Lu was digging a hole. No, that wasn’t right.

Lu was dreaming about digging a hole. How he knew he was dreaming, he couldn’t say – it was just a fact that he knew. Why he was digging a hole, he also couldn’t say. Dreams were just like that. He broke the sandy black soil up with a chisel-like rock, then scooped it out with his hands. Usually he would care more about dirtying himself, but it was just a dream, so it was fine.

He dug down, making a pit wide and deep enough to curl up in, before he found the first bone. Huh. A rib? It was. He worked to dig out the rib, and uncovered a second. Then a third, a vertebra, what might be an arm bone…

Soon, there was a whole skeleton piled up in his hole – probably. He didn’t feel particularly motivated to catalog every piece, so there might be some bits still underground. What a strange dream. Usually I dream about mundane things, or have nightmares about being stabbed or having my guts cut up again. Is this a metaphor, perhaps?

The skeleton was obviously inhuman, too thick, too crude, but neither was it the bones of an animal. A gorilla, maybe? He put a finger to his lips, inspecting the skull in particular. Ah, I understand. It’s the bones of one of the Sixth Reality natives. He looked up, taking in the endless black expanse. And further up, those churning red clouds.

He nodded to himself. Yes, now that I’m paying attention, it’s obvious. I’m dreaming about being back in the other world. Just a standard metaphor for the various anxieties of his life – almost soothing in its mundanity. Well, let’s not leave these remains uncovered; that’s bad luck, even if it’s a dream.

He climbed out of the hole he had dug, set the digging rock to the side, and started undoing his work. Moist soil piled back over the bones, obscuring them, and soon there was no trace that any hole had ever existed.

There we go, job done. Ah, is this also a metaphor? Burying the past, or some such..? He pondered it a moment, before shrugging. I probably won’t remember this anyway, so there’s no reason to think about it too hard. He turned.

And there were the bones, sitting in a pile. “How do you feel about sleep?” they asked.

“Eep!” Lu fell back, landing on his bottom. “I, ah-“ Jumpscared, in my own dream! The nerve! He stared at the bones incredulously. Wait, this feels weird. Lu, make sure we’re dreaming.

Lu pinched himself, and… Felt nothing. No pain. He sighed in relief. Ah, good. No reason to worry, then. The bones sat silently, waiting for their answer. “I’m sleeping right now? So I would say, I don’t dislike it or anything?” In fact, I’d go so far as to say I enjoy it, in moderation. One of few mortal indulgences I allowed myself, even after I progressed beyond its need.

The pile’s voice was exactly what one would expect; thin and worn-down by the passing of ages, wind and overcast skies and mausoleum dust. “How do you feel about death?”

Lu blinked. A touch of dreamy detachment floated away. “Ah, Sir Bones, that’s a very large question.” Is this my demon stirring up trouble? He prodded the itch with a spiritual finger, and got back faint confusion in return.

The skull’s eye-holes were black, like the soil, like darkest midnight. “How do you feel about death?”

…No, I don’t think I like this dream. Pardon me, Sir Bones, but I think I’ll be on my way. He turned, and walked into the endless plain. But no matter which way he went, the bones appeared before him.

“How do you feel about death?”

By this point, any dream-like quality was gone. He was obviously not here physically – he couldn’t feel more than token sensations, even now – but that failed to rule out mind-effecting spells, soul weirdness from his Heart Demon, or most terrifying of all, the machinations of a bored Elder. His expression became sour. I guess I have no choice but to play along. “I would say I… Dislike it. Broadly.” Obviously it was not his place to question the order of things, but his instincts as a gentleman were to reject violence unless there were no other options.

“What do you think will happen to you, when you die?”

I don’t like the direction this is going. “I will return to the Wheel. If my soul is pure enough, it will ascend to Heaven. And if not, I will be reincarnated to try again.” There’s also Hell, but the chances I end up there are basically zero.

The bones were silent for a time. They didn’t lay the way Lu had piled them in the hole; they were a little more spread-out, half-buried. Like they had been sitting on the surface for a long, long while.

“What if you could do something else? What if you could sleep, instead?”

Lu stared at the bones. “Are you asking after a particular reason, Sir Bones, or are we merely making conversation?” Lu, don’t antagonise the talking corpse. That’s a bad idea! “These questions are somewhat personal for a first meeting… And you’ve failed to introduce yourself, as well.”

The bones didn’t move, the skull continuing to stare off into the distance, but Lu felt like they were looking at him anyway. “You know my name. You’ve been calling me by it.”

Lu’s brows curled in confusion. “Pardon? Are you saying your name is actually Sir Bones?”

“I am Oldest Bones. I am the peace of sleep. Both of the night, and of the grave.” The bones did not move. The bones did not move. The bones did not move. “Which would you prefer?”

Lu woke up. It was not a violent awakening, catapulting up out of a nightmare; rather, it was soft and subtle, a gradual transition from perfectly asleep to perfectly awake. More peaceful than he had ever had before.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

He rolled onto his front and stared at his familiar ceiling, tracing the patterns in the stone as they flickered in candlelight. He didn’t even need to rub sand out of his eyes. He remembered everything, but even so he might have laughed it off as an abnormally vivid dream.

The only thing marring that interpretation was a gritty feeling under his fingernails. “Fuck.” He drew his covers back, and inspected his right hand, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Something followed me.” His nails and fingertips were caked with a thin layer of black soil.

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“Disciple Shing, please present your array.”

The young man stepped forward, unable to keep a nervous look from crossing his face. In his arms he held a stack of wooden plates, all cut from the same tree, which produced an audible hiss.

Audible to Persimmon, that is. Even from his spot behind a desk, his senses were incredibly keen. The student’s peers, outer disciples all, would not be able to hear it unless they pressed their ears directly against the wood.

