There will always exist a sort of magic in science. You can memorize the information, see the process happen before your eyes, and still wonder. Because oftentimes, knowledge is not the key, but rather acceptance. The reason for this: we are not the inventors, merely the discoverers.

In this same light, there are things not of this world, creeping about. They are spreading throughout every facet of being, not wishing to be discovered, growing deep roots from which flow a slow, ruinous poison to its hosts. The day of its discovery will come and it will not be kind. But it will be necessary.

“To understand the nature of all things”, he slowly whispered once more, almost seeming to convince himself of the idea. What once was considered a simple task now felt an immense burden. The trees hummed a slow tune of the same chord, with the dust writing in the air a foreign knowledge. Beyond the land lay infinite stretches of the ocean, blue as sapphire piercing the senses. Mystifying, unforgiving, and yet beautiful to the point of penetrating the heart of the observer, should they choose to endure it. Ironically, all equal descriptions of his father’s eyes. Why more questions arose from seeking simple answers alluded him. It had been so innocent, he told himself. To seek a land with hidden power, to feel its grasp upon its once called natives. if he could but glimpse the interconnection between himself and the past, thoughts on the subject could be put to rest. But in his heart he knew this would not be so. What began as curiosity had now grown into something else, something more frustrating the more it was pursued. And now, It revealed itself to be intentionally concealed; Be it innocent or malicious, he hadn’t a clue, but he was enraptured.. Knowing this, an answer now would only open doors for more questions, thus repeating the cycle of his own creation.

It had now been many days since his arrival. Out here he had pushed himself past the limits of normal society. It was barren and hard, and he no longer felt welcomed. The island gave him no comforts and no memories of such. As it was, each visit ended the same. But it wasn’t all terrible; the shore was close by, so water and food were attainable. Shelter from the trees made the cold winds bearable. And the pack he brought to make a bed was perfectly reasonable for his body’s demands. Yet these answers, they had a mind of their own, ignoring his call, his plea, for understanding. Rubbing the dirt between his fingers, he knew his work was done here for now. The stones would not speak. Not to him at least.

Packing up his things, the Sapien set out towards the coast of his origin. He threw on his tired boots, carefully zipping up each side after lacing and tucking them under fresh pants, buttons and all. He hadn’t trekked far, as the island was close to 6,000 square miles and far too massive for just his own eyes. Yet it was true; only his eyes remained. The natives that once made this land a flourishing home had deserted it to find new spaces to call their own. Why they would completely abandon it he could not comprehend. This was one of his many lingering questions. And he was not the only one to ask this, nor the first explorer here. He was just one of the last, as the search had become tiring after millennia. The island held memories but dared not reveal even a modicum of them, withholding such secrets as if from the trauma of abandonment. After each visit, it became more clear that it was a waste of resources. Resources Sapiens dared not throw away for naught. With the exception of himself. The trip was on his own funds, just like the last one, and most assuredly the next. He pulled out a small trinket from his pocket to search it one last time, turning it in his hand. With wonder his eyes lit up, like so many times before. Among the millions, there was not another like it. His hand began to experience a burning sensation. The ornate handle with carvings and indentations uniquely bonded to him slowly began to glow a deep red, accompanied by a light hum. Was it a tune? Maybe the mind was playing tricks on him. He did not care how or why. He simply desired to experience the effects. He then slipped it back in his pocket. A curious thing, such power in the palm of his hand, yet so useless here. The hidden mechanisms were most assuredly connected, yet would have to continue waiting, lurking in the shadows; but it was ever waiting, silent, either to ambush or to welcome him in an embrace. Whether hard headedness or downright foolishness, he wanted to return, to continue his search through the origins of the Keige.

-

It was quiet in the village. Smooth, cold stones comprised the walking paths that had long directed travelers for years beyond counting. The crisp air hinted at another snowfalll to lay upon the earth to engulf the trees and cover roofs. These stones were long accustomed to such an event. Rain or snow, they accepted the gifts from above, assuming and without question as they had for hundreds of years. As such, they would continue to oblige well after the people that graced past them had withered to ash.

Not far from these particular stones, in either direction, lay relics. A few were known by many, and many were known by few.

“Corvallis? Hurry now, it is past time.”

He wrenched himself up from the open book, ripping a page as his face yanked it upward from his father’s call. His room was filled with various books from the world and treasures of antiquity. A little silver pocket watch, now rusted almost beyond recognition, sat on his desk, innocently ticking the moments by one by one. His father had remarked in amusement that the object still worked. As it turned out, the power of the Keige spread across time. But not all treasures lay their secrets unencumbered to the young Corvallis.

