For one-week Somadina obeyed his mother's request. He spent most of his time trying to make heads or tails of the bound book and rereading the many tomes of folklore and legends he'd acquired over the years. Nearly all of them were restricted to Omata and its environs, but Somadina didn't mind too much. Reading was reading, even if the information he was receiving was limited somewhat.
Eventually though, his patience ran out. He had taken inventory that morning, and rather than sit and wait for their stock of foodstuffs to dwindle to nothing, he decided to go on a scavenging run. He knew, of course, that Mama would not be happy about that, but it was either this or starvation. And he didn't plan to stay out that long anyway. Kissing her still form goodbye, Somadina slung his satchel over his shoulders and set out.
It was rather early in the morning, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, and so the only people he ran into were a few Main Market traders prepping their shops for the day. Most replied to his greetings with a distracted wave, their attention far more focused on making their wares look as enticing as possible. Near the First Gate, he heard the sounds of grunts and yells, and he knew that just beyond, he would find the town's Training Grounds packed with sparring men and women and dibias deep in meditation, cycling their anwansi through their body's channels in the never-ending process of making them stronger. Somadina spared a single, longing look in that direction, before passing through the gates and heading into the Forest.
Like the village behind him, the Forest was quiet, its denizens unwilling to rise before the sun was well on its journey across the sky. A colony of weaver birds screeched at him from their nests dangling from a giant palm tree, then proceeded to ignore him when they saw he was no threat. Somadina moved quickly, his mother's warnings ringing in his mind. He knew she could be overprotective and tended to exaggerate at times, but she hadn't been wrong about the Direbeast. He couldn't be sure how advanced the rest of its pack were and they very well could be on the hunt for him.
His trip to the meadow took less time than before, which wasn't surprising considering that he both knew where he was going and wasn't currently dealing with an assortment of injuries.
Yanking down a couple of plantain leaves as he emerged from the Forest's embrace, Somadina worked swiftly. The glowshrooms were starting to wilt, so he refrained from collecting any spores. It wouldn't do to remove the only means of the spirit herb's reproduction. Other ones, like the silky aether-roses, were in abundance though and he greedily helped himself to their petals. The sun hadn't quite reached its zenith when Somadina stood up, satisfied with his haul. With the money he gained from this, he wouldn't have to return for at least a month. Long enough for the Direbeast pack, if they were around, to forget about him and move on. Casting a furtive look around, Somadina was just about to leave when his gaze landed on the cave and lingered.
"We've already had this discussion about this cave before Somadina," he told himself. "It's not wise to tempt fate twice."
And yet...
Somadina chewed his lip, then gave the sky a hard look. I'll be pushing my luck, but if I hurry and don't waste time, I'm sure I'll make it.
And that was how he psyched himself into ignoring his mother's advice. Somadina imagined that this point, if it were a story, would be when the speaker would stop and lecture the listeners about the values of obeying your elders.
Yet, despite his misgivings, Somadina couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he entered the enormous cavern. The spires of multicoloured anwansi glittered, as if in welcome, and the scripts on the walls flared with florescent life. Somadina allowed himself a moment to appreciate the sight, then dropped the wrapped plantain leaf packages and set to work.
Having no idea what a cypher stone even looked like or where something like that would, realistically, be kept, he started his search randomly. Giving the areas he'd already explored a cursory scan, Somadina ventured deeper into the cavern, taking care to mark unique structures in case he got lost.
Something which, as he discovered more of the cave's treasures, proved incredibly hard to remember to do. Just beyond the anwansi spires sat a small armoury of spears and staffs and all sorts of sharp, pointy things. Somadina didn't need to touch them to know that they had all been Forged to major, a process that hardened a material's strength to the extreme. Mother only knew what further powers and abilities had been added in as well.
By its side floated something Somadina only recognized from his books. He moved forward and ran a reverent hand over the skyboard's slippery surface. This one was small, the perfect size for one or two people, but he had heard that there were even bigger versions that could carry an entire fortress. Even inexperienced as he was with the devices, he knew the one he was looking at was worth at least a hundred gold manillas.
Somadina gazed lustfully at the armoury and the skyboard, then moved on with a mournful sigh. He would have loved to claim one of the weapons as his, and the skyboard would definitely have been a welcome addition, but he would never be able to use them. Forged weapons were powerful, but incredibly tasking on both body and soul, requiring at least a Practitioner rank to wield even the simplest ones. And while the skyboard was more lenient in its requirements, it needed to be fed anwansi to run, something only a dibia could do. For Somadina, both were out of his reach.