Shing reached the front of the courtyard and turned. “My array is a variant of the standard heating array, modified to keep combustible material from, ah, combusting.” At Persimmon’s nod, he began setting up the plates in a wide oval.

After hundreds of years Persimmon could read the effects of almost any formation with his naked eye, but he ran his sense over the plates just to be diligent. Diligence was an array master’s second greatest asset, after observation and before ingenuity. The work is neither bad nor good. The effect could be done more elegantly if he used a more compatible material, but for an outer disciple his choices are sound enough. Pass.

The young disciple demonstrated his array, showing that it would dry fruit without burning it, even as an iron dish melted beneath. The other disciples clapped politely. “Very good. You’ve demonstrated enough knowledge to pass, young man. Please return to your place.”

Shing’s tenseness disappeared as the Elder’s voice announced his success, and he gathered up his wood plates with a smile on his face.

“Disciple Son Hon, please present your array.”

The exam progressed fairly normally. He passed all but a single disciple, whose formation exploded almost before she had begun channeling qi into it. There’s always one, he thought with a sigh. As the students filed out of the courtyard, they passed a young man in ostentatious robes who had been waiting patiently just outside since the mid-point of the exam. Unfortunately, Persimmon could not engage with him as soon as he would wish.

“Elder, please. Disciple Gin Ii’s project failed as well, yet you gave him a pass – surely, mine deserves no less than his?”

Persimmon sighed internally. Disciple Ba Non was quite used to getting her way, and was taking failure with ill grace. “Young lady, Gin Ii’s failure was solely due to an excess of ambition; were he a realm higher, he would have been able to power it easily. The array itself was immaculate.” His tone became even sterner than usual. “Your work, in contrast, was a poorly built copy of a standard array, barely modified. Even if it had functioned perfectly – which it very much did not – I would have considered failing you. Now, please escort yourself from the courtyard.” He punctuated his words by flaring his sense, and Ba Non could do nothing but grit her teeth and stomp off.

The loiterer raised a hand to greet her as she passed, but she flashed him a disgusted look and turned away.

He flared his sense a second time, drawing the young man’s attention away from the retreating Ba Non. “Disciple Lu. I admit, I had not thought you would visit me again so soon. Please, join me.”

While Lu made his way into the courtyard, Persimmon busied himself by preparing to write his evaluations for the class. He sectioned off the relevant memories, and split off a splinter consciousness to attend to the work while he focussed on the coming conversation. His hands moved of their own accord to set up paper and ink, while he summoned a chair for the young visitor to sit.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Elder. I hope I’m not intruding.”

“Not at all. How did you find the exam?”

“Ah, from what I saw there seem to be many talents among the younger generation. I’m sure they will be a great boon to the sect.”

Persimmon allowed a wry smile. “The younger generation? They are your fellow outer disciples, are they not?”

The man cleared his throat. “Of course, of course. At my age, fifteen years is half a lifetime, but from your perspective I’m sure we all seem mere children.”

“Oh, absolutely.” They both quietly chuckled, before he ended the small talk. “So, how has your progress been? As I said, I would not have thought to see you again for some time.”

The man looked sheepish. “I won’t say that I’ve made no progress, but I actually sought you out for an entirely new problem.” His tone hardened. “I assume you’re familiar with my account of the… Ah, experience?”

Persimmon nodded. “All of the Elders involved with the breaching project read it in full. I cannot speak for the rest of my peers, but it was certainly made available to them.”

“Then you will recall some local legends I heard regarding what the natives called ‘Great Ancestors.’” Reaching into a purse on his hip, the young man withdrew a vial. “Last night I had a strange dream, wherein an entity calling itself Oldest Bones spoke to me and asked ominous questions. When I awoke, I found this substance under my fingernails, matching the terrain in my dream.”

Persimmon took the vial. Inside was a small amount of chunky dust, black like iron filings. “You got all of it?”

“Yes. I am still capable of a single cleaning spell, though it- ah, it is unpleasant to use in its current form.”

Persimmon gave the man a look, but declined from asking further in favour of examining the vial with his sense. The soil burned him, faintly, like hot ashes. “You were right to bring this to me.” He slipped the vial into a closed space in his sleeve. “I’ll bring this to the alchemy wing at first opportunity – but first, please tell me of this dream in as much detail as you can recall.”

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Persimmon held the man back for a few minutes while he crafted an anti-divination array for him to set around his bed. Most likely it would do nothing, but the effort on his part was miniscule and the potential gain more than worth it, even if all it did was give a young disciple peace of mind.

Then he teleported to the wing responsible for herbalism and pill-making, utilising an emergency array carved into the interior of his desk. An imprudent expenditure of resources? Perhaps. But he was wary of allowing any materials from that place spend even a second outside the research and excursion zone. I’ll have to inspect Lu’s quarters thoroughly later, to insure he didn’t miss a single speck. Would the young man have thought to check every object he touched before cleaning himself? Persimmon couldn’t be sure, so he would be diligent and do the work himself.

He appeared directly outside Elder Goldenseed’s private quarters, and confirmed her presence with his sense. She confirmed him back, and he stood outside her door for long moments as she contained her cauldron. The exact moment it was safe to enter, he pushed through her doors.

“Persimmon.” Wearing a cloth mask and extremely heavy robes, one might have mistaken Goldenseed for a priestess of the faith if not for the enchantments woven into every thread, or the intense weight of her sense. Spending much of her time away from lower disiples, she did not keep it as tightly restrained as the more social Elders. “Something urgent?”

“Perhaps.” He withdrew the vial, tossing to her. She caught it with her sense, not reacting in the slightest as the substance within burned her.

“Where did you get this?”

He grimaced. “Apparently, the accounts of enemy divinities were not exaggerated.”