First, there was nothing, an absolute absence of both the physical and conceptual. Then from the void, Consciousness emerged, imagining itself into existence, having only two inherent qualities from its inception – the boundless ability to envision anything and the singular goal to experience all that was possible.
The endless expansion began, only inwards, not outwards.
Before all else came the concepts. The fundamental concepts of space and time, the pillars of the physical realm, and the metaphysical forces of creation and destruction. These served as the framework that would lay the foundation of the infinite weave of the multiverse in all its splendor.
You might ponder how something could arise from nothing, or how Consciousness birthed the infinite. These questions necessitate a story as old as time and just as long, too extensive to be told within a reasonable timeframe. So, let us instead focus on one individual, one existence – neither too significant nor inconsequential, but just enough to be enlightening and captivating.
Everything in sight thrived in varying shades of green, from the moss blanketing the trees and their leaves to the many animals adorned in a slew of verdant hues. At first glance, no visitor could resist the captivating beauty of the lush jungle. However, that enchantment would swiftly give way to a sobering realization of its true nature. This was no haven but a green hell, an endless cycle of existence relentlessly devouring itself. Here, life ceaselessly churned, a crucible that both tested and nurtured the powerful, while relentlessly culled the feeble.
Melar also experienced such a realization when he first arrived in this forest of horrors 8 days ago. By now the initial allure had faded into a background noise, drowned out by the danger necessitating unwavering focus and vigilance. He had been aware, even before his arrival, that everything would try and consume him; from the tiniest insect to the mightiest beast, plant life included. Still, the chasm between knowledge and lived experience couldn’t be understated.
‘Consciousness experiences, memory knows,’ He mused but swiftly snapped himself out of the contemplation. This was not time for self-reflection. He had learned the hard way, that even the briefest moment between deep thought and swift action could be costly. At the onset of his journey, he had suffered a wound from a plant that pierced his foot and tried to drain his energy and life’s blood.
Maintaining such heightened vigilance was an exhausting and demanding endeavor, but it had proven invaluable throughout his assessment. The Royal Academy of Sourcery conducted its final examinations within one of the numerous hazardous zones in their realm. The format remained largely consistent: a trial by fire, a survival of the fittest. However, unlike the merciless hand of Mother Nature, they didn't leave the weak to perish, but they certainly didn't allow them to graduate.
The 45 students comprising Melar’s class were deposited in the vast wilderness, with minimal equipment, in an area spanning 80 to 100 km around the teleportation platform, their goal and salvation. They had only their wits and sourcery to rely upon to navigate the perilous terrain and reach its heart. Thereby earning the prestigious distinction of graduating from the world’s most renowned Academy of Sourcery.
They were each dropped at a random location, roughly spaced out to maintain approximate equidistance from one another. The only caveat was that the higher-ranked the examinee the further from the platform they would find themselves. Melar, as the top-ranking student, was placed on the very edge of the examination area. The maximum range of 100km was determined by the furthest distance from the platform the dimensional orbs could operate their life-saving measures.
Melar had made exceptional progress, positioning himself among the first to approach the center, a mere few kilometers away. He had drawn close enough to catch intermittent glimpses of the imposing obelisk that towered over the platform, visible through the occasional breaks in the dense tree canopy.
With a deliberate step, he planted his foot, swiftly turning his head while aiming his palm above his right shoulder, his eyes gleaming with predatory focus. From above him, an awakened beast was falling upon him, its gaping maw open and ready to devour him whole. Yet, despite the creature's clever ambush, Melar had remained keenly aware of its presence.
The creature’s pelt was made of vivid shades of green, its appearance purposefully resembling the moss adorning the tree’s trunk. Its features included an angular head, a formidable size measuring 4 meters in length and 2 meters in height, and a set of fangs and claws that were both exceptionally sharp and tough. The beast had been lying in ambush clinging vertically upside-down to the very tree that Melar had just passed, poised to strike at any unsuspecting prey.
As the massive beast descended upon Melar a concentrated ray of black energy erupted from his palm, directed unerringly toward the creature's gullet. However, the beast's apex predator status was well-earned, and even while airborne and without a solid foothold, it deftly dodged the lethal attack. It utilized basic air sourcery to push itself to the left, as well as twisting its massive body, displaying astonishing dexterity in the process.
With a heavy thump, the beast landed and swiftly reoriented itself, staring at the diminutive creature that had managed to injure it. Despite the beast’s best efforts, a crevice of flesh was gone from its right side, and the wound was already gushing blood profusely. Wasting no time, it lunged once more, this time aiming to rend its adversary in two with its razor-sharp claws.
