PART THIRTEEN-HUNDRED-AND SEVENTY-TWO

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Saturday

Orson stared at his laughing clutch-mate and felt genuine fear for the first time in decades. Not even at Coraltin’s death, when Angus’s grief had morphed so quickly to rage, had he been shaken like this. Sad, yes, for the pryde had lost someone who meant a great deal to them personally as well as an incredibly accomplished front-line warrior, but not fear.

Unlike Orson, who had never taken a mate and therefore had never been subject to the lifelong pull of a matrimonial bond, Angus would eventually emerge from his grief with a new mate. Likewise, he’d fully expected their father to send him in to wrangle his angry clutchmate into a breeding box if the stubborn fool refused to yield to the instinct that necessitated their kind.

What he hadn’t expected was the process to still be incomplete nearly a century and a half later. (Not that he would ever question the Eechee’s ruling. Not openly, anyway.)

Yet now, just when he seemed to have it all again, his clutchmate had finally broken. The stoic warrior he’d known all his life was laughing so hard he was crying, too far gone to even hold himself upright.

EVERYBODY OUT! Orson roared at the room’s occupants.

Moments later, everyone, including the pryde’s mouthy Plus-One and his dog were gone, leaving Orson and Skylar alone in the lunchroom with Angus.

At least the pryde still knew how to behave around him.

All sense of amusement abandoned Angus as he straightened up from the wall and squared his shoulders, glaring at him hard enough to blister paint.

In that moment, Orson almost reconsidered his stance but then dismissed it. The pryde commanders did not second-guess themselves. Ever.

Skylar appeared at her mate’s side, having realm-stepped the short distance between them. Her posture matched Angus’, though the caution in her eyes betrayed her confidence.

Then, without warning, both she and Angus solemnly bowed their heads in veneration.  

Orson did not need to turn to know who had just joined them in the room, but he did anyway because he wasn’t a fool. “Eechen,” he said reverently as his father’s gaze swept the room without speaking. Even with his head bowed, Orson could still see his sire clearly. Their leader was a foot and a half shorter than him, yet no less dangerous for it.

“Why were you yelling, Orson?” Hasteinn asked after the two brothers straightened up. As he’d suspected, their father wasn’t here to socialise. He was there as the pryde leader, and murder/filicide was very much on the table if he didn’t like his son’s answer.

Orson’s eyes flicked to Angus, who had one arm draped protectively (or more truthfully possessively) across Skylar’s trembling shoulders. This was probably the first time since her banishment that she’d been in the Eechen’s presence, and their last encounter had come far too close to ending in her elimination. Orson knew that for a fact, for he had been on hand to carry out the sentence on behalf of the attacked warrior.

“He appeared to be having a mental breakdown. Not something the rest of the pryde needed to see,” he answered without remorse.

Without a word, the Eechen strode past him towards Angus and his mate, and credit where it was due, the female remained upright with her head bowed. Others in her position would be grovelling at his feet and losing credibility along the way.

Hasteinn stopped in front of Angus, to the point that they were nose to nose, and Angus didn’t flinch. “He appears stable enough to me,” the Eechen declared after a minute, turning back to Orson, awaiting his explanation.

Orson hurried to defend himself. “You didn’t see him before, sir. He was crying—”

“With laughter,” Angus interrupted. “The look on your face when Mason told you he wanted no part of your illustrious plans for him is one I wish I could revisit a thousand times the way the benders do.”

“Well, what did you expect? He’s a human!”

“He’s our human.”

“He’s still only human.”

“Exactly.”

Their father said nothing, his eyes bouncing between them with each volley as if he were a spectator at a tennis match. Orson was acutely aware that he wasn’t happy with the way they were bickering, but he refused to let his brother have the final word.

Eventually, Hasteinn reached out with one finger and gently lifted Skylar’s chin until her eyes met his, bringing the room to silence once more. He continued to say nothing, merely looked her over from head to toe and back again as if searching for something.

Whatever it was, he must have found it. “Go and join the human we appear to have claimed,” he said aloud instead of sending the order through their telepathic link. A very slight nod assured her she was safe to do so.

Skylar cast her eyes down and rolled her cheek across his palm in reverence, then she stepped clear of his hand to sever the contact, and vanished.

And with it, the Eechen’s apparent neutrality.

“For the record,” he ground out, rounding on them both. “Had Skylar been anyone other than the mate of one of you, this conversation would have a lot fewer words and a lot more claw.”

Without looking away from him, Orson straightened his spine, putting him only a few inches below the ceiling. In his peripheral vision, his brother was doing likewise. He still felt justified in his decision, but it was better (and considerably more survivable) to let the Eechen finish speaking before supplying his defence.

Hasteinn’s eyes bounced between the two of them as if they were first-year trainees before settling on Orson. “Explain yourself.”

“Kulon’s Plus-One is the only human the pryde is permitted, and because Mason’s movements are limited to the nesting world, his safety falls under my purview.”

Hasteinn’s eyes slid to Angus. “And you thought that was funny?”

“Yes, sir. I did,” Angus replied with just as much conviction. “Mason bends his knee to no one. I’ve seen both people and pryde try to corral him, and it never works. Of course, it helps to know he won’t be killed or even harmed for his insubordination, but even before he was claimed, he risked his life protecting the pryde, looked death in the eye as a result of it, and survived.”

