Prologue:

In the princedom city of Yasha'Lafiq, the powers that rule have waned under a hundred years of strained peace. As the commoners littering the streets see only what's in front of their eyes, they can not know the dangers that lurk just over the horizon, just beyond their stone walls, threatening to sweep their city in a storm of ash and dust.

In the shadow of a planetary disaster, a dour plot is struck.

The enemies of the first princess Iriazel had secretly accumulated in the High Azure Fortress earlier today, and were now rummaging through its walls and corridors in search of her. They were members of various factions within the princedom, recruited either under the cover or openly by the current second prince, Yanamusad. Their mission is to help remove the first princess from the First Throne and usher a new age for Yasha'Lafiq.

***

The white moon was gazing upon the gray and blue city of Yasha'Lafiq, sending its sparkling rays for the benefit of those roaming the streets at this hour. The clocks were hitting almost midnight and it has been dark for at least an hour, as the days here go. Most lamp lights have already been put out and the many inhabitants were fast asleep in the chilly desert night.

"In the blink of an eye he had already escaped, so I couldn't see his appearance," explained the tall, dark woman as the law enforcers nodded casually. She went on:

"But I am almost sure that it was a gremlin."

Immediately, the faces of those law enforcers started to show traces of worry, not because they were afraid of gremlins, but because they wouldn't want to chance upon offending the gremlin society of assassins, the Cultelari. They would much rather turn a blind eye on this small transgression and silently sweep it under the rug.

"Don't give me that!" interjected the woman, guessing their motives for worry.

"We wouldn't dare," excused the head enforcer. This woman was a brewess of vraja potions and tea of some relatively good renown, and had built an influential clientele over the years, including his own men at times. That was the only reason the head enforcer went to such lengths to help her.

"Not all hope is lost," she added. "My nanza-cat went to chase after this thief. When she catches him, even if the Cultelari seek to find trouble, they would naturally go after her. Besides, would they afford to cause problems to us, over a single gremlin?"

"Of course not, gremlin lives are cheap, the well-being of a human is worth a hundred gremlin lives!" said a red-faced enforcer with ardour.

"We'll keep this in mind," assured the head enforcer as he gathered his men to leave. "Then if the Cultelari come to us, we might have to return and take your nanza-cat. Is that alright?"

The woman sat deep in thought, but eventually nodded.

"Then have a good night lady Tisila. Please take care."

The broad shouldered men all turned on their heels and marched away, their hands resting lazily upon their suppression tonfas.

Not long after, the house already descended into quietness, as if nothing had happened. The night breeze rushed through the window, refreshing the woman's mood.

Part 1: Unfolding of the true path

Chapter 1: Resurrection

It is the golden color of dusk and dawn, her fur, and streaked like a tiger with inky black. Her light crimson eyes stare moody into oblivion and sometimes, she would sigh as if pondering. It seems like she did that too often lately.

Suddenly, there was a commotion on the street.

"Found you!" the feline Ssyba hissed, then lunged off her hiding spot into the main road.

She bounced against the buildings into the darker corners of the city. Even though she could feel her prey through the night's cold, a strange chilly wind poured sand in sheets and drapes and dispersed all scents into a haze, as if the universe was dishing out a last insult before its final punchline.

Not far ahead, the gremlin that she hunted looked like a dark humanoid rat, his long tail lashing through the air as he ran howling. He assumed with utmost certainty that if he stumbled he would be torn to pieces; his brothers would search the neighbourhood for days. Fortunately, that nanza-cat was chasing him straight into his trap.

Ssyba was now close enough to scratch the back of the gremlin's shirt. He lashed with his whip tail across her face and Ssyba cursed, then she surged forward in a burst of force, unsheathing her claws and ripping off a patch of fabric at his belt, where the stolen things were held. Desperately, the gremlin twisted loose and cracked a vial of liquid contents off a stone corner just to slow her down, jumped to the side and slid down the silken roof of a stationary baldachin. Ssyba hissed in anger. The mind-pain of whatever poison he threw in her face staggered her momentarily, but she fought against it.

