The endless desert stretched out before a small, rock-like core, an expanse of grains shimmering like a mirage under an unseen sun. This was not the world Asano had known; It was a simple desert that felt both foreign and familiar. As he hovered within this sea of sand, he struggled to grasp the enormity of his transformation.
‘I am a grain of sand.’
The thought lingered in his mind, a strange duality to his existence. He was both nothing and everything. The sensations of his core pulsed faintly within him, anchoring his awareness, reminding him that he was still alive—if you could even call this existence living.
Around him, the grains whispered, not in words, but in sensations. He could feel their potential, a latent energy vibrating through the desert. The silence was thick, yet it buzzed with possibility, just waiting for him to make a move.
He looked out at the grains of sand around him, and something in him stirred. He remembered Syla’s words from their earlier encounter. To manipulate the sand. The thought sparked an a sense of urgency within him. Tentatively, Asano reached inward, focusing on the flickering essence of his core. He envisioned a connection—a bridge to the sand that enveloped him. Drawing on his core, he willed the grains to respond. It was extremely slow going, but something told him it was something he should be able to do. It felt only natural, almost jarringly obvious.
Although his memory was faulty, he was pretty sure that he’d never felt this nagging inclination to move sand with his mind before. In fact, he was confident enough in this to say he was absolutely certain this was the case.
With renewed resolve, he concentrated harder, pushing his energy outward. Slowly, the sand began to shift, a slight ripple spreading across the surface. It was weak, barely noticeable, but it was something. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.
Asano focused on forming a simple mark, a symbol that could convey his thoughts. He envisioned a line etched into the grains, something clear and definitive. Taking a deep breath, he directed his will towards the sand, channeling energy from his core.
The grains quivered under his influence, and a faint outline appeared—a shaky line tracing through the sand. It was rough, imperfect, but it was a mark. Asano’s heart raced with a mix of exhilaration and disbelief. ‘I just moved sand with my fucking mind.’
Pride swelled in his chest as he observed the symbol. It wasn’t just a line; it was a testament to his will. ‘So this is my voice.’
“Good,” a voice interrupted his thoughts, pulling him back to reality. Syla hovered nearby, its sandy form undulating with energy. “You’ve made your first mark. You learn fast, but you must understand its significance.”
“What do you mean?” Asano asked, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
“Each mark represents a part of you,” Syla explained, gliding closer. “It’s a means of communication, yes, but it also reflects your intentions, your desire. You must learn to infuse these symbols with meaning.”
Asano frowned, considering the implications. He needed to be ‘deliberate’. “So how do I do that?”
“Practice,” Syla replied simply. “You must create more marks, experiment with their shapes and meanings. The more you create, the stronger your voice will become.”
Asano nodded, absorbing the information. He turned back to the sands, determined to explore this new ability. He began to etch more symbols—curves, angles, and shapes—all representing different thoughts, emotions, and intentions.
As he worked, he felt the energy of the grains intertwining with his essence, each mark a reflection of his burgeoning new identity as a strange, lumpy grain of sand. It was actually rather exhilarating.
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Frustration bubbled within him, though, as the reality of his situation kept nagging at him. Can I ever be anything more? Am I cursed to be a literal grain of sand for all of eternity? These marks, while somewhat amusing, were, at the end of the day, fragile constructs in a vast, indifferent world.
“Focus on what you want to express,” Syla scoulded, sensing the shift in his energy. “Do not let doubt cloud your intent.”
Doubt. The word resonated within him, tugging at the edges of his mind. He clenched his mental fists, forcing the feeling aside. ‘Right. I’m a grain of sand, and a mighty fine one, at that. This is great. Actually, this is ideal. I never wanted to continue paying taxes, anyway.’
“Young one…”
‘Right… Sorry.”
With renewed determination, Asano concentrated on a mark that to him symbolized strength, like an icon in video games—a solid line with an arrow pointing upwards. As he shaped the grains, he poured his energy into the symbol, willing it to convey his totally unflinching resolve.
The grains responded, shifting and solidifying into the desired shape. It was a small victory, yet it felt monumental. Asano stepped back, figuratively, to admire his own work, his sandy little lump-heart racing with newfound energy.
“Very good,” Syla said, gliding closer to inspect the mark. “But remember, this is just the beginning. You must also learn to defend yourself in this realm.”
“Defend myself?” Asano echoed, his brow furrowing. “From what?”
Syla’s energetical impression turned contemplative, its form flickering slightly. “There are dangers here, creatures that feed on the essence of cores like ours. You must be prepared to protect yourself.”
Asano’s heart sank. The weight of those words settled heavily on his chest. ‘So this is one of those worlds, ey?’ “How do I defend my core, then?”
“By learning to create barriers,” Syla replied, its tone firm. “You will need to channel your energy into protective structures, using the sand as your shield.”
“Okay, but how do I start?” Asano asked, uncertainty creeping back into his impression.
“Focus on your core and visualize a barrier forming around it. Suffuse your will into the sand — it will listen.”
Asano nodded, pushing aside his doubts. He concentrated, feeling his somewhat confused will surge through him as he directed it toward the grains surrounding his core.
Slowly, a mound of sand began to rise, forming a protective wall. It was shaky at first, crumbling slightly under the strain of his focus. Asano dug deeper into his core, channeling more energy into the structure. The sand responded, solidifying into a sturdy barrier that pulsed with his essence. He stepped back, observing his creation with a mix of apprehension and pride.
“Better,” Syla noted, gliding around the barrier. “But you must practice it until it becomes second nature. You’ll need to be able to summon a barrier at a moment’s notice. Nothing less is acceptable”
Asano felt the weight of responsibility settle on him. “What if I can’t? What if something attacks and I’m not ready?”
Syla met his gaze, its eyes unyielding. “Then you will face the consequences. This is the reality of our existence. There are no safety nets here, as you might have noticed.”
The gravity of Syla’s words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the sheer fragility of his unwanted new life. Asano took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I’d better get to my training arc, then.”
“Good,” Syla replied, with an almost imperceptible nod of approval. “Then let’s continue.”
As the oddly absent sun began to dip below the horizon, casting elongated shadows across the dunes, Asano trained tirelessly. He formed barrier after barrier, honing his control over the sand little by little.
With each passing moment, he felt the connection deepen, a bond forming between himself and the grains. He learned to manipulate them, to a degree, and to use them as an extension of his will.
Aamid the training, nagging philosophical and potentially trauma-inducing doubts clouded his consciousness from time to time. ‘Am I just a grain of sand? In a desert? Is there anything less valuable that one could be? Even being a spider in a neverending sea of puny spider pupas would be infinitely better.’ He couldn’t shake the feeling of sheer insignificance, the fear that he would always be powerless in this vast and plainly indifferent world.
As the last remnants of light faded, Asano stepped back to survey his work. The barriers shimmered in the darkness, each one a reflection of his effort, a testament to his determination. He sighed.
Well, he didn’t, but he did.
‘I may be a grain of sand, but I will not be lost in this desert.’