Ferdinand laid down in one of the guest rooms of the complex. Carrion agreed to take a double shift, so he could get a full eight hours sleep. Though with it now being several hours since, he was afraid he might not get to sleep at all. It didn’t help that he got word back from the capital. As a result of leaving before his meeting with Alasander, he and Andromeda were to return to King’s Grove as soon as their business on Betel was complete. Once there, they would be restricted from leaving for an entire year. This being punishment for wasting time during the planning of the war in Halth.
Even ignoring that, the situation was drastically getting worse. Carrion was continually being called away to deal with the situation of debilitating psychic attacks, and the ambient mana of the containment room Andromeda was in was getting dangerously high. One magister mistakenly entered for only a few moments, and now being treated with near fatal mana poisoning. Even if they wake up, they might be scarred from the experience.
What’s more, in twenty-four hours, the magisters embedded in the various crowds of Aeroae had gone dark. Thirty-seven confirmed, twenty unconfirmed, two dead, one missing. High Magister Crowely was indisposed and couldn’t spare time to look into this, so the situation was now being handled between himself and Carrion.
Ferdinand laid on the bed, allowing his old bones to relax for just a small while to regain his strength. While there, there was a strange, distant feeling at the back of his mind. It had pervaded his thoughts throughout the day, unsure as to its origin. Now that he laid still without the ever present stress of life, it was in the forefront of his mind.
He was not beyond understanding of such strange feelings, and his own experience in the mystical had well-prepared him for such unwanted intrusions. So, lacking something better to do with his time but tire himself out, he probed at it. Ferdinand cleared his mind, pushing any and all thought to the edges of his psyche, and focused.
The job of a High Magister was one that never finished, even in their sleep. The Mystical enjoy the touch of fantasy in their lives without having to dedicate, while a Mage would focus on a fancy of their own for most of their lives.
One step beyond that is the Magister, A mage trained with merit and precision. They were not scholars, but masters, they took what was known and mastered it, wielding the arcane as a word, and perfection as a shield.
A High Magister was the one at the peak of Magic, not for their prowess, nor their strength, not even their experience. They were at the peak because where one might see a boundary, they see a goal.
Ferdinand’s mind eased into the ethereal, not into the world of sleep, but to the border between life and death. In this state between things, the feelings of material and immaterial were amplified and experienced together. The faint feeling that edged at the back of his mind now felt like an overwhelming cyclone, his fragile spectral form would not have done well had he come unprepared.
It pulled on him, in mind and spirit. Not in the aggressive style of a mental being, nor as an attack like what might expect from Carrion’s situation. It was a connection, faint even in this storm of spirit. Though what he might have connected to, and when, was not clear. In a world of the mystical, it wasn’t uncommon for paths to be built between forces both understood and otherwise, but such connections were often fleeting. This connection was deeper, more substantial, less a path and more a bridge. He sought it out by following into the storm.
How this worked in lucid terms was simple, Ferdinand floated in a space much like the real world. In this instance, an abstract, yet familiar location very similar to the complex he rested in stretched out in all directions. It must be understood that the world he was in was not limited by reality. This reflection of reality was informed by the perception of the complex, not its reality. Just because the real complex can be trusted to have an exit, doesn’t mean this place would.
It wasn’t uncommon for those among the living to experience this world, some called them dreams. For one to come to this place willingly they would need to use the art of Arcanistic Synesthesia, or as some would call it, Astral Projection.
He travelled through the mindscape of the complex, but no matter where he went, or how far he travelled within, there was a tint of white over everything. What’s more, it was drawing him in. He let his control of the mental space loosen, and reality itself slipped around him. If he tried to retain control of his descent, the forces would tear him apart. He passed the event horizon through into the white abyss, and the old world of the complex shrunk into a black dot as he fell deeper.
Somewhere between an instant and an eternity passed, and the world above disappeared, so that he was only surrounded by the all encompassing abyss of white. Finally, he felt something like gravity return, and the pull itself grew weaker. He came to a stop, and much to his surprise, he felt his incorporeal feet land on solid ground.
For as far as he looked in all directions, it was a featureless white void. It wasn’t bright, nor was it dark, it was the very absence of anything at all.
He walked, for what felt like years, and saw nothing. Whatever this void was, it was so far beyond any mental domain he had seen before in his life. Even the dreams of dead gods and sleeping titans did not match in even a fraction of this size. With time, which couldn’t be measured, he grew to understand details in the blank void. Pockets of existence where there otherwise wasn’t. It proved to him there was structure in this place, even if it seemed there was nothing.
