Fable rifts. Mysterious tears in space that appear, the multi dimensional result of people manifesting fairytales. The vast majority of such rifts were of unknown origin. However, few of them originated from native tales spread from either Arthenntin or Ethrailia.

And so philosophers interpreted these rifts as a civilizations collective consciousness over one tale growing so large that it manifested in another realm. According to the theory, unknown fables were the consciousness of other truly intelligent civilizations manifesting.

A society as a collective could not create an entirely new world of course. It was simply too much, only fragments could be passed down from generation to generation. Because of this, the base of most fables were the same as the world they originated from. The same races of people, the same environment, the same animals, the same cities. Only one or two of these categories would be able to be passed down. So even if a rift was exotic, the general science and math should have been more or less the same.

The only blockade was whether or not it was fully applicable to their own world, some of the time it was, most of the time it wasn’t. But that didn’t matter. With enough repeated expeditions into fable rifts, their knowledge would still grow much faster than learning on their own.

A singular rift that was applicable to their own world could contain thousands or tens of thousands of years of knowledge. Comparing that lottery to tireless slaving over trying to make one new discovery was pathetic.

Diving into a rift was essentially seeing into the collective idea of an entire civilization of people, almost. There would always be corruption inside a rift, they weren’t paradise.

Most fairy tales were made to trick children into acting a particular way, like a terrifying monster that would eat a child that stayed awake for too long. There was always the matter of lunacy to factor in. Madness, ill people that tainted a rift through their warped view of the world.

The world of Ethrailia had always sent trained nomads with powerful anathemic bonds to deal with them, while protecting researchers of course. The citizens would collectively pray for them to return safe because otherwise… The rift could merge with their world, the creatures within could not invade but the environment could be vastly affected.

There were more than several examples of this, namely, the colossal wall of ice that separates Ethrailia from Arthenntin. Meshin Kismet, it meant, fated to divide. The reason for the name? A scientist, Kilial Felwhin had prophesied the great wall for decades. His name for this event was Meshin Kismet.

The world didn’t take him seriously, how could they? A fable rift needed generations of telling such a tale to make it manifest. What were the chances that one, singular man with no children could cause such an event to happen. And what were the chances of it occurring in their own world, nearly zero, but it happened. In the end, Felwhin had disappeared into a rift, never to appear again.

Syllis had known some of this. But most was brand new to her, who had left school a little more than two years ago. The limits of her knowledge was the fact that rifts were a result of a fable manifesting. So she was happy to learn as much as possible. The secare nymph had even entertained the thought of entering such a rift herself one day.

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Syllis kept quiet for a couple minutes after the boy finished speaking. It was a lot to process. She hadn’t known that most fable rifts were the result of outer fables from beyond our world. She thought about the stars and that ever shifting cosmic sky that sometimes greeted her on the surface.

She hadn’t even known about the other continent, past the titanic wall. It seemed the upper class had access to further knowledge the lower echelons were exempt from. Surely she should have heard something about Arthenntin before she left school.

“Are you alright?” Clyde leaned in, concerned for the girl.

“I’m fine. It’s a lot to take in at once…” Syllis’ voice trailed off, she was still wrapping her head around a couple of concepts.

“Oh, sorry for dropping all of that on you. I’m just a little passionate about fable rifts, they’ve always been important to me.” Clyde apologized.

“It’s alright, any other subjects monumental discoveries you’re learning about?” Syllis spoke wryly, almost self-deprecatingly. She was either the same age or near the same age as Clyde and yet her knowledge seemed several bounds lower.

“I could go on for hours about Anathema. Want the rundown?”

Anathema were violent and abhorrent entities that spawned through pure terror. If a person was deeply shaken by a traumatic and revolting event caused by an anathemic bond or even some ethereal being, they could inherit an Anathema.

They were a curse, but could be a boon as well. It all depended on a person's ability to transfigure them. A transfigured Anathema would become the catalyst for a bond between the kindred and whichever ‘god’ that Anathema spawned from. It only depended on the ritual conducted.

Syllis knew this all too well. After all, she had found herself chained to the ground after one such ritual. The deep stone walls that surrounded her, the pristine water that she awoke in, the faint cold that accompanied her every step for a while after. Her father had done that to her, before being found dead only hours afterwards. ‘Bastard, I should’ve killed him myself. Not that I even knew what happened back then…’

She only managed to grasp even the basics of Anathema from chance encounters over the years. A couple of criminals possessed some otherworldly abilities and uttered about Anathema. Of course, such people weren’t exactly keen on sharing such otherworldly secrets. She was forced to piece together a general view on her unfortunate power through tidbits of fanatical mutters. ‘Why is Clyde here now? When I needed to know about this so much earlier, when I was busy nearly killing myself to try and figure out one single question. why?’

Generally, anathema went unused and would bubble up and lash out. They would attack those who bore their curse. Unable to do anything but march behind their bearers, they evolved. Every single time they clashed with their bearers, they grew. And the bigger an anathema was, the stronger the connection between kindred and ‘god.’

Unfortunately, ritualists were like a tadpole in the vast open ocean. They were rare and even more pressing was their cost. To find someone with knowledge on whatever particular anathema you bore would have to be a fated encounter. So how unbelievable that Syllis’ own father had known how to transfigure that anathema into a bond between her and Coryzan?

Clyde eventually finished speaking. His passion shone throughout the entire time he spoke. “As a noble, most of us are bonded, though mine is stronger than most…”

He seemed to be recalling his ritual. Syllis was sure that it had to be horrific, much like her own. But surely it had happened later than her. At the young age of eight, that absurd experience never left her. It was the reason her entire life was uprooted. It was the sword to cut her legs, never to let her truly walk again.

An older man gradually made his way closer, he was well kept and sported an ironed black suit. “I am to inform you that dinner will be ready in an hour.”

“Thank you Birham.” Clyde spoke earnestly before sending the man away. A little disheartened, he turned to Syllis once again. “Sorry for making you wait so long. But it seems we still have a while to go…”

“In that case… Would you like to spar with me?”