Melar had commenced his body enhancement the moment he had spotted the creature's form perched in the tree above. His mental faculties were heightened to their maximum capacity, granting him superior perception and reflexes, while his physical augmentation stood at a conservative 50%, ensuring readiness for action without needless energy drain.
The beast's charge was lightning-fast, compelling him to instantly flare his body to full power and execute a nimble sidestep. His earlier conservation of energy had cost him. Despite his swift reaction and the toughened skin from his augmentation, he sustained several lacerations from the close encounter. As the creature sped past him, Melar unleashed a searing fireball aimed at its rear flank, further exacerbating the previously inflicted wound.
What unfolded next was a deadly dance of snapping fangs and slashing claws, of human adaptability, interwoven with the artful display of sourcery. A macabre display of mortality from which only one participant would emerge alive.
Ultimately Melar triumphed.
After a relentless minute of ceaseless attacks from both, his strategy finally paid off, and he brought down the formidable beast. During that intense minute, instead of deploying his specialty, disintegration spells, he had unleashed fireballs of various sizes and intensities. This was a tactical choice designed to both lull the creature into a false sense of security and conserve his energy.
Finally, after a dozen intense exchanges, each participant sustaining minor wounds, Melar saw his chance. He had keenly observed the beast's ability to distinguish between a potent fireball and a lesser one. When he felt certain that the beast had grasped the difference, he executed the final step of his plan. Melar launched a potent fireball slightly to the left and a weaker one to the right, forcing the creature to make a split-second decision. Instinctively, the beast opted for the less threatening one, dodging in its path and slashing with its paw to tear the projectile apart.
To its dismay, the seemingly feeble energy sphere unleashed devastation of an unforeseen magnitude. As soon as the red ball touched the claws it began expanding. Disregarding the natural resistances of the beast, the energy consumed the offending limb of the beast, its head, and part of its chest.
"Red doesn’t always mean fire. A common misconception, I assure you," Melar teased, standing tall over his vanquished adversary.
Though Melar bore the marks of battle, with several lacerations and a cracked rib, the fact that he had successfully taken down one of the formidable Alpha Argers, of substantial size at that, was a remarkable accomplishment. He was confident that his audacious victory would earn him additional recognition and bonus points in the examination. The very dimensional orb that held their ticket out of this perilous place, as well as their last saving grace, also served as a recording device. His performance would be preserved for the scrutiny of influential figures, who would determine whether he merited inclusion in their ranks or not.
‘Hopefully, the Royals will deem this acceptable as well,’ he mused wistfully, but he promptly dismissed that line of thinking and immersed himself in the task at hand.
Having gone without food for several days, Melar found the prospect of feasting on the succulent and nutritious flesh of the Arger immensely pleasing. He wasted no time in slicing a portion from its flank with his knife as well as extracting what remained of its massive heart, then set to work cooking them. With the ever-present danger lurking in the shadows, time was of the essence, and he reluctantly resorted to another spell, expending precious energy to save equally precious time. Lacking spices and cooking precision, the meat turned out somewhat tough, and its exquisite flavor diminished, but it was still a vast improvement over the gnawing emptiness of his stomach.
Soon after, Melar rose and moved on, without pausing to allow his energy to fully mend his wounds or allow for another predator to disturb him in search of the free meal. He was an hour of careful trek from his goal, and he couldn’t wait to reach civilization and take a much-needed shower. After 8 days of constant walking and fighting, much grime and dry blood was marring his body.
Alas, his newfound tranquility was swiftly shattered once more. In a small clearing, illuminated by the fiery orb in the sky, another surprise attack threatened his life. A slender, finger-thick, but exceptionally sharp icicle shot from the bushes towards his head. Fortunately, his power enhancement was kept going to accelerate his healing, allowing him to narrowly evade the attack, resulting in only a minor scrape atop his head. Without hesitation, he turned and readied a shield spell, prepared to deploy it at a moment's notice.
Yet, instead of another attack, five figures emerged from the tree line before him.
"Fancy meeting you here, Melar. It seems the jungle doesn't quite suit you as well as the dueling grounds," boomed the largest boy and clear leader of the group. He was a young man, resembling a giant, standing well over two meters tall with a physique akin to a boulder, massive and muscular to the extreme.
Melar responded with a teasing smile, "Hi, Nick! Did your lackeys carry you all the way here? You look as fresh as a daisy!" His words conveyed an air of ease and amusement, but the tension in his body painted a different picture. He took a cautious step backward, and the wounds on his torso and leg began to seep blood once more.
"I'll have your tongue for all these silly insults!" Nick bellowed, his once-cheerful demeanor replaced by a deep scowl.
"Whoa there, big fella! Be careful with that face or you might scare some pretty girl to death. Then again, you tend to choose only airheads, they probably won't even notice." Melar kept irritating him with his big pointy speech stick.