One thing about this technique that not many were privy to was that, as with everything, there are limits to its abilities. Time was unimportant in a place like this, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist, and while space might be fluid, it was finite. Ferdinand knew that even if he were to find something, anything, in this abyss. This fragment of his soul would not return, and he would not remember any of it. That was the price one paid for delving too deep into this realm. This is the common reason why a mage is always told to never exhaust their supply of mana, because even if it may return with time, your body will remember the emptiness. A body that remembers the feeling of losing its soul will never fully recover from it.
In a time that can’t be described with words, Ferdinand, or rather, the fragment of Ferdinand’s soul, found something.
In the infinite distance, a spec of light. Light visible against the white of the surrounding void, as he got closer he could see more than just a spec, a pinch of blue in the air, and green on the ground, some amorphous shape in the middle. Ever closer, he could see that it was not just an errant existence in the otherwise empty void, it was tangible, and made sense. A house, small and modest in design, but one that echoed a nostalgia that dug at his very core.
He walked through the field of grass, which almost felt more real here than in the real world. The sky and a false sun blazed down sunlight that felt warm on his cheek, even the air he breathed seem crisp, like clear mountain air. It was an echo of reality that felt more vibrant and real than reality itself, which by its very nature made it uncanny.
When Ferdinand reached the door, he prepared for any number of eventualities. A fight, a conversation, maybe even the end of this fragment of his life. He didn’t relish the idea of dying in this way, but he felt a small comfort in knowing that even if he might, he wouldn’t remember it when he awoke on the bed. He knocked, and waited for a response.
What he did not expect was who opened the door.
Standing before him was a woman, red eyes, white hair, and pale skin. Someone who looked very much like Andromeda, but as if she was a Medea. When the young woman’s eyes took him in, they were filled with a mixture of emotion. Surprise, fear, confusion, joy, and everything in between. Behind her, the one he recognized rounded a corner, Andromeda.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“Ferdinand?” Andromeda said, she was shocked. No, to say shocked wouldn’t be enough to communicate the vastness of what she felt at that moment. In shock, they asked him to enter. Now inside, he was sat across from three people. All looked very similar to the next, In the middle was Andromeda, though she was wearing the same set of robes as she had in the real world. To her right was the seemingly Medean clone. Instead of the robes Andromeda wore, she was wrapped in white wisps of white cloth draped over her body and hair, nothing was revealed through the coverings, but it was very jarring compared to the others. To Andromeda’s left was a version of her with pitch black hair, gray skin, and eyes so dark they might as well have been black. She was dressed in the same robes as Andromeda, minus the outermost layer.
They were in shock, all of them. Andromeda and the others for the fact that not only had someone entered their mind, it was Ferdinand of all people. Ferdinand himself was flabbergasted at the idea that the small connection he sensed at the edge of his mind turned out to be a connection with Andromeda herself. Had he known before, he would have tried this sooner.
Andromeda begun, more than a little confused. “I, uh, I guess I’m just still in shock on how you’re here.” She said.
“In all honesty, I am as well.” Ferdinand said. To Andromeda’s left, the white haired version of herself spoke up.
“How did you get here without me noticing you?” She asked. Andromeda put her hand on her shoulder and shook her head.
“Introduce yourself first, it’s rude not to.” Andromeda said. The white haired girl grumbled, then turned back to Ferdinand.
“The name I chose is White.” She said, which was a serious shock to Ferdinand.
“White? Oh yes, I remember hearing about you.” Ferdinand said.
“She was the one who I was telling you about when we last saw each other.” Andromeda said.
“This is so very interesting, what lead to you have the same name as what I named Andromeda when she became Arch Mage?” Ferdinand asked, White turned to Andromeda for confirmation, and she nodded.
“I don’t know, but I do know that shortly after gaining awareness I knew that I wasn’t the same as Andromeda, and that “White” was a more appropriate name for myself.” White said.
“I have so many questions regarding this, but now is not the time.” Ferdinand said. He turned to the dark haired version of Andromeda. Despite having a slightly inhuman appearance considering her skin and eyes, seemed the most timid of the three. “I don’t recall Andromeda naming a second personage that resided in her mind. Who are you?”
