Chapter 5: Aptitude Test And The Mind-Body Disconnect (Part 2)

Sigrios placed his butt on an unoccupied sofa, waiting for Grandmaster Babalin to do the same. The faster this was over with, the more he could utilize his time on far more important things, such as reading through Hohenheim’s report. However, seconds passed, dreadfully slow. Grandmaster Babalin remained stuck at the door with no hints of moving. Calling her name didn’t help. Neither did asking her if something’s wrong.

The other two across from him--the scruffy man and the girl with a tattoo--stared at him like a curious thing to inspect.

A smile graced him from the girl. A pretentious smile he knew too well. Her shameless acts of gander lingered far too long. Too long on his robe. Too long on his cane. Too long on his family’s heirloom. Sigrios thought to confront her, but the man by her side made no effort to conceal himself. He sat restlessly still with an intense, inquisitive stare of a skeptic.

Sigrios waved to the both of them and smiled.

“I believe we’ve never met before.” Priscilla reached out a hand halfway across the coffee table. “I’m Priscilla.”

“Sigrios.” Likewise, he reciprocated with a hand of his own. The slightest touch was unbelievably smooth and soft... until it gripped. His heart skipped a beat at such a firm and powerful strangle. “Wha--Be gentle! Be gentle! I’m delicate!”

“Oh--sorry--pfft.” An unrefined laughter leaked from her lips as she covered her mouth. “Forgive me. You should eat more--you really should! It’s hard to imagine someone with such exquisite clothing so poorly fed. What family are you from? Do you live close to here?”

“House Kilgore.” Sigrios snatched his hand back. He massaged it part by part, almost certain that something was broken. But nothing was jutting or protruding. Nothing was broken or bruised, thankfully. Bloody ogre.

“House Kilgore?” She paused. “You’ll have to accept my apology. I’m not familiar with the Kilgore name, or its status. Or yours, for that matter. What does your family specialize in? What emblem do they stand by?”

Sigrios squinted. This conversation felt more like an inquiry than small talk. Why was she so interested in his family? “My name and house matters not. What difference does it make if I come from a pair of peasants, or merchants, or fighters, or nobles? I come here as myself. Is that not good enough?”

“No, no. That’s fine.” Priscilla chuckled with another fake smile masking her displeasement. “Well, it’s been a pleasure to meet you, Lord Sigrios of Himself.”

“Boy,” Lord Marnox hissed. “What is your connection to Hohenheim?”

By voice alone the man did not speak kindly. Some kind of disdain or contempt dug beneath that demand of his when he spat Hohenheim’s name. All the more reason Sigrios shot a squinting glare. A long silence dragged between them, yet Sigrios remained adamant and spoke with no words. The only thing he returned to Lord Marnox was a face of absolute defiance.

“Answer me.”

Lord Marnox clasped his fingers together and lowered an insidious stare behind it. Overwhelmingly dominant, and piercing, like he was trying to kill the boy by eyes alone. Air around them became heavy--choking--as if by his doing. Every breath stressed their muscles even more. Pressure closed in on their ears, threatening to spike and pop.

“How do you know Hohenheim?”

“Marnox, what’s wrong?” Priscilla asked.

Under such weight, Sigrios arms and legs loosened and slouched. The beat of his heart lost its steady tempo; throbbing faster and faster, ready and willing to leap out of his chest. Commands within his body fired signals to run, to flee, to do anything but stay in the presence of that beast. He didn’t move. He didn’t talk.

“Marnox!” Priscilla frowned at him. “Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“Don’t interfere, little one.”

“You!" Grandmaster Babalin stomped her feet until she towered in front of him. Looking down at the Monster with contempt, she raised a hand fully winded-back, ready to launch a hefty spanking. “You! YOU! Must I remind you where you stand? Continue anymore and this’ll be reported. Do you hear me?”

Lord Marnox glanced at Grandmaster Babalin, then returned his killing gaze back at Sigrios. He released a sharp exhale, and his eyes relaxed. And so did the air around them. “Calm down. I’m just teasing. I’m fully aware of the consequences. I’m not foolish enough to put the little one in danger.”

“I’ve never seen you so worked up before,” Priscilla said. “Who’s this Hohenheim you’ve been asking about?”

“A dead man.” Lord Marnox immediately studied Sigrios’ face, hoping for any telling signs--waiting for any facial cues. All that was there instead was the same glaring squint that never left that distasteful face of his. “Supposedly, a dead man. That’s what the Oracle likes to claim all these years. But I won’t believe it. Not until I see his body for myself.”