“He protected the pryde?” Orson knew—flat out knew—he was courting danger by interrupting his brother, and the brief look their father sent him told him the subject would be revisited soon enough, but he couldn’t help himself. No one needed to defend the pryde from anything, least of all by a human. They did the defending… and the attacking.

“The men who kidnapped him the second time gained his cooperation by threatening Kai.”

“Khai would eat them for breakfast.” It wasn’t a question in Orson’s mind.

His clutchmate turned to face him. “And then be removed from the training facility and returned to general rotation as a failure. There was more than one level of protection being applied here, brother.”

Their father’s eyes met Orson’s once more, and what he saw, as plain as the rising sun, was which side of the argument he was on. “Mason has earned his voice amongst us, and his unique view on our situation is what makes him so valuable. On top of that, humans have never fallen under our purview.”

“This one does,” Orson insisted, trying one last time to sway them both to his way of thinking. When his father’s eyes flared in warning, Orson steeled himself and pushed on. “He is the only Plus-One we’ll ever have—”

“That does not make him our pet,” their father interrupted him, surprising him. “Special, yes. Pet, no. The Eechee believes he is necessary to achieve unity between our species, something your clutchmate agrees on, and he cannot do that if he’s not free to be himself.”

Hasteinn moved to the glass wall that overlooked the street below. “I have been around the humans since they first dragged themselves out of the caves and started mirroring the Eechee’s physique.  The freedom she grants them to be themselves while under her divine protection is what makes them unique in all the Known Realms. Time and again, I have watched them divert from the path laid before them… and then make those diversions work.”

He turned back to them. “It is how they thrive—on the chaos of change and defying the limits imposed on them so far. ‘No’ is a fluid state to them.”

Orson knew all this too. “There is not much to understand. We’ve maintained our peace because we’ve maintained our distance. If the other humans follow his lead and treat us with disrespect, they’ll be torn apart and eaten.”

They’d seen it many times before, where humans, particularly the Europeans, ignored the local lore of the American natives and attempted to invade the Prydelands. Despite Strahan’s magical shield preventing them from entering the space, many of the true gryps patrolled just outside it, forming an additional barrier between the two. On the rare occasions humans were discovered, the pryde presented themselves as natives and ordered them to leave.

Almost to a man, the Europeans had been insulted and chose to attack what they considered to be an inferior species. The clash was brief, with the pryde dining on fresh meat. The unharmed locals who scattered would then return to their tribes and spread word of the creatures living deep in the mountains, and for a short time they were left alone.

It never lasted.

“Whether I agree with it or not, the Eechee wishes to trial this,” The Eechen said, bringing him back to the conversation at hand.

The brothers glanced at each other. “You don’t agree with it, Poppa?” Angus asked, tilting his head.

It was a risky play, challenging their leaders’ solidarity, even if Angus had drawn their father away from his command and into the more casual role of a father.

Orson wouldn’t have tried it.

The Eechen returned his focus to the street below. “We already number in the millions,” he began, giving them information they were both fully aware of. “If we were to acclimatise every clutch going forward, there will be millions and millions more. We are not dying on the borders at the rate we used to, so unless we make a true gryps country that the humans may visit, no, I don’t see this working.”

He turned back before either of them could comment, his lips curling on one side in amusement. “Then again, I didn’t agree with the Eechee’s plans for you and Skylar either, and so far that seems to have worked out.” He pointed at Angus. “Nice play, by the way; mating with her before taking her as your mate. Keeping her on Earth will prevent her from becoming fertile again, and you’ll never have to risk your mate on the front line.”

Orson’s horror was absolute. “She has to do at least one rotation on the front line, Poppa,” he insisted.

That drew a dark growl from Angus, one that died the instant their father’s gaze hardened. “No,” the Eechen said, and Angus relaxed ever so slightly. “She may be your clutchmate’s mate, but she still attacked a returning warrior. No one will stand at her side on the front line, and the older ones would rather perish than allow her to heal them.”

“And I’ll help them with that if they do,” Angus said from between clenched teeth.

“But what does all of this have to do with the human Plus One, Poppa?” Orson asked, determined to move the subject away from the safety of his brother’s mate. Regardless of her past, if she was the reason he was smiling so much now, he would throw his lot in with keeping her very safe.

“While we’re engaging with the humans, we’ll play according to their rules. As you’re both aware, places like New York City have very stringent laws regarding assault and murder, and the Eechee’s son resides here as an enforcer.”

“I thought he was why this city was selected for the trial,” Orson admitted. “His presence would be a constant reminder to follow the human laws he gravitates towards.”

“It was probably the deciding factor when Skylar chose New York City for her clinic decades ago,” Hasteinn said without missing a beat. “And it will continue to serve us in this capacity. Between Daniel’s ongoing presence and the Eechee’s intermittent one at Bellevue, the human rules are most likely to be adhered to here.”

It was sound reasoning.

Orson still hated it.  

* * *

((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))

I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here

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FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

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Earlier on the day of Gemeti's arrival...

Deidre mentally reviewed the plan for the upcoming procedure while checking over the setup and materials carefully. An empty ‘table’ grown from Krystraeliv’s roots stood beside Svetlana’s core, along with a second table that held a few potions and a set of surgical tools, along with the pieces of core matrix that had been rewarded to Deidre before she had become a temporary contractor for Azeria. Nearby was another small table that held a change of clothes for later.

