Thacea
“I don’t know how much of this is true. I don’t even know if any of this was even real. It could’ve just been a complete fabrication, my prefrontal cortex’s vain and vapid attempts at interpreting the random strings of nonsensical electrical discharges from my brain’s ure. That’s what the evidence would lead me to believe, that’s what was most logically happening, if we were to shear this whole thing using Occam's razor.”
My eyes narrowed at that latter allusion, a fact that Emma noticed, but something that I managed to discern on my own through context clues.
With a wordless nod, she continued.
“It started, ironically, like a lot of pre-seizure auras do — with a sense of creeping dread.” Emma sighed out. “But then… the chimes returned. This… this one vital detail is what’s keeping the start of this theory together, Thacea. Because if you recall—”
“You’ve reported these chimes before, a sort of… prelude to your exposure to taint.” I reasoned, before my eyes widened once more with a sense of looming realization. “The ‘alarm’ your people spoke of during this communique. Could it be—”
“The same thing, yeah.” Emma nodded vehemently. “That’s… that’s what I assumed too, but I couldn’t interrupt to ask. There was just so much going on that I completely disregarded it and—” She stopped herself, taking a breath, and steadying herself once again. “There is… a non-zero chance that they experienced what I did. Though the interesting thing I noticed was that not everyone was affected. But… that’s neither here nor there. I’m not here to speculate on things on earth’s end. I just… I just needed to make mention of the chimes.”
“As you should.” I acknowledged. “The patterns at play are… difficult to ignore; making your case all the more compelling.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Thacea.” Emma spoke with a renewed sense of confidence, a much needed reprieve for what was to come next. “Anyways, yeah, I heard the chimes, then… nothing. Silence, and not the sort of silence you’d experience in one of those anechoic chambers either. It was… more like a lack of the sense of hearing altogether. The same applied to sight, smell, touch, proprioception, everything. It was like I was floating in space, or one of those sensory deprivation tanks, but taken to its logical extreme.”
I felt, for a brief moment, the spell of Emma’s lackadaisical remarks taking hold of my faculties once more.
Sensory deprivation tanks…
There was… an unfathomable — and frankly distressing — amount to address in that one simple aside alone.
And yet, this wouldn’t be the fullest extent of these — what I’d elected to refer to as — Allusionary Shadows. Or more poetically, the Shadows Left in Emma’s Wake.
“If I were to take a page out of the worst of the corpo handbooks, I’d even liken it to one of those complete Cerebro-Cortical Ex Situ Translocation experiments, but one where the brain’s literally taken out without connecting it to any dedicated sensory prostheses.”
I blinked, choosing now to stare blankly at Emma, while she awoke to the terror she’d wrought in her wake.
“Oh, er, sorry, I was using too many context-dependent metaphors as a crutch there.” She apologized, raising a hand to rub the back of her head in abashment. “But my point still stands. It felt… like I was just a floating consciousness, disconnected from everything. My mind was panicking of course… or at least, one part of my mind was. The other just felt too… I don’t know how to say this — calm? It felt at peace almost? It was weird, like two diametrically opposed mentalities operating on entirely different frequencies that just couldn’t be reconciled. But after a while, after literally stewing in my own thoughts, the world started to suddenly come into focus. It’s difficult to describe but it sorta felt like everything just started… coming into frame, all at once, with faint and starry ‘skies’ above me, a horizon in the distance, and weirdest of all — a reflective surface beneath me. Sort of like a pool but not. Since my footsteps didn’t really make waves in it or anything.”
I listened, intently, Emma’s accounts resonating with something, a wisp of a memory that I scarcely remembered; one that I hardly had a reason to remember.
“I don’t know why, but I think I was weirdly enamored by the reflection. Now, I know I’m definitely good looking—” Emma paused, once again interjecting that absurdist earthrealm humor into the fray with a faux flex of both arms. “—but I’m nowhere near narcissistic enough to be that enamored by my looks.” She chuckled fitfully, clearing her throat before continuing. “In any case, things really escalated from here on out. Thalmin’s voice somehow broke through the overwhelming nothingness, breaking me out of my weird… fugue, and bringing my rational mind back front and center. From there, I ran. With no real sense of direction, and no visual markers, I just… booked it. I didn’t know for how long, or how far, but the only change I noticed was my reflection.”
