Thunder clapped outside, and he squeezed the shovel in his grip from the sound. It struck him late that… he was going to need it. In Morovian custom, it was an honor to be buried beneath homestead trees. A tradition reserved for loved ones of great repute. Merli didn’t think anyone of great repute existed in his family after today.
He stood in the rain shortly after, hunched over his dead, recently born friend. How cruel, and unfair the world was. How stark its views, and how sharp its reactions. The family social customs could abyss themselves.
Carrying the deceased cub on his back, Merli heaved it all the way to a homestead tree. He buried it there, in the rain and the cold. So nobody would see. So nobody would know. So nobody laughed at him for loving a creature that had adored him in turn. The heavy rain masked his tears. When he was done, he held the shovel tightly in hand.
This wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t…
Artorian grit his jaw, eyes closing in defeat as he spoke. “Yet, it was my fault. I was the one who frolicked and landed in that pile. I was the one who thoughtlessly brought meat back. I was the one who was there for that cub to get attached to. It was my fault it came. It was my fault he followed. It was my fault that he adored me, and came to an end on my father’s blade.”
Thunder clapped, and the rain masked Artorian’s reaction as he stood next to Merli. His eyes also locked on the freshly tilled patch of dirt. “I’m sorry… my dearest friend. I wish… I wish I could make it up to you. With a life of happy wild hunting, and days of basking under the sun. I… I…”
Artorian felt a kernel of hope catch fire. “I have to go. Scilla. Scilla, let me out. I have to go! There’s something I must do. Right now. Right now!”
Scilla smiled in the bonfire room, present and waiting as he woke back up to this stage of consciousness. “Hmm? Why? What do I have to let you go for?”
His eyes burned at her. “Not what, who!”
Scilla remained unmoved, and undaunted. “Who then, do I have to let you go for?”
Artorian drew a deep emotional breath, shouting the name. “Decorum!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Eternium realm of Asgard wasn’t designed to handle normal cultivation improvements. So when Artorian forcibly hit A-rank two from resolving a regret, the dungeon wasn’t happy. Eternium both as a dungeon Core and realm functioned based on Order, and numbers. Cultivation? Big no-no.
Eternium himself tossed Artorian out! Hurling him smack back into Cal’s Soul Space where an immediate vacuum of energy plunged around his being. Eternium could partially say no for the moment, but the Soul Space could not. That space upheld Cal’s deal, and gave Artorian all the Mana he needed.
A-rank two wasn’t a cheap transition.
The second Artorian opened his eyes, he was up and scrambling. His rank increase was wholly unimportant compared to what he felt compelled to do. *Fuffing* to the sun room, and clawing at the floor once there, he hurried onwards. Trying to gain momentum and speed to bring him to the wall of memory Cores even a fraction of a moment faster. “Where is it?”
Information on the wall was devoured in instants. Where normally Artorian would have relished in waxing through waves of nostalgia, not today. Not right now. “There!”
Ripping the relevant Core from the wall, he cradled it tight to his chest and squeezed his eyes shut. Ideas struck him as if he were drowning. Too many, too fast, too copious. Where? Where did he need to be? Copious hunting ground. Easy sun. Foliage beyond count. The answer came with the sound of a mental finger snap, and his eyes shot open. “Midgard.” *Fuff*.
Eternium felt kicked in the shin when Artorian burst through their connections and shouldered his way back in. With one bonus item. The youth *fuffed* away before anyone could get a lock on him. Appearing on another continent entirely even though he hip-checked through several trees. Outright getting the positioning and velocity wrong would do that. Teleporting was precise business! You couldn’t just pop from one moving place to another moving place, and expect all the variables to conveniently be the same.
Artorian didn’t care about the hit his health bar had just taken. They were numbers. Just numbers. Accessing his divine energy point pool immediately, he slammed his hand onto the store button, yelling at the menu for it to move to the relevant sections since it was faster than manually scrolling. Honestly, he didn’t know if that would work or not. Yelling at inanimate objects tended to yield no results. Now, yelling at something while infusing with a full-on Invocation? That got results. Even if it miffed the Eternium Core.
