All that existed was darkness, a darkness that I felt I had acknowledged endless times before it had taken such self-reflection away from me. No truth existed for it had been held sway by inky webs.
And within darkness, all was darkness. There were no lines which distinguished the world around me, no changes, nothing that encouraged focus or interest.
In the brief moments that I realized I was surrounded by obsidian dreams, I could only recognize that this felt old and familiar. Faint thoughts of an old enemy surrounding me before I knew nothing else.
And yet, even as I existed within this darkness, there were moments where the world was alight.
‘I’ll learn it so fast, you’re gonna have to teach me another one!’
Small pulses of something that fought against the darkness around me. Sights and sounds that were so unlike the inky fog that I hated with all my heart when I was capable of doing so.
‘I never had a debut before…’
I loved them, I felt it. I was not sure who I loved, but I did with all of my being. Every little bead of light that I collected over the eons of nothing, making me feel warmer in the moments before the darkness subsumed me.
‘It’s quiet, peaceful, and the air is fresh. It’s fine. Tell us about the fish.’
The darkness took them from me, but I was left with the gift of knowing that I had something taken from me. An emptiness that gave me strength, that I held onto.
Even as the pulses came for me once more in anger, as if I had insulted them by my inability to protect them from the darkness, I welcomed their light.
‘I’m not your fucking son! I’m not your fucking child! None of us are! We never fucking were!’
I loved them as well, even as I felt hurt and pain. I welcomed the knowledge that something beyond the darkness had hurt me, that there was something, no, multiple somethings that I could yearn for in this place of nothing.
‘They feel like the enemy.’
The concepts behind the words were fleeting, the frustration I felt at being unable to answer the pulses was eternal. Eternal, of course, until the darkness once again came and all was wiped away.
‘I’m smarter this time, I’m prettier this time. So, how come I’m not the favorite, huh?’
It was a cycle, I realized a thousand times. An endless rotation of drowning beneath the deluge of onyx reality and clawing my way towards the pulses only to meet the realization that it was all a cycle.
All for it to begin again and again and again.
Until the moment came that I clawed through the darkness, the realization coming to me once more that it would all be for naught. That there was no end to this, that I was doomed to failure.
And yet, I held onto the light in my arms and I never let go.
‘It was nice feeling like a hero one last time.’
In what felt like a shock that reverberated through the eternity of my lifetime spent within the darkness, I felt something crash over me that was not darkness, nor was it a pulse of light.
Instead, it was a voice.
“Your mental fortitude is laudable, Rakta of Derra,” the very first words I had heard in my entire existence said. “I believe it is important that we speak before the conscious world takes you.”
And then a blinding light took me.
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The sounds of birds and crickets welcomed me as I opened my eyes to see a clear cerulean sky above me, the feeling of soft grass underneath my form. My physical form that I felt for the first time in forever.
My name was Rakta Velbrun, no, Tribus. I was the father of three amazing children, the widower of the most beautiful woman in the empire, and the slayer of the Warlock King.
Coming back to myself in what felt like moments, as if the darkness that I had wrestled with for centuries was naught but a bad dream, so many emotions flooded through me.
A hotness stained my cheeks as I cried, pulling myself up and smiling as I looked around at the meadow I was in, a familiar one. The one behind my keep, my home.
In the distance I could see a familiar grave to my beloved Lydia.
The darkness felt like nothing compared to the brightness that surged through me from all that I was once again, feeling hope in my chest at having finally regained myself.
“It truly is wonderful to have you back,” that same voice that had saved me from the darkness spoke up from behind me. “There was no saving on my end, Rakta of Derra.”
I turned my gaze towards the voice, feeling emotions still lodged within my throat even as I spoke. “Who are you?”
Standing there, slightly turned away from me, but with their velvet eyes turned to focus on me entirely, was an individual of slight build, but ample presence. As if a star had stepped upon the earth, a light shimmered underneath their gray skin and flowing tresses of white hair fell to the ground behind them.