But he was on a mission, and rather than dwell on his shortcomings, he turned his attention back to the task at hand. Further searching unearthed more stashes like the one he'd found, but no cypher stones. As time passed, and his efforts got more and more fruitless, Somadina began to grow frustrated. After investigating a glow that had turned out to be nothing more than a nesting swarm of butterfly-moths, Somadina angrily kicked a decrepit table over. Why couldn't something go right for him, just this once?
The table landed and came apart in a spray of rotten wood and dull thuds that echoed throughout the cavern. Somadina stared at it for a beat, then sighed.
"Sorry," he told the destroyed piece of furniture. "It's not your fault I’m unlucky. I shouldn't have taken it out on you."
Sighing again, he adjusted the strap of his loincloth, intending to make his way back to the entrance. He could always try again tomorrow. Somadina turned away, then gave a casual glance towards the point he'd kicked the table.
All thoughts of leaving immediately evaporated.
It was faint, which was why he hadn't spotted it before, but now that he was looking for it, there was a definite glow, just beyond the point where the light of the anwansi crystals started to fade to darkness.
Somadina hurried towards it with barely contained excitement. Sure enough, now that he was close enough to see, it was definitely a stone. Shaped like a pyramid, with jagged edges, the scripts covering the entirety of the stone emitted an ethereal, white light and the scripts on it flared brightly as soon as he picked it up, almost as if it recognised his presence. With bated breath, Somadina hurried back to the entrance, yanked the bound book from his satchel and after a moment's hesitation, touched the stone to its surface.
The results were immediate.
The cypher stone flared, brighter than before, then dimmed almost instantly. At the same time, the book snapped open and began to flip through itself rapidly, the indecipherable writing on it quickly rearranging itself. Somadina yelped and dropped both stone and book, gaping, as time seemed to reverse for the book and it went from old and nearly falling apart, to looking like it had just come off a press.
Finally, with the decisive clap, the book shut itself, expelling all light and the cypher stone regained its glow. Somadina blinked, then stood, approaching both items cautiously. Once he was sure they weren’t about to attack, Somadina threw the stone into his satchel, then flicked open the book.
"Mother's mercy," he whispered, a huge grin spreading across his brown face.
It worked. He had indeed found the cypher stone. The book was now perfectly legible. Laughing, Somadina went closer to an anwansi spire, taking care not to touch it, then peered closer to the words.
PROPERTY OF OMALIKO DIKE still stretched out over the front page, but above it were new words that set his heart aflutter.
The Last Testament of the Prophet-In-Chains.
Somadina could hardly believe his eyes. He was actually holding a legitimate document written by a Sage. And not just any old Sage, the infamous Prophet-In-Chains. The Sage credited with making far greater inroads into the mysteries of the spirit world and the Arushi themselves. Wars had been fought over things like this. Unbelieving of his luck, he flipped past the first page and began to read eagerly.
***
I fear that as I write this, I am too late. Already I can feel the approach of the Dire King and worse, I think, behind it. The scripts I have inscribed all over my hideout seems to have confused and blinded the Aberrations to my location.
But I know I do not have much time. I cannot stay here long. Sooner or later the Dire King will sniff me out, and weakened as I am by these relentless attacks, I cannot hope to stand against it. I do not regret my time here. I have learnt so much from my travels. And the people of these lands, detached from the politics of the Sundered City are a joy to watch.
It is unfortunate then that even they have carried on with certain practices I would see abolished. Access to the Ancestral Trees is denied to non-natives and the Firstborn scrolls are guarded as closely as a mother hen guards her chicks. I had hoped to find a place where knowledge is exchanged freely, but it seems so far, that is merely a dream. I fear the other clans are no better than the Omalikos.
And so, as the last Sage of my people, I have decided that for my final act, I shall set down all I that I know. My sight is much cloudier these days so I do not know if any soul will read this after I am gone, as I intend to bind it, keeping it out of the claws of the Dire Monarchs. Or worse, Her.
Lucky for us that a cypher stone won't react to their dark presence.
In this book I have included copies of as many Firstborn scrolls as I can find, stripping them of the scripts that kept people from other clans and villages from using them. It is my firm belief that knowledge should be shared equally, without barriers, and perhaps, by doing this, I can atone for the sins of my people.
