by Marc Mulero
“I part ways with this advice: Learn everything, everything you can. Gain perspective. Do not accept the Skrol way at face value. Discover it for yourself. And I think you’ll see how far some may stray from perfection, from the ‘high road.’
“Do not be a puppet.”
And with that, Eres watched as Seren burst over the lake, visible winds flapping his cloak all around, the image fading away like a fuzzy recording.
“Curiosity, a hate for authority, a determination to disrupt – that’s how I view you in this state, Seren Night, for better or worse. At least you weren’t a murderer then. But what turned you, I wonder? Still a mystery. Know thy enemy. And that I will. But for now, I think I’ll rest up, I’ll read, I’ll learn, and then perhaps I will fly.”
He hobbled back to the tree, unlatched his bag, and plopped down with a book and a snack beside him.
Eres could only imagine the color of the bruises on his back after crashing into that rock-hard ceiling the day before. He remembered so vividly the Aegod’s punishing appearance – extended jaw, rows of teeth, rings of air blowing from its nose, all of it. And now he suffered a bruised batch of yellows and greens that must’ve taken up the entirety of his body, because every time he adjusted himself to find comfort against this tree, he winced. His spine felt as stiff as a board, neck locked in place like there was some invisible brace keeping it there.
“Oof, ow,” he groaned, and then scoffed. “Whatever, just thank the lucky stars you can move,” he told himself in between grunts and trying to focus on the book in front of him. His vision kept gravitating to the rainbow blemishes that spawned from blinding pain, however. “Focus Eres, c’mon.”
He stared down at the tome Ressa Noe Donnus had recommended to pay closest attention to - Efanie Boudai by Arguar the Third. The words were bouncing, disappearing, flashing, until finally, they settled:
Sindah is my infatuation. No one can convince me otherwise. Not Fata, nor Mota, proctor nor master. It is the connection I seek… to take my experience in Rudo and carry it to Gushda. A transference. But first we must address the obvious, yes? Why did I not say the opposite, to take my experience from trips into Gushda and bring them back to Rudo? Surely that would be a more noteworthy feat – to impress my peers, my Umboro elders.
No.
This is not the way.
Why?
You cannot replicate the light of the Eternal. It can only be experienced. To try would be to dumb down the greatest experience a being can have, replicate it to a lesser degree. To truly understand Gushda, you have to live it.
Eres looked down for a minute, thinking of Mudry’s gift, how beautiful his sculptures were, how true to the Eternal. But he supposed that the author was right – it was a mere bootleg, at best. Still though, Eres wouldn’t disregard such talent in the same fashion as the author would. He continued:
Now, when pondering the concept of the Eternal, I’ve come to the conclusion that we, as trespassers, are taking our fleeting mortal experience in Rudo and broadcasting it, immortalizing it, displaying it for other walkers to see. Like a trip to a museum bound by exhibits of your ancestors. Of course, it is more than that, but you get my point. If this is appealing to you, then I implore you to yalumi pen or “read on” in Universal.
And so Eres did, on and on – through fundamental principles that Arguar had developed from lessons of his masters, his elders, other authors - until he finally broke through to the fourth chapter:
IIII. Exis Borealas – Exhale Essence –
The first action is the most difficult because as we discussed earlier, Gushda does not accept imagination, for these things are dedicated to the mind in Rudo, to help you forge your experiences there. Then we bring our experiences to the Eternal. It works in steps, you see:
Imagine/dream realize such dream by experiencing it post the reality/memory in Gushda become immortal.
Once you are immortal, other esper wielders can navigate your scene, transpose into your essence, see what you see, feel what you feel. But that is another lesson for another day. Now, the critical first step is to isolate a memory you hold dear, which is far easier to do in Rudo, so do it there. Hold on to it. Do not stray or combine it with imagination, because then Gushda will reject it.
Do you understand? Good.
Once you have the details of that memory ironed out, you travel into Gushda and there, you transcend, become one with the Eternal for an instant in time. You communicate with her, for the Eternal knows all, and together you bloom a new flower within a specific point in Gushda space.
I have deemed this process – ‘Meeting of the Minds’ because, well, that’s what it is, wouldn’t you say? Our lesser, tiny thought producer joins up with the grand one, with Mustae herself. For an instant in time, you two become interactive. She, the Eternal mind, can hear you and allows you to put up a painting in her house.
Now for the indicators that you are acting in accordance with my teachings and are on the right path:
The memory will seem unusually vivid in your mind’s eye once you are in Gushda, which means it is ripe to be extracted;
Once you narrow in on a location, you will feel a coolness in your chest, a numbness, perhaps, and;
For an instant, you will become blind, deaf and dumb within the Eternal, since our tiny minds cannot comprehend the ever so brief interaction with Mustae. But rest assured, when you reawaken, a memory will be plastered in the space of your choosing.
If you fail, however, the memory will simply become dull in Gushda, and you may try again when mental energy returns to you.
My advice is to experiment with the above summarized guidelines first. If these steps are not working for you, fear not. There are advanced techniques to help you maintain focus between worlds. I repeat - if you fail, yalumi pen. If you succeed, I suggest rereading the ethics and branding section in chapter three so you do not oversaturate your space with senseless memories of no use or appeal to others. Finally, if you are confident that you have all of this down pat, skip to chapter five.