“Any last words before I end you?” Nick growled, taking a threatening step closer, poised to attack.
However, Melar swiftly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and replied, "Just a few words. I understand you're eager for a friendly spar, and you've even brought an audience to witness your inevitable trashing. However..." He let the word hang in the air, drawing everyone in before abruptly releasing a spell. A dark energy ray shot towards the boy positioned at the far back of their group, mostly obscured by two others.
Janer was its name, a youth with striking purple hair and a slender, unassuming build. Despite his looks, he was the most annoying of his impending opponents. His concept was related to perception and his specialty was mind-bending magic. In a one-on-one duel, Melar wouldn't even bother expending energy on spells, instead simply beating him silly with his bare hands. However, in a group setting, if left unchecked, Janer could wield his abilities to influence the battle's outcome and almost certainly lead Melar to his doom.
With the little show he had given them and a clever sneak attack, Melar had managed to eliminate the most troublesome opponent before the fight even began. He had intentionally agitated Nick, as well as maintained a cheerful facade while appearing weak and unprepared beneath it. This masterful blend of outward strength and concealed weakness had led his adversaries to underestimate him, a costly mistake that they would soon regret.
The inky-black ray sliced through the gap between two of the boys, impaling Janer squarely through the chest. Melar had deliberately aimed to avoid Janer's heart, only grazing it while removing a significant portion of the boy's left lung. The dimensional orb was imbued with protective magic, designed to shield them from death. However, it wasn't overly eager to intervene in order to maintain the life-like authenticity of the harrowing experience, it couldn't be too quick to save them.
Before they had been transported to this perilous location, they had received thorough instructions about when the orb would and wouldn't activate. If the safety of their brains or hearts were compromised, the orb would instantly absorb its charge and whisk them away to the academy, where a team of skilled healers stood ready to tend to their injuries.
Unsurprisingly, Melar had received a specific warning about the swiftness of his disintegration ray, cautioning him to exercise care when using it. No one had explicitly instructed him not to kill his opponents, as the preparations against death were primarily in place to demonstrate the academy's concern for its students' lives and to prevent unnecessary fatalities. Nevertheless, death was an integral aspect of reality, particularly in the life of a sourcerer, and confronting mortality was a fundamental part of this assessment. Still, Melar had no intention of engaging in an irreparable feud with a noble family, even a minor one like Janer's. Therefore, he had deliberately refrained from obliterating his heart, instead forcing the safety spell matrix within the orb to activate and send him back home.
As if the disintegration ray served as the punctuation to the pause, Melar continued, "...can your lackeys bear the consequences of their presence during our duel?"
There was no response, however. Nick unleashed a battle cry and charged forward, his body emitting a faint blue glow, the result of an anti-disintegration shield spell he had cast.
"DIE!" Nick bellowed, launching a massive punch aimed directly at Melar's face.
Melar swiftly evaded the punch by leaping to the side, but in doing so, he was pierced through his biceps by an icicle, a treacherous gift from the blue-haired boy named Norsan. He quickly noted the presence of all the attackers, in an attempt to avoid any other nasty surprises. Simultaneously Melar boosted his body’s power to 100% and leaned backward to narrowly evade a powerful uppercut from Nick.
For a few, heart-pounding moments, Melar's movements were a mesmerizing dance of evasion, as he skillfully weaved between their attacks, sidestepping projectiles, deflecting punches, and even avoiding a few sword swings, narrowly escaping disaster by the slimmest of margins.
The disintegration ray he had cast possessed immense power but required a substantial amount of his Will to channel and release, leaving him momentarily limited in his ability to cast spells — a vulnerability that his enemies were acutely aware of. This was not their first encounter after all. Over three years of schooling at the academy, all students had fought one another, most more than once, whether as part of their coursework, events or to settle personal grudges.
Melar and Nick's longstanding vendetta had its roots in their very first encounter at the academy. Despite Nick's consistent attempts to salvage his pride over the years, he never managed to defeat his nemesis. Melar had bested him repeatedly in the arena, outshining him in contests of wit, power, and sourcery. Even outside the confines of formal duels, Melar had continued to outmaneuver Nick with his biting remarks and clever schemes, often in response to Nick's more underhanded tactics. Melar had maintained an unassailable lead, boasting an impressive score of 12-0 in his favor. Hence why Nick had decided to use the exam as their ultimate showdown, a final opportunity to reclaim some semblance of pride.
After nearly ten seconds of nimble evasive maneuvers, some successful and others not, Melar finally found an opportunity to counterattack. The combination of two melee fighters harrying him while the other two took potshots was powerful and hard to defend against. However, their teamwork was severely lacking, especially between Torok and Nick. Nick was a whirlwind of strikes preventing the swordsman from doing much. He could only take careful stabs in an attempt to deny Melar potential evasive paths, fearful of injuring the mad behemoth. However, one such strike turned out to be perfect for Melar to capitalize on.
