Conversation finished, the two stared at each other in silence. Jeb had no idea what was going through the aged man’s mind, but he could not stop thinking about the weakness the Archdruid had shown. Which was the man, and which was the mask? As he continued to think about it, Jeb became more and more sure of two things.

First, it did not truly matter whether the strength or the weakness was a facade. The Archdruid projected an air of strength in front of all of his subordinates, and so that was, for any practical purpose, the real him. Second, though, Jeb was almost positive that neither was truly a facade. The transition between the two moods had been too rote to be anything that the Archdruid did rarely. Jeb was broken from his thoughts by the Archdruid’s nod.

As the Archdruid walked away, Jeb found that he was alone in the clearing. The other Druids had all fled as the weather turned foul, and their Bound Swarms had done the same. Looking around the once more peaceful space, Jeb realized that now was as good of a time as any to try to take the Archdruid’s advice. Even though he did not understand the idea, he was willing to believe that his Swarm might be a part of himself, whatever that meant.

Jeb sat down, taking a moment to consider what it meant to be himself. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes against the sight of lush green forest and plant life. With each breath in, he tasted the life surrounding him. With each breath out, he felt a little bit less tied to his own body.

Jeb transitioned to lying down. Starting from his feet, Jeb did his best to truly consider the way that each part of his body was connected to him. He quickly pushed past the obvious fact that he was physically bound together, plunging deeper into his soul and Status. After a few incredibly slow breaths, Jeb started to see the faintest glimmers of Binding cords linking the core of himself to his feet.

Finding the first set of threads made the rest far easier to find. As night overcame day, Jeb found the boundaries of his physical form. He was somewhat surprised to find that his hair was not bound to his spirit in the same way. After a moment of consideration, though, he thought he understood. Jeb did not think about his hair, and he felt no attachment to it. As a result, despite the fact that his hair was physically a part of him, it was not a part of what it meant for him to be Jeb.

Sighing slightly, Jeb sat up, mind turning to the task at hand. The reminder that there were parts of him physically but not spiritually Bound to himself raised the immediate and obvious question of the reverse. If the Swarm was a part of him, Bound to his soul, as the Archdruid had mentioned, then was it a part of himself? If so, then he was clearly more than his own body.

Was his body, the lute, and the Swarm still simply Jeb? Or, was it like his foot, which though named on its own was not himself? The question ate at him as stars drifted by, and Jeb pulled out his lute, knowing on a fundamental level that it would be easier to realign his mental image to include the lute than to include the millions of bees of the Swarm.

Jeb stretched his fingers quickly, unwilling to break the habits that he had formed Tiers and years ago. When he felt limbered up, he began to pluck through the scales and warmups that the Bard had taught him. Realizing that he had only ever known the man as “The Bard”, Jeb began to wonder if he had been lost to his Class. It was possible, and would go a long way to explaining why he had never heard the man’s name.

Pushing the thought from his mind, Jeb finished his warmups. When he had, rather than moving into any of the etudes or more taxing exercises he had been taught, Jeb simply started to play the instrument, letting his fingers dance along the smooth neck as his other hand plucked out a thoughtful pattern. As he continued playing, Jeb began to feel the lute as more and more of an extension of his own body and will. The notes he played were simply his own utterances, unmediated by anything.

Jeb knew that many craftsmen spoke of their tools as an extension of their own body, rather than something artificial. For all that he had always assumed the statement was more metaphorical than literal, it was not a particularly difficult mental realignment for Jeb to make. Jeb looked at the connections between the instrument and himself and noted that there was nothing fundamentally different than the connections between his body parts and himself. Something in his soul suddenly slotted into place, and the last fragments of separation between himself and the lute vanished.

Without meaning to, Jeb’s playing shifted. He shifted its position fractionally, noticing the lute’s sound resonate out that little bit further. His fingers moved that slight bit more precisely, able to play with the differences that a fraction of a tone could make in a way he never could before. If a few notes started to sound out that his own fingers did not pluck, well, that was only to be expected. After all, Jeb had given the lute a Will of its own.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Jeb started to sing. His voice coursed out through the air, blending and mixing with the sounds of his lute. It was not any formal Bardic Song, nor was it any piece of music that he had been explicitly taught. It was something rawer and purer than that.