I leaned in closer, Emma taking a moment to catch her breath.
“Because as I ran, I noticed the reflection suddenly refusing to follow. It was dragged along alright, but it didn’t match my motions. You’d think this was weird enough, but no.” Emma mirrored my motions, leaning in closer to bridge the gap. “It broke through the reflective surface, the water, and it grabbed my ankle.”
A deep sense of unease manifested across my features, as I held my breath for what was inevitably to come.
“But that was it. That… was all it did. I looked down and it just stared at me blankly, with eyes that were completely pitch black. It let go, eventually, but not after I felt this weird sense of… serenity, taking over. And after a while… a long, long while of staring down to watch this doppleganger, it decided to point at the skies above, tapping the now-hardened reflective surface incessantly.”
“And what did you see?” I urged.
“Color. An explosion of color as far as the eye could see. I saw stars, nebulae, plumes of interstellar gas and the twinkle of a trillion stars held within. But in the midst of it all, contrasting starkly with the brilliance of the birth of a universe, was a lingering splotch of dark. If… if I recall correctly, the doppleganger tapped harder at that point, and well, that’s about it. The next thing I know, I’m waking up to a very concerned Thalmin and a very confusing medical report. I wrote everything I could about the whole event down but… I really really wish I had a camera with me. I could’ve taken a snapshot of the stars and had it cross referenced with known stellar charts and—”
“Emma.” I interjected, reflexively, without a moment’s hesitation. “Have you checked your ankle?”
The human stopped.
Her entire form suddenly lost all of the enthusiasm present just a second ago; arms hanging limp, and posture stiffening to a board-like rigidity.
“W-what do you mean, Thacea?” She responded plainly. All of the grand sweeping monologues, all of the vivid and detailed accounts, all of it, reduced to this mortified soldier who understood well what I was suggesting.
“Have you or have you not checked for any marks where the entity touched you?”
“I wasn’t—” Emma responded, before clearing her throat. “No.” She corrected darkly, before immediately getting up from the armchair.
Not a word was exchanged following this, not even an attempt to defuse the situation with that absurdist humor of hers.
Instead, a knowing dread settled on the both of us, one that followed Emma every rushed step of the way towards the tent.
I watched in silence at the routine that bordered on ritual, each second dragging on for what felt like minutes and hours as the droning and whining of the manaless enclosure felt as if it was taking longer than it should.
Finally, it stopped.
At which point, I knew she was properly inside.
A part of me wished that the tent’s fabric wasn’t so opaque.
A part of me wanted to see inside.
In order to—
…
See whether or not she had been marked.
Not…
…
I took a deep breath, taking careful, measured steps, towards the demarcated perimeter of her domain.
“Emma?” I questioned impatiently. “Are you okay? Do you see any—”
“Gi— GLEGH… J-ju—”
THWUMP!
“Emma?! What happened?!! Are you hurt?!!!” I urged, moving closer out of concern… only to realize the leypull of the situation.
I couldn’t help even if I wanted to.
The weight of my earlier warnings, my pointed pleas to this very eventuality, abruptly reared its unwanted head with the malevolent irony of an oracle scorned.
I stood there now, in silence.
A thousand considerations, and ten thousand more plans came and went, all reaching the same disquieting conclusion.
Anything I did, any attempt at aid, was fruitless.
All I could do now was wait, hoping for a response, and praying the vibrations within were an indicator as to—
“I fell out.” Came Emma’s exhausted answer, causing the mild panic welling within me to — momentarily — cease.
“You what?” I replied reflexively, that abruptness in delivery and the extemporaneous tone of Emma’s words… clashing with the reality I’d scarcely just assembled.