“Lord Marnox!” Grandmaster Babalin put her hands on her waist. “That was then and this is now. What happened back then is in the past. Now, this is my last warning: if I sense any more hostility, I’ll personally shove my feet up your hole and kick you out of here. Understand?”

“Babalin...” Lord Marnox shook his head. “When you’re willing to forgive and forget those kinds of deeds, you’re on the wrong side of humanity.”

“Marnox…” Priscilla saw a deep-seated hatred within his slanted eyes. She stood up, opened the door, and waited for him. “It’s best for you to wait outside. Cool down in the meantime.”

“As you wish, Princess.” Lord Marnox stood up without an ounce of resistance. He took one last long look at Sigrios before heading out the door.

Princess? Sigrios glanced at Priscilla from the corner of his eye.

“So… that just happened.” Priscilla awkwardly smiled and resumed her seat. “I apologize on his behalf. I really don’t know why he did that...” Her voice trailed off. When her eyes met his what she saw was the last thing she’d ever expected from him. A face undisturbed by what just happened.

“Okay.” Sigrios shrugged. “Anyway, can we continue, Grandmaster Babalin? I’ve been waiting so long I forgot where we left off...”

“Wait!” Priscilla quickly raised her voice. “I believe we were just about to start my test. Let’s resume where we left off, shall we Grandmaster Babalin?”

“Right, right.” Grandmaster Babalin heaved a sigh of relief. She complied with their same youthful willingness to forget and move on. Once she resumed her seat across from Priscilla, she gave step-by-step instructions, such as keeping her hand on the crystal ball at all times; to concentrate with the mind; and to alert her of any twisting pains.

Priscilla quickly placed a hand on the crystal ball as instructed.

“Imagine, Princess Priscilla. Let the words resonate within your mind and let your imagination flow like a river,” Grandmaster Babalin instructed. “Now, repeat after me: Mind and will. Body and mana. Light, forever bright. Dark, ever absent. By your circles we commune. By your covenants, accept our tongue. By your will, accept my words into your home.”

“Mind and will. Body and mana...” Eyes that sparkled and gleamed gazed at the crystal ball with high hopes. Halfway into her recital a frizzly sensation caressed her palm. Grandmaster Babalin saw the worries in Priscilla’s eyes, and reassured that it wasn’t out of the ordinary.

Sprinkles of dust glittered within the crystal ball, never before there. 'Round and 'round it went, rapidly chasing its own tail and shooting out more dust. Upon the completion of the first ring, a pure white light flashed. Dust that fell out of the first ring orbited just outside--into a second layer--and in time the same flash occurred without complications.

Grandmaster Babalin said five rings are for the most gifted of students. Come on…! Five rings! Five rings!

Priscilla remained indifferent at the sight of the first ring. It was a given, naturally, for someone fitting to hold the title of Third Heiress. The second one flashed—her face still stoic. When the third ring lit up it wasn’t enough to induce an ounce of joy within her. Then the fourth ring came, and the slightest crack of a smile appeared.

A layer of dust revolved around the fourth ring at a decaying rate. However little there were, the dust swirled around it, collectively forming a weak tension just outside the borders of the fourth ring. Her smile widened further and further. Then, it flashed. She pumped her hand into the air and shouted with glee.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Oh my goodness! Congratulations, child!” Grandmaster Babalin clapped her hands. “Your father would be extremely pleased to know about this.”

Sigrios saw what could possibly be the first sighting of pure, genuine happiness all over Priscilla’s face. The results were completely lost on him, but he reached out a hand anyway to congratulate her achievement. “Good for you--”

“--Marnox! Marnox!” Priscilla jumped from her seat and ran straight out the door. “You wouldn’t believe--” She slammed the door shut. Her elated voice gradually lessened, drifting away, and then back into silence. They were gone.

“My, my.” Grandmaster Babalin laughed. “In all my years of knowing her, that child never seemed so happy. But I do hope she comes back. Class starts early tomorrow morning, and she’d be clueless without her schedule. Now, Sigrios, was it?”

“Yes,” Sigrios replied. “Grandmaster Babalin, allow me to express my gratitude once again for not kicking me out. And… also for earlier.”

“Think nothing of it, child. Marnox was in the wrong for threatening you.”

“This may be a bit bashful, but would you mind telling me what’s your relationship to Hohenheim? I don’t ever recall him mentioning your name.”

