by J. J. Lorden
It was an instant of mindless devastation frozen in time, and Nero could feel that man slumbering deep within.
In the distance, beyond the horde of corrupted, a small figure stood calmly atop a hillock. The profile was nearly indistinguishable, but the cherry color about him blazed like a sunset.
Nero fixated on the image–it was a dark memory. Then blinked himself free and turned to the first blank page.
He pulled the bunch of Linny fruit from his bag, broke one free, and set the rest beside his knee. Nero then fell into himself and eased open each of his resonant energy gates one by one. When all five were flung wide, the loose essence drawn into the Kom’gireth was thick as honey.
His intention gathered and circulated it all, drawing them in at his base and up through his center, where he bound a thread of soul to each, before pressing them out at his throat.
The energies appeared as bands of grey mist that looped away from Nero, forming five rings that returned just above his waist.
Earth at his spine, air at his left shoulder blade, and water at his left collarbone formed the trio Nero had grown comfortable using nearly every day for more than two millennia.
Still, the two on his right outshone all but his earthen resonance in density. At his right shoulder blade was destruction, and in the position of power at his right collarbone, a silvery band circulated, thick and distinct from the traditional four. He spoke to this band. Our time comes soon.
It responded with crystal peals that rang in his mind. There were no words, as his message had contained none, only the ten thousand ringing tones. We stand ready, brother, the essence replied, and Nero knew it was true.
After completing their loops and passing his center a second time, all but the silvery band flowed up and out through the crown of his head where Glanatheil took control, pulling them up into his trunk. The elder Pado’tan wove in a thread of its soul, then sent them to the tip of his tap root, thousands of feet down.
Deep underground, Nero’s soul-touched essence bands dipped into Kuora’s unbound essential energy well. A near-endless reserve, the unbound well spanned the entirety of Kuora with connections to everything.
It was the most massive known pool of power on the planet, far too great and volatile for any being to harness. But Glanatheil’s connection to the unbound was strong, and his request was welcomed by its collective mind.
For a brief moment, its scattered attention focused. Nero’s essence bands fizzed, and his skin tingled in response as the vast network assimilated all information with an energetic tie to Nero. His essence flows were infused with details of all events involving his Gwarn’din.
As the bands returned from the deep, his Dan’di’shan activated focus glyphs that began glowing dimly. Neither his nor Glanatheil’s mind could read the data directly; the complexity would drive them mad.
And, neither could the focus circle. It could only isolate the imbued information. To see with omniscient eyes, even one page at a time, Nero and Glanatheil used the Yal’irime.
Being a weave that held unbound essence, it required physical components to complete. Such was the nature of unbound energy–it remained chaotic until bound with the physical.
So, the Yalir’im was a binding ritual. One known to few and accessible by even fewer. It offered an outside view into critical moments of Nero’s life and the lives of those to whom he was bound. Nothing could hide from the Yalir’ime as no essence could hide from the eye of the unbound.
Even an enemy met in battle, whether in victory or defeat, was connected to Nero for a window of time. A window that stretched out into the time both before and after their fight. The stronger the bond to another, the larger the window he could see.
Returned, the four cords of energy struck the ring underside with physical force. Its concentric containment circles and the activated glyphs pulsed bright yellow light as the focus ring began to weave the Yalir’ime.
Completing in seconds, a thick cable of power rose from the focus center, enveloping the Vir’ime in a corona that lifted it from his lap.
Nero bit into the Linny fruit, and rich juice filled his mouth. As he chewed, many of the tiny, dark seeds peppering its interior were crushed between his teeth, releasing bitter shocks along the side of his tongue.
Juice leaked from his mouth corners, running down to his chin and dripping toward the sacred tome. The liquid never hit the paper. A hand width before touching, it was swept into a swirl that hovered above the Vir’ime.
When the fruit was a smooth slurry, thoroughly mixed with his itical essence, Nero bent forward and allowed the pulped mix to spill out. The swirl gathered it all and grew dense. Spinning slowly, the purple mush separated into curving bands of red and blue, creating a two-tone vortex.
Two thin tendrils, one blue and one red, extended from the swirl, siphoning off the color as they reached toward the page. Twisting and twining about each other, they danced, and where they passed, lines were drawn. Slowly, a new image began to appear.
Settling in, Nero took another bite of Linny fruit and repeated the process. When the bands of color thinned, becoming pale, Nero bent forward to replenish them, catching a glimpse of the emerging image as he did.
His mouth snapped shut.
The final bit of color was drawn from the bands, and the Yal’ir’im vortex turned transparent again. Nero’s gaze narrowed. What are those? Where is that?
Continue Shin’dan, the Yalir’im mustn’t set so. We shall view all when the unbound visions are complete. Glanathiel replied, having heard his concern.
Yes, Dan’di’shan. You are, of course, correct. Nero sent, allowing the mouthful of Linny pulp to drop, replenishing the vortex. Spiraling blue and red arms reappeared, and the tendrils continued their work.
Long minutes and most of a Linny fruit later, the first image finished. The Yalir’im vortex floated to the opposing sheet.
Nero stared in confusion. Do you know what those are, Dan’di’shan?
Humm… Glanathiel’s spirit resounded. Of countless things, I know all there is. Of many more, I know much. In all Kuora, I know something of all things. But, of this Shin’dan, I know nothing.
Nero tensed. If his Dan’di’shan didn’t know, nobody would. Or… there might be one who knows, he realized.
Would Jan know, Dan’di’shan? Nero asked, feeding the final bite of the first Linny to the ritual and continuing to study the image.
Three humans, two men and a woman, stood in a square room alongside an arc of identical metal seedpods, each several times larger than the humans. Attached were thick, black cords disappearing through a central hole in the floor. They all appeared to have a small window and foreign glyphs on top.
Nero knew of no magic capable of crafting such a thing, or of crafting such a room.
Yes, Glanathiel said. Jan may know of this.
That is good, sent Nero. If he yet lives, I will undoubtedly see him on my journey.
The Vardenthine yet lives, Shin’dan. You will see him again.
It was a small comfort. Unfortunately, understanding what the shapes were, was not Nero’s greatest concern. He did not know any of the humans. And that was impossible. Can the Yalir’im do this, Dan’di’shan? Show me humans I have never met?
No. Without a resonating bond, it is not possible, Shin’dan. Are you certain you know none of these?
Breaking off another Linny, Nero bit down and focused on the human in the center. His appearance was not wholly foreign. In him, Nero saw familial features similar to his Gwan’din–but utterly devoid of Elven traits.
The man was imploring the other two, arms extended, expression expectant. The mannerism felt familiar, and that, more than anything, gave Nero pause.
No, old friend. I am not sure. Do you know… Can the Yalir’im see into other planes of existence?
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