On the lonely hill, Gregor meditated a hold over his Miasma. Coaxing it’s form by his instincts and notes, before the unruly energy finally settled into a grey mist enveloping his mind.
It wasn’t much, barely a drop of morning fog, but it was enough.
He rose from his half-slumber, gazing out to the bare plains nestled by the forest. His sights shifted just a little ways off to the right. The stream coursing under the bridge and the path following deeper into the dark.
The color had not returned.
Which was... unnerving.
But what could he do, though he was free to move as he pleased without the need for morsel or a drink in debt. It could not be said the same for his Thame, nor could he work it beyond the point where is had coalesced.
It felt, wrong. Like it shouldn’t be so— his notes reflected the feeling. The path that spurred him forward in channeling Miasma to ease and control, wasn’t found here. This strange place of otherworldly concepts certainly fell way beyond his mind. But he still thought of it, his steps in the light of the moon. Coming to ahead of the crossroads and the split path.
One as he knew, the grand mist looming over. The other, the narrower path to the water that cut the landscape.
He glanced at the lone hill; the mist to the hill, in his descent. Gregor would once say that the still mists were an omen, but he looked to where a path lead to nothing but hill top and shivered.
A shudder started by his Thame. It was an ill feeling, drowning the seconds.
Soon the sounds of a water crashing over rocks came. The bridge in sight looked old, covered in moss and chipped stone.
But unless he would have his feet wet, it would have to do.
He strode forward and took his first step on the bridge.
“They manifest in countless forms, drawn on the vile twists of life’s beauty. None of them can help their nature. They dance and frolic, entrap and entice, be weary of the beauty pushed from bored delights. Beware in trusting your sight.”
Gregor wasn’t perturbed by the voice, but he halted on the bridge. The light of the moon illuminating the small glimpses in the canopy over heading the path. Trailing on further into darkness.
Phantoms… Mockeries of life, brushed with illusions of color and presence.
His notes troubled him, in their sparse, brief, outlines, because they were an after thought. When their existence was unwanted within the pursuit of Seekers Awakened to Miasma. They were bold in their ways, acts of battle turned more into a play. For the one head that he was certain delved a heavy hand to Phantoms, disappeared— gone in a flash. Retreated from the conflict.
And that's where it ended, notes an' all, because for all their scarcity in the grand schemes of Thame. Phantoms were unwanted, but they had the most written with the Miasma of power.
He sighted, stowing the papers away. Calling to his Thame, and coughing to clear any obstruction. Licking wet his lips. With Spells just at the edge of his tongue.
And just to be safe, he unsheathed his sword.
Gregor took breath and stood fast, the first steps over the bridge and gone along the path.
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Gregor took his time, keeping his eyes peeled… but this was becoming strange.
The light of the moon was becoming shallower, the trail veering off slightly from the straight he first saw. But he hadn’t seen any signs of Phantoms, nor a twist in Miasma. The Thame in the air was almost still and quiet.
Which only made his heart race— surges of paranoia, to a decent calm and back again.
He paused. Though it might be draining, it couldn’t hurt at his current pace.
Gregor shut his eyes, “Arpsk.”
It was a bare thing, one of the two that was easy enough to be remember, but if he had to confess, he wasn’t all that great with this Spell.
Miasma and Tae channeled from all stretches of his body. He needed a almost a full minute if he was just letting the spell go.
A far cry of how quick the Spell needed to be.
Gregor raised his hands and connected them to a circle just above his chest; a stance to cut a quarter of the time. More if he was given the fortune to practice without interruptions.
With the hope to minimize the effects of the burdens the Spell carried.
But that was not to be.
Gregor concentrated at the center of his circle. Feeling the near end of the Spell, and the shallow light just piercing his eyelids to see red and the small veins connecting one another.
A second more and Gregor shot his arms out. The mass of Thame and coursing of the Spell reached to the tips of his sense.
And then, there was an almost— still— blinding flash. The red he saw turned a light shade, before it ended.