He deftly dodged yet another punch and deflected the sword thrust, by pulling his knife at the last moment, towards Nick. Then executed a swift stomp with his retreating rear leg, casting a spell in the process. A razor-sharp spike erupted from the ground with blinding speed and precision, aiming squarely at Nick's nether regions. The double attack was as unexpected as it was ruthless, catching Nick off guard and forcing him to dodge back. The sword coupled with the earth spike, which pricked him in an area he had never before felt violated so, made him overcompensate. Such underhanded tactics from Melar were absent in the dueling ring, but in this life-and-death scenario, he held nothing back.
In the brief moments of respite that Melar had created, he grabbed the swordsman with his free hand and pulled him further off balance. Before the eyes of Torok’s companions, Melar plunged his knife into his chest only to lose it when the boy was gone in a flash of light. The maneuver was swift but, in a battle this intense and fast-paced, it took long enough to allow Nick to launch a retaliatory strike. Melar had barely enough time to raise his hands in an attempt to block. Despite his enhancement, the impact caused multiple fractures in Melar's forearms, inflicting excruciating pain and propelling him backward, slamming him into a nearby tree.
The momentary lapse in focus allowed Ason to successfully unleash a bolt of lightning that struck Melar's abdomen, keeping him momentarily stunned. This provided an opening for another icicle to reach him, which impaled him through his thigh, effectively pinning him to the tree.
Just as Nick was about to unleash a potentially deadly blow, Melar ripped himself from the icicle, evading the impending strike to the left. The wound in his right leg ruptured, widening significantly, while the massive tree behind him broke into a shower of splinters from Nick’s strike. Melar pushed off with his healthy leg and invoked another spell, causing the ground beneath his foot to become elastic. This elasticity propelled him forward, a challenging spell to control, but one he had practiced enough to master. He hurtled toward the boy wielding fire and lightning. Nick wasted no time and immediately pursued him.
Melar carefully positioned himself so that the icicle-wielding boy was unable to hit him without harming Nick or repositioning, making him unable to interfere for a few precious moments. This allowed Melar to launch a series of punches and kicks at Ason who in turn defended with fiery limbs. The outcome was a few bruises for Ason and severe burns for Melar. Seemingly an exchange Melar lost but that wasn't his primary objective.
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While closing in on Ason and deftly dodging a fireball, Melar had cast another spell, granting him awareness of the immediate space around him. This newfound awareness allowed him to spot the now impending danger: a devastating punch from Nick, who had charged toward them with unwavering determination, albeit at a slightly slower pace than Melar. In the nick of time, Melar employed the bouncy earth spell once more to propel himself to the side. Nick's punch, intended for Melar, landed squarely on Ason's chest, who had been entirely unprepared and defenseless against such a formidable strike. The unfortunate boy was sent hurtling toward a tree but never reached it, as his dimensional orb activated, whisking him away to safety. His ribcage was caved in, most likely having pierced his heart.
The dodge had forced Melar to land awkwardly on his injured foot, causing him to stumble and fall. Just as he began to rise to his feet, he sensed the impending danger looming behind him but had no prepared countermeasure at the ready. He had counted on Nick taking more time to resume his attacks after essentially dispatching his own comrade. Unfortunately, Nick's rage had rendered him indifferent to what he regarded as mere cannon fodder.
Nick's punch was aimed squarely at Melar's head, and it was mere moments away from making contact, a lethal blow that the dimensional would fail to save him from. With no time for elaborate planning, Melar instinctively drew upon his extensive hand-to-hand combat experience. He initiated a forward roll just as the punch collided with his skull, and the force of the impact propelled him further into his roll, lessening the blow's severity. Simultaneously, he relaxed his whole body, further reducing the damage inflicted.
Melar was launched through the air like a ragdoll with its strings severed, limbs flailing at odd angles, tumbling for tens of meters before finally coming to a halt at the base of a tree. With a mere thought, he assessed the damage and was relieved by his findings. His skull was indeed cracked like an egg, but aside from a massive concussion, no bone had penetrated his brain. Given the incredible force behind Nick's punch, enough to obliterate anything above Melar's shoulders, he was satisfied with his instinctive response. While he suffered from dizziness and an excruciating headache, both were manageable with the abundant energy coursing through his body, enhancing every facet of his physicality. With a few awkward movements, he untangled his limbs and managed to rise to his feet, ready to continue the fight.