“Past time? For what, sir?”

“Come, and you will see. It must remain a surprise for the time being, lest the joy be spoiled. Now, come.”

Through the door of their home they strode, grabbing trench coats in their respective sizes and thick boots on the way out. The chill, as always, swept over Corvallis like threads falling from his head to his toes. But he had never known anything different. Cold wasn’t cold. It just was. Time gave clues to his young mind about the relation of many things; new and old, infant and adult, death and life. But not weather. Weather found itself independent in the universe, unbound by any and every thing it passed through. The chains of life threatened existence every day. But weather. It would appear that life could not wrap its coils around absolutely everything after all.

“Mind elsewhere, again?”

“Sorry, sir” He replied instantly.

“Ah, Corvallis. Sometimes I envy you. Other times I do not. I’ll let you decide which one is true now.”

He then remained silent but cognizant, striding down the cobblestone and into the town, not daring to answer his father’s speculation. Oftentimes, he did not wish to know exactly what his father thought. The air of mystery teased his mind and kept it lingering on every word, carefully considering what was said in order to decipher his own meaning. But then oftentimes, he had over analyzed the whole situation and his father would gain confusion of his own.

They walked for a considerable time, turning around corners, moving past Corvallis’ favorite shops full of books and baubles and treats. Then past the square, full of the daily bustle of folks with to-do lists Corvallis could not dream up if he tried. His list would surmise only a few things, he was certain: Read, do his schoolwork, see his mother, and then his friends. And those could all be done on the same street.

“We’re here”, his father whispered with tempered excitement, attempting to lead his son with equal parts caution and anticipation.

They turned the corner to see the Museum of Restitution: Findings of a Lost Era for a New Future.

“I thought this was off limits”, Corvallis choked up in wonder.

“Well, upon discretion”, his father replied nonchalantly. “It’s past time for you.”

That was easy for Corvallis to decipher. He immediately took his father’s hand as they walked up to the front door and watched as his father pulled out his Keige. He slid it into the lock and let it be bound by the construct. Light shone through it, then read aloud his name: “Corvallis, Kess. Welcome.” the boy let go of his father’s hand, seeing the scar of the Keige on his hand. Every time it gave him a curiosity and terror he didn’t understand. The heavy doors slowly opened to reveal the oblong, high ceiling hallway.

“I can just walk through with you? With no Keige?”

“Under a certain age, of course. You know this.” Looking at his blank stare a moment he then said, “you are referring to the restriction again. Not to worry, I had it cleared earlier. Here, take back my hand, it’s quite all right.”

They walked through security and into the main building, vestibule by vestibule. Corvallis could not have possibly prepared his mind for what he was about to see and how it would shape his future. Some may think it was a poisoning, others an inspiration. And still others would shame his father as a poor excuse for a parent. Regardless of the label, Corvallis would never be the same.

Electricity. Amperes, watts, volts, anodes, and diodes. All foreign words, and the best place to start, according to his father.

“The creation of man”, he responded after looking at the diagram of the flow of electricity seemingly for the first time. Corvallis could tell his wonder had not been contained even after all of these years and time to contemplate it all. “See here. This is current. The flows of electrons to and from a source. And see the two types, transformers, and electromagnetism. I know it seems impossible. The fast yet predictable movement of something you cannot see or even seem to quantify. But it is all happening. Over 6 billion electrons per joule there. Joules were defined differently back then. Yet it was still like magic. And we gave it all up.”

He had many questions in response to his father’s excitement. “I don’t understand. A flow creates an energy that forces beings to move?”

“It does not force, it allows. It is running through you now in fact. And it isn’t just beings, but mechanical objects. Here, look.”

He showed the boy over to the right. In a row began devices ranging in complexity. A bulb then battery. He gazed at a large metal box, envisioning various utilities for it, none of which were close to its actual purpose.

“Funny, I know. It kept food cooled so it could be stored and eaten later. It was quite ingenious for its time. It revolutionized how we consumed food.” He grabbed the boy’s shoulder and pointed forward. “That is only the beginning of it.”

Corvallis was still hung up on the refrigerator. “But the Keige do that. Why waste space with this?”