Night is almost upon me, and with it will come the Aberrations. I must begin. I must record.
Omaliko Dike,
The Sage of the Taleweaver.
***
Somadina let the book fall shut, both confused and excited. Going by the stories, the Prophet-In-Chains, and indeed all the Sages were supposed to be dibias without peer, wise and enlightened from the knowledge they had gathered. Nowhere had it been mentioned that any of the Sages were critical of the way things were run.
And as for the Omalikos, well, Somadina had imagined, despite his mother’s words, that the clans outside the valley were advanced and enlightened. Clearly, he had been wrong. In the end, they hadn't been all that different. Vastly more powerful yes, but very flawed as well.
Looks like we're not the only ones who can be pieces of shit huh? Somadina thought. His eyes drifted to the section about the Ancestral Trees and his excitement immediately won over his misgivings. He began to read eagerly.
The Ancestral Tree, as intended by the gods, is a tool meant to rectify an evolutionary error, a quirk that the human inhabitants of this world have. Unlike animals, trees and even inanimate objects, we cannot naturally draw in and cultivate anwansi. This had left us vulnerable to the more powerful soul beasts and Aberrations that couldn’t be stopped by our unpowered scripts. But even with an active core from eating an Ancestral Seed, without the knowledge to use the newly gained magic, humanity was right back where they started.
So, the Firstborn intervened. Appearing in dreams and visions, they taught the first dibias rituals that would allow them to forge a bond with one of them, allowing their mortal souls to connect to one or more of their aspects and use it to fill the missing piece that prevented cultivation.
Which is why, I think, that it is unfortunate that the clans have refused to work together, hoarding their rituals to themselves by making only a single copy of their native ritual and even going as far as to place a negation and bloodline Enchantment that will not only prevent its use by a non-clan member but also erase the ritual from the minds of all after they have finished using it.
I have removed all of these.
Pay close attention to what you're about to read. And I hope you will notice with amusement the similarities between them all. Despite the differences the clans cling so strongly to, they are quite similar in many ways.
Somadina frowned, then skimmed a few of them. All of them intrigued him to some degree, but something made him pause. Already he had found one of the commonalities Omaliko spoke of. All of the rituals, without fail, stated unequivocally that trying to use one without having been blessed with a seed by an Ancestral Tree was a death sentence. As one put it so colourfully:
Bonding with the First Breath, a Firstborn which allows the cultivation of wind anwansi, like all others, requires a certain amount of fortitude. Performing the initiation ritual, without taking an Ancestral Seed will cause one's soul to wilt and disintegrate as their blood boils and their body is burnt to a crisp.
This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
So not fun.
Luckily, Omaliko had discovered a way to create an artificial Ancestral Seed. He made it quite clear that it was experimental and untested, but Somadina was blind to these warnings as he eagerly read through the rest of the text. Running through the ingredients for the Ancestral Seed, he felt his spirits lift. The ingredients weren't all that many, and all that was required was right here, in the cavern.
Three stalks of laceweed for the base, two aether-rose petals, freshly picked, and a shard of compressed anwansi of any aspect. The book went into further details on how to source said anwansi, but Somadina glanced at the giant spires surrounding him and smiled. All that he needed was a mortar and pestle to crush the herbs, a bowl to do the mixing, and a source of fire to bring it all to boil.
Somadina grinned some more. A bowl and kindling stones were currently sitting in his satchel (one never knew when one would find something tasty to cook) and he had spotted a mortar set when he'd been searching for the cypher stone. Letting out a wild grin, he leapt to his feet and began.
***
Somadina didn't realise just how long he'd spent in the cave until he passed through the tunnel and stepped into the darkness. It was a new moon, the thin slice of heavenly rock casting feeble rays of silver light that pushed weakly at the darkness. Luckily, he didn't need them, at least for the moment, as the glowshrooms and aether-roses had come alive in purple and yellow glows that split the night. Using them to orient himself, Somadina began the long journey back to the Rush.
His vision plunged the moment he left the spirit materials’ range and kept dropping until he could only see a few metres away. Something which drastically slowed his pace. Somadina shot his surroundings a nervous glance. He was well aware of the current danger he was in. Aside from Aberrations, certain soul beasts were creatures of the dark. And it was rumoured that they were crueller and more cunning than most. But after he crossed the river and nothing happened, Somadina relaxed and his thoughts turned to other things.