Before either Melar or Nick could regain their bearings, Norsan, the ice wielder, bellowed in defiance and fear, unleashing a formidable area spell—one of his specialties. Nick only caught the peripheral effects, but Melar was the intended target. Still reeling from the latest blow and the energy expended, Melar had no choice but to bear the brunt of the spell with nothing but his body.
A swirling cloud of razor-thin ice blades materialized, coalescing from the moisture in the surroundings. Each blade spun at devastating speeds and shot towards the center, confining whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves there. For several agonizing seconds, nothing but the grinding sounds of the whirling ice filled the jungle.
When the spell finally ceased, Norsan and Nick gazed upon what was left of their enemy. Rather than a human being, something resembling a tattered doll ravaged by time or a petulant child's angry creation emerged. Melar’s body bore hundreds of lacerations, and only his nearly destroyed hands, raised defensively to shield his face, had spared him from an even worse fate.
With agonizing slowness, Melar's battered hands lowered, and he fixed a furious gaze upon Norsan. His dark golden eyes gleamed with unbridled anger.
"That was not very nice of you."
Before either of his adversaries could react, Melar unleashed a spell of his own—one he had been preparing while enduring the relentless onslaught of icy shards. He had to sacrifice a part of the integrity of his Will to ensure the fast activation of the spell, but it was worth it if it left only Nick. In his current state, a frontal confrontation with the mad giant would be a suicide so he had to ensure a more even playing field.
A smaller but infinitely more sinister storm, black as night, manifested upon Norsan's abdomen and began methodically disassembling his internal organs, a slow and inexorable process. His face twisted with horror and an agonizing scream escaped his lips. However, it lasted only a few fleeting seconds before some primal part shut down Norsan’s consciousness, the excruciating pain too unbearable to endure. Recognizing the threat to his survival, the dimensional orb promptly activated and whisked him away to safety.
"Tchs," Melar responded with supreme annoyance. "I guess I'll remember this and pay him back later," he mumbled under his breath before directing his attention back to Nick, who was still staring at the spot where his last comrade had stood.
"What? Did you lose your nerve, big boy?" Melar taunted his final opponent with a derisive sneer.
Nick wore an astonished expression that slowly morphed into horror, the vivid memory of the other boy's screams and gradual disappearance etched indelibly into his eyes and mind. He had never seen this spell from Melar but had suffered his other disintegration spells. They hurt like hell and took a lot to heal, however, this one seemed like something on a whole different level. With a slow movement, he shifted his gaze to the creature before him—who no longer resembled a human being. Melar's body and clothes were shredded, lacerations both small and large as well as holes punctuated his form. Even his arms and hands were mangled, hanging limply by his body. With blood oozing from countless wounds, he looked as if he had just emerged from a blood bath.
How he was able to remain conscious let alone standing made no sense to Nick. However, it was Melar's face that truly defied all logic. His countenance didn't reveal the agony that should have accompanied such injuries. Instead, he wore a twisted smile, reminiscent of a demon gazing at its plaything, exuding the excitement of a toddler about to dismantle a beloved toy to uncover its inner workings.
"What are you?" Nick breathed, his eyes full of fear.
"I am your doom if you do not back off," Melar declared ominously. "I've been holding back to avoid killing you children, but in my current state, I can't afford to play around anymore. If you attack me, I'll take your head, consequences be damned. In fact, I might even be hailed as a hero for my valiant struggle against your little band of overachievers. Did you know I killed an Alpha Arger just minutes before you ambushed me? Sending a headless corpse to your dad would probably earn me more respect than letting you go. But honestly, dealing with any lingering grudges sounds too annoying, so I'd rather not. You have three seconds to turn around and run."
Melar emphasized his last word with a savage smile and wide wild eyes. However, Nick needed only one second to decide his course of action. He knew that Melar still had at least one disintegration ray as well as that black storm at his disposal, as every spell could be cast by sacrificing its matrix. He was no longer confident that his shield, developed to counter Melar, would protect him from the beast in human form standing before him. The imminent threat of death, coupled with Melar's visual intimidation, forced his legs into motion before he even comprehended what was happening. He turned and fled, leaving behind the eerie battlefield and the ominous figure that had withstood their assault.
Melar watched as the hulking figure retreated into the dense foliage and exhaled a shuddering breath. He hadn't been bluffing when he threatened Nick with death. Melar possessed enough energy to eliminate his adversary and keep himself stable until he reached the academy. He preferred becoming the enemy of one of the most powerful noble families in the world than facing certain death or failure to graduate, an obvious choice.
Soon Melar relaxed his tense ready-to-act body and with a slow limping gait, began his journey toward the obelisk. The remaining few kilometers were devoid of excitement but filled with excruciating pain. He couldn't help but reflect on the intense suffering he had endured during his pain resistance training with his father. The man had assured him that enduring such pain would one day save Melar’s life, and as always, he had been right. It was his capacity to tolerate massive amounts of pain and its inherent distraction that had allowed him to deal with Norsan and confront Nick with confidence if necessary.