Another individual called out across the expanse of the night from the shadowy corner of an alleyway, waving a stick high above his head. Her nocturnal nanza-cat eyes could have seen him clearly even in this darkness, if not for the noxious substance clogging her senses. What was he doing with that stick? Her fury boiled up seeing him coming at her, but her eyes fogged. She had been dominated, her master shamed, and so she was not entirely paying attention to notice that the stick was actually a club-weapon with an iron tip.

Bang!

The blow was swift, to the head, cracking painfully right above her left brow, and Ssyba saw raindrops like stars.

***

In a different part of the city, high up in the Azure Fortress.

The stone wall rippled like the surface of a pond, and a young-looking woman emerged in a sneaking manner like a smoke silhouette through silk.

Third prince Medzanalfif was sitting in serenity upon a cushioned chair and pondered upon the scrolls in front of him, then he shifted his attention to the emerging shadow figure.

"Come in," he ushered the young lady in and offered her his seat, which she took with a strange urgency.

"I have been found by brother," the lady said through pained gasps. "I have not taken precautions and I have had my treasury raided and emptied... They are finally… they are after..."

Medzanalfif finally raised his eyes off the document and paid full attention to the beautiful, royal woman. He studied her for a second then crouched in front of her, taking her palm in his and kissing her hand. She quickly brushed the gesture off and dragged her chair to the study table, where many grimoires, tomes and scrolls waited in a dusty, disordered manner.

"After you?" calmly asked Medzanalfif.

"Yes, however I am nothing but a speck of dirt before the powers at work," the lady answered with hostile tiredness in her voice. "I can be discarded, but I won't let them have me."

"Naturally," agreed Medzanalfif.

First princess Iriazel had been living for close to one hundred fifty years. She wasn't afraid to die and had in fact pondered upon leaving the world of the living for some time, but not until she had seen Medzanalfif on the First Throne. And so when she passed through the walls into this secret meeting room with such animated trepidation, it gave Medzanalfif pause to reconsider their situation.

The woman was tall and bent through years of study and letter craft, so much so that she somewhat resembled a willow tree. She possessed, Medzanalfif thought with a pang of sad affection, the air of a true arcane princess of lore, active with forward passion, childlike in her sense of wonder and an old library crone in matters of knowledge. Such women were rare, they made stuff of legends.

Finding her breath, the princess said:

"Brother is close to completing the breakthrough in his latest vraja potion and he shall resurrect the ancient king with it. He has, in fact, already found the alchemical capstone!"

Medzanalfif gathered his brow in a frown, because although an established scholar of ancient beliefs and had made himself familiar with the most popular theories of metaphysics and the metaknowledge of the divine, he had yet to learn of a method to resurrect dead humans. Even so he refrained from making ignorant remarks. Coincidentally, this somewhat obscure field of study was prince's Yanamusad speciality and obsession. He was the second prince of Yasha'Lafiq, a true grandmaster in vraja potion lore, a colossal combat maniac admired by many.

"And what have you learned that made you flee?" asked Medzanalfif.

"I have discovered that I am the capstone to a grade eight unbound vraja potion," said Iriazel.

Medzanalfif unwillingly let out a gasp.

"More specifically my blood and my soul."

There wasn't dread in Iriazel's eyes, observed Medzanalfif, but she started to tremble uncontrollably. The knowledge must have frightened her so much that she, though unafraid to die, fled in horror.

However, Medzanalfif observed more than terror in her expression. As hasty and breathless as Iriazel was, more than simple fear for her life animated her. It was like a torch light of hope amidst a forest of despair. She searched the dusty crumbling pages with a voracious need for knowledge, not for preservation. Grade eight vraja potions were celestial in power, with the capacity to rearrange nations.

"Does brother Yanamusad not know something vital?" asked Medzanalfif. There existed no stupid questions, in his opinion.

"I am not sure," replied Iriazel through gasps and empty swallowing. Sweat had started to puddle on her forehead. "He is too shameless, is he not?" Iriazel raised her fist and cracked the table.

