Naloria North

Starseed Alchemist

A soft content sigh escaped Naloria’s lips as she sat atop the grassy hill underneath the apple tree, its branches barren, except for a few semi-solid gala apples which clung from last season, proving their resilience of the passing mild winter. The breeze, scented with the delicate aroma of pine and petrichor, carried secrets of far away lands, distant from the secluded floating island.

What was once commonly accepted as fact—a truth now dismissed as a deranged fantasy by modern society—was the profound notion that Mother Gaia, Terra, or Earth Mother, by any name, the consciousness of the Earth, sang to humanity, to her children, her song perpetually and everlasting. Similar to a nurturing mother soothing her child with a lullaby, Gaia tenderly whispered her loving melodies, accessible to all who cared to listen. One needed only to attune themselves to the subtle symphony of nature: the invisible breeze whispering it’s tales through the leaves, the purifying rain of spring—sounds that, like Gaia's loving song, transcended language barriers, untranslatable in words, and instead, felt deeply within the heart-space.

They say if you have ever lived one complete moment, then you would be ready to die. You would turn over, and say, ‘well, that was it, and that was good.’ Within the pause between breaths, where times illusion suspended, reality halted, and the profound awareness of existence emerges in every vibration—that is the essence of bliss. By simply tuning into the birds song, or the sensation of the grass on her fingertips which pulsed an unfelt resonance, grounding her deeper and deeper to the earth, Naloria simply smiled, ready at that moment, declaring her life happily fulfilled.

The distant chime of temple bells signaled that the universe had divergent paths prepared for her. Her eyes fluttered like a blooming flower greeting the dawn, summoning forth the forest into existence. Briefly captivated, she observed a plump, alert-eyed robin collecting a twig for its nest, nestled high in a towering cherry tree, its branches stretching toward the ethereal cloud-filled sky while its roots remained firmly anchored in the Earth's core.

“Well, it is noon. Sylas should be done with this client.” Naloria chimed outloud to the universe, which responded back in a frogs croak, and the distant babble of a brooke. Forgetting her slip-on-shoes on the grassy patch, underneath the apple tree, she walked barefoot, her proudly calloused feet no stranger to the terrain of dirt and earthy debris of sediment.

“You’re right, he probably is quite miserable,” Naloria advised, talking outloud to the internal chatter of the mind.

Over the last several weeks, Sylas had become more caught up in the drama of life than usual, often taking on the energy of his clients because of his failing abilities to energetically protect himself. He had also become fixated on catastrophic prophecies foretelling the return of a destructive deity and the sacrificial fate of a chronicle of summoners. Naloria worried these dark premonitions, which manifested as sinister shadows in the night, would ultimately consume her brother.

There was no concrete evidence of Moros' return. Over the past century, the energies of the collective had undergone significant shifts, and new guardians of the planet frequently emerged, dedicated to safeguarding existence from threats. Sylas labeled her as overly optimistic, accusing her of being "too immersed in the light and blind to the shadows," but Naloria disagreed. She simply chose not to divert her energy into worrying about the past, or the future, viewing them as two banks of a river with herself positioned in the center, the current carrying her toward the next destination. Unconstrained by the past and unconcerned with what others deemed a predictable future, she embraced the flow of the present.

With her dress pockets weighed down by rocks and pinecones, gifts tenderly acquired with the forest's blessing, Naloria hummed intuitively, her captivatingly soft voice resonating like an ethereal woodland enchantress. If anyone had the chance to hear her sing, they might have mistaken her voice for Mother Gaia herself. Nature itself seemed to acknowledge her presence, echoing her melody through birdsong and tousling her naturally textured hair with the wind's gentle caress. As strands obscured her vision, momentarily casting doubt, she nearly stumbled over a fallen branch, which, despite its descent, retained the wisdom of the tree and the endurance of its fall.

Nestled within a tranquil valley, bathed in the gentle glow of the late afternoon sun, was the temple, the place Naloria proudly had called home for over five years. Delicate tendrils of ivy wrapped around weathered stone walls as solar power lanterns, adorned with faded hues of age, swayed lazily in the mild breeze.

The moment she walked inside time seemed to slow and existence blurred into a dreamlike haze. As Naloria ascended the spiral staircase, oblivious to the trail of dirty footprints she left behind, she descended the south corridor, her senses enveloped by the resonating sound of a singing bowl emanating from the meditation room below, followed by an abrupt, pungent skunky odor. With an exasperated sigh, she shook her head and rolled her eyes, hastening her pace towards the treatment room. Aware that her brother no longer had a client inside, she saw no need for courtesy and entered the room without knocking.

"Are you seriously smoking in here, Sylas?" Naloria questioned, her voice attempting a failed hushed whisper. "I could smell weed all the way down the hallway. You know, Ying complained last week about a strange smell coming from this room. You're lucky he's so clueless and thought you were burning herbs."

"That is exactly what I am doing," Sylas remarked sarcastically with a shrug, taking a final puff of sanity before Naloria snatched the blunt from his hands. She took a quick inhale of her own before extinguishing it on the abalone shell filled with burnt rosemary.