As Melar started towards the obelisk, he couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead and what kind of life-changing experiences awaited him at the Royal Academy of Sourcery.
Still, he focused all of his remaining energy as well as what his soul generated, channeling it continuously into enhancing his body's regenerative capabilities. While it wouldn't provide immediate relief, this effort would help stabilize him enough to complete the examination as he desired. During the nearly hour-long trek, Melar concentrated on adjusting his cracked bones, even forcing them into place with his damaged hands. He then redirected and reconnected his blood vessels at the edges of his wounds, staunching the flow of blood from his injuries. Such precise control over one's regeneration was a skill typically associated with healers, but for someone like Melar, who had lived a life filled with danger, it had become an essential survival skill that had saved him from death on numerous occasions.
Upon reaching the first step of the platform, Melar halted and closed his eyes. After a few moments, he took a deep breath and forcefully reopened his eyes. As he took his first step onto the civilized ground, a transformation overcame him. His posture straightened as if he were marching before an emperor. His steps, though still leaving bloody prints behind, became steady, as if he had just awakened from a restful slumber. His eyes betrayed none of the searing agony still coursing through his body and mind; instead, they conveyed unwavering determination and indomitable spirit. With his gaze fixed upward and ahead, he ascended the teleportation platform.
There, near the center, Melar spotted the deacon responsible for ensuring the exam's safe completion. Despite his advanced age, the man’s emotions were clearly written on his face—awe, pride, horror, joy, and wonder all mingled in a symphony of concern. His mind was churning with thoughts of what was to come but, in that moment, he merely offered a respectful nod to the bloodied figure striding past him.
Melar responded in kind to the man’s greeting and silently stepped into the center of the platform. With deliberate action, he activated the matrix for his dimensional orb, signaling the completion of his exam.
The return journey began in the usual manner. The dimensional orb enveloped him, drawing him into its inner world, and with a final surge of energy from the platform, charged by the obelisk, it punctured through the fabric of space.
To an observer, Melar vanished in an instant, but from his perspective, a shimmering grey sphere enveloped him, warding off the oppressive darkness of the void. This protective shell was his safeguard against the tumultuous distortions of space, a byproduct of his journey through its very fabric.
However, his sense of security soon turned to unease. Melar’s expertise in this mode of travel was minimal at best. His only prior experience had been the brief trip a few days prior, when he had departed the academy, emerging amidst the dense canopy of the jungle. That journey had been swift and unremarkable, the academy's structures giving way to the towering trees in a mere eleven seconds. But this time, the duration stretched beyond those fleeting seconds.
Initially, Melar suspected a hijacking of his spatial journey, possibly diverting him to an unknown destination. However, as the seconds ticked beyond the twenty-second mark, a dreadful realization dawned on him, sending a chill down his spine. He wasn’t going to the Academy or even to a location on the planet. He was being ejected into the emptiness of space and possibly, a certain doom.
Panic rattled him, his knees giving way under the weight of his comprehension. The peril confronting him was stark and immediate. His battered body and mind, already pushed to their limits, had been kept together only by his Will and the anticipation of imminent safety. Now that control began to unravel, as he felt the grip of the existential threat closing in on him, with no means of defense at his disposal.
‘Survived hell only to mistake oblivion for salvation,’ Melar mused with a wry, dark humor.
Dimensional travel, notorious for its immense energy demands, had evolved to incorporate various methods to curb its prohibitive costs. This evolution gave birth to dimensional gates for interstellar voyages and teleportation pads coupled with dimensional orbs for terrestrial travel. These orbs, capable of numerous uses before requiring maintenance, offered rapid and secure transit between two points in mere seconds. However, their design was insufficient to store the colossal energy needed to traverse the millions of kilometers of void separating planets, let alone different star systems.
As the energy stored within the orb dwindled to critical levels, the harsh reality of physics came crashing down. Fine, spiderweb-like cracks, eerily white, started to creep across the orb's surface, signaling the impending collapse of Melar's protective barrier against the catastrophic forces of space.
‘No time for panic! Think!’ Melar admonished himself internally. ‘I possess no spell that can keep me alive in the void of space. These cracks, ominous as they may seem, could portend both my demise and my salvation. If I am simply shot into space, I am dead and there is nothing I can do about it. If I am being transported somewhere else by someone meddling with the orb, then they should have figured out the energy problems. I could pour my own energy to sustain the orb.’ Melar thought and then closed his eyes and employed his last vestiges of energy to enhance his cognitive faculties for a few precious moments and did the calculations. ‘Futile! Unraveling my entire cultivation would scarcely suffice for a journey between the jungle and the academy, let alone an interstellar voyage such as this.’