"Of course he is," said Medzanalfif with the calmness of a desert oasis. "He has no intention of letting me get to the First Throne, and he openly wants you removed. The information that he wants to attempt such an unknown ritual is only yet another element to the equation that is Yanamusad."

Iriazel shook her head with depth and anxiety, saying:

"I would have aided him as I aided you, if only he sought Truth and not Power!"

"I know, Iriazel!"

"Oh, Med, brother Yanamusad was never one such as you. He is too lustful for gains and loves wealth and dominating too much. It troubles me that he is so willing to destroy a hundred years of peace, for what?"

Medzanalfif did not offer his answer, but they both knew the reason. If there was ever a clear reward for the most powerful, it was winning the First Throne and its secrets. Under Iriazel's over a hundred years of life, although Yasha'Lafiq experienced many battles for the First Throne, she kept advancing her position with overwhelming power and support from even some of the other princes. Her cemented foundations led to a change in the lafiqi ruling class policies, and the battles for the First Throne had eventually ceased. The result was a hundred years of peace, quite unprecedented in the history of the princedom.

"Does it really not trouble you?" Iriazel finally asked.

Medzanalfif was a sensible man. He had the habit of collecting himself together when all seemed too complicated, and making accurate observations.

"What troubles me is why does Yanamusad want to resurrect an ancient king if what he truly wants is the fat of the world? Wouldn't the king, once resurrected, remove him from the First Throne? The First Throne is, after all, the right of kings not princes."

Iriazel did not reply.

"Does he really know something that we don't?" asked Medzanalfif while pondering within himself.

"Ours is a cursed and hopeless nation," said Iriazel shrugging uncharacteristically.

Medzanalfif realized that she tried to convince her own self, due to fear. He reflected upon, then said:

"This resurrected king will be a storm upon us all, I am sure Yanamusad knows at least that. Naturally, he would think of him as being an usurper. I doubt even Yanamusad expects gratitude and servitude from a resurrected king. Truth be told, nobody knows what this entity would do once he walks the Jord again. Before long we might find all our heads ornamenting the Western gate, a grim reminder of the previous dynasty."

Iriazel hesitated further, stalled by Medzanalfif. As much as she despised the current form of government, with princes killing each other over the Throne as if the rulership of Yasha'Lafiq was merely the object of a game, the thought of an actual dark ruler hell bent on conquest or death horrified her. She tried to convince herself once again:

"The scriptures speak of this early antiquity king named Na'calial in great reverence, as one of the few who had successfully made the Break. He is titled the Watchful Iron Setting Sun and is reputed to have made our Alyriam the way it is today, and…!"

But these same historical facts which verily clouded Iriazel's mind with poorly aimed pride and overzealousness, filled Medzanalfif with sudden dread.

"I don't think so!" and Medzanalfif drew his hands across his face. "Alyriam is a desert. Alyriam is covered by the sands and ashes of destructive erosion. Alyriam is dead!"

Medzanalfif's dreaded wit made Iriazel fix him with a pained look, because he had spoken the truth: Alyriam was dead. At this, where Iriazel held high knowledge and a near innocent idealism in worship, Medzanalfif acted as a bulwark for her laxity.

She was simply conflicted and stunned about the rapidly surging changes. In perhaps all of Yasha'Lafiq, there was nobody truly moved by a greater demand. Men and women watched for themselves only, wanted power and riches for themselves even if all else is damned. The circumstances of their world simply demanded such self-deceit and aye, even treachery. For one to eat today, another must starve tomorrow and that fact filled every single citizen with an ingrained anxiety and ego. But the heavens were fair. In exchange for ultimate suffering, ultimate happiness could be achieved. Ultimate hunger would lead to infinite plenitude. All death to life. The whole or reality was bound by infinitely wide and small and deep chains of godly unknowable nature.

It was a world where the power of one could rival the power of nations. In such a world, strength alone was the sole ruler and the cycle of princes was proof of that. Nothing was a guarantee, except for ultimate power.