“Of course. You may have missed the first sign. These are relics. Electricity, batteries, bulbs, and all you will see, existed in a time before the Keige, and will never be seen again outside of these halls. Let’s take a stroll through history over here and you will understand. You will also wonder why school never told you this, so allow me to expose that truth as well: they will. These aren’t secrets Sapiens attempt to keep from themselves. But they are secrets of a more tangible mind. Certain aspects of our life must be understood and accepted before looking back. In all, we cannot let the past dictate our future, but we can let it inform the future. Always remember that. Open your mind like I so often see you do and let the knowledge roam about a canvas of your creation just as the Sapiens did before us. These artifacts inspired us to create what Keige do without us batting an eye.”

Looking over, entirely losing his train of thought, his father said, “Ah, see here. This is a processor. It powered endless devices of the ancient world.” Excitement washed over his expression as he gazed at the phenomena.

“I don’t understand. I see no moving parts.”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

Walking forward, he waved his arm forward to usher the boy into the next room. “Allow history to be your teacher. I’m not confident I could do it justice.”

The next room resembled a large atrium, containing a large statue taller at its center. It instantly became the focal point of the area as it was made of silver and taller than any being. It was a man in a posture of defiance, resilience, and victory. In his hand shone a Keige, which he held aloft above his head.

War has everlasting consequences, innumerable potential outcomes, and inconceivable horrors. This is the recounting of the Sapien war with the Udo.

Before Florectus and Nidus, there was but an island. This island, Flore, was the inhabitant land of the Udo. Here, the beings lived apart from the Sapiens for millennia. These beings created what is now understood as the precursor to the Keige: Rudimentary and ancient in thought now referred to simply as “Keys”. These keys, even in their primitive state, granted them universal and unrivaled power; so much that it poisoned their very minds, only to be satiated by dominance. It is at this moment, after an unknown time period between discovery and mastery, that the Udo brought war upon the Sapiens. In their hands they wielded keys, in their minds they brought destruction, and on their backs they brought cages. The relics you see before you existed here; the Sapiens created all. The Udo destroyed all. What power the Sapiens harnessed in this technology was but a speck of dust amongst the key wielding Udo. It was much later after this terrible loss that the Sapiens ripped free from their enslavement to begin anew, discovering the true relic we now use today: the Keige. What the Keige do for us today far surpasses anything the original key could conceive. In the right hands, it is used for progress, not war. Let the horrors we have suffered allow us to see light rather than cast shadows upon our future.

I look to the heavens, then to the earth

What hath wrought me, and where do I return?

If I should take my finger and blot out the sun

Is it power or ignorance?

I seal my fate as I seek life eternal

Where do I end and you begin?

* - Canastero, Creator of the Keige

He took a step back from the panel, staring at the bust of Canastero as it returned his gaze with deep sorrow and lifeless foreboding. The Crystalline rock that made up the face had shared material with its environment. In fact, there existed very few materials presently that gave one a reason to call it unique. As far as Wren discerned, the rock was shared with every aspect of life, molding to the will of the artist, the engineer, or the builder.

He had assumed the little he knew about the Udo was all that was necessary. Well, it was all that schooling had taught him. This revelation changed the face of their existence. Whatever the Udo were, the Sapiens also were on some level. They were related, he knew. They preceded them just as their keys did. A preceding key accompanied with hostility had never entered the equation brought out from his studies.

“May I tell Clea and Roram?” Corvallis excitedly asked his father.

“I thought you might ask that. Listen, son. What I have exposed you to today was by my choice. As your parent. We cannot expect the same of the Masils and Anhingas. I am willing to guess they trust the discipline system on the proper timing of these revelations for all students.”

“And you do not?”

“I wouldn’t jump to that conclusion so hastily,” his father said with a chuckle. “Always the sharp one in our conversations. It’s as I said before. In my eyes, you deserve to know. I’ve seen a lot of children come through the system. So many aspiring to do just for a day the research I get to do for a lifetime. You could use this knowledge.”

Or I am just your son, Corvallis thought. Shall you tell me who I am, or am I to discover it? It was for that reason that this revelation would not remain in his mind’s prison for very long. He did not wish to disobey his father, merely to convey information highly regarded.

That night, laying in his bed, the warm everglow on his nightstand hovered silently, light gently bouncing off the walls, books, and relics. Wren imagined the bust seen earlier, seeing his father’s face in the place of Canastero’s. It conveyed pride, beauty, resilience, and knowledge in one gaze to all who would pass by it. Father, you are the greatest person I have ever met, you deserve as much, he thought. So the world could know who you are, not just me.

-

“Corvallis! You’ve returned!”

“Pip, I told you that you can use my first name.”

“Yes, of course, I believe I have an affinity for your last name. Sometimes I just feel in the mood to use it.”

“What’s so wrong with my first name?”