His eyes shot open in horror.
Sword raised— he whipped around, funneling a torrent of Thame to his weapon. Half didn’t even make it past the handle, but it was enough.
A screech echoed from where there was nothing. The moonlight that he thought was so prosperous disappeared within the slash. As he saw nothing but darkness covered by a dense canopy.
His sword surged a desperate dance, he followed his cuts and Thame. Shooting out and into the forest.
He felt a change, the brush of dust and wings. His eyes peaked to circling the bubble he broke. Their forms ethereal, sprinkling dust from their wings, covering the very world around them in illusion.
Only those were the ones still alive, the one’s that fell had their life severed and nature reveal to the world.
Their carapaces were blacked, browns of mud and horrid greens. Body short and spiny, with their compound eyes completing the look a tormented mosquito.
A symphony of screeches shut his thoughts.
The bubble fell to a disarrayed wall of color. The butterflies paused, but they didn’t look at him. They stared at their dead, and their lights stilled.
Gregor couldn’t, if he stayed…
He ran from the wall. Trailing the bright grass where there was no light. The dirt path where it shouldn’t be, masked over the land. Already fading to their natural state.
Gregor ran— he ran as quickly as his legs could take him, before a wave of Thame flooded from behind.
A surge pumped his heart, and the incessant buzzing wailed. And a nail pierced his shoulder.
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How could he such an idiot!? Bleeding and bloodied. His pack nestled tight in a crook of an arm, after the monsters pierced through both the bindings of his straps. Running along a path that wasn’t so pristine as the illusion that befuddled him.
An buzzing whipped his head right. Sword raising to the maim the rainbow sparkle out the air. Failing the color, twitching that last bits of its life as it fell to the ground.
Gregor was glad they had such weak defenses alone. Without their dance of illusion they purely came at him with the power of their own wings and blood sucking spears.
So he could keep his Thame. He could hold off the strain of pulling more Miasma, because unveiling the illusion, he didn’t know what he could do. Without this Thame, he would have fallen already.
It was humiliating— perhaps humbling thought— that was if he were a better minded man. But his life was on edge, so that all can eat shit! Gregor would be damned if didn’t given a little more. Cursing the world and all in between breaths.
Another incessant buzz came slightly ahead. “Come on you wretches of life!”
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Three butterflies shot forward and Gregor bared his teeth. Feeling the motions of the sword, even if his form was poor, he was grateful that at least a fragment of expertise guided him.
Cutting them all down in but two slashes. Carrying on without missing a beat.
The trail lingered, for an unknown time. Only he was forced to stop multiple times along the way, hunkering down against their attacks through their waves. And then, setting off again.
But it was looking like to be the end of this, thankfully.
The trees were becoming more sparse, and the attacks had seemingly disappeared all together. Even the buzzing seemed to be only the ringing in his ears.
Until everything gave to an open field, with nothing but the sky and grass of the plains to keep in view.
Only there were no bridges, no voice beginning a new challenge.
Gregor waited on the edge, preparing Arpsk for another break in illusion. But when the light broke nothing. Just… keeping true to the silent expanse. His shoulders eased, and mind relinquished its obsessive hold.
He could almost feel the edges of the soft grass through his boots with each step. Keeping at a sedated pace, feeling more at ease with nothing to bother him than the want of sleep.
The mind was not so fortunate to receive the miracles of this place. As more and more the grass looked appealing to just take a moment for himself.
And honestly, he would have. Almost wanting to indulged, but their was no sun. No cycles of the day and night, only a broken moon.
Time was a fickle thing here, he didn’t know how long he had been running. Going through the motions of rest, slashes, and sprints again. Sometimes all three, as it seemed he wasn’t even there when he cut down some of the butterflies that came his way.
Because seven days could pass in a blink and he wouldn’t have noticed, save for, what he assumed as, nothing horrific happening.
It was why he didn’t falter in his next steps.