Iriazel had held such majestic power in her own hands and knew what it meant. She wasn't even modest about it. Thus she knew:

If Yanamusad's main purpose was to conquer the Break at the end of the world, with the help of Na'calial, it would come at a mortal price. That was the only likely outcome.

Perhaps this is why she now leaned exhausted on the chair, all texts and grimoires forgotten. Perhaps she had envisioned in her mind's eye the full dimension of such events. Sorcerous rituals, foreign vraja equations, their brother at the center of it all, his ruthless ambition threatening their peaceful lives. Would he kill Iriazel to secure the throne? Without a shred of a doubt. Would he risk the safety of the people of Yasha'Lafiq for his own scheme? Most likely.

Both of them fell silent, considering the same motives and concerning themselves with the same questions.

With a loud roar, shouts mere paces on the other side of the wall startled them suddenly. How long has it been?

Iriazel had used a grade five shadow ghost vraja potion earlier and so managed to seep through the stones, but these men had no such ample resources. Although the second prince was clearly aiding them towards a successful assassination, providing them with vraja potions and help, they naturally wouldn't own such quality potions as princess Iriazel, herself being the first princess.

"Lady Iriazel," the rugged voices of men could be heard amid the clang of metal. "Turn yourself over, and stop resisting!"

"Princess-whore, today you will die in the name of the rightful first prince, a one stronger and fairer than you!"

"Your selfishness to keep the throne will bring about devastation and death! Come out and I promise you shall be painlessly executed!"

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Now, the conclusion was clear in both Medzanalfif and Iriazel's mind, that she would die.

"Med, you can't be seen here!"

But even in the face of butchery, Medzanalfif was calm with contemplative ponder. He leisurely revealed a grade five shadow ghost vraja potion from his loose sleeves, and another vraja potion.

"Is that…?"

"Incorporeal deity vraja potion. It's a grade seven unbound potion."

Iriazel's posture went limp like a reed on the banks of Na-jid. Her coffee eyes finally gleamed like mirrors and Medzanalfif realized she had forcefully made peace with herself and the God-river. The fact that Medzanalfif had such a potion on himself only meant that he had calculated this final outcome.

"The sun sets golden 'neath Alyriam; The night is fine like fur of nanza; There is nothing left."

Iriazel recited from an old poem. Observing her confusion and capitulation, Medzanalfif sighed deeply and said:

"Iriazel, we could slaughter these insects and retake Yasha'Lafiq by force, if that's what you want. With my incorporeal deity improving upon my soul-pointed night star and my dark intent void gaze, combined with your arsenal of fire vraja potions, we could flatten this place in a huge area of effect, disregarding them all entirely."

Such potion names could only make Iriazel sigh upon hearing. They were all grade five and six vraja potions, extremely precious and rare. Leaving all the other potions in his possession aside and the grade seven incorporeal deity vraja potion, their sheer accumulated power could make even the simplest person a lord above lords, with the potential to challenge the position of a prince. Iriazel acknowledged Medzanalfif's wealth and power and was quite open about admitting that without his support, she couldn't have maintained her First Throne for long. This power was painstakingly accumulated by him over many decades, due to the fact that Medzanalfif never spent his resources to fight for the Throne. At most, he backed Iriazel up from the shadows.

Thus, even among the top five princes Medzanalfif was recognized to be a sole powerhouse and a genius, with enough wealth to keep his continuously advancing position.

But Iriazel pushed her emotions away.

"I see what comes after, and you were right. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Void eternal, infinitely big and infinitely small. An endless pool."

Iriazel laughed lightly and Medzanalfif stopped in his tracks. They had talked at length about the afterlife, and while Iriazel insisted on a blissful heaven, Medzanalfif said that the heaven is infinite, which means it's empty.

"I am relieved that at least the hells do not await me."

As she said this, her hand went beneath the folds of her robe, grabbing a soul of elemental flame vraja potion. It was a grade six vraja potion and would create a fire storm of ample proportions, which could then be controlled.

Many voices surged on the other side of the wall, oblivious to the inferno about to be unleashed.

"Hurry up and surrender!"

"Move already, the general is here and will crack these walls open!"

