Under the moon, the headless man continued to lounge. Waiting. Times passing as the child began to take his first step, pushing the boundaries of the insignificant gift they’d given. If all went well, these little changes might just see the child through.
Until came the second obstacle, and the Nightmares entangled themselves with the world.
If the child wasn’t so blind in feeling the course effect of Miasma, then perhaps all of this could have been rendered to a brisk walk. Now only the consequences shall play out, and they didn’t need to dabble any more attention.
They had better things to do. Their tea was nearly ready, but perhaps, a little writing is in order.
The signet was silent.
Well now, this is interesting...
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His fingers were unbearably hot, guided along the stone walls as Gregor’s bellowed breaths of desperation. Each change, turn, and round about brought the Nightmares closer. Their laugher numbed his ears; to the point all he could feel was his pulse, and the muffled shrills that still carried their unwavering delight.
He ran. But his reserves of Thame was near its end, as the Spell took only Tae for itself. His Miasma funneled dispersed as part of the Spell. He honestly didn’t know how much longer he could handle this.
Gregor’s eyes strained at the next turned. His senses maxed in ways he didn’t know was possible. The blinding light shone like the sun, encased in the shadow of metal.
He nearly paused, but kept on running. Into the light, till it took him whole and released the Spell.
The world abruptly jumped in speed, as he found himself falling to the stone. Gregor tried to catch himself to no avail, his body wouldn’t listen, nothing would. He fell in shock, he couldn’t even scream as his muscles spasmed, pain radiated, as he felt his body boiling.
Gregor tried to do something, anything. He tried to control his breathing, only to throw up on his side and sword. He smelled the noxious bile of acidic water, his throat burning. He groaned internally.
He laid there, under the light. Drowsy to his senses, sometimes he would fall asleep, only to catch himself awake by the surge of burning pain. He couldn’t really think of anything else than trying to control his spasms, as his Miasma went to chaos attacking his own body.
Why… Why, was this happening? He felt the question stem from his very soul.
Only silence remained as he continued to wither in pain.
His Miasma dispersed, again. The surge along his spine felt like someone was crushing it. He groaned, straining his arm as he released his hard grip on the sword, rolling over to get to the fresh air, and away from the bile.
Gregor stared at the cold ceiling, the warm light of the lantern at the edge of his sight. Gregor thought he to only listen to the sound of his heartbeat till this was all over, but soft clicks brought him out of his drifting thoughts to turn his neck.
He was safe, he assured himself. In the safety of the light.
But the clicks wore away his resolve, at corner of his eye a familiar figure came to the outer rim edges of his peace.
“Having some trouble.” The headless man asked.
Gregor didn’t bother with the reply. That— thing could just as well be a Nightmare. Gregor couldn’t trust, it. No one, only himself.
The headless man hummed. If Gregor didn’t know any better then he would have imagined a frown on his face. “This quiet a difficult situation.” He spoke openly, without focus. “Just a simple matter of the challenge, the very last challenge, and yet you could face the little horrors in the dark? Ashame there isn’t anyone here to help you out of this current predicament?”
Gregor didn’t bother to look. There was a brief surge of pain, mellowing out whatever words came.
A long, groaning sigh broke the monotony.
“This was suppose to be simple.” There was strain on the voice. The light grew colder, and the world shrunk with unknown force. A pressure emanated, not on him but nearby, even the residual effect was making him choke, as the clicking returned, and the headless man stood over him.
Gregor’s eyes went wide, try as he might’ve there was nothing. He couldn’t move even a finger.
“I didn’t foresee wasting the opportunity at this time, but your mind has turned on an edge that would be quite bothersome for me.” They bend down, pressing their gloved hand onto Gregor’s face. “I claim the debt I have give. From two to one, I claim your gift.”
A surge of cold oppression flooded his mind. Fear, anger, dread, emptiness, sadness… and countless forms of other collided in between, all competing mangling each other. Gregor tried to scream, he tried to fight back with his Thame, but nothing would would listen.
He lost control. He lost his breath. And soon the world went to black with the wispy hollowed feeling of losing something he could never get back.