A liger cub body formed, lifeless, on the ground before him, and Artorian pressed the memory Core right to its forehead. Reforming his aura into resplendent starlight, he planned to… Wait, what was he doing? This was Eternium, and he had all the healer abilities! Skip the hard part, and go right to the source. His young voice shouted the words that swiftly sprung to mind. “[Origin Tree, Genesis Branch, True Nascence]!”
The memory Core shattered to dust in his hand, its energy infusing into the cub’s body as the spellform worked its magic. That was fine. That was all fine as long as the cub was… *Badump*.
Yes! A heartbeat! Success! When Decorum groggily woke, he was met by a not-as-sandpapery tongue smearing itself up along his face. The proper cat greeting, even if it didn’t accomplish much. The cub *mrowled* loud, flopping over as it was too young to stand. His eyes hadn’t even properly opened yet.
It didn’t matter for long. The soothing waves of starlight comforted the uncertain cat, and while Decorum felt tired, he was held close in warm, welcoming hands that rubbed over his head. He was in a good place, and he was being cared for. It was safe to nap.
The cub conked out moments after, a busy Artorian hunting through the shop for easy milk-based nutrition. He had nowhere to put it for the moment, so just littered buckets of the stuff around him. “You’re going to be well, my boy. I don’t know if your old memories will filter in, or what they will be like for you. Though I’ll be here. We’ll go through those first motions together.”
Artorian felt hesitant about a sudden thought that he may have just jinxed himself. Yet, when there is doubt, there is no doubt. He didn’t like this strange crawling feeling, and considered an immediate contingency plan.
Wood Elf secrets he tended to keep to himself sprung to light, and the old man trapped in the body of youth skipped caution and sprung to action. Pressing their foreheads together, he shared those early memories of the Morovian cub. Sans patriarch execution. He didn’t know if his freshly relived memories would help or hurt in addition to Decorum’s original ones. As the memories weren’t from the cub’s perspective, but his.
The act seemed silly, and small. An inch of a soul, granted freely. Being mid-transfer, Artorian didn’t notice the hint of Liminal energy that was added with the gifted memory.
Direct memory transfer was taxing. It also went entirely unappreciated by Eternium, who did the equivalent of bop him on the head to say ‘no’ the very second he was done. A bop was enough to drop him. Knocked out and down for the count, sleep took Artorian. Or it would have, had it not been for a meddlesome gatekeeper.
Artorian felt groggy as his consciousness collected itself in his bonfire space.
Scilla slowly clapped as he came to. She was pleased, announcing his success with calm joy. “Regret, resolved.”
Pushing himself off the familiar floor as she spoke. He sat to glare at her, then collected himself and stood. Drawing a deep breath before looking himself over, he sighed at the sight of his child-like body. “No change. Abyss.”
Artorian took a moment, then rubbed his brow and addressed Scilla. “Thanks. I guess. I don’t feel as emotionally wrecked as I did last time.”
Scilla nodded, her pink hair momentarily refusing to act along with gravity. “This memory you managed to immediately do something about, out in reality. Rather than curl up and suffer through it. Well, ‘reality.’ You know what I meant. You resolved this one differently, but you ac
cepted your part of it all the same. That’s progress.”
Artorian’s words were flat. “Why am I still a child?”
The pink-haired girl copied his speech pattern. It was unsettling how eerily accurate she could just copy him. “Ask. Your. Self. I’ve said it before, but you are the reason for that form. That’s not me, though I certainly don’t want to help you side-step progress. So I won’t be helping either. That aside, I think you need some actual sleep. I’d love to throw you into the third regret, but you’re overburdened. Night!”
Artorian hated that he didn’t have the chance to get a word in. Dreamless slumber was all he got. As usual, he lost track of time.
A wet sandpaper tongue in his face woke him. Oh, good! Decorum! Thank Cal. The youth sat up in a snap, shedding away the lichen and moss that had grown over him. Including a small army of fallen branches which went flying. Was he in a hole in the ground? No, some kind of nest had been built around him. A nest he had thoroughly trashed. “Oops.”