“You should be more careful, Emma.” I retorted sternly, bluntly, partially relieved but likewise unamused by her wanton disregard for all matters pertaining to caution. I sighed, but moved swiftly to address the matter at hand. “Now, do you see anything on your ank—”
“H-hold on. I need to get these stupid layers off…” Emma interjected, clearly exasperated herself, as the occasional grunt, groan, and whine came through the tent’s (speakers). “It’s… much… harder… than you… think.” She spoke between tired ragged breaths. “A whole week… is enough to mess up your… I don’t even know how to describe it. It’s just, even with training and the armor’s automatic systems, you just… you kind of adjust to moving with something, and overcompensating for weight, volume, space and… wait there’s a term for this. Proprioceptive-Motor Dysadaptation Syndrome, yeah, that’s what it’s called. ”
“I sympathize with your plight, Emma.” I offered softly, empathizing with her plight. “However, there is no need to inspect everything, I simply wish to know if your ankle—”
“Doesn’t work that way. It’s a one-piece situation here, so just hang on, I’m kinda cramping up… just… UGH, come on… THERE!”
I blinked.
My heart raced now as I could only imagine what was happening within, and the fated response which had the potential to redefine everything.
“Erm, Thacea?”
“Yes? What do you see?”
…
“There’s nothing here. I’m cross referencing last week’s medical reports and yeah, nothing, not even a bruise or discoloration.”
A sigh of relief escaped my beak, as Emma was quick to follow up on that response.
“What… what was I supposed to see?” She asked, before suddenly following it up with questions of her own. “Wait, wait a minute. There’s a mark here… but it’s a birthmark, d-does… does that count? Does that mean I was always marked for this? Is this some weird timey-wimey rewriting destiny thing? Did it go back in time to somehow mark me from birth so that I’ve always had this and only now am I realizing what it is? Is this some kind of chosen one thing? Is that what all of this is?”
“No, Emma.” I responded with a sobering stoicism aimed to defuse Emma’s overactive imagination. “That’s not how any of this works.” I reasserted. “What you were supposed to see— Correction. What I had feared you would see, was the mark of the Veil Wing. I admit, it was a rather presumptuous notion, but your story, your recollection — it brought about memories of childhood tales which should have remained as such. I had correlated, naively so, that your experiences were analogous to some of our inexplicable encounters with…” I paused, struggling, trying to find the words in High Nexian. “... a sub-conscious of sorts.”
“I don’t think I’m following, Thacea.”
“Allow me to rephrase this.” I took a deep breath. “Your story, more specifically your encounters with this calmer, seemingly bizarre alternate self, is one that is well known to us. Your inability to reconcile with the discrepancy between you and your other, the inability of this other to truly grasp, grapple, and communicate in any meaningful way, and its constant attempts to keep you calm — all of it is reminiscent of our stories of the Shadow Soul; a being that exists in dormancy, lying in wait, manifesting only during sleep for some and flight for others. It… was academically disproven in the eyes of the Nexus, but in old Aetheron culture, we believed this to be a shadow of our identity, one that emerges in our place during our sleep and long flights.”
“Wait.” Emma spoke up abruptly. “Are you saying that Avinor don’t enter a full on mode of sleep like elves and lupinors do, for instance? Like you’re sort of asleep, but kind of awake at the same time? One eye open one eye closed sorta deal? The lights are on but nobody’s home? I hope I’m making sense here… heh…”
My eyes narrowed at Emma’s counterquestion, my mind racing with its implications.
How did she…
“Yes.” I acknowledged, deciding to acknowledge the present, first and foremost. “There are variances depending on the particular race of avinor, but all share in this experience in one way or another.”
Not a single word left my beak following that response, as a dawning, almost creeping realization suddenly came upon me.
There were no other species that shared this unique… propensity for consciousness and awareness. And for Emma to have immediately leaped at that prospect, without giving it a moment’s hesitation… was it possible, could it even be feasible that she could be—
“Then yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Unihemispheric slow wave sleep, that’s what our scientists call it at least.”
Perhaps it was my turn to carry the baton of Emma’s overactive imaginations.