“Depends on the world, I suppose,” they said, but they shook their head slightly. “No, no, this is no time for being coy. I apologize.”
I felt the apology rest at my feet, but the weight of even this entity’s forgiveness felt beyond me. There were stories from my people of gods, did I truly speak to one of such entities?
“I am no god, I am Overseer,” they said, some quiet amusement pulling at wrinkles I hadn’t noticed around the eyes of this being. “Merely the one who keeps every watch ticking.”
“Ticking?” I fell to my knees, feeling something hit me. Not a physical force, but the memory of my children screaming for me as they were teleported away, of Zactrik standing before me.
Shawn’s death and the moments I’d had before falling into darkness.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Overseer said. “Shawn Hanchett was full of potential and he squandered little of it in Derra. It was a good choice, I believe.”
Those words, no matter the strength behind them, did little to fill the hole in my heart that hollowed out at the memory of Shawn’s death. And yet, the way it spoke of him was familiar in its own right.
“You knew Shawn?” They spoke of him with unmistakable fondness.
Overseer nodded, “I was the one who plucked him from his first death, one of many little acts of rebellion that I’ve done over the years for those that had far more to do in life.”
“Shawn died,” I said, mystified, “and you brought him to Derra? And you have done this before and again?”
That would mean that this entity had done the same for my children, would it not? The one to take them from their previous lives…
“Yes,” Overseer said, “I was the one who plucked those pained souls from Earth and brought them to Derra, delivering them to you in the form of your children with Lydia Velbrun.”
To have it said so forthright made me weak with gratitude, but I nodded, giving my silent thanks. I’d noticed it seemed to read my thoughts and feelings as clearly as my words, my lead tongue saved by Overseer’s insight.
“Now, however, you begin your return to the waking world, Rakta,” Overseer continued, “and I come to warn you that the souls I delivered to you have fallen to darker paths in your absence.”
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“What?” The words sent a chill down my spine. “Do you mean the prophecy?”
For a moment, Overseer said nothing and a chill breeze blew through the grassy meadow we stood in. The very idea of Daka, Natakia, and Dalton, any of them, being led astray by their own pain…
“The strengths of their bonds have withered, their darkest fears and impulses made true,” Overseer closed their eyes, speaking somber, “I’m glad you have awakened, for they will need you. The world needs you.”
“How long…have I been gone?” I asked, fearing the worst.
Overseer did not speak, but with a small imperceptible twitch of their fingers, I felt the truth of the matter splash across my consciousness.
I had spent 8 years within the darkness, my friends and family crumbling around me as I lay unconscious and unable to move by my own strength or will.
Overseer nodded, “You never succumbed to Zactrik’s sacrilege, not fully. Never giving up, your mind has retained itself as much as one could. Once you awake, the damage to your mind will begin to heal.”
“Zactrik,” I asked, focusing on that monster, “is he still alive? Is the world safe from the danger he poses?”
“Good questions, Rakta of Derra,” Overseer said, but I was suddenly confident that there would be no answers from this entity on such matters. “Zactrik’s gift was a brilliant one, but one that has been used to stain the world.”
“Gift?” Was Overseer speaking of the inhuman monstrosity that Zactrik had become? His intelligence and genius when it came to splicing his wretched volunteers into murderous monsters? “What gift?”
“The gift I give all those I meet with,” Overseer said. “Although it is not up to me for what it becomes.”
Overseer had met with Zactrik? I found myself digging my nails into the palm of my hands as I suddenly felt a great anger at this thing before me. “You brought Zactrik to my home?”
“Yes,” they said. “I did.”
I felt anger clouding my thoughts, but I pushed through it, trying to keep a steady mind. I had held anger within me for years, but the darkness had made old things feel new.
“Why?” That was the only question that mattered.
Overseer smiled. “The same reason I brought Shawn and your children here. The potential for new things, for those of great potential to pollinate new worlds with ideas, innovation, and leaders.”
And then their smile dimmed and I saw them look away for a moment. I was struck with the sense that they had never wanted Zactrik to do as he had, but he was not the first to do so.