Before she could answer, a memory surfaced in his mind. On the night he had discovered Andromeda, some strange scene presented itself to him and the others. A ropelike being made of pure shadow, it was wrapped around her form in that strange world of ice and snow. Looking at the dark complexion and inhuman eyes, it couldn’t be anything but related.
Instead of speaking for herself, Andromeda did.
“If I tell you, you need to promise me that you won’t do anything to her.” Andromeda said. This did nothing to ease the tension he felt from this mysterious being.
“Even if you ask that, I can’t tolerate something that may be a danger to you.” Ferdinand said. He could tell the instant these words left his mouth that speaking them was not a good idea, the first thing that clued him into this was the deadly stare that both Andromeda and White drilled into him. The likes of which that were filled with the most intense hatred a living being could muster, and in a sense beyond what some of the dead could conjure. The second sign was that all light but red faded away, every surface of the room and even the light outside became shades of red and black.
But it all stopped in a moment, when the sound of crying filled the room. The light returned to normal and everyone turned to see the black haired Andromeda crying.
“Whisper?” Andromeda said. The dramatic turn of seeing one who looked at him so hatefully a moment before filled with nothing but despair and concern was jarring. But it told him something he didn’t need to hear.
The girl cried, bitter and ugly tears that flowed without fell down her cheeks, and Andromeda moved to sit next to her in a dear embrace. While she did so, White turned back to him with intensity in her eyes.
“If you want to continue this, you need to promise that you will not hurt her.” White said.
He was torn, on the one hand he knew that there was some form of connection between this being, and the one he saw before. But on the other, seeing her cry bitterly into the shoulder of the one he wanted to protect, something in his heart couldn’t aggress that. With a defeated shake of his head, he spoke.
“I swear on my honor, as a High Magister, I will not deliver harm upon her.” Ferdinand said. When he said this, Andromeda let out a held breath and spoke.
“Her name is Whisper.”
“Whisper?” Ferdinand said. Andromeda patted Whisper on the shoulder and spoke quietly to her. She sat up, tears still in her eyes, but more in control of her emotions.
“Whisper, that was the name I was given…” She said. Compared to the usually grounded and serious expression that Andromeda had, and White’s seeming lack of anything but the strongest emotion, this “Whisper” seemed to be a much more emotionally charged version of Andromeda.
“Er, greetings, I am Ferdinand Delerous.” Ferdinand said.
“Before I say anything, I want to say that I’m sorry. I caused all of this.” She said, but as soon as the words left her mouth, Andromeda shushed her and held her close.
“That’s not true, don’t say that.” Andromeda said.
“I can’t keep lying to myself, I did this. I let it get to me. Now we’re stuck in here.” Whisper said.
“That. Is. Not. True.” Andromeda said, who now seemed to be losing control of herself.
This situation was quickly becoming uncomfortable for Ferdinand, as it seemed he had somehow gotten himself involved in a private family matter. Trying to clear the air, he forced a point.
“Excuse me, but can I ask, what did you do?” He asked. White shot a look at Andromeda, and she leaned off Whisper.
Whisper took a deep breath, and spoke.
“I was, and still am, A Xixial. Before now, Andromeda and I bonded our souls together, and after I had a moment of weakness, she broke down the barriers of our minds to comfort me. She and White saw everything I’ve ever done. Once they saw that, we all woke up here. Unable to leave.” Whisper said.
“That doesn’t answer-”
“Open your hand.” White said suddenly, he did as he was asked, and a book appeared in his hand.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’d rather not have to relive it all gain. Call me selfish.” White said. Ferdinand opened the book to the first page.
-----
The sky was black, my arms were weak. I held her in my hands, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t rest. Every ounce of my strength was almost gone, the darkness crept forward, there was a voice in my head, my voice, whispering, screaming, begging, demanding. I give up, he gave up, I was forced, I forced.
He fell, I fell, she fell. It hurt, I was starving, I couldn’t go on. I tried to stop myself.
I tried to stop myself.
I tried to stop.
I tried to.
I tried.
I…
-----
It was a description of an event, and with gruesome implications.
“This is…” Ferdinand said.
“Turn the page.” White responded.
He did so, and it was another page, he skimmed through it to see another grisly account, another page, another account. Each one more disturbing and violence than the last. The most concerning thing about them was that he couldn’t tell who the victim and who the assailant was. It almost seemed as though the person chronicling this had experienced…
Both…
“Dear lords.” Ferdinand said.