Still, why a nest? Ligers didn’t make branch nests. His face felt wet. He’d been licked a moment ago. In his wooze, Artorian’s hand thunked against a rusted pail. Oh, one of his scattered milk buckets! He’d not really done anything with those, but the contents appeared to be missing. “I don’t even need to guess that I was out longer than expected. That’s just the norm. Alright. How long this time?”
He got up in time to find several pairs of eyes staring at him from both the foliage and tree line. He was addressed by one, and guessed that it approached based on the presence. Unfortunately, he couldn’t make out any defining shapes just yet. “Well, look who woke up.”
“Chandra?” Artorian looked around, but couldn’t discern her human-based form even if he recognized the voice. Shifting modes of vision, he realized it was obvious why. The nature Mage’s complicated dryad tree-form moved his way without any difficulty, regardless of the dense forest coils. His response was fittingly childish. “That is a marvelous shape!”
Chandra’s voice replied with warmth. “That’s strange to hear from the voice of a youth. Still, I’m glad you’re well. Mr. Immovable Object.”
She reformed to the human shape he recognized as she shot her quip. Offering a hand to help him out of the hole in the ground that had previously served as a nest. “Now that you’re awake. Mind telling me how you ended up crash-landed in one of my groves? Or shall I believe Decorum, as I am inclined to?”
“Decorum!” Artorian looked around in a frenzy, but didn’t see his friend. He did, however, spot the dire bobcat responsible for the face lick. “Have you seen him? I brought him back, but in my rush I may have stumbled.”
Chandra remained steady and calm. Her smile doing its best not to burst into being. The twitch on her lips made Artorian stop, and just look up at her. “You’re trying too hard. What happened?”
The nature deity eased down to a knee. Settling at the youth’s eye level. “Decorum wants you to know he loves you very much, and deeply apologizes that he was unable to help you wake. He knows you wanted nothing more than to watch him grow up, and spend the early days with him. He has instead prepared a memory Core for you. So you can catch up, and live the memories from his perspective. He hopes that will soothe your heart, and that you will find the time to visit him. He’s uncertain if you want to see him the way he is now. Decorum is not the wildcat you may have hoped he was.”
Artorian felt the words die in his throat. His jaw moved, but the sounds didn’t survive their way out. Chandra just hugged him, and that helped him to speak. “I would like to see him. Even if it’s not what I expected. Could we go immediately?”
Chandra beamed a motherly smile. “It is proper to announce one’s arrival before a visit. I’ll let him know to expect a party of two.”
Artorian nodded, but had a thought. “Why are you being so overly polite?”
She smirked. “Did you forget, Administrator, that words and names have power?”
“Of course not, but I never named Decorum like I did the chosen. Or like Dawn named Caliph. I didn’t. So I wasn’t expecting a higher intelligence to come about. I just wanted him to live free.” The youth clamped his grip. Eager to get going.
Chandra took him by the clammy hand. “Have you tree-stepped before?”
He sighed, squeezing the grip. “A long time ago, but I remember the feeling. Makes me think of some Wood Elves I’d like to see again.”
Chandra beamed once more. “Where we are going, they call me Gaia. So you don’t get confused at the naming. On that topic. Birch and Mahogany are there as well. A Hawthorn trio too. I’m sure they will all be overjoyed to see you, even if they’re the offspring of the ones I’m told you knew.”
*Zwip*!
They were moving through the root system immediately after. Artorian felt like he was back home in the Duskgrove. Holding onto Ember’s hand as she ran through the woods, while he was just a flappy piece of cloth along for the ride. Or when Hawthorne pulled him through the roots, that last day before he left. When his feet felt solid ground, he released Chandra’s grip and bent down. “Still as wild as I remember it. I don’t feel sick. This time. That’s a bonus.”
“That is fortunate, sir. I would have taken it as most unkind had you sullied the floor.” Artorian pushed up from his hands-on-knees position, and watched a highly groomed brown rabbit adjust its gloves. The tall-ear sported a silvered monocle, and was attired in a dual-tone vest tailored to his size.
Artorian didn’t know what to do. “Chandra. Am I seeing things, or is that the most dapper hare I have ever laid my eyes on?”
The rabbit cleared his throat at the child. “Please, sir. I am a proud Leporidae Lagomorph. My name is Bentley. If you would be so kind as to hop along with me, I shall provide the relevant attire before your tea appointment with the master of the house. This way, please.”