Alas, before I could dwell on the possibilities, it was Emma herself who dragged me back to the pertinent topic at hand.
“So… what I’m understanding here is this: you’ve sort of personified the weird ‘consciousness’ that ‘takes over’ during your half-awake state right?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” I acknowledged. “We… or at least those who still cling onto the old beliefs, believe that this other, exists as a shadow to our identity, though their awareness, their ‘personhood’ so to speak, is highly debated amidst many avinor theological circles; when they still existed, that is.” I steadied myself, returning to the role I was meant to play. “Your encounter with this other, your Shadow Soul, reminded me of such. However, what was truly remarkable, and worrying, was the fact it managed to interact with you. Everything up to that point had been… familiar, the reflections, the calm, and even the tantrums it displayed. But when it breached that barrier, reaching for you, that’s when matters escalated from a rare interaction, to an incident of fate-defining concern. Because in that moment, as your Shadow’s eyes filled with darkness, there was a chance, however small, that something else had taken control of it. Another entity, another being, with a desire to communicate… though to what ends, depends on what old faith you worship. To some, it could be a blessing, a communion with the gods. To others, it is an attempt to brand you as a slave to the whims of spiteful gods.”
“The mark of the Veil Wing or whatever, right?” Emma questioned.
“Yes. Though there are other marks too.” I acknowledged. “Because to most of the old faiths, the truth lies somewhere in between. As these spirits and deities wish to merely… point you towards a path they deem to be best.”
“Best for whom, though?”
“That’s the most frustrating aspect about it, Emma.” I acknowledged. “It’s never specified. Sometimes it’s what’s best for the gods themselves, sometimes it’s for the good of the community, in others it’s what’s best for you personally. Regardless, the result is the same… a brand, mark, tattoo, or some sort of lingering reminder of their touch.”
Emma paused for a moment, resigning herself to a long and drawn out sigh of frustration.
“I don’t imagine there’s anything on chimes preceding the arrival of any of these gods, is there?”
“Not to my knowledge, no.”
“Right…” She breathed a deep breath in, before chuckling darkly. “Okay, well, at least the good news is that I’m not branded or marked or anything. That tracks with the inability for taint to physically affect me. But I still can’t consign myself to ignoring the whole dream sequence. There has to be something to it, right?”
“We can continue our investigations in the library.” I reasoned. “In the meantime, I believe it would be best that you do… whatever it is you need to do in there, Emma.”
“Already way ahead of you.” Emma responded abruptly.
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, yeah, while you were going on with your explanations I just decided to hop in the shower. The noise cancelling systems in the tent are good enough to deal with the noise from my end, and I thought it’d be better just to make things more efficient for this whole conversation.”
I blinked once, twice. Then slowly, but carefully, stepped away from the tent.
“I… I see. Efficiency seems to truly be a cornerstone of…” I couldn’t forge platitudes and pleasantries, not under these conditions. “Is it… I don’t know if we should continue talking when you’re clearly busy, Emma—”
“Oh, I’m not bothered, was there anything else you wanted to touch on about my debrief?”
“I… I don’t think… I mean… there is the matter of a debriefing of our misadventures at the Academy but…”
“But?”
“Perhaps it would be best to save that for the morning. You clearly are busy and need some time to yourself following your adventures.” I offered as best as I could under the recent upheaval to our conversation.
“The whole break-in situation right? The tent updated me on the situation, I’m watching the logs on it right now, and I gotta say, you handled it amazingly well, Thacea.” She beamed.
I would’ve smiled, perhaps even blushed beneath my feathers from a compliment that wasn’t the result of conversational decorum and empty platitudes. Though given the situation, I found myself physically unable to blush more than I currently was.
“Thank you, Emma. I will talk to you when the circumstances are more forgiving.” I managed out, now making my way towards the powder room in increasing haste.
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Dragon’s Heart Tower. Level 23. Residence 30. Living Room. Local Time: 2000 Hours
Thalmin
“I don’t think they’re leaving that room anytime soon.” I managed out with a huff, to which Ilunor — engrossed in his 7th course — merely shrugged.