The two princes could already hear scratching on the walls, as the soldiers searched for a hidden way or a weaker spot to pound on. Iriazel hissed in frustration under her breath. She revealed a strange object.

"Med, this object is a timeless relic from the extinct dryads. It is boundless with power."

"The dryads?"

"Rulers of the Alyriam desert buckle before the desert claimed it," she explained with an exasperated wave of her hand. "In any case, do not let our brother have it."

A strange and eerie aroma penetrated the hidden room.

"They have discovered us with a vraja potion!" said Medzanalfif. He had already imbibed the shadow ghost potion, but was reluctant to also use the incorporeal deity. Such a priceless unbound potion would absolutely need to be used at his wit's end, and right now Medzanalfif had many options to get out of this particular predicament. His heart was calm as water and his expression betrayed no particular emotion.

"Stand back men!" yelled a voice from outside.

"It's the general!"

Having finally found the hidden location in the wall, the men outside began beating on it, when suddenly a loud bang fairly made the fortress tremble. The general was a well known strength master, his ability and readiness to destroy buildings was known quite well within the royal circle, having him earn the title of the Siege. He used a smart combination of several strength vraja potions and a few very strong defense potions to achieve such tremendous power. It was not strange at all in this world. With enough potion potency and mana quality, a mere human could demolish an entire castle.

Iriazel grabbed the relic and thrusted it into Med's chest. It was in the shape of two opposing azure moons, and small frail legs could be seen grasping so that it looked like an odd scarab or insect.

Bang! Another hit cracked the sturdy wall.

Iriazel couldn't escape. But even if she did right now, the rest of her short life would be spent in hiding and on the run from her brother, a burden and liability to Medzanalfif. She took the soul of elemental flames vraja potion in her left hand and stopped Medzanalfif from touching the grimoires and scrolls, with a gentle gesture.

"They would burn like the hells I was so afraid of, and I with them," she pondered, and smiled at the irony.

Medzanalfif nodded in understanding, knowing also that the best she could do given the grim circumstances, was to destroy all the knowledge they had accumulated and sacrifice herself to stop their traitorous brother in his tracks, and also allow himself, Medzanalfif, to escape. Medzanalfif could only watch blankly once he turned into a shadow ghost. At the same time, all feelings of touch escaped him and he could slip through anything with the ease of swimming through clear waters.

Iriazel opened the soul of elemental flames vial and imbibed the contents.

Bang! The wall finally exploded inward by the force of an explosive punch. It resounded like a sledgehammer cracking a brick. The hole the punch created wasn't quite wide enough for a man to walk through yet, but many already shoved each other aside to take a look inside and catch Iriazel somehow, thus earning merits. The Siege general responsible for this destruction was a large man with tanned skin and hairy body, and the odd luster on his body could only mean some form of metal skin vraja potion was in effect, to complement this enhanced strength. His eyes were large and full of vigor, but his straight mouth, frowned thick eyebrows and solemn composure suggested a fair and honourable individual.

"Princess..." he gasped as soon as the wall broke. The huge, infernal flames of the flame soul potion rushed outwards and nearly melted the Siege's metal skin. Fortunately, one of his fellow warriors tugged him away.

Iriazel was utterly engulfed by a magical vraja firestorm by the time the entire wall came crashing down. The flames, as long as she remained alive and had mana to spare, would be controlled by her thought like another limb. A soldier under the general's command imbibed a water bubble shield vraja potion and blundered inside, but quickly his shield turned to steam and his robes caught flame. The potency of Iriazel's soul flame potion exceeded his water shield potion by too much, as well as she infused much more high quality faded ash mana into it, which surpassed his dead average clear spring mana. The man flailed his way outside, unwillingly spreading the killing inferno. Due to the steam and chaos, his colleagues thrust him backwards. He sobbed and yelled in agony until he died shortly after. A hooked spear went through and pierced Iriazel to drag her out, but it was too late. She died sometime during the struggle purely, one could say, because she had no fire resistance reaction on herself.