With nothing save his voice and the part of him that was a lute, Jeb sang out his sense of sorrow at the world that seemed darker with each passing day. As his voice rose higher, he recalled the unprompted kindnesses that so many had showed him. As tears fell from his eyes, he mourned the carefree childhood that he knew he could never return to. Jeb keened, realizing that to go forward was to confront others. For better or worse, he knew that he would be willing to use the power he had acquired.

Putting the lute back on his shoulder, Jeb did not feel the tether lessen at all. Now that it was not physically connected to him in the same way, it was a strange sensation, and he nearly fell over as he tried to stand. After a few moments to adapt, Jeb felt his vision once more settle, seeing only through his own eyes. Sighing, he looked at the bees floating around him. The rising dawn evaporated his tears, and he confronted his next task.

Reaching out, Jeb found the tendril connecting one of the individual bees to his own core. Looking into his core, he saw the strands that connected each part of his body to itself, and tried to tell himself that the connection to the Swarm was no different. Unlike joining with the lute, which had felt like getting rid of an itch he had hardly noticed, this felt like Jeb was stretching a part of himself that had not been used in far too long. The metaphorical muscle, taut with disuse, protested, before finally giving way.

All at once, Jeb collapsed to the ground, no longer within his own body.

Jeb saw himself begin to fall, many faceted eyes focusing on the nexus of power. Turning around, the bee flew off, trusting the Bound partner. Jeb flew on currents of air, tracing the scent of Mana and flowers. Before the sensation of being the singular bee could set in, Jeb was pulled into another sensation.

Jeb was warrior. He, for all that the pronoun felt less and less applicable, and his fellow fighters would repel the incursion from a rival Swarm. His stinger, replaceable as it was, glistened with the most potent venom that the Hive could Brew. The rival Swarm was not awakened, and would never be able to stand to the might of the Swarm. Jeb knew that he might fall, but that falling in the service of his Lord and Lady was the reason he had been born. As the bee flew forward, a lance of pain speared through Jeb’s soul, and he pulled further out.

Jeb was the legion. The warrior was still there, a limb rather than a full individual. The legion flew forward, engaging the enemy. In contrast to the legion’s tight and ordered ranks, the enemy was disorganized. The legion was to be the stinger for the army, leading the charge. Another spear of pain pierced Jeb, and he pulled even further back.

Jeb was the army. Each legion flew in perfect martial formation, aiming for the heart of the enemy’s Hive. The dances they had practiced for years synchronized their movements. The Mana each portion of him had been bathed in gave the army strength beyond anything that the other Swarm could bring to bear. Bees fell by the dozen, though none were of the Swarm. Leading by the stinger, hundreds of bees within the army tore the enemy Hive to pieces.

They would not raid this Swarm. The base creatures were not worth it. An arcing pain raced through Jeb’s soul, as though his back was suddenly split in two.

Jeb was the Hive. The eggs waiting to hatch, the workers waiting for it to be safe to leave the hive, the army, he was all of it. More than that, though, Jeb was the walls that kept them safe. He was the honey they had gathered and collected. He was, he realized, the Mana that suffused the space.

All this took place in the time it took his body to fall to the ground. The jolt of his back and lute crashing into the hard packed soil brought Jeb back to his body. He gasped, his two lungs feeling strange after being so many at once. Sitting up, he swallowed down the sudden wave of nausea. Rinsing his mouth with a quickly Conjured drink of Water, Jeb took a deep breath, willing his own heart to calm down. To his surprise, it did.

Jeb tried to replay the memories. The lancing headache that followed told him that he was better off doing something else instead. Realizing that he had landed directly on the lute, Jeb quickly grabbed it, terrified that it might have broken. Looking at the pristine instrument, he let out a small chuckle.

Even before he had fully embraced the Binding between them, the lute had been suffused with enough Mana to make it stronger than well forged steel. Now that he knew it was a part of him, it was just as resistant to damage as any other piece of his body, if not slightly more so. The phantom pain in his finger throbbed, and Jeb focused on it.

“I accept the pain that was needed for me to be here right now,” he said simply. The world thrummed with the words. Jeb felt the tides of fate shifting, just for a moment. Whether he had broken into a new channel or not, he felt more himself than he had since coming to the Enclave.

Looking back at the bees, he prepared to lose the feeling again.