Eres was smirking. He knew that this was something he could practice with a broken body, a productive exercise to pass the time. What’s better, it was clear that his experience with the Aegod would be useful. Hell, it could even save lives. A perfect first post.
The days that followed were a mix of happiness, frustration, and loneliness. He was making progress, just not as fast as he’d hoped. But what was the rush anyway? It wasn’t like he was about to go hop toward a glacier with the entirety of his spine still completely numb from unending pain. Every morning, afternoon and night he’d test to make sure he could still walk and stretch out his joints cautiously, praying nothing would snap. Apparently being tossed a hundred feet into the air, into what may as well have been solid rock, had its effects.
Focus… okay. Try again.
He visualized the Aegod roaring at him, picturing all of its wounds, but his mind continued to wander as to how Seren was able to mark the monster without being grazed. How?
He shook his head and restarted the memory, but was soon shifted back to his friends. That yearning for connection. Back to the hot springs with Kyta and Mudry. Oh how he could have used a good soaking right now, at ease in the UnderSpire, chatting – the closest thing he had to a home in a long while.
I liked my room there. It was cozy. He smiled, eyes growing heavy and then yelled, “Stop!” He slammed a fist against the tree. “Again!”
He dodged the swipe of the Aegod, burst through its legs, disorienting it. He found his way up its arm, slashed at it to no avail. And then darkness.
“That’s right, I blacked out for a moment. Is it still one memory? Of course it is. Just connect them… think of exactly what happened next.”
Awakened to the feeling of falling, no, flying rather, then crash. He heard his body crunch like dry leaves under his feet. He could feel it again so clearly, remembered his blade falling faster than he did, holding tightly onto his impeller. H
e was reliving it all perfectly.
“I have it. Time to retreat into my esper. Go!”
And in an instant, he fell back limply against the tree with his finger aglow.
The familiar iridescent tunnel passed quicker than normal, his body warping into his ethereal form. Woosh, he was there… the spot he’d designated for his first post.
“The memory is bright. Good.” He looked down to his smoky chest, which was bubbling like a cloudy lightning storm. “Everything is in place. Mustae… take me. Take this instance into the immortal isles of Gushda.”
He could feel it. Almost there! But why was nothing happening? Had he gotten caught up with imagination again? Had he strayed in the small span of time it took to get here? Why wasn’t he linking up with the god?
“Maybe it’s because I’m a Dawn.” His chest began to simmer. “No. No room for doubt. That in and of itself would be straying. Patience. Remember Arguar’s teachings, remember what Ressa Noe Donnus said. Trust in them!”
And with that, the memory brightened once more, his chest rumbling like something was trying to escape him.
He pondered if this was what fission felt like – that way that Kujins reproduced. No wonder Ramillion was terrified of it.
“Stop straying!”
It seemed focus was the biggest challenge here, and in truth, Eres didn’t really know how much of a scatterbrain he was until this exercise. Always bouncing around everywhere. Always yearning, wishing, fantasizing. But here, he had to stay static.
And so he shut his eyes, letting the vivid experience take over. The loud roars… he could hear them again, feel his ears ringing, that terrible migraine that followed. Yes. What did he see? Eyes of broken glass honed in on him. What did he feel? Terror. Adrenaline.
He was there. Him versus the Aegod. It was happening.
Then a surge of electricity pumped through his form. It was euphoric. The same way he’d felt when he kissed Ohndee and Windel. That blissful feeling, only times one thousand. That’s when it all went dark.
When he awoke again in Gushda, he felt weak. Something had been expended – like his very lifeforce was fading to nought. But his eyes sparkled when he looked up.
There, beside two memories of Agden Way, where there was once an empty spot waiting to be claimed, shined a moving image of Eres rushing heroically into an Aegod’s territory. It was there. He did it.
“Mustae extracted a point in time within Rudo, on my request, and she extrapolated it here… in this immortal isle. For me. I did it! For the first time ever, I’ve achieved grace!
“Ooma, I hope you would be proud.” He smiled and, with that thought, he was warped back to Rudo.
Eres awoke with a jolt, breathing heavily, touching hand to chest to make sure everything was still intact. Then, when he knew that all was right in the world, he laughed. Finally - for his triumph with the Aegod, for this success in Gushda, everything. He laughed and fell onto the warm snow.
“I did it. I really did.”
Chapter 36
End of the Line
The angelic hymn was still beautiful, even after what Eres believed to be an entire month of waking to it. A gentle violin in the background, some light vocals elegantly weaved in. It was blissful. The realization that he wasn’t driven mad after all of this time was a good sign, he supposed.
A routine was in order too. It started with breakfast - this hearty low-hanging fruit on the outskirts of the tree was so heavy and succulent that it made the branches frown.
He snatched one and bit down – juices bursting in his mouth, sustenance, vitamins. “Mm,” he would moan. “This never gets old, not after ingesting poison berries in the Northern Grottos for who knows how long.”