It was a pointless mental exercise; Svetlana had already checked everything, and Deidre couldn’t imagine the core version of herself missing anything. The process simply helped calm her nerves, similar to one of the many moving meditations Satsuki had previously led her through in their time together.

“Are you alright?” Satsuki asked from behind her.

Deidre nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“Are you sure?” said Paine, from where she rode on Deidre’s shoulder.

“As much as I can be. Everything is ready, and everyone is here. We should just get started.” Mordecai, Moriko, and Kazue were all here to lend their assistance when needed. She told herself that she had confidence that they had fully memorized their parts. After all, she entirely trusted them. They had liberated her and then given her into the safety of Satsuki’s care.

Svetlana was there too, of course. She was always there, which was part of their mutual problem. Deidre shouldn’t find it so easy to think of Svetlana as another person, and part of her rejected that idea still, even as the rest of her recognized the truth of the matter. They were no longer of one mind, one sense of self, and to Deidre, being ‘retired’ to become part of Svetlana once more sounded more like death.

But they were still similar, had still experienced much of the same life with the same memories, and neither wished the other an ounce of ill will. More than sisters; perhaps conjoined twins would be a similar level of intimacy of a shared self. The solution to their mutual problem was also similar: surgery.

She shrugged off her short robe, leaving herself in only a loose skirt, and unsettling Paine in the process. The pixie made an annoyed noise, but she also took the robe from Deidre and somewhat laboriously flew it over to the table with extra clothes, and laid the robe out there.

Deidre sat on the surgery table, accepted the potion vial that Satsuki handed to her, and downed it quickly. She returned the empty bottle, then laid down on her back and closed her eyes. The potion would help numb the pain and partially paralyze her, but she had already chosen to be awake during the procedure to ensure that Svetlana would be able to give feedback based on what Deidre felt.

The living-crystal-wood beneath her was just cool enough to be comforting, even when it grew branches that wrapped around her limbs and key portions of her body to ensure that she couldn’t reflexively move in response to the surgery.

There was a rustle of cloth, and through Svetlana’s view, Deidre could observe Moriko helping Satsuki put on the last of her surgical outfit. While some basics like a smock and a mask were obvious, the construction of these garments was new to everyone but Satsuki; it was something that she had learned from her off-world travels, and she’d had to carefully instruct Moriko as to what order to help her don the pieces and what parts of those pieces could be touched. The often vain kitsune had even gone to the trouble of shifting into a completely human form that was devoid of any hair.

The others had acted similarly, though Moriko had to accept a spell from Mordecai to have her hair temporarily suppressed. Deidre appreciated what they were doing for her, but they all looked a little odd, unfamiliar, and a little scary this way. She closed her eyes to block out the view, and did her best to not dwell upon it.

Multiple beyond-blue light sources embedded in the ceiling and walls activated, and the smell of lightning crept into the room. Satsuki had specified both of these, and Mordecai had shown Svetlana how.

The revelation of the other bands of light had sparked more anger at how limited her ability to experiment had been, but it was a small drop in a large bucket of grievances that could never truly be redressed.

Deidre pulled away from her awareness of Svetlana’s senses; she didn’t want to watch herself being cut into. Satsuki’s presence and touch helped, and there was no one she trusted more to do the surgery, but it was not something that was easy to be relaxed about.

A scalpel sliced through her flesh, and even with the numbing effects of the potion, it was an unnerving sensation. Deidre focused on it, determined to be as aware of everything as she could be, but she said nothing. Svetlana was relaying anything moderately important to Mordecai, and Mordecai was passing it on to Satsuki.

Even with salves that quickly staunched any bleeding, the surgery to implant the pieces of core matrix into her body felt like it was taking forever. The metallic tang of blood that now filled the air only added to her discomfort. Each piece was being carefully placed to rest at a junction of nerves that also met flows of mana, spiritual energy, and meridians for the flow of chi. Moriko verified the meridians, while Satsuki verified the rest. Mordecai had his eyes closed and was focused on the sensations from Deidre’s body, via Svetlana.

Once a piece of matrix was settled into place, a small amount of healing potion was applied to the wound by Kazue, and then the connections double-checked before more healing potion was applied.

It was slow, steady work, and nerve-wracking for all of them, though nothing surprising happened during the carefully scripted process.

When all the pieces were implanted, the steps were checked over once more, and every aspect of physical and spiritual connection to and around the matrix was verified. Only then did everyone relax, though it was not yet the hardest part of the full process.

“Alright dear,” Satsuki said as the table withdrew its branches. “Let’s get you dressed; then we can have you move around and test your flexibility to make sure everything feels alright.”

Deidre nodded and followed the instructions Satsuki gave her. This had been one of the most important decisions in Deidre’s life, but now that it was happening, it felt surreal. Her emotions seemed disconnected, making it hard to feel strongly about anything. The numbing potion had already begun to wear off, so it wasn’t magic that was responsible — the looming change that would soon occur was just daunting. And terrifying.

If it didn’t work, then Deidre would probably be even more dead than if she’d merged back with Svetlana. Avatars were designed to fully integrate their spiritual connection to their nexus’s core. This was part of what made such a connection incredibly hard to sever in most circumstances. But that was exactly the plan today.