----------------------------------------
Dreams moved quickly, as Gregor hoped they would. Lingering in the darkness, awaiting the seconds from the floating feeling to the conscious count of time rolling by. It was much the same— his heart beat as a heavy drum, pounding to echoes.
A light came from the dark, flickering in its form.
He knew the play; what happens next, the feeling seared into his very being. The flicker turned to a sun, and tore his body apart. Piece by piece, not allowing him to wake from this dream.
“Des… Desc…” A word echoed, through it all. Not a voice, not any tone he though he knew, but somehow he knew it instinctively. The meaning, through all the burning.
“Descent.”
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Gregor awoke straight up in a panic, his body shot up on its own. The lingering pain was gone, everything felt so clear, refreshed form the unknown burden. He could almost say happy, if not for the lingering dream. The fire. Nigh on destruction in the face of the overwhelming sun, tearing him apart with each pulse. Taking a single proof derived from it all.
Descent. He no idea what it meant anymore than the word. Should he even trust his own dreams— no, he couldn’t think that. The end, it was the only memory that still stuck with him, clear as the first time he saw the vision. It had to mean something.
He brought himself out of his reprieves and thoughts, he was still within the warm light. But, he didn’t see his pack anywhere. A surge of panic came, he looked around, everywhere, but there was nothing. Only his sword left to stew in clear bile.
“No…” He whispered. The realization lagged behind, trying to cram through a mindful door much too small. His pack— his notes, were gone.
No, maybe they were just in the darkness— yeah I just need to… He tried, Stars knows he tried, over an over again to call for his little light. Only there was nothing, no Miasma, no Tae. No Thame.
The door broke. As Gregor felt the tears come on their own.
Shuffling back was his only instinct, till he felt wall press against his shoulders and the light directly over him. But there was no warmth here, just more cold stone and the dawning failure of what he lost.
Was this— any of it worth it? The question echoed a long held sentiment.
He had ran across the kingdom to the mining town, without rest, without a horse, without stopping to truly delve into the writings he had left for himself. Passing three other Rifts in the process while he lost himself to the shining hope that had wrung him of near everything. Save for the few notable interests, there details lost, and honestly, he was scared. Scared that he was going to forget them, and have his father’s life mean nothing because of his shame… because he was careless, when he had given himself every advantage not to be, and yet…
What was the point? Even if he did make it out of here, what were his chances? Against the world that slayed him countless times over. Taken every good thing that he had come upon, and even then, in those few rising moments, he still felt perfection fall short.
His mind drifted, falling down to the abyssal reaches, where no other emotion could be found but the hollowed emptiness. And there he would stay, because what could he do?
A motion caught his eye. His head raised by instinct, finding a crisp piece of paper fall down before him. He cupped his hands as the piece found its place between his palms.
He read it with little regards.
‘All things must be fair upon this Trial. What you’ve lost, will not be graced again. But your sword, shall, for a single time, be a weapon that can battle against the truth of Miasma.
Speak the word, “Ainuliqu.” And your time shall begin.’
The words came as an echo, a voice in his mind revealed upon each word he concentrated. He knew them, each and everyone of them. Even the Spell that didn’t seem like one, it was… something different, something that would only work once.
But that was enough, right? It gave him hope, a way to move forward after he failed himself… At least, it should have… because even as he stared, as he knew this was a chance, a real light of hope, he couldn’t help himself.
Just… What was the point?
His arm fell to the stone floor, losing any will to hold the slip of paper as it caught an unknown breeze. He watched it dance back and forth in the light, sometimes falling, other times rising, for a good while it went. The rise. The fall. Until it straightened itself catching the wind sailing high before fading in a puff of mist.
Maybe it was just a feeling, being lost, having lost everything meant to carry him on, that in this one moment, he watched without a thought, without any need or feeling to ignore the dancing paper. He thought about his journeys, his father, mother, the trials of life they faced together. Always moving, on the good and bad days, even on the day of her passing— always moving. Across this broken land, they were scavengers, hunters, travelers, wanders, and many other names, some less charitable then others. But they continued, they went on, going on about a life so far down than the lofty heights he imagined his ancestors bearing. How its said they had fallen by betray and deceit, down the to the pitiful existence that was himself. Fallen further by more betrayal and naivety.