He looked at the shell, now almost half covered in white, the change visibly accelerating.
‘Ahh. My musings are pointless. I am too tiny to fight this. “Some parts of life are to be experienced not solved like a problem.”’ he reflected ruefully, finding solace in the unbidden memory of his father. It afforded him the clarity to reconcile with his fate, relinquish control, and embrace the role of a passive observer.
Meanwhile, the white energy continued its inexorable expansion, consuming the dark grey of the shell with each passing moment. When finally, no grey remained, a pulse was unleashed by the orb, washing over Melar. Without a moment of warning Melar’s awareness faded and he slumped, fast asleep.
The white cracks consuming the grey barrier had turned out to be a sign of renewal, not of failure as Melar feared. Instead of harbingers of doom, they were the manifestation of a new, far more potent energy. Unbeknownst to him, Death had rescheduled their inevitable meeting.
Katie was enjoying the gentle rays of light that fell through the leaves and found their way to her exposed skin. It was a sunny June Sunday and she and her grandfather, who was off work that day, had embarked on their customary mountain trek. They had just left the house, through the back door, straight into the forest, and up towards one of the smaller peaks. The path was clear and worn out from the frequent ventures they had made that year.
Her grandpa and sometimes her grandma joined her on these walks. They loved it and she needed it. Their presence and encouragement were especially crucial on days when Katie's motivation waned, and she had no desire to move let alone climb. This activity was more than just a leisurely walk for Katie; it was a necessary part of her recovery and rehabilitation. Her left leg, severely affected by the incident, required consistent effort to maintain and improve its mobility. The walks with her grandparents played a crucial role in that process.
The accident had left more than just physical scars; it cast a shadow over Katie's spirit that made her feel like drowning. However, the unwavering support and love from her grandparents, pierced through that enveloping darkness with moments of brightness and hope, preventing her from being suffocated by her own thoughts and feelings.
Today started like any other, with the usual comforting rhythm: an early rise followed by a stretch, a bathroom visit, and then coffee in her seat at the kitchen table. Her grandparents had their roles in these morning plays too; Emily prepared breakfast while Steve nursed his own cup of coffee while reading the newspaper. Katie often mused that this daily ritual, mundane as it might have appeared, provided her with a much-needed sense of normalcy and security.
“The weather is shaping up to be pretty great,” Steve mused, his gaze lingering on the mountain view outside the kitchen window. “Wanna hit the trek early on and get to the peak before noon? These old bones could use a bit of an adventure.”
“Sure, I am always up for a walk with you,” Katie replied, her eyes lighting up with a mix of determination and warmth. “I’ll need 10 minutes after breakfast, think you will be ready?” Katie responded with a smirk.
“Now, now, I was tardy that one time. In fact, I'll be ready in 7! Think you can keep up?” he retorted, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mirth and mock indignation.
“Nope. I know how much I need to be punctual,” Katie shot back sticking her tongue out, a display that earned her a few chuckles from her audience of two.
Katie remembered the short banter while following behind the towering back of her grandpa. As usual, he was sporting a huge mountain backpack, full of gear for every conceivable situation. Despite their plan to return by early afternoon, he had packed as if they were to brave the wilderness for days. He was carrying tents, sleeping bags, and even bear spray.
“You never know with the mountain Katie. You should show respect to the might of Mother Nature by being prepared for anything. Only then can you enjoy your time with her!” he would often advise her in the early days after their move here.
Katie, in contrast, carried a small backpack, one she usually took to school. It was lightly packed with snacks and sandwiches for their break at the mountain's peak. Despite two years of rehabilitation, she couldn’t reach the peak with her grandpa’s backpack over her shoulders, she probably wouldn’t be able to leave the house’s yard. Her hip and knee joints would start to hurt only after 15 minutes of uphill walking, let alone carrying such a burden. Her therapist was adamant that this pain was a normal part of her recovery. Only through persistent effort was there a hope it would reduce and maybe, just maybe, disappear for a part of her adult life.
Katie’s life changed irrevocably when she was 15, on the way for a visit to her grandparents. A severe rainstorm led to a catastrophic event: their car was hit by a truck whose driver had momentarily lost focus. Katie was seated behind her father Ben, who was driving at the time. The truck had skidded in a turn and collided with the driver's side.
Katie awoke, her body ensconced in the sterile white of a hospital bed and immobilized. A dull ache pulsed through her left side, the painkillers coursing through her veins fighting a relentless battle against the pain. Due to the extensive damage, she was confined, a prisoner in her own bed, unable to perform even the simplest of tasks on her own. Katie’s condition was severe enough that it required both internal and external fixators. The joints of her hip and knee had been extensively repaired, supported by plates and screws.