“My relationship to Hohenheim?” Grandmaster Babalin lifted her head towards the ceiling. Silent. Her lips curved. “It’s complicated. Well, Hohenheim was a complicated person. Even to this day I still don’t understand some of the things that came from such an odd mouth. Really, people call me crazy, but that man was straight-up crazy! Like the things he would say sometimes made me doubt my sanity. But… you know, I really like him. I admired him… I was his apprentice… And he was always there when I needed guidance.”

That smile she wore was all Sigrios needed to see to know that she held Hohenheim in high regards. He sunk back into the sofa, smiling at the idea of him and her together. “Yup. That’s him.” 

“And you?” Grandmaster Babalin asked. “His letter didn’t mention much."

“I wish I could say as many nice things about him like you did.” Sigrios laughed. “He’s… an asshole at times. An annoyance… most of the time. And… someone I can never leave alone. I owe him too much to do that.”

They both chuckled. Understanding where they stood eased the tension between strangers. Grandmaster Babalin felt the urge to ask more—to know more about Hohenheim. Her mouth opened, and immediately after, closed. Though he didn’t show it on his face, something within his eyes--something sad--made her refused to press on.

“Right...” A soft longing escaped her mouth. “So, you’re enrolling here, yes? I still have a bunch of documents waiting for me, so let’s hurry this up. I really could use a bed tonight.”

Sigrios nodded.

She walked over to her desk and procured a parchment paper and a set of quill and ink pot. “What path do you intend to walk here?”

“The mystical path.”

“Mystical path…” She wrote down the details of his name and his path onto the parchment paper. “And what is it about this path that interests you?”

“I... don’t know what to say. I’ve walked the other road as a marital practitioner. So, I guess I’m looking for new opportunities here.”

“A martial practitioner? With that body?” Grandmaster Babalin laughed. “Right.”

After scribbling down all that information, she walked over to the sofa across from Sigrios. Grandmaster Babalin placed a hand on the crystal ball and directed him to do the same. After instructing him to repeat after her, she recited the same lines again. Their eyes glued onto the crystal ball with both highly anticipating something.

Word for word, the same lines flew from his mouth but nothing within the crystal ball occurred like it did for Priscilla. Sigrios thought it was of an enunciation problem; perhaps the inflections and tone of his voice is crucial to the success of the recital. And as he played with different intonations and inflections with the same words and sentences, Grandmaster Babalin sat still, quiet, and lost.

Hm... Very odd. No rings are forming... Is he completely inept at magic? That would make sense. It wouldn’t be the least surprising for the average person to fail this horribly. But this is someone Hohenheim sent… For what other reason would Hohenheim have sent this boy if not to teach him magic? Something’s definitely wrong.

“Grandmaster Babalin.” Sigrios grew worried at the sight of nothing appearing within the crystal ball. “Be honest. Am I not suitable for this path?”

“No, it’s still too early to say,” Grandmaster Babalin assured. “There is another method to ascertain your potential. But I must warn you, I’m worried if we should be doing this at all. It’s not for the faint of heart.”

“How dangerous are we talking?”

“Tsushin’s Ten-Stress-Circle method is just as it sounds, a method that strains the person’s limit to its utmost. Terrible pain and pressure will fall onto the body. Honestly, I wouldn’t use such brute force if we had another option. But this is the only method that bypasses the mind’s gate to interact directly with the body.”

“So, it hurts? If that’s all, then let’s continue with it.”

Poor, poor child. Grandmaster Babalin shook her head and wished him the best of luck.

In the time it took for the sun to dye the sky orange, Grandmaster Babalin prepared the room for Tsushin’s Ten-Stress-Circle method. An open circle was drawn near the door with chalk, the only area in the room with adequate space. Its line spiraled outwards, wrapping itself in another circle, and another one, until the spiral reached its tenth curved ring.

Strange characters were written in the spaces between the rings. Strange, in the sense that they didn’t conform to pre-established alphabets. Sigrios couldn’t figure out what language they were, if they belonged to any. Rather, they resembled something more like symbols than phonetic characters--like hieroglyphics.

The more he watched Grandmaster Babalin work, the more she reminded him of Hohenheim. Both were of old age. Both didn’t complain when they worked on their knees. Diligent, and meticulous. He offered to help, but was turned down. In the words of the elderly woman, “I’ll be waiting here all night if you were to do this.”

When everything was done and ready, she stood up and clapped her hands. Puff of white chalk dusted over the image she worked so hard on. After smearing her hands against her gown, she instructed Sigrios to sit in the open circle.

Sigrios did as told with a heavy emphasis that he cannot move out of it for the duration of the ritual.

“Do I need to do anything else?” Sigrios asked.