“Take a walk with me," she demanded from her brother.

“Ah, I see, so it is only okay for you to smoke in here, as long as I light it first,” Sylas teased, slowly arising from the treatment table. The two siblings descended the spiral marble staircase into the main foyer.

Never did the intricate mural cease to mesmerize her; a celestial masterpiece crafted on the ceiling by devoted monks. The vivid colors, meticulously blown into the crafted design depicted the profound cycle of Samsara with every grain of sand seeming to hold a tale of its own, intricately woven into the larger narrative. From the delicate formation of lotus blossoms symbolizing purity, to the swirling currents of the ocean reflecting the vastness of existence, each element resonated with a symbolic richness of detail.

Within the elaborate drawings of the mural, each element—fire, water, air, terra, and space—told its own tale, representing distinct chapters in the unfolding narrative of existence. These weren't mere symbols, but conscious entities waiting to be invocated. Earth, the anchor, cradled us with the warmth of a loving home. It wasn't just soil and stone, but the very essence of Mother Gaia, her consciousness a silent hum beneath our feet. With every rustle of leaves and every whisper of wind, Air's wisdom resonated, carrying whispers of insight from unseen realms. Fire, demanding the utmost caution, stood as the alchemist, transmuting -

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“AH-OH-'' Naloria screamed, her momentary loss of grace evident as her foot missed the edge of the stairs, threatening to send her tumbling down the last ten steps. In the nick of time, Sylas's strong arm reached out, grabbing hold of her, averting a potentially painful outcome.

“You really should refrain from looking at the mural while walking; it might end up being the last thing you see in this lifetime,” Sylas remarked dryly, showing no amusement at his sister's constant carelessness.

“If the mural is the last thing I see, then I can say I died a pleasant death. Although I can’t die tonight. I have a date.”

“How is Thomas?” Sylas questioned.

"Thomas?" Naloria asked, pausing in her stride for a moment. "Oh! Yeah, Thomas. That guy. Yeah, we broke up last week. Not like we were even together. There were only three dates. Tonight I am seeing Amara. Remember her? The cute barista at Moonbucks?"

Sylas's raised eyebrow remained unaffected by his sister's romantic endeavors. No, he didn’t remember Amara; frankly, he couldn’t keep up with his sister's dating life, which changed more rapidly than the weather conditions on this island. "Amara of Moonbucks, can’t say I recall her. Let's hope your date tonight surpasses the trilogy of attempts with Thomas,” he remarked with a monotone delivery.

"Says my brother, who, if I didn't know any better, I'd think took a vow of celibacy. How long has it been since you've even been on a date, let alone slept with a woman?”

Sylas used to be quite the ladies' man, often seen with a various different attractive women on his arm. However, after their parents were murdered, her brother underwent a significant change. He took on the responsibility of being her guardian for two years to prevent her from being placed into the system.

That year, now over a decade past, marked a turning point for Sylas, shifting his focus from women and academic pursuits to abandoning graduate school. Opting instead for a full-time role at a factory, he earned a wage barely surpassing the minimum, all in an effort to secure a roof over their heads. Their dwelling, a dismal underground apartment, endured the torment of flooding with each rainstorm. The saddened air, heavy with lingering dampness and the shadows of neglect, clung to every nook, its musty, moldy essence eternally imprinted in Naloria's memory. It was a far cry to the comfortable three-bedroom ranch their parents once rented in the heart of Warrensburg.

“Let's walk to the greenhouse. I have some gardenia seeds yearning to be cradled by the earth. I can plant them early since the weather has been so mild.”

Beyond the temple, the sun stretched its radiant golden beams, showering conscious warmth upon her. A blissful sigh escaped her lips, a harmonious response to the caress of sunlight, as if she willingly absorbed the rays into the depths of her being.

Deep within the sanctuary of her heart lay a nearly forgotten memory of existence on another celestial plane, where the sky blossomed as an ethereal masterpiece, brushed with lavender and fuchsia strokes. In this dreamy realm, three distinct planets graced the heavenly skies, each as captivating and sizable as the sun and two moons. Every night on this distant planet, which Naloria often dreamed of, a telepathic concert unfolded—an otherworldly exchange where the sun, moon, stars, and distant planets sang to each other. Listening to their songs and ancient stories was as simple as flipping a mentally pictured radio station dial.

But that was another lifetime ago, a memory obscured by the fog of reincarnation. Now, all she felt was a growing desire to unearth it all, to remember the planetary symphony and the secrets of the galaxies.

"I find myself lacking the time and inclination to entertain the prospect of a relationship," Sylas replied, his words falling on deaf ears as Naloria continued forward.

Abruptly halting in her tracks, her brown eyes softened as they fell upon an injured blue jay, lying silently amidst the mint leaves, crying out in pain with a broken wing.

"Mom loved blue jays," Naloria uttered softly, her voice carrying a tender empathetic tone as she slowly lowered to her knees in front of the struggling bird. Memories stirred, like leaves awakened by an unseen breeze—the time a bluejay gracefully descended to her mother Cecelia, landing right in her hair. Cecelia, with a gentle smile, told Naloria it was a sign from angels.