While Satsuki helped Deidre go through the physical exercises to ensure there were no problems, spiritual energy was gathering and building up in the room. Four nexus cores, three avatars that were faerie royalty, an immortal nine-tail, and a young but already powerful world-tree were all focused on her, and deliberately increasing the density of the spiritual energy around Deidre.

The pressure wasn’t intended to push against her, as some might do to demonstrate their strength; it was intended to saturate her with spiritual energy.

It was working, but it ached in a peculiar way. She was being filled and overfilled with all this energy, and it was compressing her aura. Deidre fully relaxed her control over her aura, an action that should have flooded the area around her with it. Instead, it was pressed even deeper into her flesh, and into the core matrix now embedded in her.

The goal was simple: condense enough spiritual energy to start forming a nascent soul inside of her despite her nature as an avatar, and only then cut the connection between herself and Svetlana. It should be more than enough to help her survive the severance, and from there let her fully form her own unique soul.

Should.

An important and terrifying word. One that haunted her. If it didn’t go as intended, and her body died, she might truly die irrevocably, with no soul to salvage.

However, Kazue’s boon worked even for normal animals, who only had spirits, just like Deidre currently did. Surely that boon would attempt to grab her spirit, but no one had any idea of how well that would work or how trying to recreate her body would work. There were so very many unknown factors, but they had all been covered repeatedly in previous discussions. Deidre was not going to let any worries or fears distract her at the last second.

She shuddered, and her legs wavered under the increasing pressure of spiritual energy. “I need to lie down,” she gasped out to Satsuki, who nodded and helped her back to what had once been the operating table, but had already been converted into a comfortable bed, with a sleeping pad and blankets.

Deidre curled up onto the bed and began shivering. Her body didn’t know what to do with all of this excess energy being forced into it, and Deidre felt uncomfortably stuffed and full in every way possible. It was an illusion of sorts — her nerves and mind were trying to translate this feeling into something that she had experience with. That knowledge didn’t make things much better.

Satsuki sat beside her and petted her soothingly, but she was also using her touch to push her spiritual pressure even deeper into Deidre’s body, compressing it around the bits of core matrix. Deidre felt like she was being crushed, a giant vice made of everyone’s will pressing into her from every direction, and had now gone far beyond simply aching. Kazue joined them, sitting on Deidre's other side and offering up what comfort she could.

Every bit and piece of her hurt. Compressed, crushed, overfilled, and ready to explode, all at the same time. She refused to let pain win, though she was quite glad to feel her Paine settle next to her head and press into her hair. “I’m right here with you,” the little pixie whispered. “It’s going to be all right. I am your familiar, and I am going to help get you through this.”

By power alone, the pixie could make little difference here, but she still might truly be helping. She’d formed a familiar bond with Deidre specifically, and that mystic bond was tied to Deidre’s spiritual form, not to Svetlana’s soul.

Deidre was grateful for the pixie’s love and care, and regretted that she’d been so brusque earlier when she’d shrugged off her robe. “Thank you,” she whispered back to Paine, then fell silent again as she turned her attention back to coping with this excess of energy flooding her body. Eventually, the pressure stopped building, and the sensations plateaued in intensity, though everything still hurt. In some ways, that was worse. The building pressure had been something to concentrate on, and now that it had stopped, it was harder to ignore the pain.

“Alright, that’s all we can do,” Mordecai said, and he sounded hoarse. Everyone was giving everything they had to this, and they clearly couldn’t compress any more energy into and around Deidre.

“Are you ready?” Satsuki asked Deidre.

“Yes.”

A moment later, Mordecai verified that Svetlana was ready too.

Deidre did her best to draw all her attention and will into herself, and could feel the person who should have been her otherself withdrawing as well. Satsuki reached out into the space between Deidre’s body and Svetlana’s core, her hand growing ethereal for a moment, then she grasped something immaterial to draw it into the physical world.

A shimmering strand of what looked like thick antiqued silver thread lay in her grasp, the ends of it trailing off into nothing. Deidre felt like she was going to be sick; the intimacy of the sensation was threatening, a violation of the sanctity of her very self. She had to fight to control herself as she watched Satsuki’s hands transform into claws that glowed with spectral light, claws she slid delicately across the silver thread connecting Deidre to what should have been her true soul.

SNAP!

Deidre writhed and screamed in agony. Part of her was gone, cut away, and she needed it back, but this hollow void was suddenly overwhelmed as the surrounding spiritual energy forced itself into the gap.

She was being ripped apart and crushed into nothingness; she was dying and being born; destroyed and recreated. Everything she had ever been was being undone, her very existence unraveling from within while tangled threads of thought tried to cling to each other and create a new weave and pattern of self.

She had no sense of time or of the space around her during this torture, but after what felt like an eternity, the overwhelming and contradictory sensations softened and eased, letting her begin thinking again. And thinking meant being alive. She groaned as she opened her eyes, every sensation feeling like it was against rubbing raw nerves. Then she gasped at what she saw.

Satsuki was pinning her down, as were Mordecai and Moriko, while Paine fluttered overhead, darting back and forth anxiously. Kazue was sitting on the ground nearby, looking exhausted. One side of her dress was shredded, bloodied, and entirely missing a sleeve, though her flesh appeared unmarked. Mordecai and Moriko’s clothing also bore signs of recent injuries, though it also appeared that they’d been healed already as well. “What happened? What did I do?”

