“Are you kidding me? What is even the point?” Henry glared at them, adjusting his bare clothes— he didn’t know he was naked before. “Your order is gone, but you want me to take up the mantle that might— no, certainly, get me killed outright?”
It was his second chance and yet he was being thrown to fire and brimstone already. No… he couldn’t, he didn’t have the heart to be something like this. A soldier for a fallen order.
Henry grasped at the memories of decaying void, feeling a migraine creeping its way back.
The “River of Souls”; a place— apparently, where the dead depart onto their new lives. “Free from their burdens to carry to a new life,” at least that’s what he was told.
Because it’s what they were told. What everyone has been told.
It was ridiculous, once more because there were no deities. No “Gods” in worship, only mortal people wielding colossal power.
Seekers; they called them. Though, they sounded more like those Cultivator stories, having some form of summons on their belt.
His thoughts of living a welcomed adventure hit him like a truck, he almost forgot about self preservation.
Almost…
“What do you even have to complain about— you're alive!” Riker was in his face. “We could turn this thing off, and send you back to the River.”
“Then do it, you overgrown hog!” Henry vented, gritted his teeth in a stare down.
“This is getting us nowhere.” Ifeden came between them and pushed as far as he could. “Now Riker, self worth is hardly considered malefic.”
The man scoffed. Vindicated, an unknown smile crept on Henry.
“But! that doesn’t mean we are going to allow for any more of this, Henry.”
“What?” Henry replied.
“We have but one purpose left… Our order has fallen, and with it, our name extinguished with all the good we brought. Regardless of what you may think, we will see to it that another soul can actually have the heart to care. Not just for ourselves, but all ways of life in these lands. In this world, if we dare to hope.”
Henry felt the man’s conviction. With every word spoken, a belief that there was no truth greater. That it was their duty, long after they departed, to quell the sins that corrupted Avatars, and hold against the forces that paved their path to the stars in ruin.
“This really isn’t much of a choice.” He grumbled.
Ifeden shrugged, “Not much for us either. We only had a single chance at drawing a soul. If you were anything like the depraved we’ve sworn against then there would only be a blip between moments in the River.”
Henry noticeably worked the thought, “What makes you say that? I could be putting on an act, or what if I go against whatever you preach while I’m out there?”
There was a titter.
Ize looked to be covering her mouth, but weirdly the mist around her gave it away as it almost danced happily.
“Call it intuition.” She said.
Henry frowned. “It’s not mind reading, is it?”
At once, she almost seemed offended. “Impossible. Best you could hope for is to communicate to each other’s mind, with the consent of both parties.”
“Then how? How can you be so sure of anything your “intuition” is telling you.”
Ize took a hold of her bearings, her mist formed in line. Sure; certain of her presence. “More so than any Trace, Avatar, or Thame, you can tell a lot about a person by their first impression. Their stature, speech, tone… of course none of it matters its dolly play, or a known gathering. It needs to be spontaneous, a surprise. Of that we can assure you, in our long lives, I’ve known many people. Many harbingers that would corrupt our purpose, in you I see nothing, but a scared little boy. Not the best prospect, but it’s far greater than worst a man could be.”
There was silence, only making Henry frown harder. Like something tied his tongue and heart, pausing the moment entirely. As he looked at them, and then himself, he knew who was right and who was playing.
He was scared, frightened below all the grit he tried. Try as he might reason, the spasms in his thoughts were evident to himself. He wanted to push through, ignore the fear entirely because, what purpose did it help him but make every second guess an opportunity to slip away.
He wanted to break from it, get away entirely, to cut apart this from himself and throw it into the milky River. Torn asunder, never to infect him again. But he couldn’t, it was almost self evident.
In the face of these old ghosts, who perhaps lived countless lifetimes. He was only a speck, no matter how their words, in the barest form of their interaction, was only allowed by a stay of execution.
Ize’s chuckle made him flinch. “Don’t take things too much in heart. We wish to help, and in doing so hope that you will aid us in our own ways.”
“How…?” Henry asked, with a word that encompassed a thousand questions.
“We shall start from the beginning. If you wish to understand?” Ifenden replied. His voice strained, but a bit brighter. Henry nodded. “It began with a man much like yourself, Marcus he once was, came to this word in a turn of cosmic fate…”
----------------------------------------
Velin; Marcus, as he was once called, was the Second Curator, followed his master in the Age of Falling Stars. Where Monoliths and Obelisks still stood unclaimed, unguarded, if only for the ripple of wars that sparked at any attempt.