He thought about that, the fall, falling more with struggle and time. Over and over, things seem to repeat.
What was the point?
The question this time only made him angry. Why bother waisting his time with thought— he knew what reality was, so why?!
What was the point?
The thought just— wouldn’t go away! Gregor’s yelled pounding his fist to the floor. The pain was lost, the sounds of his benign cracking knuckles didn’t bring him out of it. He stood, his gaze was cast to the light hanging over head. It’s fickle flame, a soft light, was just an ploy— everything, this entire sequence, from the very beginning he had been had. He had failed before he even began.
He raged, punching the wall. And again, over and over till there was a warm wetness to his knuckles and the walls were stained with red imprint. His hands shook, squeezing them, testing them. They were enough.
Gregor looked to the light, just out of his reach. He picked up his sword, uncaring for the smell, and hacked the metal holding it up.
He hacked, his sword chipped— he didn’t stop, and the lantern broke off its hinges. Gregor caught it, uncaring of the hot glass as he got a grip on the broken handle. He looked to the darkness, the way forward, an familiar eeriness tried to make him back down. A white smile in the dark grinned wider.
What was the point?
There wasn’t. If he was to wither away, die today, have lifetimes of effort be crush in a single moment. He would raise his sword in one last piercing strike.
The smile laughed joined by others, tempted him. They didn’t need to as Gregor charged, uncaring but one thing on his mind.
He will kill the bastard!
----------------------------------------
The road was bare, if the only other saving grace of it being straight.
The laugher was gaining, their grins were spread wide at Gregor’s dismay. They could move faster, the feeling of dread upon, kept at bay by his rising rage. The laugher came at his heels— they were toying with him, they could move faster. He knew it to be true, by they toyed wit him like prey and kept at their games.
Laugher, filled with glee at his dread.
This was all forced upon him, this game, these feelings— wait…
Gregor’s pace slowed his mind eased in the torrent of emotions. A revelation came, that brushed away the dark. The lantern light got brighter, his vision got clearer. His feelings became his own.
That’s it! Gregor figured in part. What were Nightmares, why were they so feared.
He paused his run, the laugher began to petter out. And the once smiles that he was running away from, shown in front of his path. Their smiles, not as wide as he remembered.
He kept on, his first step a feeling trying to dig its way in. Assaulting the walls of clarity upon his mind. The second became more subtle, trying to weasel its way in. The third… and so forth, till he came upon the smiles. Their light fading, their glee hidden by false smiles.
Gregor smiled, in turn, raising his lantern. The smiles recoiled, and his turned malefic.
He went, he pushed and prodded, until one touched the glass of the lantern, and then the screeches came.
At once the mood shifted, a pressure came down, upon the smiles. Bursting into a mist of white light blocking his path. Gregor winced. Their agony resounded, till it all returned to darkness. A single smile, the size of his own, gave a big grin.
But Gregor did not stop. The smile met the light and nothing came, but a the feeling of delight.
The battle ensued, both his mind and body. But he would not be put down, not after everything, not after he figured this whole thing out.
Something that even his future selves didn’t, they didn’t know. That Nightmares were not something to be scared of, they were something to set forth the challenge.
And challenge Gregor shall!
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The lantern flickered an exposed flame through a dented frame. His sword shook from its rest by an unsteady, cold, hand. Gregor’s teeth clamped down on the wet cloth on his right forearm, feeling the tiny fractures of glass pinching his flesh. The cloth stained red, the wound twisted what pain felt like; burning, freezing, surges of electricity, and every other manner of torment would flux the piercing would.
He felt the blood dripping down his arm. His wrist wet and crusty. If this kept up maybe there would be nothing left to drain; the loss of blood weighed on his mind.