Mother should be awake by now, he mused, leaping over a pit. And very worried. Somadina sighed. He could only hope that she wasn't too upset with him.
As if by instinct, his hand drifted to his coin purse, which was currently empty, save for his newly crafted Ancestral Seed. It had not been as easy to make as he thought. His first attempts had failed miserably. He had either stirred the concoction too quickly or too slowly, and the results ranged from misshapen, greenish-black lumps that gave off a foul odour to a clear liquid that came to life and tried to strangle him when it poked it with his turning stick. After he smashed the thing apart with a rock and recovered from the near-death experience, Somadina paid closer attention to the instructions.
Finally, after an hour of feverish consultations and more stirring and adding of spirit materials, he peered into his mixing bowl and grinned at the golden yellow pill that sat there, glistening like a star. It had all been worth it in the end.
Somadina had considered taking the seed right then and there but had changed his mind at the last second. While the book claimed the pill would alter his body very little, merely preparing it for the Firstborn ritual, he had no idea what it would actually do to him. He'd heard stories of people triggering an advance in the middle of the road and traffic having to go around them for hours, sometimes days. And it was experimental. It would be best if he took it in the presence of someone who could help if something went wrong. Like Mama G. Or his mother, if the process didn't take more than a few hours.
But, despite knowing this, the temptation was almost irresistible.
Amused by the thought, Somadina gave himself a mental shake. I've waited eighteen years. I can wait a few more hours.
That sorted, his attention turned to the load on his head. Omata night markets were small and several degrees less busy than the day one, but he should be able to find a trader in need of spirit materials.
Mama G won't be around, he realised, scowling, as he navigated the dimly lit forest path, the air thick with the sweet scent of night-blooming flowers and the earthy musk of damp soil. His bare feet padding softly on the moss-covered ground, years of experience guiding him through the treacherous terrain.
It will be an opportunity for the others to try and rip me off, he thought, his jaw clenching. He was acutely aware that some of the herbalists envied his relationship with Mama G and would leap at this opportunity to get their revenge. Their jealous glares and whispered threats echoed in his memory, adding to the tension coiling in his gut.
But he didn't have a choice. Comforting himself with the thought of the fresh breadfruits he would buy for dinner—their sweet aroma already teasing his senses—and the fact that he wouldn't have to do this for long, Somadina went around a moss-covered boulder. The rough stone scraped against his arm as he passed, a reminder of the physical world grounding him amidst his swirling thoughts.
As he drew closer to the forest edge, the distant glow of Omata began to pierce through the darkness. The city's many lights painted the underside of low-hanging clouds in hues of amber and gold, a beacon of civilization amidst the wild. Still though, the transitional zone between Forest and city was always the most dangerous, where the protections of neither fully reached and Somadina's senses were heightened, every snapping twig and rustling leaf demanding his attention.
It was this hyperawareness, honed by years of surviving on the fringes, that saved his life.
They came from the right, four black shadows leaping for his throat. In the dim light, Somadina caught a glimpse of sleek, obsidian fur and eyes that glowed with an unnatural, cold blue light.
Direbeasts.
Somadina saw them out of the corner of his eye and instinctively dived forward, the wind of its passage ruffling his hair as one barely missed him, its claws leaving gouges in the earth where he had stood moments before. The acrid stench of the creatures—a mix of decay and something alien—filled his nostrils, making him gag.
He spun around, gaping, as the pack reoriented themselves. They moved with an eerie, fluid grace that belied their monstrous nature and as one, bared their teeth—razor-sharp and gleaming in the low light—all in complete silence. The absence of growls or snarls was somehow more terrifying than any sound could have been.
Somadina didn't hesitate. He turned, dropping his haul—precious herbs and rare fungi scattering across the forest floor—and ran. The loss stung, but survival trumped all else. The pack released a single, bone-chilling howl that seemed to freeze the very air, and charged after him, their claws tearing the ground beneath them asunder.
And so, for the second time in a week, Somadina fled from monsters intent on murdering him. The forest around him came alive with motion. Butterfly-moths scattered at their approach, their pale-yellow bioluminescent wings creating a dizzying, strobing effect in the darkness. Blue-nosed sparrow-hares screeched in protest as their foraging was disturbed, their unusual calls adding to the cacophony of the chase.