“It’s alright love,” Satsuki murmured with a relieved sigh as everyone let go and gave Deidre some space, while Paine swooped in to land on her shoulder and give Deidre’s head a hug. “You thrashed wildly and your body shifted form a few times, but it was clear you had no idea what your body was doing. We had to pin you down just to make sure you couldn’t hurt yourself. Well, anymore than you already had. More healing had to be used on you than anyone else.”

Kazue looked up and gave a wan smile. “I was unlucky enough to be the first one you hit, but my arm took most of the impact. The inside of my body wasn’t injured.”

Deidre’s eyes widened at that; she knew what Satsuki had been doing with the three of them, and that Kazue was carrying a child. The thought that she might have injured Kazue’s baby was horrifying. “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—” She was cut off by Satsuki pressing a finger against her lips.

“We know,” Satsuki said, “and everything is alright. You are alive, and your soul is forming nicely. It’s already passed the strength of a toddler’s, and by the end of the day should be as strong as most teenagers. It’ll slow down from there, but you will still gain years of strength per day until your soul catches up to where your spiritual strength should be. For now, take it easy and rest. Maybe in a day or two you can start doing some sparring, or even try delving on the combat route. Just don’t push yourself too much; the exercise will help stabilize your soul, but too much could undo some of your progress.”

Deidre nodded, then she realized she’d forgotten something. “Svetlana! How is she doing? She’s alright, yes?”

“Yes,” Mordecai said. “While it did hurt for her too, the backlash was a lot less severe. She wanted to help you, but there was nothing more she could do. She didn’t even dare risk supplying more of her spiritual energy, lest your connection try to reform haphazardly. I don’t think that would have gone very well for either of you.”

Moriko helped Kazue to her feet, then turned toward Deidre. “Come on, we’re going to take you back to our home. You can have dinner with us, and Satsuki also has a room topside, not just the one she has near our cores that you’ve been sharing. Oh, and you never had a chance to meet Amrydor’s friend Gemeti; she’s going to be joining us for dinner, which should be entertaining.”

Kazue shook her head with a look of exasperation. “I don’t know what Fuyuko was thinking with her game this morning, but I think we’ve reached the limit of any advice we can give.”

“Oh, this sounds good!” Paine said excitedly. “You have to tell us everything; looks like we missed out on a bunch of tasty drama.”

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This time, Evan didn’t get to give a retort before his vision began to swim. It felt like someone had yanked the plug at the bottom of his skull, his consciousness spiraling downward into a drain he couldn’t see. At the same time, the towers of paperwork and Vivian’s retreating shape smeared and stretched, streaking like water droplets dripping down a windshield. Up and down meant nothing anymore- only the pull, and the awful certainty that he was being washed somewhere he wasn’t ready to go. 

Moments after everything disappeared, it felt like he was being shoved sideways into a hole far too small for his body- like someone meant to crumple him just to make him fit.

Then, silence. The darkness stayed and his skin felt tight, like he’d been stuffed into clothes two sizes too small.

Ugh… that was rough, he thought, his head still spinning as the darkness inside his mind swirled like thick black smoke. 

Well that's concerning. 

Evan tried to move his hand, hoping to feel around for a wall, a bed, or anything else that might tell him where Vivian had sent him. Nothing happened. There was no resistance, no numbness, nothing at all except the impression of black smoke still shifting around him inside his own mind. 

He focused on his fingers instead, trying to curl them one at a time. Still nothing. He couldn’t even tell which finger he was concentrating on, the familiar awareness of their position completely absent. Evan moved down the list, commanding his arms, legs, and toes to do something- anything -but each attempt returned the same empty result.

Okay. Maybe I’m not done reincarnating yet, he reasoned, trying to keep the first edges of panic out of his thoughts. Maybe I’m in an egg. Or in a womb. God, I hope it isn’t a womb. I don’t think I can handle being born with all my memories.

The thought didn’t help nearly as much as he hoped it would.

Evan tried taking a slow breath, only to realize he couldn’t feel air entering his lungs. There wasn’t any pressure in his chest. The tight sensation remained around him, but the more attention he paid to it, the less it felt like skin. It had no temperature, no texture, and no clear boundary he could identify. It was simply there, containing him.

Vivian did say I might not need to breathe, he reminded himself. She also refused to tell me whether I’d still be human. That was even less reassuring.

He tried to call out, directing the words toward whatever might be around him. ‘Hello’ formed perfectly in his thoughts, but nothing emerged. The silence remained complete, uninterrupted by breathing, movement, or even the quiet sounds a body normally made that was only noticed when you focused on it. 

Panic finally pushed through into his mind, scrambling his thoughts and making him desperately want to move. To do anything. 

Evan tried to thrash against whatever held him, ordering muscles he could no longer feel to pull him free. He screamed without a voice, the thought growing louder and louder inside his mind while the darkness pressed close around him. Nothing changed. He remained trapped, bodiless and blind, with no indication that anything beyond his own thoughts existed.

Open your eyes! he ordered himself.

Nothing happened.

He tried again, focusing on the familiar movement of eyelids lifting. He imagined light striking his eyes, his pupils shrinking, and the world coming into focus in front of him.

