Steam obscured the fountain at the center of the Wellspring, showing only the silhouette of rock like a small volcano. Edgar noticed its magical aura’s ebb and flow as they approached. As the aura swelled, cracks in the rock shimmered with magic, forcing out steam and a burble of water.
They entered the thick cloud of steam, eyes locked on the glowing cracks of the fountain, and reached a stone bench just above the water level, carved into the side of the spire of rock. A few others were sitting on the bench already, but they were deep in meditation and didn’t even blink as Edgar and Mirai approached.
They looked at each other, nodding with resolve.
“I hope this works,” Edgar said, glancing up at the tall fountain, watching the swell of magic in the cracks and a burst of steam.
“If it does…”
She didn’t need to finish the thought, since Edgar knew exactly what was on her mind, her father.
That’s right. Our curses might be low-level compared to her father’s, but if this fountain can cure ours, there’s a chance for him too.
Together they approached and stepped out of the water to sit on the stone bench, closing their eyes. The ebb and flow of magic around them was like a slow heartbeat, full of life. Edgar unconsciously matched his breathing to it. The curve of the stone sent a trickle of warm water flowing around them, and the sound soothed him, lulling him deeper into his meditation.
He entered his core, appearing among his skills and abilities. They greeted him with a calm reflective energy. It was great to see [One with Darkness] again. He could feel the little seed of energy inside him humming happily at his presence. [Tail Whip], his old friend, greeted him warmly, as did the others. He went to them each, giving them each a bit of attention—except the curse.
He could feel it shying away from the others within his core, although even its energy was evened by the spiritual energies of the fountain. It usually demanded his attention, but today, it felt small and vulnerable, hovering at the very edge of his core. He could feel the fountain loosening its hold on him.
He drifted closer, ready to give it a final push out of his core and be done with it, but even as he reached out, the fountain’s magic swelled around him, and he fell even deeper into meditation. He recognized the feeling from the leveling exercised and prepared to enter his Inner Sanctum.
***
Edgar came to, finding himself sitting on the floor of a log cabin. It was small, a single room with only skulls and bones for decoration on the walls. The room’s main features were a fireplace and a chair—a small fire burned in the fireplace, mostly coal and sad-looking.
He stood, stepping forward to find an old man sitting in the chair, their skin wrinkled and dry, eyes clouded and frowning deeply.
He could feel the muted energy of the curse within the old man and stepped back, glancing towards the door. Outside, he could hear a winter storm howling, rattling the door in its frame.
Edgar took a small, stealthy step toward the door, but the movement caused the wood to creak.
“Cough, cough… Is someone there?”
The old man’s voice was weak and full of sand; he coughed again. Edgar felt a pang of pity in his chest for the old man. He knew it was irrational since this whole space, including the old man, was essentially an illusion, but the reality of it all toyed with his emotions.
“If you’re leaving, could you at least toss a log on the fire?”
Edgar paused. Beside the door sat a rack for firewood, mostly empty except for a few logs. He glanced again at the door and shivered, wondering whether walking through the door would release him from his Inner Sanctum or land him in a blizzard.
As he hesitated by the door, the old man coughed again, lungs heaving. The air in the cabin was quite cold.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
There must be something important I need to learn about this curse. Now is my chance; I can’t run from this.
He grabbed a log, noticing the wood felt tingly in his hand. He walked over to the fireplace and tossed it in.
“There. A log.” Edgar said.
The log sent sparks dancing upward and began to burn, sending out a trickle of warmth and light.
“Ahhh,” the old man sighed, hacking another few coughs. “Is there any more? It’s so cold.”
“What are you?” Edgar asked, glancing side-long at the old man. “Why should I help you?”
The man sighed gruffly. “Cough cough… Your intentions are clear enough—you ignore me and cast me out! I should be asking you that! Why should I help you?”
“How can you help me?” Edgar asked, shaking his head. “All I see is a parasite.”
The old man looked furious. He tried to push himself up in the chair, ready to shout, but after a fit of coughs, he collapsed back in the chair.
“This is how you talk to a sick old man, eh?”
“This is an illusion! I know you’re trying to manipulate me, playing with my emotions until I do what you want.”
“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” The old man smiled weakly.
Something in the old man’s voice caught his ear, triggering his pity. This was his Inner Sanctum, after all. The curse had some control here, but how much? Were some parts of its act real? Could it really lie to him in this place—a place that was just an extension of himself?
“You want to be done with me, then be done. Walk out into the cold, all alone. See what I care.”
Edgar shook his head and turned towards the door. What a waste.
“Just… one more log before you go?”
Edgar balled his fists. There were only a couple of logs left on the rack. He angrily grabbed two.
As he held them, he felt the strange sensation again. The bark seemed to swirl under his gaze, but he blinked, and the wood returned to normal.
The firelight is playing tricks on me.
He walked over to the fireplace, tossing them in.
“There’s only one more log on the rack. Do you mind?” The old man said, clearing his throat and straightening his posture in the chair.
Edgar glanced at the rack. “If I do, will you give me a straight answer?”
“If you insist.”
“If I don’t like the answer, I’m out of here.”
The old man smiled. “I don’t think I’ll even have to tell you.”
Edgar blinked, turning towards the last log. What?
He grabbed the log, feeling the tingle and focusing more on the swirl of its bark. It wasn’t a trick; the bark really swirled. Something clicked as he watched the bark and focused on the tingle inside him. He had felt this before, somewhere. He turned, throwing the “log” into the fire. More crackling, sparks issued out. More warmth.
With a jolt, Edgar froze.
The warmth of this fire was smooth and steady, but fires weren’t smooth and steady; they popped and crackled. Their warmth flickered with each flame. He felt his mind racing towards an inevitable conclusion. This fire was part of the illusion, masking something else. The logs were the same. There was a crucial truth here; he just had to look closely enough to recognize it.
What are they?
The cracks in the illusion began to show. Shadows lengthened, and the wood in the walls distorted. The old man sat straighter in his chair, his form partially melting as his smiling spread unnaturally from ear to ear.
“Do you see it? Do you see?”
The truth washed over him like a wave as the various familiar sensations were finally recognized. The logs were essence, and each time he touched them, he groomed them out of habit, and if the logs were essence, then the fire was his core! He was sitting here with the Curse, in his Inner Sanctum, grooming essence and feeding it to his core. Not only that, but with every bit of essence he fed it, they watched together as the fire grew stronger! It was all a strange, literal metaphor designed to teach him one thing.
The more essence in his core, the stronger he would be.
Edgar glanced again at the door but turned to face the Curse fully. The facade of the old man was falling apart and away even as he watched. Underneath it, frigid eyes fixed on him, unblinking.
Edgar flinched, fear tempering the excitement of his discovery. “I think I'm starting to understand."
"Then give me your third level,” the curse said with a smile.
~~~~~
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