“A shame. More for me to eat, how—”
“Leave some for the pair.” I chastised.
To my surprise, the Vunerian relented, shrugging in the process.
But silence wouldn’t hang in the air for long, as Ilunor eventually veered into dangerous territory — a new conversation, starting with a single, solitary word.
“Thalmin?”
“Yes, Ilunor?”
“You do know that the Academy, these years we spend together, are finite in nature, yes?”
“Just cut the fat and get to the meat of it, Ilunor—”
“I cannot claim to know exactly everything you’ve discussed with Emma over your time in the wilds, nor do I claim to be prescient. But what I can sense, with intuition honed through years of careful courtly discourse, is that something changed out there.”
“I don’t know what you’re attempting to imply—”
“You want something from Emma, don’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes, refusing to respond.
“You wish to harness her potential, her power, her inclination to trust, to bond, to naively offer things on a whim. You see the power she wields — manaless power — power which may or may not rival that of magic itself. And you wish to exploit it, for Havenbrockian gain. That much I could see during the engagement with that petulant false-noble.” He paused, his voice colored with a marked severity. “That much I could tell from your reactions to the death of the Pegasus.”
“Your reactions to that whole scene weren’t that far off from my own, either.”
The vunerian paused, looking away for a moment, before putting both pieces of cutlery down in a swift and elegant motion.
“Correct.” He admitted, through gritted teeth. “Which brings me to my point, Prince Thalmin. You cannot let the dazzling brilliance of the present blind you from the responsibilities of the future. These five years, as formative and important as it may be, will be just that — a blip in a long-lived life.”
“I’m flattered, Ilunor. I didn’t know you would wish me and my family both long lived lives and a reign which would reflect—”
“Cease with these foolish asides, Prince Thalmin. It is unbecoming of you, a prince, to be adopting the earthrealmer’s prose; your mannerisms drip with her inclinations for the absurd.”
I responded the only way I could to that interjection: a shrug.
A response that Ilunor took with surprising grace, as he returned to his proverbial podium.
“I bring this to your attention, because as much as we have had our… disagreements, I do not wish ill on you. Moreover, I find myself in the unenviable position as the sole voice of reason at present. Prince Thalmin… just consider for a moment the implications of your actions. What will happen after we all go home? What will be the ramifications of your actions here, and what truly can you expect to bring back when all is said and done? Anything gained, anything built, any bridge or road constructed with Earthrealm… may be a complete lost cause at best or an active detriment at worst. You have so much more to look forward to, Prince Thalmin. Please consider the rest of your life, and refrain from being distracted by this brief point of aberrance."
I sat, staring, looking deep into Ilunor’s eyes this entire time, and what I saw… was concerning.
This wasn’t one of his typical condescending tirades.
This… was something entirely different. A genuine plea of what seemed to be a place of well meaning intent… but from a misplaced faith.
“You do remember how Mal’tory completely kicked you into the jaws of a wrathful being, correct?”
“I—”
“Believe what you want to believe. Just understand that as a prince, I know what my duties are, and where my responsibilities lie. The real question here is… what future do you see for yourself after these 5 years are up, Ilunor?”
=====
The Next Day
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. The Grand Dining Hall. Local Time 1220 Hours.
Emma
“Alright, color me impressed, guys.” I beamed brightly, leaning in close towards the pair as their escapades were recounted in their entirety.
“I have to say, you both handled the situation much better than I would have.” Thalmin added, stoking the flames to Ilunor’s growing ego, much to his chagrin.
“So… Etholin’s group is now more or less…”
“Our pawns, yes.” Thacea responded matter of factly, in between bites of her main course. “At least as it pertains to Lord Kamil Lyonn and Lady Ilphius Seleat. However, your refusal to accept Lord Etholin’s coin, and your return of said coin, was an even greater move on your part, Emma.”
“Wait, what?”