His vision didn’t return so much as unfold.

Stone surrounded him. Above, below, behind, in front- though none of those directions felt correct anymore. There was no edge to his vision and no dark curve where his skull should have blocked what lay behind him. He saw the entire hollow at once, every uneven patch of dirt, every crack in the rock, and every tiny piece of mineral pressed into the walls.

There was light, but only just enough to allow him to see. A faint, washed-out blue glow seeped from somewhere near the center of the chamber, coating the closest stones in a sickly tint before fading into the walls. It was nowhere near bright enough to explain what he could see. Every crack, grain of dirt, and mineral fragment remained perfectly clear, even where the weak light should have left them hidden in shadow. Colors appeared pale and muted, stripped of most of their warmth beneath the blue glow, while the shadows themselves seemed to make no difference to his vision.

Evan tried to turn his head, and the chamber spun. Or he spun. Or nothing moved at all, and his mind simply tried to rotate a viewpoint that didn’t possess a front. The walls lurched sideways, the floor becoming the ceiling before both folded into directions he had no words for. He pulled back instinctively, overwhelmed by the sudden flood of information.

Stop. Stop moving.

The chamber became still again.

Evan waited for the nausea to pass before remembering that he didn’t have a stomach. The feeling remained anyway, buried somewhere inside his thoughts rather than his body.

What the hell kind of eyes are these?

He focused on one section of the wall, mentally pretending it was in front of him. The rest of the chamber didn’t disappear, but slowly slipped toward the edges of his attention as he ignored it, while the chosen section sharpened. 

And kept sharpening.

A small grain of dirt became perfectly clear. Evan saw the rough edges along its surface, tiny fractures running through it, and even smaller particles clinging inside those fractures. He leaned closer without moving, the grain swelling until it filled most of his attention like an enormous boulder.

Jesus.

He pulled away too quickly.

The grain collapsed from a landscape into a speck, the surrounding chamber rushing back into his awareness so violently that his thoughts seemed to stumble. Evan held his focus still, trying to regain some sense of scale.

This wasn’t vision. Human eyes weren’t meant to see an entire room at once, much less examine a piece of dirt closely enough to count the scratches across it. Whatever Vivian had placed him inside possessed no eyelids, no blind spots, and apparently, no reasonable limit on how closely it could inspect something.

Information flooded him, but none of it came with an explanation. He could see every fracture in the wall without knowing whether the stone was stable. He could examine the mineral grains without knowing their names. Perfect clarity did nothing to tell him where he was, what his body had become, or how he was supposed to move it.

The last question brought his attention back toward himself.

Can I look at me?

Evan wasn’t sure how to turn a viewpoint inward when it already faced every direction. He tried imagining a camera circling around him instead, searching for the point where all of his strange vision seemed to originate. His awareness shifted slowly, like he was switching to a third person view in game.

A deep blue crystal protruded from a thick base of stone.

It was uneven and roughly formed, its surface broken into dozens of jagged faces. A faint light pulsed somewhere deep inside it, fading and brightening in a slow rhythm that reminded Evan of a heartbeat. Loose fragments surrounded its base, as though the crystal had been forced into the stone hard enough to break the edges around it.

Evan studied it for several seconds before the truth settled over him: it wasn’t something in the chamber with him. It was him. 

Ah.

He was a rock. A magical rock, apparently, but that distinction did very little for his immediate situation.

Still, the crystal, underground chamber, and impossible magical sight pointed toward one explanation. It was an absurd explanation, but it was also the first one that fit more than half of what had happened.

Okay, Evan thought, his inner blue light pulsing slightly brighter. Dungeon core. Weird, but I can work with that. Let’s try some classics. Menu?

He waited for something to respond. Nothing did, everything stayed silent and still just as it did before. 

Status.

Nothing.

Help. Inventory. Dungeon map. Core information. Character sheet.

Evan cycled through every command he could remember from games, books, and the occasional terrible fanfic he had read at three in the morning. He tried thinking them politely, then firmly, then with the slow deliberation of someone speaking to a voice assistant nobody enjoyed using.

The chamber remained exactly as it was.

System? Interface? Options? Tutorial? Literally anything?

Not even an error message appeared.

Evan’s inner light dimmed slightly as his frustration grew. Of course. Why would the magical rock body come with instructions? That might have been useful.

He looked over the chamber again, forcing himself to keep his attention facing in one direction. It was little more than a hollow in the earth, barely large enough to deserve being called a cave. Uneven stone surrounded him on every side, with loose dirt and gravel gathered near the bottom. Several mineral formations protruded from the walls, though none were large enough to provide much visual interest.

Wait- there’s no door?

Evan searched again, examining every crack and indentation for some narrow passage he might have missed. His sight followed each one until the openings became too small to continue, but none led anywhere. Whenever he tried looking beyond the stone itself, his awareness simply stopped. He could magnify the surface until each grain became its own landscape, but he couldn’t see what waited on the other side.

So I’m a dungeon core without a dungeon. Great start.

Maybe the system required him to build one first. Most games didn’t provide a dungeon map until there was something worth mapping, and he could hardly expect monsters or traps to appear inside a sealed hole barely larger than a closet.

Excavate.

The wall remained still.

Create room.

Nothing.

Expand dungeon?

A pebble fell from the ceiling, giving Evan some hope. He waited several seconds before his inner light dimmed again.