In the time, Seekers were prolific as were Rifts throughout the continent, bringing about the descent of even more Monoliths, Obelisks, and, for the even rarer touch— Gates, brought ascension closer. Diviners felt intuition of years, some decades ahead with their Stellar Avatars. Even Thame itself was said to be thicker, spurring on the development of paths, knowledge, and Traces unseen since.
It was prosperity, a new dawn rose as it would come be referred; the glory of the old ways. At least the way it was written, but to those that lived during the time. It was anything but. Chaos and greed ran rampant, a consequence of so many of the era. Held down, and together by those who found the right mind to pressure the wars and skirmishes.
Riker, Ifeden, Ize lived through the heights of the conflict. But they weren’t so at the forefront of the chaos— they were just buds when Velin found his troubles.
With each month that passed, both, him and his master, fought off the obsessions of mad men. He didn’t want to kill. Velin did everything to not in those days. But when they were continuously cornered for the proofs they held— there was no other option.
At the time there was a bloom of Diviners with muddled creeds, becoming more information brokers than the common prophets of the Stars. Selling information on the wealth a Seeker hid upon themselves. Though the power wasn’t the truth it was something people listened to, no matter how lesser their sponsors were.
In his Seventh year, journeying briefly without his master, the attacks suddenly spiked. Each week was a battle. A month would be a war. As Velin fought without the knowledge of what they were after— “an item that held untold power”, or so the brokers told.
It wasn’t until he came upon his master again that he shared his troubles.
Though it would seem that his master was in the same predicament, if the attacks were less than his own.
They combed through their wares, until they found a useless piece of rock— proofs from Unique Ranked rifts. It had no desirable Thame. No Avatar. No knowledge. No Spirit… It had nothing at all.
Until the pieces snapped together, releasing a wave of Thame that shuddered them both.
At the time, they didn’t know what it was. Perhaps equipment, or more worriedly, an Avatar needing to be restored.
If such an Avatar was needed to be torn apart, but could not be broken entirely. Then it was truly destruction in the palm of one's hand, an end to the era. And the beginning of untold suffering, for them, and many more.
A thing that they couldn’t allow to happen.
They stuck to their respective Realms, setting to the task immediately. Gathering Proofs needed to hide from all forms of Divination before making an attempt at finding the rest of the pieces.
What was a long, and grueling journey of four years culminated in a meeting within a mountain. Deep underground, under all the protections they could gather the pieces were reunited.
The world shuddered. The space went white. And in the end appeared a woman of auroras, covered lightly within a cloth of dusk, a single star illuminating at her heart.
It was then Velin and his master knew who or rather what this was—
She was a Star.
Legends tell of watchers, the source of prophetic divinations. Beings aiding the ascension of Seekers through dreams and whispers. Few believed it to be true besides the most devout, and strangely, most powerful Diviners. But this was, as the First and Second Curator swore, to be an absolute truth.
The Star— she fell in the wake of the new era. With no hope of returning to her former state, weakened on this plane, she could not fight off her captures should it be someone other than those who found her. For that she was grateful and whispered secrets for the paths they wish to pursue.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The first and second were profoundly grateful and thanked the Star, only to know fear when she asked for help.
They learned.
Though wise, they were not omniscient. Though they could see the threads of destiny weaving, they cannot predict what tapestries it would form. They were guesses, highly educated, and filtered guesses— for a countless destinies, both grand and small, have rewritten themselves in acts of unrestrained will, both with purpose and ignorance.
The Star saw it all, felt its wonder amidst her newborn sight, so she pushed through the webbing of strings, of fates, entwining themselves with infinity and eternity. Taking breath in their majesty, until… there was an END.
In that moment, she fell from the Stars. Her conciseness breaking apart, leaving her as nothing more than broken proofs within Rifts.
There was a long discussion of what they should do— could do. Because what could they do? If a mere glimpse of nothing fell a Star.
Though there was another truth, one that they struggled to do anything with. Even if they were to pass through their Realms, attain Avatars of Legendary existences, they would not live before their death or Ascension.
An argument broke between the first and second, of putting forth any effort into a solution. They couldn’t come to an agreement, for only when the Star asked the first again, did he grumble and succumb.
From there they formulated a plan, an organization, with purpose and order. For everything that they hated in the care of the Seekers of the day. They would fight for it, gather allies wherever they could, and mask the funneling of resources under decay or destruction. Giving everything to the Star, under her guidance, the first and second built the Soul Clarion in secret before departing this world.