‘Like a poor imitation of a robot,’ she thought grimly as the memories fluttered in her mind’s eye.
As soon as she came to, she found her grandparents beside her. It took a while for her mind to clear from the anesthesia. Then reality came crashing down with the memory of the accident and its harrowing possibilities. She asked about her parents, her condition and pain forgotten, hoping the fears were only a fleeting illusion. Alas, hope is a fragile thing and it soon shattered upon the unyielding reality.
Her father was gone, snatched away by death on the spot. At least he hadn’t suffered. Katie’s mother, Rachel, had come out of the OR before she did but was now in a coma. The doctors were unwilling to offer concrete answers, uncertain as they were. For a long, agonizing month, her mother lingered in a coma, a silent testament to the fragility of life. During that time, Katie’s wounds had stabilized, and she was making her first steps toward recovery, things looking up even if only a tiny bit. The day her mother's eyes finally fluttered open should have been a day of rejoicing, but the joy was short-lived and tinged with the bitterest of sorrows.
Rachel emerged from the coma as a different person. She didn’t recognize them, her eyes vacant. Initially, the family clung to the hope that it was mere amnesia, a temporary loss to be rectified. But hope soon gave way to a heart-wrenching realization. Memories once held dear were gone for good but new ones were not safe either. For what new ones she could make, now slipped away like sand through fingers, leaving in their wake a confusing void. Half an hour was all that remained of her mother's grasp on the past before it faded into oblivion. In a tragic twist of fate, Katie's mother could no longer recognize her own daughter, nor learn of her anew. The accident had, in a cruel blow, taken both her parents from her. Each in their own way, was gone forever.
Katie was jolted back to the harsh present by a stone on the path, catching herself at the last moment. Her thoughts would often drift towards the accident for it had rerouted the course of her life. It pulled her away from the familiarity of her old town to a new life with her maternal grandparents. Gone were the days of running cross, cheerleading, or dancing, of being a vibrant part of the school’s social scene. Her old friends, once a constant in her life, had drifted away, leaving her to roam like a ghost in their memories. And in her new school, she was no more than the "gloomy, limping Kate," a shadow of the girl who once radiated life and promise. In a cruel twist of fate, her life had veered onto a path she could never have imagined, stripping away her dreams and leaving her to navigate a world that was unrecognizable and cold.
BANG!
Katie's head snapped towards the source of the sound, a booming explosion that shattered the tranquility of the forest and sent a shockwave of wind rippling through the trees. Her heart raced as the sudden disruption yanked her from the depths of her somber thoughts.
Steve, with a furrowed brow and a sense of urgency in his voice, broke the stunned silence. “What on earth was that? That’s no natural sound for these woods. Should we go see what happened?” he asked under his breath, the question clearly aimed at him. His voice trembled slightly, betraying his concern over the unexpected disruption of their peaceful hike.
“It could be an accident, maybe a gas bottle explosion or something. We should definitely check it out! See if anyone needs help.” Her voice was firm, a stark contrast to the uncertainty swirling inside her.
“Yes… Yes, you are right. Do you think we can hurry over?” he asked, throwing a worried look at her and her leg.
“I’ll manage. You go ahead, and I'll keep up as best as I can,” Katie assured him, steeling herself against the pain she knew would follow.
With a nod, her grandpa plunged into the dense foliage, his agility belying his age. Katie watched his back recede and couldn't help but feel a pang of wistfulness. ‘He keeps amazing me with how nimble he is despite his age. Makes me feel old…' she thought ruefully, her own pace nothing more than a limping jog.
Following the path Steve had made with his passing, she quickly caught up to him and stopped by his side. The scene that was hidden by her grandpa’s large back before was now bare before her, petrifying her just like it had him.
A swath of destruction, over 50 meters wide, lay before them. Trees, once majestic and towering, were now uprooted and splintered, their broken forms strewn around the perimeter like discarded matchsticks. The ground was scorched black, the undergrowth completely obliterated, leaving behind a charred, and barren landscape.
At the heart of this desolation was a crater, reminiscent of a meteorite strike, but in its center lay something far more unsettling than a steaming stone. A body lay prone amidst the wreckage. However, the truly shocking aspect was the state of it. The person was almost completely naked. The remnants of his torn garments were barely distinguishable amidst the blood that soaked them. Beneath all that, rendered flesh could be spotted, hinting at the source of the vibrant color. The grotesque scene was a brutal assault on the senses. The carmine-red corpse contrasted starkly with the smoldering black earth, creating an image that would haunt Katie for the rest of her life.