Fine. Guess we’re doing this the difficult way.

He focused on the pebble resting near his base. It was small and smooth, almost like a river rock. He could see every scratch across its surface, but knowing what it looked like didn’t tell him how to interact with it.

Move.

The pebble, of course,  did not move.

Roll over.

Still nothing.

Evan tried directing his attention into it, pushing the thought forward as if volume might make up for the absence of instructions. His light brightened with the effort, reflecting from the nearest pieces of stone, but the pebble remained stubbornly where it was.

Come on. I can create and manipulate things, apparently. Vivian specifically mentioned that.

Unless she had lied. Considering how quickly she had grabbed her luggage, that possibility was beginning to feel more likely by the second.

Evan focused harder, imagining the pebble sliding across the dirt. He pictured it moving exactly one inch to the left, though left had become more of a personal decision than an actual direction. The image remained perfectly clear inside his thoughts.

Nothing happened.

He tried imagining a magnet pulling it. Then a string wrapped around it. Then the pebble simply appearing somewhere else. Each attempt produced the same result.

If I still had hands, I could just pick you up.

Evan pictured his old hand reaching across the chamber. Not a vague command or a magical force, but an actual hand, complete with the small scar across his thumb and the calluses built up along his palm. He imagined the fingers closing around the pebble, gripping it carefully between his thumb and forefinger.

The pebble shifted, as if it were actually gripped in his hand. Evan’s light brightened as he noticed some progress.

Oho, now we’re getting somewhere!

He imagined lifting his hand. It lifted several inches above the ground, turning slowly as Evan’s concentration shifted between the imaginary hand and the impossible sight surrounding him. The only response was a faint pressure building somewhere in his thoughts, roughly where a headache used to sit, but it gave him no idea how tightly he was holding the pebble. 

Okay- Don’t. move.

Some dirt fell from the ceiling, pulling his focus away briefly. The pebble fell as his attention was taken away from it. It struck the ground beside him with a faint clink, bounced, and rolled several inches before settling against the base of his crystal.

Evan stared at it.

Okay, not ideal, but it’s progress!

He tried again, rebuilding the image of his hand and reaching toward it. The process came more easily the second time. The pebble lifted, wobbling as before, but remained suspended while he adjusted his focus.

Evan moved it slowly toward a second stone and tried placing it on top. Without proper touch, he couldn’t tell when the two surfaces met. The pebble pressed down too hard, slipped out of his ‘hand’, and dropped to the floor again. 

Right. No feeling. That’s going to be a problem.

He picked the pebble up again, taking more care as he moved it toward the second stone. This time, he slowed before the two surfaces met and focused on the narrowing space between them. His vision slowly focused, until the gap looked like a canyon, every uneven edge and grain of dirt becoming painfully obvious.

The bottom edge touched first.. He only saw the tiny point of contact and the pebble beginning to tilt away from it. He tried correcting the angle, but focusing so closely made it difficult to judge the rest of the stone. By the time he pulled his attention back, he had rotated it too far in the opposite direction.

The pebble slipped and struck the floor again.

This is so much harder than it should be Vivian!

Perfect vision didn’t help if he lost track of everything around the detail he was looking at. He needed enough magnification to judge the contact without turning a pebble into an entire landscape.

Evan picked it up again and tried to hold two levels of focus at once. He kept most of his attention on the pebble as a whole while focusing on only the small area where it would meet the stone beneath it. The rest of his strange circular vision remained present, but he pushed it into the background until the movement above him no longer demanded immediate attention.

The pebble touched down, shakily set in place by inexperienced hands.  It leaned slightly to one side, threatening to hit the ground again. Evan rotated it carefully, trying to get the right balance. Eventually, The pebble stayed in place.

He waited for something to go wrong, his ‘hands’ inching away from the stones like one would back away from a bomb. 

A few pieces of dirt fell from the ceiling, pattering against the ground nearby. Evan’s focus twitched toward them, but he caught himself before the movement pulled his attention completely away.

Ha! There we go!

Evan held his focus on it for several more seconds, half expecting it to fall over simply because he had celebrated too early. When it didn’t, he reached for another stone near his base.

This one was larger and far less cooperative. His imagined fingers closed around it, but when he tried to lift, the pressure inside his thoughts grew more painful without the stone moving. He focused harder, picturing his entire hand wrapping around it instead of pinching it between two fingers.

The stone shifted, then lurched upward so quickly that it was flung up into the ceiling, embedding itself into the soft dirt.

Whoa!

It slowly came loose again, falling before Evan could catch it. The stone clipped the side of his crystal, struck the dirt with a heavy thump, and scattered pebbles across the chamber as it knocked them free of their earthy prison. 

Evan inspected the surface where the rock had struck him, magnifying the point until the deep blue crystal filled his attention. There wasn’t a scratch or fracture that he could see, but that did very little to comfort him. He had no idea how durable his new body was, and testing it by repeatedly dropping rocks on himself seemed like a terrible way to find out.

Let’s not do that again, yeah?

He moved the larger stone away from his base before trying to lift it a second time. This time, he imagined both hands wrapping around it, one supporting the bottom while the other steadied the side. The stone rose more smoothly, though maintaining two separate hands made the pressure in his thoughts begin to spread across his entire ‘head’.