Then he would read for hours – studying, applying, studying some more. It was in his nature after all to understand text, and the more he did, the more robust his metaphorical suit of armor developed, the clearer his determinations became. Finally, things were beginning to click.
“Ughh,” he groaned from being stationary for too long. Trying to rise up again was like straightening the limbs of an old rickety doll. Scar tissue felt stiff, snapping as he twisted. But that was okay, he guessed, because for all intents and purposes, he had recovered.
Poof, he clapped the tome shut, and shink, out came Kor Vinsánce’s blade, shining and magnificent. What exercise would he practice today? He leaned over the octor stand and scrolled through the many instances of his forerunners. A swordswoman he’d never heard of was the source of his latest lessons.
“Okay, Ringwal – what do you have for me this afternoon?” Eres clicked the instance on, and with a thrum, the swordswoman pirouetted around him into battle-stance.
Eres obliged, mimicking her movements fluidly, like he’d been training alongside her for years. She was nothing like Proctor Vasa, except for maybe some showiness, but the style was completely foreign. This was more dual motions than relentless strikes: poke to low cut, overhead swing to spin strike. Dance to the left, to the left again, and quick dash to the right.
It was fun, different, and for some reason Eres kept the tome Learning of my Foremothers by Princess Dorescle in his free hand as a reminder of the path he’d chosen. This training was along those lines: A testament of free will. Not the manipulative, albeit helpful, but still deceptive guise of Ramillion’s predetermined choices for him.
Whether in concept or in the defiant action of choosing this book, it acted as a source of confidence within a lonely existence. A statement that he wasn’t truly lost.
“We all find our way,” the octor said. “Ey, ya!” Another dual cross slash was followed by a dash backward. “But in the meantime, we must keep our skills sharp like an Aegod’s talons, our movements as graceful as a fansa’s prance, and our minds as adaptive as a cunning Sorcerer’s.”
“Easier said than done.” Eres mimicked the strike and held balance on his back foot.
“In battle, do not open with a Crule strike, for that means you are overzealous.” Ringwal dashed forward, quick as lightning. “Do not hoard it either, for that means you are too conservative.” Side dash, slash. Her thin blade whipped the air. “They will expect the third strike, always the third… so you hold.” She held a defensive stance. “But they would not expect a forward thrust, as it’s too easy to miss. But you… you are deadly accurate. Hyah!” Her needle blade exploded with cyan Crule as she thrusted forward.
And so, too, did Eres’ crimson blade ignite. All black smoke and Crule fire.
“Again!” she shouted while getting in position to restart the process.
Eres followed along until each of her lessons became second nature, meshing with all that Herim Vasa had taught him, molding him into a more unpredictable fighter. All while his mind worked to address his last seed of doubt.
I hold an esper, same as you. I possess Glite, Crule, all of the tools. But I’m still not worthy to record alongside you. I’m too young, too green.
“We all feel lost out here,” Ringwal spoke to the air a while later. “It’s natural. And I think it may also be the point. To find comfort in the unknown. You will find it too, fellow Skrol.”
Eres felt alive. “Out of all of the other recordings, you are the only one who addressed me like that. Well… I know you’re not talking to me specifically; that would be crazy.” He let out some nervous laughter.
In the back of his mind, he wished Seren would have recorded himself so he could learn more about him, study him further. But that bastard remained a mystery in Rudo and in Gushda. Always.
Later that night, he didn’t think of Ringwal’s lessons, nor did he ponder about The Third Scar - as interesting as Clas Modon’s journey was tearing down fabrics of the Eternal. Not Arguar, the third’s book either. He didn’t need it because he already knew how to extract his own memories. It was something else he sought now – reason within the Eternal. And that always landed on Princess Dorescle’s tome, the one Ramillion tried to keep away from him… the one Kyta pul
led out on his first trip to the Consortium. The same excerpt kept playing in his mind as he lay awake staring at the purple twilight sky, to the twinkling stars. It was always the same one, from passage 18:472:
I came back from this into Rudo with my mother’s temperament. A skill in writing that I never had. She gave it to me. I wasn’t perfect like she was. I was still me, after all, but she gave me something. I felt it, I developed it. Like a seed ready to grow. I was the water, if I wanted to be.
“What did she mean by that? She melded with her mother in the Eternal and what… absorbed her skills? I don’t believe that for a second. I’ve melded plenty of-”
He froze, still thinking about the time he experienced death in Gushda – through the eyes of his grandmother on his father’s side. The pain, the fading vision, the delusions leading up to blackness. What an awful happening.
“Is that what she means? We carry pieces of the immortal back with us? Their experience becomes ours, in a sense? Is she suggesting that we cherish this?” He leisurely traced a batch of stars above him, making his own constellation. “What will my esper heir experience when they meld with me? What will I show them?”
He ignored that thought, put it in another compartment for another day, and instead focused again on the passage. “What if my fata could give me the touch of Reach?
“Nah, stop telling yourself that. Ramillion said it could never be… and even if he was lying, a gift like that would be the first thing Seren would’ve been after. He’s still like me – no Reach, no Sorcery. He said it himself.
“What then can I bring back to Rudo besides death? What would my fata want to give me that he hasn’t already given?”