But Somadina saw and heard none of these, his vision tunnelled on the growing halo of light that was Omata. The city's illumination seemed to mock him with its proximity, closeby yet impossibly far.
I just have to make it inside the gates, he thought, heart pounding away like a war drum in his chest. The mantra repeated in his mind, a desperate prayer to whatever forces might be listening. Faster Somadina. Faster.
His lungs burned with each ragged breath, and his legs screamed in protest at the punishing pace. The forest floor was treacherous—roots threatened to trip him, low-hanging vines sought to ensnare him. Yet Somadina's body moved with the instinctive grace of one who had spent a lifetime navigating these perils.
It couldn’t last though. He understood this when his bare foot came down on a thor and pain lanced through him, sharp and immediate. And In that same moment, he felt the hot breath of a Direbeast on his back, its jaws snapping shut with an audible click just shy of his flesh. The near miss sent a jolt of primal fear through Somadina, and he knew with chilling certainty that he was going to die.
It was an oddly comforting thought, this certainty of death. As Somadina ran, memories flashed through his mind, a vivid tapestry of struggle and perseverance that had defined his existence.
His entire life, up until that moment, had been a constant battle against adversity. The Forest of Dreams had been both his refuge and his tormentor, a harsh teacher that had moulded him into the survivor he was today. But it wasn’t where it all began.
It started when he was eight, when he had been picking fruits from the village orchard that was open to all. Even him—the outcast, the boy without magic in a world where power was everything. He remembered the sting of rejection, the burning in his eyes as he watched from the sidelines. As other kids, their bodies already strengthened by the magic of their Adept rank, shouldered him aside and scrambled up the orange and mango trees with ease.
Then he was thirteen, and the world shifted again. The money he earned from selling fruits to foreign traders dwindled as more and more of them bought seeds and fragments to culture in their homes instead. The frantic memory of panic rose in his throat—how would he survive? He’d wondered. How would he care for his mother?
So, he had turned to mule work, helping the traders carry their wares. But it was back-breaking labour that paid little. He recalled the ache in his muscles, the blisters on his hands, the exhaustion that seeped into his very bones. Each day was a struggle to earn enough to keep him and his mother fed.
But he kept at it, night and day, and as luck would have it, overheard Mama G complaining loudly about the laziness of her previous supplier one morning. Never one to miss an opportunity, he took to scavenging in the forest, venturing where others feared to tread. He knew then that the fields around Omata would be picked clean, and having no interest in competing with people far stronger than him, he had decided to head for the deeper, more dangerous parts of the valley. The Forest itself.
It had been a good run, but eventually, it had to come to an end. Now, with death nipping at his heels, he was simply tired. Tired of fighting, tired of struggling, tired of always being one step away from disaster.
Somadina started to slow down. What was the point of even trying anyway? The thought of giving up, of finally resting, was seductive in its simplicity.
But then, as if in answer to his moment of weakness, an image slipped into his mind. It was his mother, Kambili. She was covered in blood, her dark skin glistening wetly in flickering torchlight. Tears were leaking from her eyes, leaving trails through the grime on her face and a foul looking gash on the side of her head blazed with a deep indigo light. All in all, she looked like some wraith, raised from a battlefield of forgotten wars.
But she was looking down at him as if trying to burn his face into her mind.
And she was smiling.
Somadina wasn't sure if it was a memory or something his mind had fabricated from his mother's stories, but it sent a surge of warmth through him. He imagined his mother then, all alone in their tree house with no one to help her, and recoiled from the thought. No, he couldn't give up. Not while she still needed him.
Reinvigorated, Somadina pushed himself harder. One of the Direbeasts, a short, two-tailed thing with eyes like frozen stars, lunged at him and he was forced to bank left, the creature's claws whistling past his ear. Somadina ran on, confused by its attack. It had made a grab for his coin purse, the only other thing he had on aside from his satchel. But the only things he carried on his person were Omaliko's Testament, the cypher stone, and…
Somadina's eyes widened in realisation.
And the Ancestral Seed.
Instantly, a mad idea came to him and he halted for the briefest of moments, in consideration. It was dangerous, what he was planning to do. It basically amounted to him leaping headfirst into a chasm without knowing what lay at the bottom. But it was either this or certain death, and in the end, it wasn't much of a choice.