***

In front of Ssyba the star-droplets formed a crystalline waterfall with pure sparkling water, out of which a rainbow projected like a cathedral arch. Ssyba saw herself plunging down that waterfall into a tranquil lake in the middle of a pine forest clearing.

All around her, as far as she could discern, there was a perfect alpine scenery, with snow capped mountains, blue skies and white clouds gently skirting them. Evergreen trees and all sorts of plants and mountain flowers bloomed all around her and in the water, Ssyba caught the faint tremble of silver fish. The water was clear and gleaming like starlight, reflecting the sky above and it's rows and rows of galactic filaments, aurora borealis and nebulae. This place looked as perfect as any masterful painting. It was heaven.

Ssyba's gaze moved upstream through the waterfall and saw that it appeared from nowhere, as if a hole in the very sky poured precious water into the world below. Ssyba looked far back, beyond phosphorescent streams and curtains of incandescent birthing clouds firing from within, until she saw a dense bright star. She felt her consciousness drained by that immense and monstrous gravity well.

"Am I in heaven?" gasped Ssyba.

An elephantine voice coagulated Ssyba's consciousness into a dream-like piece of awareness, and knowledge was imparted onto her by that godly will.

A myriad aeons ago, the heavenly and earthly beings of every universe existed freely, until the heaven lords took their power for themselves in order to rule Jord. Most earthly deities and powers managed to cling onto the threads of hope and became the stars, shining with the light of heavens, and those powers and domains between heaven and earth became unstars, existences of divinity who could both influence the earth and draw power from heaven. They moved across the night sky and astrologers discerned the fate of Jord through calculating their trajectories. In a way, unstars were conduits of divine influence.

Many unstars were discovered and conquered by dark lords and dark powers, but a small number escaped untouched. Those could still influence the passing of time and the shifting of power structures on Jord.

"Who are you?" kept Ssyba asking, and the voice answered by imparting knowledge.

From that, she could only infer that she died.

But even if she was dead, as a beast she could have no afterlife, there was no immortal soul to carry over her consciousness into the heavens.

As if beckoned by an unseen godly will, her body floated up piece by piece, and started undergoing rapid transformations, morphing and removing features until it became the primordial elemental self, merging with the rest of this heavenly domain.

"What is happening to me?" she tried to call, but only the natural sounds of the waters, the pine tree forest and the animals came out. At this moment, even the idea of her own self nearly collapsed. The thought of an afterlife couldn't even pass through her small mind. She was a nanza-cat, merely an animal with no immortal soul to pass on to the afterlife. Her whole existence resided on Jord.

So where was she?

The voice brought Ssyba back into shape. She could feel herself, her limbs and body, once again.

Ssyba suddenly saw herself in front two flaming eyes, keen upon her naked form, and infinite cloud hands probing at the petals of her skin, fur, flesh and bone, her extremities and bodily functions. The pain that she felt in that moment was enough to kill her if she was alive. A blinding sun was burning its molecular fire behind, like a brain. Ssyba tried to shrug herself awake from this anguish, to no result. She felt truly alone and in agony, drained of thought and force as each caress peeled her form like a rotten fruit. A hand with infinite claws ran through her flesh like a comb through hair.

"By the goddess Marduni!" she meowed pathetically. "This is a nightmare!"

A tremendous, mausoleic laughter followed by trembles in the very land itself, heavy with monumental echoes, like a chasm between realities opening and speaking before the aeons.

Past her fur, claw and limb, past raw primordial slime, past even the eyeless unconscious origins of life and the ashen ends of time, Ssyba saw a red star falling.

She stretched her inexistent arm towards this star.

"Who are you?"

One humongous, reptilian blink, the length of entire solar systems. It was the Most High Creator, the maker of heaven and earth. Before its infinity, nothing was too great or too small. Even the highest mountain amounted to less than the blink of an eye, and yet the tiniest insect could equal that mountain.

"I have no soul, there can be no afterlife for me!" said Ssyba, repeating doctrine for she could think of little else. "To be here right now, is to defy heavens!"