It was when the three of them; Riker, Ifeden, and Ize were asked to leave apart of themselves for this duty.
They agreed, relinquishing part of their power.
Waiting for the day where the strings of fate went tight. And an echo caught the mechanism into motion. In the hopes of creating an Anomaly against the destruction they believed to be the END.
----------------------------------------
“So this… Star prophesied the END you’re telling me about?” Henry asked.
“It wasn't any sort of prophecy, but the absence of any.” Ifeden said.
“And why would that be a problem? Didn’t you just say fates could change on a whim, why would it matter that there was nothing?”
“This guy—“ Riker strained.
Ize took over from his suspected outburst. “A Star is one of the few entities in this world that is not part of the Avatar Domain, a “seer of all” and divinations.” She said in some part of sarcasm. “If it couldn’t see to anything more then we are dealing with something, either on par to thwart their probes or the world is turning into something no being could foresee.
“Something is coming, and we can only hope we’re prepared for it.”
“Okay… but why do all of this? Or any of it, what’s the point? If you're taking such colossal risks, why give yourself to this cause?” Henry asked, one after another. Riker looked to be blowing a gasket, but he had to know. These people waited for god… star… knows how long? What drove them to this cause, this sacrifice, he needed to know. The why, and will of it all?
“It’s our creed.” Ifeden responded vehemently, without an ounce of offense. “To explain more of our history would take time, for you to understand would take a lifetime. But the principles that we come down to is honor and gratitude…
“We’ve seen much destruction, Henry, fought wars against many Seekers looking to enslave even common villages. Sometimes we failed, we lost many people over the years, against the forces that swelled with equally malefic minds. Taking more hopes, and burdening their futures with chains.
“Do you know the only kind of person that breaks free from those constraints?”
Henry was asked. He contemplated, but he had no reply.
“A man who would seek the destruction of the world.” Riker spoke, his voice hard. “They are strong, bred to be unwilling. Sometimes it does happen, a society gone in their wake. The End. Other times, the cycle repeats itself. These are the ways we’ve seen the heartless turn the world.”
“Our organization sought to end these rulers. These cycles of destruction.” Ize proclaimed. “Though they didn’t have enough power to combat them entirely, we still tried… we are still trying.”
“It’s why we gave a piece of ourselves over.” Ifeden continued. “Because we wish for less destruction, and an unmarred way of life against too many enemies. We hope you can trust us with a chance, to continue this legacy. And see to the old wish to the end.”
The pause was palpable. Henry didn’t realize a question was being asked till they waited, staring at him.
Still, as he mind gently unfroze.
He had nothing to lose, plus it could be worse.
“Well…” He spoke, gazing into each of them. “Let’s see where this goes.”
“Gullible twit.” Riker huffed.
“What?!” Henry whipped his head to the specter. “I could just as well end this for your bullshit.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Riker waved him off to the amusement of the others.
“Then we have not a moment to waste.” Ifeden waved his hand, announcing an opening to a door. “Come, your path will start but a moment more.”
Ifeden went, followed by Ize and Riker. Henry took a breath, really thinking if there was some kind of secret option in all that. But them's the breaks, he guessed, following in the spectral flakes of his… teachers?
Henry shrugged, and followed his future.
----------------------------------------
What started out as a little light telling, morphed into something heavier than what Henry was expecting.
The Curators of Wys; the name of their fallen organization. Stood the test of discord, when others fell to ruin, they kept on. Secrecy protected them through the centuries, but it stifled their future. Their numbers dwindled, from a couple hundred to but a few handfuls. It was hard and grueling, keeping some form of peace with the people and Seekers when the vaults required much of their time.
It was what started their downfall.
Avatars are fickle beings, choosing who to bond and continue their path, or lashing their existence against those who try to dominate their Hearthstones. It was all quite confusing to what Henry heard, his questions on the matter were dissuaded for a later time. For now he learned of the incident.
Being so drained on man power some of their only recourse was family. Parents and relatives bringing their blood teach their ways and to help those Hearthstone that found themselves unwilling to pass onto a new Trail, or were too damaged to attempt it all together.
Their vaults and Curators were tasked with the duty to heal their wounds and see to it they pass on from their troubles.
It was when one young blood came under their tutelage, caring for the Avatars under supervision. But it was believed that once the boy gawked at the collection of higher ranked Avatars everything changed.
The head Curator was unaware of the boy’s attempts at domination. Until the man audited their vaults and found numerous Hearthstones on the verge of breaking. Crying out in pain.