Internally he raged, he clamped down on these fallible wanes in control. He would not be put down by himself; by neither his body nor his thoughts!
They tried to tarnish his mind. Take his light. Snuff his emotions. They were nothing but a false reality. He grinned manically at the their final act of desperate waste. Bashing the lantern up the smile’s form till it faded into mist. Screeching in pain and horror.
The malefic smile didn’t leave for a while.
The path didn’t have much longer thankfully— there was a light at the end. Not the toy of lantern light— moonlight.
Gregor came through the tunnels arch to an encircled room. A hole in the ceiling gave way to a columns of ethereal moonlight, shining down on a shallow reflecting pool. Bare of anything else in the room but the swirling cobblestone leading directly to the center of the pool.
He paused. His eyes shifting all over, looking for distinct breaks in the world. Anything that would be out of place.
He raised his sword to action, taking care to move directly towards the center— regardless of the swirling path. But he came upon the water, expecting something more, something perhaps to jump him. Only there was nothing, but his own reflection.
Until a familiar torso came at the edge of his vision.
Gregor didn’t panic as he looked to the headless man just a quarter’s length of the pool’s edge away. A notable pack stuck in the crook of his arm.
It was too much of a risk, he couldn’t take the chance. Not yet.
“And so comes wrath.” The headless man chuckled, marching away, along the water’s edge. They took a breath, a deep inhale. “You have no idea, the bounds that had me tormented to this charade.” They paused at his direct opposite end. “Its liberating. Pure bliss, oh though the debt has been render null after taking this.”
The headless man held up the pack without care, extending their arm to hovering over the pool.
Gregor tried to contain it, his rage. But the twitch in his eye was uncontrollable.
The headless man laughed, laughing like all those smiles in the dark.
“Wonderful.” The headless man’s voice was calm, filled with glee. “You know, there are many things that bind me here. And time does get ever so boring in ways you will never understand, the only thing left to me are my thoughts. For some its their own Trial, and ones that keep coming around convex me in this place to no end.” An invisible force opened his pack and fished out the papers. The memoirs of his father, and the promised future. Gregor’s eyes went wide, but he held his ground. The papers left to floated on each side of the headless man. “I wondered… Are dreams nothing without reality? Are things that lurk in the Dark limited to superior dreamers? That all there is, are just figments of life?…”
It’s stalling, there must be something about. Gregor thought keeping a loose ear to the conversation.
“…I thought about all this poised sentience, and Trials that passed. Some contradicted the experience, most didn’t make it this far, and the few that went past brought nothing to me. But, you—“ Gregor’s gaze sharpened as the papers began to float towards him. “You are the prop to show me an answer.”
The headless man gestured, their arms outstretched as the papers paused above the center of the pool.
They continued, “Choose.”
Gregor’s mind halted, “What…?”
“You may only keep one.” The headless man replied. Awaiting his word, “But I won’t be kept waiting— you have ten seconds.”
His heart jumped. Mind racing. Eyes shifting back and forth between the pages.
What would his father want? What would get him to the next step in his life? It was cruel, there was only one answer he could honestly say. The whisper of his father’s last words, his moments— this purpose, he would hole heartedly understand. No matter how much time had passed, whether he would forget some moments entirely wasn’t on his mind. He would remember them as he only knew them to be, his mother and father. Who loved him so dearly.
“Five—“
“I choose the Seeker Papers.” Gregor cut the headless man off.
There was silence, the headless man deep in thought. “Ashame.”
“What—!” Gregor yelped as the wind pucked up. A sheer cold bore into his bones, but nothing filled him more dread than seeing the water rise. “No!”
He dashed, a column of water rose. Taking with it him and all. The papers disappeared from his sight, he was struggling to breath, caught in the torrent. The light was snuffed, the lantern gone from his grip as he tried to grab a hold of anything.
Gregor felt a change, the water slowed and the memory of flight returned. There was no mercy. He tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath as the cold dug deeper. The shivers enveloped him, he was barely more than a thought in the moment. Rage was the only thing left, even as it too was flat.