Body, mind and soul. Only humans possessed all three. They were anchored to the heavens through their souls, while everything else dragged themselves through the mud of reality. Only humans, being the highest in order throughout all creation, could equal the gods.

The Most High pondered in draconian yet bemused thought. To him, Ssyba was less than what a speck of sand would be to a human king. Less than that by far, yet at the same time she somehow comprehended him, by his will. Although a speck of sand was insignificant, if a speck of sand would enter someone's eye, even that human king would notice it.

Perhaps a human king would construct a large castle, employ many servants to sweep the floors and attendants to wash him, all that effort just to keep the sand out.

Ssyba suddenly felt a shock and a wave through her body, like falling from a high place.

The Most High waved his great claw through what appeared to be a galactic spring, and a million million million voices screamed at once in agony

All those souls were his to command. He willed their ache and their release.

In the next moment he waved his claw through the waters of creation as would a child through a mountain rivulet. And suddenly, he caught something, felt something like a pebble or a small struggling fish in the depths of his palm. As he took the silvery thread out of it, he tied it onto Ssyba's invisible space.

ssyba's existence flashed brightly and her eyes flooded with fire. Constellations swirled around her in a vortex, taking her body molecule by molecule. In a mysterious and divine process, under the care of the Most High, Ssyba was remade.

All matter and non-matter expanded and condensed, replacing the inner void inside Ssyba with a vast gate, like an invisible void in form of her body, boundless in scope, encompassing all creation seen and unseen. A spiritual gleaming thread suddenly lashed forward from her invisible body to the heavenly land around her. And as matter condensed one last time, it poured back into her form around the invisible body, but this time she was unique and priceless.

She had been gifted a soul and was anchored to heaven.

For the Most High, Ssyba was like a talking speck of dust. Insignificant but so very cute and interesting.

***

Darkness.

Only thus can our plane of existence, our reality, be described compared to the quasaric, bright realm of heaven.

Ssyba snapped her eyes open and her cat eyes thinned against the morning sunlight. With a paw running over her face, she tried to clear her mind and find sense in what has been happening to her. She had paws, kinda like cats do, full with retractable claws and all. And fur, soft and striped with black and flecked and spotted like a tabby cat, all over her body. Her mind suddenly unclenched as she expertly jumped on her hind paws. Her tail gave her incredible, inhuman balance, something that a human obviously couldn't even comprehend. It felt like having a third limb.

She was a nanza-cat of course, a species of intelligent feline creatures native to the desert belt buckle, and although cunning and blended well within human society, nanza-cats had no soul.

Ssyba sat down in the dust and rested her head in her paws. Her latest prey, a punkish gremlin, had escaped with her master's goods and she got a bloody and not so superficial wound above her brow. Only after several minutes did she dare open her eyes and look up again, as if the slightest sight and movement would shatter her fragile sense of reality. It felt like she had no hold over her own body and mind.

"Poor tabby," said a voice from somewhere ahead.

She must have looked awfully battered, so it attracted a group of curious onlookers. She heard the sound of coins dropping in the sand, and her cat ears twitched. But it wasn't really over. Every rock, every footstep, every grain of sand, every gust of hot desert wind stood out loud and clear. She was hypersensitive to the entire reality. Even the sunlight, dropping down on her fur in a shower of photons, was distinct and real.

"I have a soul," she whispered and the excoriating pains of the immaterial goaded her up and moving.

"Did you get into a fight?" inquired someone.

"Hmph, leave her, she's only a common nanza, there are many like her dying in the streets." quickly answered another voice.

"Maybe she was being punished by her masters."

But Ssyba ignored them all. Bearded, sun tanned, draped in cloth and turbans and robes, ears filled with rings and jewelry, red lips, eyes caked in black makeup, black hairless skin. All flooded her senses. Awareness dawned upon her. She was Ssyba, the nanza-cat, living in the princedom city of Yasha'Lafiq, within the Alyriam desert.

But also, she seemed to be more than just Ssyba the nanza. As if a different dimension rested inside of her.

As if she truly had obtained a soul.

"By the God-river, I have a soul!"