It was written that the mountain shuddered and that the man almost killed the boy outright. Until his blood came to save him, the boy's mother pleaded, sparing his life. Throwing the boy into prison until punishment was enacted.
What followed was a forced sundering of his bonds, and the fall to become a mundane child again. Regardless of the pleas from his mother.
That very day, they both fled the mountain and they were never seen again.
But just a year later, a collective of Seekers stormed their stronghold. Knowing each and every manner of traps evaded. The Curators of Wys fell that day, but not before the Head Curator wrote the last entry, burning the book that kept the specters in the loop, and creating a fractured portal to spread the Avatars throughout the continent. To have a chance to heal on their own.
It was unknown if the man succeeded but of what started as a story of cold indifference. It was the only sense of warmth he found.
But the silence that followed was becoming unbearable. Their hope didn’t outweigh the images that flurried his mind. He couldn’t take their sorrow… he was only beginning anew— he needed something else.
“Is there any reason why you had to pluck a soul from the River, rather than just picking up some orphan from the streets?” Henry asked. Quickly and abruptly changing the topic.
“Depending on the nature of arrival; Transmigrators, Otherworlders, the like, they are temporarily unbound by the world.” Ifeden said. “They are left unseen by the strings of fate, creating a variable that can affect the world without any hopes of divining the source.
“A natural shadow in the light of Divination, if you will.”
“And for how long will I be undetected by these strings?” He asked, concerned for anyone looking for an Anomaly.
“If the Star’s words are to be true, then for quite a while,” Ifeden turned to his head and looked at Henry. He felt eyes upon him, studying him. Causing a brief shiver down his spine. “Don’t worry, we’ll get started soon enough.”
The walk was little more till another door opened to a runway, or rather a track circling a coliseum. In the center clay, there was a plethora of modern weights and equipment. Along with some wooden swords, spears, and other weapons that gave it a spartan field. Although, the chalkboard was a bit misplaced, and there was a strange formation of podiums in the center of it all.
Henry couldn’t help but let out a whistle. “This is a lot bigger than what I was expecting.”
Ize tittered, “We had to prepare a lot for different possibilities. But since you’ve taken a look, have you trained with any weapons in your life?”
“Uh… I fired a gun once.” He replied, a bit shook out of it as they all stared.
“A gun?” Riker asked incredulously. Something appeared to click in his head. “What kind of world did you come from?”
So Henry told of his world; of these weapons being set aside through the ages, of the rise and use of electricity, and the birth of the information to the modern age. A world of technology.
Riker let out a great big sigh of… relief, turning to Ifeden with a smile. “Looks like this is going to be your problem.”
If the armored man appeared annoyed Henry didn’t hear anything, but Ifeden gave Riker a pointed look.
“It is still early for his test.” Ifeden exclaimed.
“Yeah, sure— but come on, what are the chances of it not being?” The burly man retorted, which caused them to go at it, in history that he couldn’t follow.
“Can someone please explain to me what is happening?” Henry asked, but to no avail in stopping their discourse.
However, Ize gently floated over to him. “They’re going to be like that for a little while, centuries old bets resolving. I hope you can understand, but I assume you're confused as to the importance?” She asked.
Henry nodded, in part.
“See, there are many worlds from which travelers come and make their place in our world to call home.” She spoke wishfully, but resigned. “Most of the time, for travelers to get anywhere it requires a hard reflection upon the world, for you see, the laws that govern this one, and yours are far more drastic.”
“How? Everything feels much the same… besides the magic you guys speak of… but how could there be no technological advancement.”
“Thame.”
“What?”
“The power that runs this world, courses through all works, wonders, and beings. It is how Seekers are born, how the world runs. If you don’t have such power then you are bound to the whims of the world’s flow.”
Henry paused, massaging his head. “I— This is hard to wrap my head around.”
Ize nodded and patted his head. “We know, we're here to alleviate some of the burden, though possible it takes a great deal of Thame and knowledge to manifest such things as you describe them. But it’s far too early for anything like that.”
“Even guns?” Henry asked, absurdly. For how could such things impact gunpowder and metal?
“Yes. Even guns.” But the answer she gave was so sure, that Henry could not help but whimper in defeat for the grand changes he would have to get use to. Ize looked at the squabble dying down, “Are you finished? I was hoping we could find his bond by the end of the hour.”
Riker and Ifeden calmed.
“Apologies,” Ifeden said. “We’ll see Awakening immediately.”
The specters left him for the central podiums, leaving but one thought in his mind.
My Awakening?— Holy Shit!