“Nothing is wrong with it,” Pip said in protest. “But it is short. It doesn’t allow a flow to take shape. Wren. Just Wren. Like the name of your boat.The Scrub. See what I mean? Speaking of, how was the trip back from Flor? I know the boat had necessary repairs but was worried they wouldn’t be enough. Oh, and the rough waters with the abyss just underneath, housing those nasty sea dragons. You didn’t see any did you?”

“It was sufficient. The lock works again,” Wren said, shaking his hair of the grime and brine of the island. He ought to shower. He undid the many buttons of his jacket and hung it on the wall. “And no, no dragons. I’ve never seen any such thing, even after all of these trips. Why don’t you tell me more about them?”

“The Tanindra. Certainly a tale for a different time. Because as of now, I have something far more relevant to the questions you are currently asking, answers no sea dragon holds.”

Pip spent his days researching the Keige at Wren’s request , but never by force; Pip loved research as much as Wren loved discovery. All information was relevant: the denizens that created them, the materials used, and the very essence contained within them. Pip hopped from his perch, spreading his rudimentary dark feathered wings as he fell as if to fly and be swooped by a current. But as always, he hit the ground with his feet. Pip had often dreamed of being something he was not. If it was because of the alienation and abandonment from his people, he would not say. But Wren didn’t need a reason. He often would simply listen and respond. Once after a day out he had returned with a dark cape with stitching of feathers all around it. As he had drawn it around Pip’s small head, he could see the dream dawn once again in his eyes. It was difficult for Wren to indulge a dream on the verge of fantasy, something deemed an impossibility, yet he couldn’t sit by and watch Pip exist in a world so foreign to his mind. Joy for life was shared, he thought. And that joy could look differently to different people. It felt wrong for him to excise elation and Pip sorrow from the same environment. It was soon after that Pip had made himself some wings and would continually refused to remove them until it was time for sleep.

Running over to his desk, Pip climbed up and pulled out his papers from beneath the books, his small cape flowing. These were the same books that had been there for weeks. For whatever reason, he loved those specific ones. Whether he still got any new information out of them was debatable to Wren’s eye, but he kept it open for Pip’s sake.

“First, the material. The Keige have long been known to be silver, among other stones and minerals. What we have not known is why silver over another precious metal. I have been led to believe that the old Obelus…. Apologies, keys… were pure silver, while the current Keige are an alloy of silver and refined to resemble its pure form. Legends have spoken of this old material, saying it came from the depths of the earth itself, with the portal to the source on the isle of Flore.”

“Yes, Pip, I know that. Why else do I keep throwing stips at ventures to see the isle?” he chuckled lightly as if at amusement with himself. “I keep thinking a void will manifest itself like a fool. I am beginning to lose faith in legends.”

Don’t say that, Wren”, Pip replied. “I enjoy a good legend and so should you. Without them, could we really have truth? Old knowledge flows from it and challenges our preconceptions, which are guided by our experiences.”

“Hence why I am still hanging by a thread,” Wren let out with sarcasm, a heavy breath following after. “Forgive my interruption. Continue with your thoughts.”

“Yes, well, the reason I bring the old story up again is because of the conductivity of pure silver. The current Keige, to my knowledge, don’t necessarily show any sort of ability to harness electricity. They don’t even run through the locks using it. But I remember in my studies as a youngling that the old keys have such a potential. I assumed these did as well, you see. Now I am beginning to think that we need to start from this point. I don’t believe these two forms are as related as we like to think. There’s a different attraction that exists on its own.”

“You would be right,” Wren said. “But why does it have silver?” He grabbed an orb of everlight from its base and tossed it toward Pip. It glided through the air like a weighted cloud, until it didn’t. Wren had his Keige held out in his hand at the orb’s origin.

“It doesn’t need silver to do this. Just Gadolinium.”

Pip gleamed at the sight of midair orb. “Oh, excellent! I must know how this magic works. What do you call it? Will of the Gadolinium?”

“Call it?” Wren chuckled. “It doesn’t have name. But the law that defines it does. What ancients knew about the laws of attraction between stones we call Divinitism.”

“And you just now explain a fundamental mechanic of your world? You really ought to share more of these secrets. I had no idea the orb could float!”

“As for silver,” Pip continued, “It’s a good question. One I shall pursue.” He sat still, thinking to pose a question. “Why not just ask your father? You told me he has done significant work on the advancement and study of the-”

“No,” Wren spat angrily, interrupting him. “We don’t need Kess. We will find the answers we are looking for.”

