt that some of the Others held hatred for Azeus.
Craytar and I split off as we followed the strict road system of The Line. Networks of roads and bridges combined intricately to create a confusing labyrinth for everyone, including the workers. Spikes jutted out on all sides of the narrow pathways which workers moved through, and those who accidentally moved too far off the pathway gained an assortment of nasty, difficult-healing cuts, scrapes, and scars. It took at least a year of getting used to it before a worker became efficient in navigating the labyrinth.
Through such ingenious designs, Krotrean managed to stand for so long against the overwhelming force of Donan. Donan was considered the second-best military in Rania, yet they had failed hundreds of times at invading the Krotrean Line. Many looked down upon Donan for being unsuccessful in their fight against Ertore. Although Donan possessed some of the best siege engines, tools, and equipment money could buy, the outer wall of The Line always held them.
Traffic began to thicken as I entered the passageway over the first trench of The Line. There were nine trenches total, and the first one, which faced Krotrean, was thirty feet across and a hundred feet deep. It was also the smallest. The wooden bridge across the first trench stood vertical like an easy-to-navigate rock formation. Deep notches in the wood allowed a single file line of workers to cross at once. I waited several minutes as people crossed the vertical bridge, and finally, it was my turn. I edged sideways, one horizontal step at a time. I heard a sudden gasp, and a flailing worker next to me fell toward the bottom of the trench. Luckily, he landed uninjured in the safety net.
Once back on solid ground, I approached the 'information center' of the second level of The Line. It consisted of an open square of space, in the middle of which was a massive signpost. It had a large number '2' painted on it and nothing else. The vague display was to confuse invaders and to give nothing away. I pulled out my mage's lens. It was a unique optical tool that revealed hidden letters on specific posts. I placed the circular blue shard of glass in front of my left eye, and today's directions were shown. I scurried around until I located a sign for the "blue xi" pathway, one of the many pathways established for mages. I began to jog, for I had encountered too many distractions this morning, and the MWAA was still several miles away.
I followed the series of 'blue xi' signs until I finally could see the real pathway. The only problem was it was on the opposite end of a major highway that ran horizontally through The Line. Countless workers and carts were moving across the street, impeding my pathway. I carefully began to squeeze between the mob of workers as I tried vainly to reach the pathway. I knew I would be late, and there was nothing I could do about it. A second later, my right eye twitched, and half my vision was transported into a dark oblivion where only soul could be seen, and I was in awe.
"A new ability, Atrein. What shall you call it?" an elderly voice croaked from within me. I drew inspiration from the blackness in my vision that consumed everything that wasn't soul.
"Void," I said in my head this time.
The Other's voices erupted as they declared themselves either in support or opposing the name, and my soul felt like it was rippling. I no longer had the willpower to silence them, so I focused on taking in the real world with my right eye.
Soul radiated from every living thing. It came from some of the stars above and Rania itself. The view took my breath away, for every life form's soul was unique. I saw a small butterfly suspended above me, and I went to touch it. Immediately, before my finger ever contacted it, its soul was vacuumed outwards towards my finger. Before I could pull back, its entire soul was stripped away from it, and I felt ashamed. I had absorbed an innocent creature by pure accident.
"'At' means 'the,' but what does 'Rein' mean? Remember who you are," whispered the deep voice.
I frowned as I struggled to place the voice with a memory, but I failed. In its stead, a haunting vision of yellow suits and an iron tub flashed through my subconscious. The memory was powerful, and I lost a tear in the process. The memory made me think of a long, dark melody from my childhood I had forgotten. The memory was hazy, but I knew that my least favorite part of the melody was the sounds of the flute. Then the memory vanished as quickly as it had appeared, and I was left struggling with a mind full of questions. My headache, which had been subtle since I woke up, began to worsen as "void" continued to drain me of soul. I could feel it consuming large amounts of my energy at a constant, monstrous rate.
Despite my headache and fading energy, I enjoyed void. The colors were beautiful and came in a variety I had never seen before. I could see their smallest detail, and I could now better distinguish individuals. In void, I saw an endless variety of red souls. For example, I spotted a soul with depressions with small spikes sticking out of the lowest points. There was a wide variety of talent and abilities in The Line, so there was no clear way to know which patterns and textures meant what. After all, mages, strongmen, martial artists, swordsmen, archers, and cavalrymen were only some of the combat abilities in The Line. Their souls could have also indicated other things, like their nature or ways of thinking. Therefore, it would be some time before I could accurately know something about an individual just by glancing at their soul in void.
Thinking of the talent hidden within the variety of seasoned warriors in The Line made me appreciate how ironic it was that despite war being the favorite pastime of my city, I had yet to be in a combat situation. For some unknown reason, I was never present during a fight. Something always happened that dragged me away from the action, like an order from a superior to move to a different area or fix something in another part of The Line. It made me feel useless, like I couldn't carry my weight, or at least I had never been given a chance. I was curious to see if I was good at fighting in a real-world scenario.
"Perhaps this is not by chance. Have you ever seen your officers' neck spasm before they order you away?" hinted the deep voice in a humorous tone.
"You're joking," I said incredulously.
"Not at all," he responded more seriously.
That confession confirmed that the deep voice partook in whatever trickery was being played on me. However, the more I thought it over, the more ok I was with not being involved in the fighting. My days of sparring at the academy had left me hungry for more battle, and I had gotten rather aggressive on many occasions. Perhaps leeching off the idea that I was a peaceful mage wasn't so bad.
My work reflected a small fragment of what I could do, and I knew deep down that my capabilities far exceeded the work that I was tasked with. Most mages were not naturally gifted in manipulating rock, wood, and metal, so the construction work in The Line was often draining for them. They used the substance known as 'arcane energy,' or in a simpler term, magic. I, on the other hand, only used soul. I didn't know a single spell and had never even attempted to use arcane energy. As far as I knew, I was the only one in Krotrean who could readily see or sense soul.
I continued my routine of faking mage-hood because it was the easiest life for me. I had put forth minimal effort at my job since I first walked on; however, no one could prove it. This made a day's work little more than breaking a sweat or two while those around me watched in awe as I completed large projects. I smiled as I got closer to my work site, for it was time to repeat the sand-bagging cycle. I jogged up the wooden steps leading to the MWAA, or the Mage Work Assignment Area, a designated raised zone where mages congregated to receive daily instruction. Hundreds of stone pillars supported the massive weight of the MWAA, and it was one of the more scenic parts of The Line, for the offices and lunch hall were carved out of an imported white rock rather than the red stone of magecrete. We also had a spacious courtyard for receiving instructions or participating in training exercises. Our work was invaluable, so there were some bonuses. I took the wooden steps two at a time, then darted towards the morning formation. I was the last to arrive.