“By returning his gift, and coloring the interaction in your usual… manner of delivery, you’ve managed to not only refuse what would have been a new line of fiscal and social debt — as the usage of coin could be construed as an active investment and facilitation of your quest’s successes — but you’ve likewise shown restraint, planning, and aptitude in refusing the gesture following the conclusion of your successes. It’s quite satisfying to see, really.” The princess spoke with this almost… giddy vigor. A giddiness hidden under layers of social decorum and politeness of course, but I couldn’t deny the enjoyment of courtly drama hidden within her thoughtful gaze.
“Right.” I nodded. “Well, I would be lying if I didn’t realize it was another ploy at correcting the weird social debt imbalance between our groups.” I shrugged.
“That is, if it even was a ploy.” Thalmin offered. “He could just genuinely be apologetic over the fuss he stirred up in refusing to back down from our spot on the quest. At least, until the very end where he pulled that move with Ping.”
“That is possible.” Thacea admitted. “Then again, the man leads a sloppy ship. It becomes difficult to discern what his direction is, when every member of his group seems to be acting on their own volition.”
“The same can be said of our motley band.” Ilunor chastised in jest, garnering the glares of all present. “What? While we are most certainly leagues more competent than Lord Etholin’s group, this all stems from our individual capabilities, more so than any superiority in leadership or organizational competence. You are all like feral drakes, impossible to corral, difficult to get in line, but still more than capable of surviving nonetheless.”
“Er, thanks, Ilunor? I guess?” I responded, cocking my head in confusion at the vunerian’s weird blend of insults and seemingly well intentioned compliments.
“With all that being said, I think I might need to upgrade the tent’s defense systems somewhat.” I offered, garnering a giddy grin from Thalmin.
“May I see the birth of more of these miniature war golems, Emma?”
“Sure. I’ll also—”
“And in ensuing order, given you wish to forge new defenses, might it be possible to request a weapon of my—”
TOOOOOOOOT! TOOO TOOO! TO TOOOO TO TOOOOOOO!
My active audio systems managed to just about tone down the bombastic trumpets right as they started, though the same couldn’t be said for Thalmin, as he glared down at the bridge apprentice who seemed more than happy to have gotten us back in this one, small instance.
“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTIONS, PLEASE! THE LAST OF THE QUESTERS FROM THE EVERBLOOMING BLOSSOM HAVE RETURNED! ALL STUDENTS ARE TO GATHER FOR CELEBRATIONS FOLLOWING THE CONCLUSION OF LUNCH! ALL QUESTERS IN ATTENDANCE ARE TO FOLLOW ME FOR PREPARATIONS FOR THE CEREMONY!” The bridge apprentice practically bellowed out, his voice carried magically across the room, and much to the annoyance of all present.
I was quick to turn to Thalmin, who with a single nod, stood up.
“Right then.” I spoke with a sigh. “Let’s wrap this up. We have a lot more to do after this.” I turned to both Ilunor and Thacea who each nodded knowing their own affairs.
“And a lot more time to address the various questions still up in the air, ey?” Thalmin questioned jokingly, punching me in the shoulder in the process.
“Yes, Thalmin, I have a lot lined up for us in that department.” I beamed. “Now… let’s see what this fuss is about.”
=====
The Transgracian Academy for the Magical Arts. Hall of Champions. Victor’s Square. Local Time 1245 Hours.
Cynthis
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I waited, twitching, moving, and eagerly awaiting that most important of moments — the first impression.
The rest had since arrived, or seemed to have simply taken up residency here it seems…
That awfully banal and dry scaled Qiv.
The utterly thick-skulled and revolting Ping.
And of course, the ever-forgettable Gumigo.
Each of which had the enviable place of standing shoulder to shoulder with my awaiting prince.
Nevertheless, this entire venture was simply the beginning to it all — the start to the plans within plans for the eventual rise up and up through a realm practically begging for a force of order — a voice of reason, all wrapped in a face no one could resist; and a charm that would make the entire realm quake in its backwardness.
They’ve probably never even seen true beauty before… I chuckled silently, smiling wide in a fangy grin.
I took in a deep breath, fanning myself with an army of floating handfans, sitting patiently on my palanquin, until finally…
CREAK!
He arrived.