Pip decided to continue on, ignoring the obvious tension and remembering it so as to never tread that water again.

“The essence,” he began. “I have been at this one for a while. There is a rather stark difference between the key and Keige. Oddly, three forms are found in the latter. I never owned became a proprietor so I cannot speak to the personal effects it had on the user, but the ramifications of the creation lead me to believe they are significantly different. I also think it has everything to do with the choice of the host, or wielder as you call them. Let me explain. Sapiens are-”

“Wren? Anybody home?”

“Pip, down, quickly!” Wren hurriedly whispered. Pip jumped quickly down and into his small concave cutout in the wall usually meant for shoes.

“Oh Wren, don’t throw Pip away at the first sign of another Sapien. It’s fine. Just me.”

Clea came down the stairs into the dimly lit room.

“Sleeping here again? Where have you been?”

“Why have you been looking for me?” Wren responded with suspicion upon his brow.

“Am I not allowed to have concern for my friend? I haven’t seen you in days. Old Bolga doesn’t care much about his workers but even he will be curious after time.”

“I have become indifferent to careers or stips.” He looked away, gazing as his hands as if staring into the distance at nothing in particular. “Call it what you want, It all feels redundant and I don’t see much meaning.”

“Don’t sound so depressing, Wren, it spreads. You found meaning at one point. You wouldn’t be here otherwise, because your very existence is meaning. You can find it again, I’m sure it’s just lost its way.”

“It’s not lost. The purpose just no longer runs along its given path.”

“So the disappearances are due to a lack of purpose, or a new one?” She glanced around at the mess of papers, clothes, and books. “I know you, Wren, if it’s anything it’s your next obsession. Out with it already. I know you don’t give up so easily but cut me a break just this once.”

“It’s a simple side project, not an obsession.”

“And this hovel is just a research base, not a home?”, she said with sarcastic tones, looking over to see a makeshift bed.

“I’ve lost track of time once, maybe twice. I see it wise to stay put when one finds they have lost track of time.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“You’ll think me a fool”, he admitted all too soon. Wren valued knowledge, but he equally valued his friends’ opinions of him, so much so that he may even compromise the gathering of such insight if it meant his peers’ respect. Sometimes, it was better to be cradled by the comfort of what one knew rather than strangled by the darkness of what could be.

“I’ve never thought you, of anyone in this world, could be foolish.” A smile grew across her face along with a chuckle. “Though you have your moments that tempt me.” Her dark eyes shone a glimmer reminiscent of their youth as he looked into her eyes, that free spirit unbound of the weight from responsibilities.

He looked at her with disdain then turned away.

“Forgive me, I was only trying to lighten the mood. Let me in, Wren?”

“It’s about the ancient keys”, he spoke softly. “I have been slowly more and more invested in their relation to ours. Our society thinks it so simple, so causal, and never gives it another thought.” He failed to hold his tongue, continuing now with more emotion. “They accept the teachings of the hierarchy on a whim and move on to the next interest like a drug laced four course meal. We may be confusing what is helping us and what is poisoning us.”

“Do you think I dine with them?” Clea asked, initially interested in what was said but now set aflame by the implied accusation. “What makes you think others have not had these same thoughts? What gives you the right to draw judgment upon our people based on your opinions? That’s not like you. You could have told me before now, like when we were kids. We shared everything. All we had existed between us three. It was our world within this one. Why are you now coming and going as you please? Stop leaving.”

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you so much back then. I’m only trying to be better.”

“Oh, ‘better’ is bending to the society’s rules when it suits your needs? Twist the spine of morality so it can wear your skin of choice? In my book, you don’t get to abide by laws when it benefits you, then toss them aside when inconvenient.” She looked at Pip, a face void of emotion. “He is the difference. He changes everything. We thought his people gone, dead, anything but detectable. Suddenly one shows up, in our city. And you keep that from me? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Clea, I’m sorry. I just don’t want to endanger anyone. I don’t want to be careless.”

He had clearly set her off, and maybe he deserved it. Being as close as they were, Clea felt a right to know any secret dealings. She had always done so for him. She didn’t speak, but began to move towards the stairs. Of all people to shut out, she wasn’t to be one of them. Wren didn’t move, only waited, as moments ticked away one by one, forever escaping his potential to use them.

“How did you know about Pip?” He asked as the final moments dissipated.

She stopped, her figure still partly visible. “I happen to enjoy a good legend too,” she spoke gently as the heavy door shut behind her, leaving Wren to ponder the weight of the well worn mask that bore his isolation, his pride, and his secrets.