“Some souls never grow past their pain,” they continued. “I hope you’ll be able to help them, Rakta. Your lights have always been treasured ones.”
So many thoughts flew through my head, but I nodded and put my concerns aside. My children needed me and that was all that mattered. The world may have moved on without me, but time had not weathered me fully, I would not crumble at the weight of this purpose.
“Then it is time for me to go, Overseer,” I said, turning away. “I cannot move forward here, not in a direction that matters.”
“Of course, but there remains one more topic of discussion between us, Rakta of Derra,” the voice called for me, stopping me in my tracks as I began to head off towards my wife’s grave. “As I said, all who meet me receive a gift.”
I turned back to the smiling entity, my thoughts going to Daka’s sight and aptitude, Natakia’s insight, and Dalton’s strange power through value. Strange and powerful abilities that had always impressed me.
“What would you like your gift to be?” Overseer tilted their head slightly.
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“I thought these gifts were not decided by you, Overseer,” I said, having returned to the entity’s side. “You spoke as if the gift was decided by other means.”
“That is true,” Overseer nodded, “I rarely give specific gifts, nor do I usually ask the recipient what they would like. Oftentimes, they are not in any state to respond soberly nor would they remember the decision regardless.”
“They forget their meeting with you?” Was Overseer the origins of Lydia’s prophecy? The spell that she had cost had similar ramifications on those present around her. “Will I?”
“I was not the source of Lydia’s prophecy, no,” Overseer answered my unasked question, “but the gods of Derra are aware of, well, not myself, but the phenomenon that I represent. Most remember their discussion with me in feelings and emotions, no tangible memory.”
For a moment, they looked at me with a consideration that seemed to look far deeper beneath the skin than any gaze I had ever set upon someone.
“I believe you will be an exception,” Overseer said. “That, however, is secondary to what I ask you now.”
The air around us changed and if it were any other situation I would have prepared for a fight. In this, however, I simply stood and prepared myself for all that tried to take me.
“What do you desire, Rakta?” Overseer’s words were stoic, unrelenting. A determination to their harmonic voice that demanded an answer that pleased them. “Should I return you to your prime? Should I grant you the ability to call upon gods? What if I gave you the power to go back in time?”
It was a testament to the feeling of being in the presence of this entity that I wholly believed all of the increasingly ridiculous suggestions to be true and terrifying.
“Is there anything you cannot do?” I asked.
Overseer shook their head, “Nothing that you could conceptualize.”
The moment stilled between us and I felt the weight of their attention grow heavier and heavier, as if pressing me to come to my decision.
“I could bring Lydia back,” Overseer said.
Years of fighting against Mortum within my own mind and those words did more to almost break me than such trials and tribulations ever had. The thought of Lydia coming back, of being with me as we sought out our children and helped them with their pain, made me want to accept instantly and entirely.
And yet, would Lydia’s return be for my children’s benefit or mine? Could it be both? And could I truly rip her back from the stories she existed within? Or the Great Beyond she had entered gracefully?
The answer was obvious.
“No,” I said, shaking my head, “I know what I want.”
There was something that had always eluded me, but perhaps, in these circumstances, it would elude me no longer.
Overseer knew my request as I looked up to meet their eyes and they nodded, looking pleased by my choice of gift, “I believe I can make that work.”
‘I want to understand my children.’
And then the meadow disappeared and I found myself coddled by heavy blankets and resting upon the comfort of a mattress, the birds and crickets replaced by the sound of crying.
I looked over, feeling the weight of my true physical body, the absence of my arm, and saw Doh, “It’s alright, Doh. I’m ok, I’m awake. You don’t have to cry.”
She looked at me, tears staining her cheeks and as I hazily began to recollect myself after so long, my thoughts feeling like anchors, I realized that there was something unfamiliar about Doh.
“Oh, oh fuck,” Doh started crying even harder, looking embarrassed and much younger than I remembered, but perhaps that was…
I felt like I had made a mistake.