Sleep could come after this whole endeavor. Once he became a Seeker again.
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Henry’s muscles cramped, he ate the stone pretending to be asphalt.
“Get up!” Riker yelled, only his voice was far. Distant… his eyes were giving up. He couldn’t feel the strikes anymore.
Do better… you failure. There was a howl, or was it a roar… the darkness was claiming him again.
He didn’t dream, he rarely did. A second in the emptiness and he would awake to tomorrow. This time though, it dragged on, it felt like the milky void. Only the fear of oblivion, was replaced with the dread of life.
Henry was tired, so tired.
His eyes creaked open. The first thing he felt was the strain of his muscles, weighing him so he could barely move. The second was cold. Sweat clung to his clothes, relieving all the warmth he had.
Staring at the ceiling of the dark dome, he wondered. Drifting to long pauses of thought to the next.
Why…? Why am I not becoming better… Why does this even matter… Why does anything— a new world and nothing has changed… Henry felt the tears fall unknowingly.
Progress was nonexistent. Sleep didn’t feel like much at all again. And what could he do, but try something different, a new perspective, a new thought, only for it all to end much the same.
He almost wished he had his phone. Lost in reading fantasies and watching videos over and over again. Hoping for something different, something new, but it never was.
Madness… is this what it is— what it means? Try, and trying again. Spurring from the hope and promises that guided him only to fall less than he was before… If he could be any less, he didn’t know? Just what was missing— if there was anything at all?
Henry felt his Thame continuously leave with no source of origin. He could feel his link close, and when he focused just a little more. He could feel a gentle warmth.
His hands shaky, raised into motion to pat the long head on his stomach. Dimetrodon’s eye cracked open, hued green contrasting to his orange eyelids. A vertical slit that didn’t look to be angry or piercing, but wide and evaluating.
The dinosaur bellowed, but it didn’t move. Henry made no move to, he probably couldn’t anyway.
They just laid their for a time. He was certain that the specters came to check on him, though they kept out of sight. But his sensitivity to Thame was much better than they were before, it was almost hard to miss the glowing bodies of energy that passed the reach of his senses.
But there he lay, drifting. Catching himself closing his eyes, and just letting it all go.
The emptiness didn’t drag for so long, and each time he awoke he could feel himself move more.
On the fourth time, he didn’t feel so tired. He didn’t feel such an empty pit in unending failures. It was probably just his mind lagging behind before booting all the memories to drag him back down.
But it was a strange thing, this moment. He was numb, caught in between the dream and reality. Where peace was found, and where nothing could seem to break it.
He felt relieved, allowing himself to believe in brighter thoughts. To a brighter future. Something that wouldn’t whittle down his years into an unending meaningless existence.
He wanted… something more. Something to live for. He didn't really want to die anymore...
A faint echo sparked within himself, and then their was a roar. Pressure fell upon his mind.
Henry nearly screamed, and cried. Just as he was in that milky white void.
The link between his bond was the only other thing left outside his thoughts. But even then, there was another beginning to form. At least he felt it to be— it was just so different, foreign. Thame echoed throughout his body, breaking off from the whole to a thousand minds of its own. He felt the link to his bond sever, and the dinosaur instant shot up from its rest. Standing over, both eyes rendered to the sharpest slits.
The energy gained momentum, before it began to combine in a fierce movement. His skin started to tingle, muscles began to spasm, and worse, the pain began.
Henry gritted his teeth. Trapped in the in between, paralyzed.
He could do nothing but feel the turmoil battling, devouring one another as his body began unbelievably hot. Grunting in-and-out air. He felt all his muscles coil upon themselves.
Henry didn’t blink. He couldn’t feel the approach of the specters before they all loomed over him.
Dimetrodon growling at them all. Standing over his body as a protector.
Riker said something, but it was lost due to the blood rushing his ears. All that was left, an agonizing wait to the end of chaos that was happening in his body.
Igniting a spark of green, the pain surged and Henry was allowed to scream.