Clean black shoes clicked before him. Gregor struggled to get up, his eyes met where a head would have been.
The headless man laughed like the smiles in the dark, “Do you feel it? A nightmare becoming real? Ah, what joy.”
Gregor hacked the being’s legs. Going right through— the path of the sword shrouded to mist, before returning as it was before. The being only laughed harder.
“Another joy.” The headless man kicked Gregor’s shoulder, sending him tumbling more. But he never let go of his sword. “I do love acting.”
Gregor’s form waved as he found his ground, standing before the being. His arm stretched, quivering the tone of steel.
“Looks like your having some trouble? Here, let me help.” It was too fast, barely an after image. There was a thud, and then a searing pain.
Gregor screamed. Falling to his knees. Blood spurting from his shoulder, his eyes shook at clean cut and then to the fallen limb, still gripping his sword.
He knew he only had a few moments. If this was the end, then he would not let himself go alone. Gregor wrestled his sword free. Rising to point directly at the headless man, his first step was the pillar, the second a thrust. The sword pierced half way into the being’s chest, shrouded in mist, once again, doing nothing.
“Oh, do you never learn?” The being rose another hand, slowly, mockingly. It was perfection.
“Ainuliqu.” The moment the word came out, the being paused, a wave of pressure, descended upon them. Upon his sword bloomed the dawn.
“This is against—“ Gregor raised his sword like the sun, cutting the being in half. His thoughts lingered, mind focused only on the cuts— the best he could do, the best he could make. Everything poured, nothing was left.
The sun died and the sword still beat a red hue. Until it cooled— there was a crack, a fissure spread upon its body till it reached the hilt. Shattering like broken glass.
Gregor fell to his knees once more, he was being to loose his sight.
In those few moments, time seem to slow down again. The familiar feeling of wasting away. He was ashamed, he had lost everything of meaning, everything of worth. Left with his failures and a sour victory…
Clap. Clap. Clap…
A slow clapping rung him out of it. His heart spiked once again, eyes focused, he saw that there was no victory. The headless man was before him, looking down on him from his lofty stand.
“Well, done.” The headless man spoke. “Let’s have a talk, shall we?”
Gregor barely hear the final word, before he let himself fall. Before he gave up the moment, in regret and sorrow. He had failed utterly.
----------------------------------------
Ize gave one last hug to Riker, though the man was strong, his arms shook within the mist. Saying some final words that he couldn’t make out. The man was clenching his teeth, again.
Henry received his own, the mist collecting into dew across his skin felt warm. Much unlike their practice. Those grueling needles that tested him at every turn was absent. There was only a hug, and hope.
They pulled away from each other, Henry not once seeing her true face even as their heads went past each other for the hug.
“I don’t think there is much for me to say, but continue as you were. Stay the course in some sense, but do not be blinded by the pursuits that come with being a Seeker. Help when you can, and, in these end times, be the good that isn’t afraid to show itself in times of need.” Ize finished, while Henry could only give a nod. His eyes becoming wet, while biting his tongue.
“I will do my best.” Was all Henry could reply with, his voice cracking at the end.
With it their touch of longing, a short but unknowable feeling of time and responsibility. As some part of him was confused, why did he care when he only had such a short time with them? The question was almost nonsensical, and simple at the same time.
Because they cared.
Henry watched, unblinking as Ize’s form began to fade. Like the fog rolling away with the dawn of the day, she was there for a second and gone the next.
Henry and Riker stood in silence for a while, their eyes meeting at a time. Waiting, for the other.
“This will be my last duty.” Riker broke the silence flatly. “You’ve been practicing the characters with Ifeden, and pressured by Ize. Now I shall give the two spells that will help your next steps. But do not let them be your guiding hand, that is not your path.”
Henry nodded. He had forsaken Endurance.
More than any Spell. Greater than any weapon. The paths for Yor were their truest gift.
No matter the Spell brought forth to push the body. In time they would dwindle down, be it at any Rank, the body would adjust and come to par and surpass in its path.
There was but a single caveat.