“Naloria, don't.” Sylas commanded, reaching his hand out to grab her shoulder. She shook it off, a low rattle-snake like hiss of a warning emanating from her throat. “Shut your blunt sucking hole Sylas.”

Naloria gritted her teeth, channeling her frustration into the connection she was forging with the Earth. Ignoring Sylas' barking commands felt like trying to ignore a particularly insistent mosquito, but she needed focus.

The universal light hummed through her, a buzzing warmth flowing into her palms and down towards the trembling creature. Opening her heart space, visualized as a swirling vortex of emerald, Naloria allowed herself to be a conduit of co-creation with this energy,

As her brother's words turned into incomprehensible noise, she held her hands just above the bird's body. Shortly after, it sprang back to full vitality, hastily departing in a fit of panic and seeking refuge in a nearby tree.

Naloria swayed, a wave of nausea rolling over her like a rogue wave at low tide. It felt like the time in middle school she rode the Tilt-a-Whirl on the field trip. The carnival grounds, a kaleidoscope of flashing lights and cacophonous sounds, melded into a disorienting dance in which she didn’t want to partake. Overwhelmed by the dizzying sensations, stuck in a world refusing to stand still, where the sky and ground became interchangeable, she shared her carnival experience in a way she hadn't intended – all over her crush at the time, Andrea Spinner.

Dazed and wobbly, Naloria stumbled, the white rose crown she always wore lovingly toppling. Before it could hit the ground, Sylas reached out, catching both the crown and Naloria's arm.

"Whoa there Nala," Sylas said, a hint of concern cutting through his usual stoicism. "You pushed yourself too hard. I told you, there's a natural order to life, Naloria." He gently placed the crown back on her head, noticing the stray white feather in her hair, a confirming symbol of her connection to a higher realm.

Healing the bird was a monumental undertaking, pushing the limits of her newfound abilities. But she didn't want to admit this to Sylas.

"Natural order? Or is it your cold-hearted order you're so worried about?” The words tumbled out, sharper than she intended. "Since when did healing a bird become a cosmic transgression?" Her voice held a tremor, a mix of defiance and tiredness.

She couldn't fathom how he could turn such a blind eye to an animal in suffering. Here she was, finally rediscovering a power residing deep within her soul, and all Sylas saw was a broken natural order which felt more like a restraining leash than a well-guiding compass. She wouldn't let him clip her wings just as they were starting to sprout.“I had to do something,” she exclaimed, shaking her arm free from his steadying yet gentle grasp.

“Naloria," Sylas countered, his voice softening a touch, "this isn't a game. It's a responsibility. Healing requires balance, and you nearly drained yourself. We can't have you collapsing every time you channel these energies.” There was a hint of concern in his eyes, a flicker betraying the stern facade.

Naloria scoffed, the crown of roses feeling heavy against her suddenly burning cheeks. "There has to be another way. Maybe a way to use this power without nearly fainting."

Sylas sighed, a weary sound that tugged at a thread of sympathy within her. "Indeed. But it takes discipline. Training. You can't just jump in headfirst and expect to control the tides.”

Unlike traditional energy workers who clung to pre-established symbols and inherited lineages, Naloria's approach was refreshingly new. She sighed at expensive attunements, dismissing them as fading echoes in the vast ocean of energy, like the wake of a ship soon swallowed by the waves.

Here, there were no rigid structures, no hierarchies separating student from master. Naloria believed all souls held the birthright to manifest, to tap into the eternal wellspring of creation and become conduits of healing light. No limitations existed. It was an open door, a house with a welcoming porch light. Inside, a loving force embraced you in pure understanding whispering, "Welcome home again my dear child. Let's create together.”

She knew Sylas was right, of course. Her impulsiveness had always gotten her into trouble. “Alright," she conceded, the defiance draining out of her, replaced with temporary weariness and a desperate need to restore her energy before the date with Amara. "More training and meditation it is. But don't expect me to become some kind of emotionless robot while you play gatekeeper.”

A ghost of a smile played on Sylas's lips. "There's a happy medium in there somewhere, Nala. For now, how about you get some sleep before you see... what's her name again? Amber?”

"Amara," Naloria corrected, though she did have a one night stand with an Amber once during a summer trip to Maui. With a yawn, Naloria excused herself and walked back towards the temple, her steps lighter despite the dizziness.

Reaching her room, she pushed open the worn wooden door and was met with an inviting wave of lavender-scented air. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating suncatchers hung from the ceiling with invisible fishing line. Crafted from colorful mismatched crystals and shimmering glass beads, they cast an array of prismatic rainbows that twirled playfully around the room as the breeze danced through. Their light danced on the slightly rumpled bed overflowing with pillows and a well-worn stuffed animal – a wide-eyed doe.

Perhaps, amidst the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams, or maybe in the quiet space between dreams, another fragment of her past would surface, an echo from a life both familiar and foreign. But for now, sleep, and with it, the promise of renewed vitality, was the most enticing invitation.