“Endure,” Grandmaster Babalin said. “Endure as best as you can. That is all. As a fourth-rank Priest I can only support the ritual up to the fourth circle. At any time you feel that you can’t take it anymore, let me know. Also, before we start, you should know that I have only done this twice with others. Never by myself. Do you still wish to continue?”

“It doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do my part.”

Grandmaster Babalin knew of that look he wore: naivety and enthusiasm at its most foolishness. A dangerous mixture she would warn others to stray from. She could only hope everything would be fine. With both knees on the floor, she formed a triangle with her hands and pressed it against the slight indentation of the fourth ring.

A blue light flowed from the fourth ring to the third, the third to the second, the second to the first, and the first to the open circle. Slowly, but surely, it ascended from the floor into a vortex of concentrated light an inch high surrounding Sigrios.

Whatever was happening, his heart remained calm. Someone worthy of beholding the title Grandmaster deserved his trust, he thought. At the very least, he placed his trust in the fact that she wanted to know more about Hohenheim, and he had the answer.

As he sat there, cross-legged, something tickled his nose. Something burned. Sigrios followed the scent of smoke down to the lines of chalk. Where he sat, the white lines charred around him. It traced the open circle into the smallest ring, the first ring. 

It finally started. 

He breathed in and out. Slowly, in and out, to steel himself. Whatever pain she spoke about, he wanted to be ready for it. Again, in and out.

Three-quarters into the first ring, tiny bits of jolts numbed both jittery hands. All fingers contracted towards his palms, no matter how much he tried to will them apart. Halfway into the second ring, his feet were engulfed in the same mystery. Cramp, and disobedient to his orders, but they always had that numbness ringing at them. A fourth into the third ring, his arms limp as if all strength was sapped--lethargically.

As the chalk burnt towards the final point of the third ring, Sigrios saw with his own eyes how foreign his body was. Unwilling to move. Unwilling to obey. Pure insubordination. It always took conscious effort to willed his arms and legs to move. It was rough at first, and as awkward as they were, they eventually listened. But now… they just laid there like limbs glued to his head.

Grandmaster Babalin breathed heavily, exhaustively. Through all the tiredness of her drained body, her mind jolted with what little energy was left. It was as she thought. The first few millimeters of chalk burnt just off of the fourth ring. The boy that Hohenheim sent reached the fourth circle to no surprise. But she knew there was more to it than that. If Professor Zeke or Professor Lielie were here, how much further could he have gone? Could he have reached the fifth or sixth circle?

That prickling thought yearned for an answer. However, all her body wanted right now was to sprawl against the floor. A quick nap before she had to mount a pen with her hand again.

Blueness outlining the chalk on the ground paled to white when she released her hands. The disappearance of the vortex around him flipped a switch; his arms and legs were back online, as if the missing link was restored. Pinching the skin of his forearm brought relief to his face. There, something was once more: a feeling of pain--of something his.

“How are you feeling?” Grandmaster Babalin asked. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sigrios answered. “Though, I don’t know if everything went perfectly like you wanted. I didn’t feel any of the pain you mentioned. There was numbness, cramps, and I lost control of my hands and legs, but that was about it.”

“What…?” Her voice faded. The word ‘impossible’ was ready to leap out of her mouth at that moment, but years of professionalism kept it in. Whatever was happening within Sigrios’ body was a mystery, but her scholarly instincts nudged at something else. Hohenheim’s letter, the failing of the traditional method, the result of Tsushin’s Ten-Stress-Circle method, and the lack of pain… Perhaps this was the reason why he sent this boy to her.

“What’s wrong?” Sigrios asked.

“Oh. I terribly forgot!” Grandmaster Babalin ran to her desk to grab a pamphlet. “Congratulations, Sigrios. You’ve reached the fourth circle! This means that you’re entitled to the benefits of an honors student! Within that pamphlet is an explanation of what it all means!”

“What--Fourth circle? What are you talking about?” 

Before he could get a proper explanation, the elderly woman insisted on him touring his new room and exploring the school grounds. Tomorrow would be hectic, as all first day of schools are, so she advised him to familiarize himself with the campus. Without another peep, she pushed him out of the door and wished him the best of luck.

Alone, with silence, she sighed. “Ugh… I’m too old for all of this.”

Back at her desk, she pushed all the other paper out of her focus except for the parchment paper of Sigrios. Quill in hand, she tapped its dried end-point on the paper, pondering how to start it off. Thinking back on all the occurrences in regards to the boy, an obvious choice stuck out to her. An apt name for an odd problem. Dipping the quill into the ink, she wrote a headline in bold strokes and large font: “Sigrios: The Mind-Body Disconnect.”