“Remember, no more than one Spell upon your body and one upon another form.” Riker command for what seemed like the hundredth time these past few days. “That is the limit, of Yor— do not test it more.”
“I understand.” Henry followed along.
“Good, then begin.” Riker instructed, as it was like any other day.
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Henry looked to Riker, and Riker in turn. It was down to the last minute, as Riker told, “He could feel the slowing of the mechanism.”
“I don’t need a heartfelt good bye kid.” Riker said, his face hard as it was all those times before.
“Not even a hug— ow.” Henry felt the smack on his head. “Screw you!”
Riker cracked a smile, his formed relaxed as he finally looked at him in the eyes. “Do your best, and don’t be too bogged down with what’s out there.” Henry nodded. “You got the coin?”
He nodded again. Adjusting the book bag on his shoulders.
“Good. Don’t spend it all at a pub, and make sure their still good. Wouldn’t want to have too much interest in your self so early.” Riker huffed, speaking on the pitfalls of the time they had been away. There had been more than he thought, and honestly, it was a bit of a worry. Hopefully not too much has changed.
Riker looked to his hand, it’s form faded to ash as the last act of will left his lips.
“Be good Henry. The world needs more people to face the long road head, no matter how much you have to tear someone down to get it.” The fading ash reached his cheek. Leaving only an echo. “Good luck, Henry.”
There was a click, a wall immediately revealed itself. Descending to revealed a rising set of stairs. He had little time to remissnesses. Taking the a slow wake, he glanced over his shoulder one last time before he made off. The door closed, and a row of crystal lights guided the way.
There was a rumbled, but he just went on.
Bits of dust and stone fell upon him, the rumbles were getting fierce, but Henry did not worry. An hour of ascension didn’t perturb his thoughts, he was out of it, thinking on all that had passed since he was summoned here. The only thing that brought him out of it was the light— many lights, as Henry came out to the night sky peaking through the trees. The mountain steeps brought were kind in their slopes, and the gentle walk found him looking around to a mundane world. A familiar world. Away from all the magics. It was wondrous in it own way.
The ground rumbled, a feeling of Thame suddenly washed over him. Before he heard the last of the passage rumble to a rocky mound.
Henry peered off in the distance, a road winding around the bends and hills. And surely at the end would be civilization. His feet found their place as he felt the whistle of the wind tickle his ear. Yor poured, and his speed rose. There was nothing left but to see what laid ahead, and Henry could not wait to find out.
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Gregor awoke with a sudden breath— the feeling of emotional whiplash brought him to a halt, he was back where this all started. Well, where he had taken a seat before the marble table.
A tea cup snapped him out of it. He stared at its sudden appearance, the soothing fragrance, he tried to pick it up only to feel nothing. The wound was closed on his shoulder, but he had no arm. He remembered the pain, the loss, turning to headless man seated across the table. Sipping his own tea… but where is the water going?
“Quite a low price for victory?” The headless man spoke.
The being looked the same, his voice was the same, but he recalled the words; the mismatch in demeanor. In this place full of illusions, he asked, “Who are you?”
There was a brief chuckle, sending a shiver down Gregor’s spine.
“You have no right to know.” There was a moment of silence. Gregor stewed on the inside. Recalling the turbulent time, what he gave— “Stop.”
The word he knew, and he shook under it’s command. How…
“But lets get to another matter, one that I think would be most prevent to the future of your time becoming a Seeker.” Gregor stood attention, the force still clamped his lips shut. “While, I have bonded your body so hat you will not die, you may no longer regain the biological form of your arm. Be it from any manner of Spell or Proof. Whatever you’ve lost, may never be regained.”
Gregor blinked. A question looming in the air without a word.
“You’ve experienced a great burden on your soul. Fracturing its very core, and mildly corrupting its very nature. Astounding to say the least in any world you came, but such damage should have been given time— a few years, to properly heal and set about on a Trial. Less you experience the consequences you face now…”
He was broken as he was told.