"Did you say something, cat?" asked some relatively richly dressed dwarf, who slowly approached while shielding his small eyes. Normally, the dwarves loved in the mountainous lands surrounding the Alyriam desert buckle, but some would travel or would be brought from abroad to serve in the desert cities. Humans were the peak of creation, having body, mind and soul, and they could obtain power directly from vraja potions and use those powers to dominate. However, not all humans are made equal. Some starve, some are rich, disparity is simply the way of life. Where wealthy and powerful humans such as the princes had other human servants and human armies and experts serving under them, less fortunate humans only owned non-human beasts. Ssyba, for example, was owned by a brewess and a tea maker, and thus dwarf was obviously owned by someone much richer.

Ssyba's eyes glinted with intent.

Seeing this dwarf carrying a bag of vraja ingredients nicely tied to his belt, Ssyba was compelled to act. Nothing else goaded her but the sheer and selfish impulse to be the author of her own destiny and be her own master, never to serve again.

"I need some water," she managed to meow, and that enticed the dwarf to look at her in a softer light, and to carelessly approach her position.

Non humans were cheap and expendable, but dwarves had a simple and affectionate demeanor as a creature, and would usually be tender towards others. They made for good servants and caretakers.

Ssyba's pupils shrunk when the dwarf got close enough. She quickly cut the contents of his ingredients belt with her sharp nanza claws. The dwarf did not even react properly to such an attack, when Ssyba snatched the contents mid-air and made a run for it, kicking the dust from under her.

"I'm sorry, but I need to see if I have a soul," she decided on the spot, pushing herself away from the street level.

"Hey, stop that thieving nanza!" yelled the dwarf following after her with his stubby legs but by that time, she was long gone.

She was not concerned though. If she truly had a soul and her being could respond to the power of vraja potions, what would her worth be then? Certainly above that of common humans. A human, even a poor one, was always of certain value. But a nanza with a soul was unique on earth and under heaven. Surely such existence would demand the attention of higher powers.

"What do I need to do to confirm?" Ssyba asked herself while running

Overwhelmed by a descending mountain of anxiety and anticipation, she rolled on all fours and stalked away in cat leaps, bounding from wall to wall and rooftop to rooftop to the top of a building. A new energy streaming from the outer heavenly world channeled through her as a pure and foreboding breeze, as though she kept on living on borrowed time. She began to consider the many possibilities and consequences of this experience.

Drifts of winds and light caressed Ssyba's fur. She closed her eyes and considered, even for just a moment, the absurdity of last night. If she truly possessed a soul, as impossible and it sounded, then there was only one sure way to prove its existence...

She closed her eyes and laid down with the dwarf's ingredients in her paw.

The next time she opened her eyes, it was getting well into the night. Her nanza instinct must have taken over, sleeping for the rest of the day and turning her active come dusk. The astrological arm of the galaxy was clearly visible in the bright black sky, streaming as seen through her cat eyes like a fiber of cloudy fire. By the brilliant star light she could see that her fur was thick with dried blood and dirt.

Ssyba looked again at the ingredients that she snatched earlier from that unfortunate dwarf. She recognized some of them: honeyed saint's tongue leaves, alongside some more common herbs, spices and dried animal parts. Saint's tongue were golden and meaty and if one were to taste them raw, they would taste like watered honey. Ssyba's master once explained, almost every base ingredient for healing vraja potions has a sweet taste, so that confirmed it to Ssyba.

A cold and insane thought made its roots into her mind, and her look filled with a fiery determination. She could get rich, or she could become famous, or strong and powerful in her own right, or she could even adopt the thieving path and ascend as a Drifting Swindler or a Gentle Golden Thief, and finally be recognized to work alongside her brother. These were all such lofty goals that she could barely contain her excitement, like a youth who met a sweetheart and already envisioned marriage and offspring and growing old together.

But, this all depended on her being responding to the vraja potions. Right now, the only thing Ssyba could do was drink a potion and observe the effects. If she had a soul, she would gain benefits and power from it. If she remained a soulless beast, she would die.