Pulling the golden lump free from its hiding place, Somadina dodged another lunge from the pursuing monsters and with a silent prayer to whatever powers might be listening, threw it into his mouth.
It was like swallowing a lightning bolt.
At once, his belly turned into a roiling sea of energy. Sharp tingles spread up and away to the rest of his body, following the paths of his veins and nerves. It felt as if liquid fire was being poured into every cell, every fibre of his being. Somadina nearly fell flat on his face from the sensations running amok in him, sheer willpower the only thing keeping him up and running.
As quickly as it began, the sensations faded, leaving behind a thrumming power that suffused his entire body. Somadina found himself flying through the forest, his legs a pumping, dizzying blur. The world around him seemed to slow, details jumping out with startling clarity—the individual leaves on the trees, the patterns of moss on the rocks, the shocked eyes of the creatures he passed, as though they too had been stunned by the audacity.
A crazed sort of laugh escaped from him. Was this what it felt like to be like everyone else? A dibia? The power coursing through him was intoxicating, liberating. For the first time in his life, he felt whole.
But the Direbeast pack were less amused by this turn of events. They let out roars of outrage, finally breaking their unnatural silence and the sound was like the grinding of mountains, filled with frustration and hunger. They doubled their pace, but Somadina had already pulled far ahead, making the most of the power currently flooding his limbs.
By the time he got to the Forest's edge and past it, the four Direbeasts were little more than distant blurs. Somadina had never been so happy to see the First Gates of Omata. The massive structure loomed before him, its weather-beaten stone etched with protective scripts that glowed faintly in the night. He charged towards them, hollering at the top of his lungs to alert the guards.
Then he came to a screeching halt, all thoughts of warning the townsfolk vaporising like mist under the harsh sun
Kambili was at the gates. And she was running towards him.
Fear, greater than any he had ever known, ran loving fingers over his heart, then closed around it like a vice and the surge of power from the Ancestral Seed was forgotten in an instant, replaced by cold dread.
"No!" he screamed, his voice raw with terror. "Go back. They're coming."
Kambili either didn't hear or didn't care and kept running towards him. In the light from the gates, he could see the determination etched on her face, the fierce love in her eyes.
Desperate, Somadina increased his pace, intending to fling her over his shoulders if that was what it took to get her out of here. He had to save her. He had to—
He never got the chance.
Like a lightning bolt, a shadow came from the left and slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. Pain exploded in his side as the Direbeast's claws tore through flesh and muscle and both he and his mother screamed, their voices melding for a moment into an obscene choir that echoed across the night.
Gathering what little strength was left to him, Somadina seized the fur of the Direbeast and managed to throw it off him. He only managed a glimpse of a sleek Aberration with a wild mane of hair, its eyes burning with malevolent intelligence, before Kambili appeared suddenly in front of him, shielding his body with hers.
"You will not touch him," she declared, and her voice echoed with authority. The air around her seemed to shimmer, responding to the power in her words.
A dark foreboding seized Somadina then, and he tried to get up, to stop his mother from doing what she was about to do. But the wound on his side, red and wet, would not allow him. He could only watch, helpless, as events unfolded.
The maned beast snarled, a sound like grinding glass, and feinted to the left. Then it dodged right and leapt, sharp teeth aimed at Somadina's head.
Kambili was faster.
She stretched forth her hand, and… something, a script maybe? appeared, glowing with a soft pink light. The air hummed with power like a gathering storm, and Somadina felt the hairs on his arms stand on end as the Direbeast froze, mid-leap, caught in the web of Kambili's magic.
The script grew, bigger and bigger until it was half the size of a building, its intricate patterns a beautiful and terrible sight. The other four monsters made their appearance then, emerging from the shadows like nightmares given form. But they too were ensnared in the light, trapped by the power of Kambili's spell.
Kambili staggered, the effort of maintaining such powerful magic clearly taking its toll and Somadina moaned, trying once more to rise, to help her. To do something. But his body refused to respond, weakened by blood loss and the aftermath of the Ancestral Seed's power.
She looked at him, tears in her eyes as the faded soulmark in her neck—a mark he had always known but never truly understood—started to dissolve into little flecks of light. And in that moment, Somadina saw his world come to an end.
"I love you," she whispered, her voice carrying to him on a gentle breeze. Then the script detonated in a surge of sound and light, drowning out Somadina's anguished scream.
The world went white, then black, and Somadina knew no more.