The soul overlapped the body, in all of its forms. Connecting the wider world, and allowing him to tap the reaches of Thame. Something Gregor didn’t whole heartily know, he knew of the soul but he thought it simply was— him. In all the meanings that he could take; his memories, personality, hopes, dreams… not that it was the sole link to the power of Thame.
“…With your fractured form, any part that detaches from the body for longer than a single second fades a part of your soul. The arm you lost ceases to be yours, even if attached it would only become a burden a show, a useless piece of flesh.”
“So what about me, the rest of my soul? Can I even become a Seeker?” His heart beat furiously, anxiously, fearing that he couldn’t move forward.
“As long you don’t put too much pressure on your soul, then you are free to go about the ways of the Seeker.” A smile crossed Gregor’s face. “But be warned, Oblivion is waiting for you at any moment, not even your chosen Avatars can halt its nature. If you find and fight the blights of power, beware, your soul might not be able to handle the strain.”
“Then… that’ it?” Gregor felt relieved, burdened but relieved, he could work with this. It was just another thing to watch out for.
“No.” His heart shot down. “With the sundering of your soul, your potential as a Seeker has been crippled.” Gregor felt the blood rushing from his face. “Not by the heights you’re able to attain, but the progress you must be willing to ascertain in your journey.”
“How… bad is it.” He asked.
“It’s not for me to say.” The headless man sipped his tea.
“Can—“ The pressure tensed again, shutting his lips.
“Come, let’s get to your last endeavour.” A clap resounded, and Gregor fell on his face to the sudden appearance of grass. Gregor looked up to the headless man standing off to the side, a calm aura around this place.
He stood, trying to make sense of his new balance. His eyes locked on to the floating items across the five pedestals. Two rings. A bracelet. A tome. And…
“Are those…” Gregor couldn’t believe his eyes. The papers…
“Yes, those are the collection of papers the Nightmare destroyed. The realm saw it fit to give you a chance at what you’ve lost, at least in part.” The headless man supplied.
“Then, if I should choose them?” He might not be able to have another chance at a Trial for quite a while, and it most certainly won’t be like his first time. It wouldn’t be fair— if he should lose, there were no balancing acts.
“You will still gain a Mark, and your soul noted as having reached at least one attempt at a Trial. So think carefully, their are no second chances here.” The headless man said in finality.
“Then what about the rest?” Tearing his eyes away.
“The Tome is a Heirloom, a collection of a dozen Spells that need no attunment your soul. While taking on the burden as one would call in your world, stances.” Gregor’s eyes went wide, he stared at the tome, and sulked internally. He could’ve done a lot with that book. “The rest of Avatars; the rings bear the rank of Rare, and the bracelet; common.”
“What are they?”
“That, I do not know?”
“How come?”
“It is not my place to assign your proofs, and never have I been given the nature of the Avatars before their choosing.”
“Will, any of these choose me?” His voice a tinge of worry.
“At least one will. On who I cannot say.”
The assurance didn’t set forth any calm. But Gregor stepped forward, reaching out to the rings. Touching it, he felt a wave of power surge through him— shocking him as he reeled back.
“Be careful, that shall be your only warning. Avatars in this place, are none too kind.”
Gregor nodded. He would not push the bond.
He reached for the second ring, it felt empty, like a dud, but there was no pain, only silence. Gregor looked the last with forlorn, he hoped for something more grand, something worthy of a Unique Ranked Obelisk, and his sacrifices. But he couldn’t complain, he reached out putting on the bracelet. There was a warmth that enveloped his body, a familiar feeling of Thame course through him, following a familiar path, reach to form in his mind, less than what it was.
There was a twitch, the bracelet morphed on his inner wrist, outstretched with a familiar sharp smile.
A laugh shook him, catching his ear he saw the headless man nearly doubled over. One of pure joy, without malice, without the need for pain.
“What an ending.” The being spoke, catching an unknown breath. “The realms do work in mysterious ways.” Gregor looked at the being, confused.
“What happens—“ Gregor was cut off, the headless man clapped and his vision blurred. But there was an echo to be heard, a title more so than a name. Coming along with the image of fire, and a smile in the light.
Jack O’lantern…