The look Artorian shot Chandra screamed ‘what did you just drag me into?’ The nature Mage only smiled, already following Bentley. Not wanting to be left behind in what turned out to be a mansion’s foyer, just with all-natural trees functioning as support pillars for every corner rather than stone. Yes, this place was a mansion. A full on, multi-level, well-kept mansion in the middle of a forest. Grove? He wasn’t sure. Big sprawl of thick greenery. The windows were crystalline amber or clear beeswax, and the light streaming through bathed the home in a warm orange glow. “This is a very fancy mansion!”
Bentley took a moment to pause and glance over his shoulder, his rigid posture never once broken. “Domus, good sir. The establishment is referred to as a domus.”
Artorian felt out of his depth as Bentley hopped along. “We have arrived. Please step into the cubiculum and exchange your attire with the measures presented. A Leporidae of repute shall attend you once finished.”
Cubiculum appeared to be a fancy word for what could just as easily have been ‘bedroom.’ Chandra was escorted to her own, and seemed to have the drill down. The domus wasn’t ostentatious, but it had a little I-don’t-know-what. Rather, it felt like someone with a keen nose for art and organic architecture had spent years deciding the placement of every pillar and placard.
In his room, which was nice if small for what he was expecting, he picked up the prepared clothes. They reminded him of Zelia’s fancy general-suit. It even had tassels! He might as well amuse his host; it was so deftly prepared, after all.
A good half hour later, and young Artorian checked himself in the mirror-finish slab of amber. “Spiffing! I look either like a tiny general, or a ridiculously dressed-up young’un for some play where we wave signs around and pretend to be trees.”
Exiting the wooden door, he found a gray-haired rabbit waiting for him. Again, sporting a dual-tone vest and silvered monocle. He figured they must have had a tinkerer on staff. “Hello there. I’m Artorian. Nice to meet you.”
The youth attempted to shake the rabbit’s paw, but didn’t receive the gesture in reply. His offer just hung there as the gray-fur replied. “Very
good, sir. You are awaited in the atrium. My name is Royce, do feel free to call upon me if needed. This way, please.”
Royce hopped along, and was an older rabbit based on the pace in hops. Unlike Bentley, there was a different method in which he carried his gait. “Well, it’s nice to meet you all the same. Does your entire family work here, Royce?”
The butler-equivalent spoke without a pause in bounces. “Indeed, sir. I am the forty-fifth Royce to serve under my position in this family. It is a great honor to do so. Please do watch your step, young master. The stairs can be treacherous.”
Artorian didn’t see what the danger was about the steps. A mahogany had been grown in the shape of a spiral staircase, and it looked sturdier than many of the other stairs he’d seen in his life. “You’d need Dwarven or Gnomish creations to one-up this.”
It didn’t take long for them to arrive at a set of double doors. Which they… passed?
“We have arrived, sir. Please, after you.” Royce pressed an outcropped piece of wood in the wall. Indenting it as he pushed a button. The double birch doors parted, and the flickering of a fireplace was the first thing Artorian saw on the opposite end of the atrium. Lavish couches rested to the left and right of the middle walkway. Each facing towards the oversized beeswax windows that overlooked a vast lake.
The actual walls were sprawling with artwork. Covered in paintings from what must be a truly eccentric artist. Artorian stepped in with delight and a touch of wonder, looking all around until he heard a *clap*. He knew that clap. Except that this time it lacked the C-ranked oomph behind it.
Mahogany, in all his sultanesque glory. Stood tall on the carpet, now blocking his line of sight to the fireplace. The regal nature of his voice was not lost, and Artorian’s lips quivered into a smile as he was addressed with ancient terms. “It is so good to see you again, my dearest Starlight Spirit.”
Artorian forgot he was old. He jump-hugged the ancient tree with a wail only a child could muster, the Wood Elf’s name screeched without embarrassment. There was only one Mahogany, but one was better than none. He was thankful for the reunion. “You are well! Look at you! Tall and healthy!”
Anima: A Divine Dungeon Series (Artorian's Archives Book 6) Page 21