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Henry rolled to his side, throwing up the only thing left within him. Water. Again his stomach seized, he was shacking all over, but nothing came over.
“Oh please, gods. Whever—“ Henry half-hurled. His words caught, tears pouring. Under his breath he whispered, “Please…”
Shaken, but coherent, Henry didn’t want to touch the puddle. His mind whirled as he suddenly felt heavier, like his mind and soul weighed another ton. But he had to move. Wrestling himself up, he shuffled until he was at the wall. Tripping as he almost kiss the dust layered upon it.
He twisted, and slid down, his back touching the wall with his entire body spread out. His breath was short, staring at the specters judgment as the pulsing settled down.
“Well, that is interesting.” Ifeden, exclaimed. Coming closer than any of them to look him over. “Usually one finds their origin, before aligning their scales.”
“Could’ve been a blockage.” Ize gave input. “There more commonly aligned with Yor, but they are so rare. Even our records only mention their existence.” She paused, humming. Henry could almost see a frown through the mist. “But the mechanism should have been perfect, a star made it so.”
“And what of his arrival?” Ifeden asked. Clearly taking more stake, his words were hard. “It wasn’t so perfect to begin with.”
“I don’t know… he didn’t have any signs to mention an imbalance.” Ize replied. “With the mechanism still working, and the influxes of Thame… If anything were to happen, it would have been during the formation of his body… not now?” Her words were hesitant at the end.
It was clear they did not know, nor did he. But he looked within, clear of any disturbances.
The fire in his gut, he could feel it— the mass of green; the size of a golf ball, pulsing with his heart.
His breathing calmed. His body stopped shaking. Henry could finally look up to the specters in focus, Ize and Ifeden still in their discussion. But Riker— he stared, frowning. A tick in his eye at times.
If he ever was to say that a man was holding back his anger, smothering it by rigorous control. This would have been the look he would think of.
His eyes shifted around, Dimetrodon was nowhere to be seen.
So when Riker floated above him, he had no guardian. His ghostly hands floated down, picking him up by the hems of his shirt.
Henry was unsettled.
Riker was unamused, he grunted. Henry felt a change in Thame, a strain on Riker’s face as he twisted. Henry’s eyes widened, with Riker’s roar he sailed through the air.
Henry yelped, or screamed. A mix, when he was turning to face the coming ground.
He tried, to do something. Anything to call the Thame within him, hoping— praying for another surge. But there was nothing.
The stone meet his shoulder, just as he tightened into a ball. Skipping, rolling in pain until he lost momentum, with the side of his face pressed against the track.
Henry groan. He could almost overhear the yelling ensuing, and the taste of iron. Warmth trickled down his lips.
Oh… I think I broke my nose.
Seconds more and he was picked up like a kitten by its scruff. Staring at Riker, unable to even give a glare, but a mopey expression. The others were there, Ifeden holding his other arm. Ize prickling his fingers to release him.
“That’s enough Riker.” Ifeden command, his armor appearing brighter with chaotic lines upon it.
“We are missing the window, Ifeden.” Riker growled. “This child needs pressure, real pressure. If we don’t seize this moment to build momentum, there might never be another while we still are able.”
“This isn’t what we agreed— its insane.” Ize said. “His summon has been forced to recall, anymore pressure could recoil and wipe away everything we have done. It might even cripple him!”
“Wasn’t it you that called the path of Yor barbaric?” Riker retorted, Ize’s mist shook. “Well here is the raw form— at the cusp of breaking the boy grew. And I’ll be damned to the River if we let this go!”
“Riker!” Ifeden screamed.
“No! You all know nothing of our path, this is how it is. Our way— there is no other way to live!” Riker’s own muscles seem to bulge, the flood of Thame was setting off alarms to Henry’s senses. Creeping into his very mind.
He could barely keep himself awake, now he faced an oncoming punch. But the pressure upon his mind was beating the slow fist.
What was this… six… seven… I’ve lost count—