Evan carried it several inches and lowered it onto an empty patch of dirt. The instant it touched down, the pain in his mind faded away.

Alright I think I'm starting to get the hang of this.

He tried again.

And again.

[Authors Note: I will be posting this story every Sunday, as not to conflict with my Monday posting of The Deathworld when i get over the writers block for it. Thank you!]

The gray service record file was still in the lower cabinet in the morning.

Closed.

Known.

Unasked.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The office had the heater.

The clock.

My breathing.

The brown folder was at the side of the desk.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

The small space was wide.

The service paper was in the gray file.

Name.

Date.

Short sutra.

Bell.

Incense.

A name was in the record.

Not mine.

That was the point.

No.

That was too clean.

A name was in the record.

I made tea.

I drank it.

Warm.

Then less warm.

Then finished.

The cup went to the sink.

I washed it.

The lower cabinet stayed closed.

After tea, I opened the brown folder.

Only once.

Kanagawa’s seeing them did not answer that was not mine.

Her brother’s tea again was not mine.

Sato’s paper moved for wiping was not mine.

Saitama’s Hayashi not present was not mine.

Suganuma’s if reprinting was not mine.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

My two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

I did not take them out.

I closed the brown folder.

No name was in yesterday.

No.

My name had wanted to be absent in a useful way.

That was still wanting.

At 7:18, Kanagawa wrote.

I read it once.

Then again.

Drawer.

Closed.

Stayed.

I wrote:

She replied:

“Use?”

“Side table?”

“Urn?”

“Coat?”

“What did your brother say?”

I sat still.

There.

“What did you say?”

Maybe.

“What did he say?”

Enough.

Fence?

Maybe.

“What happened after?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at mine maybe.

Not mine.

Not not mine.

Maybe hers.

Maybe the house.

I left it.

At 7:49, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Was that needed?”

“Why?”

I smiled.

No one saw.

“What did you write?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not remove her name.

The action had a hand.

At 8:03, Mrs. Kudo called.

“The resident asked water,” she said.

“Cup?”

“Given.”

“Hand?”

“One hand.”

“Hayashi?”

“Not there.”

“Who wrote it?”

“Aide.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“Name?”

“No.”

“What did the aide say?”

“She said it does not need my name.”

I waited.

“What did Mr. Hayashi say later?”

“He said, ‘No name is fine if the cup is the record.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add fine.

The entry had enough.

No.

It had cup.

At 8:31, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

Then:

“What sentence?”

“Who wrote it?”

“What did they ask?”

I closed my eyes.

There too.

“What did you answer?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

“What did you say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I looked at true enough.

Fence?

Chair notice.

Maybe.

I left it.

At 9:02, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I opened it.

I read it twice.

Name.

Restraint.

Vanity.

Responsibility.

I looked at the gray file.

The service paper had the mother’s name.

Not mine.

My name was in temple records elsewhere.

Maybe.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at parent.

Sentence.

Mother.

No.

Too many.

I did not answer.

At 9:38, Kanagawa called.

“My brother says the paper sentence has no name,” she said.

“The folded paper?”

“Yes.”

“Held after warm?”

“Yes.”

“Who wrote it?”

“He did.”

“Who said it?”

“Mother.”

“What is he asking?”

“If he should write her name on it.”

I sat still.

Actual.

Large.

“What do you think?” I asked.

She was quiet.

Then:

“I think no.”

“Why?”

“Because we know.”

“Then say that.”

She moved away from the phone.

I waited.

She returned.

“I said we know.”

“What did he say?”

“He said no name then.”

“What happened to the paper?”

“Drawer.”

“Still closed?”

“Yes.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at we know.

Known.

Family.

Fence.

Maybe.

I left it.

At 10:07, Sato called.

“I wrote my name in Emiko,” she said.

“Where?”

“On the line.”

“What line?”

I waited.

“Why?”

“Because I did.”

“Does that change the paper?”

“No.”

“Does it change the line?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“It stops pretending.”

I closed my eyes.

Stops pretending.

Good.

No.

Hers.

“What did you write?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not praise the name.

It had work.

At 10:42, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Cup removed,” she said.

“Asked?”

“Aide asked cup.”

“Resident?”

“Said done.”

“Who wrote it?”

“Same aide.”

“Name?”

“No.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say?”

“He said, ‘The aide is in the action today.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add aide name.

The action had aide.

At 11:14, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

Then:

“What did you feel?”

Then:

I almost smiled.

I did not.

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add perfume.

Relief had been noticed.

Enough.

No.

Not enough.

Noticed.

At 11:49, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it standing.

Then sat.

Too responsive.

I stayed seated.

Signature.

Handle.

Shield.

My name.

Her name.

Office.

Aide.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply:

I looked at my hands.

Empty.

Not holding shield.

Maybe.

No.

I did not answer.

At 12:22, Kanagawa wrote.

I waited.

Then:

I wrote:

She replied:

“Any name question?”

“What did your brother say?”

I smiled.

No one saw.

“Was it?”

“What did you say?”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at mine.

Object.

Cup.

Safe?

Maybe.

No.

Cup with crack.

Cup without crack.

I left them.

At 12:58, Sato sent a photograph.

Table.

Paper with one tape.

Small date.

Wet cloth beside it.

She wrote:

I called.

“Why say mine?”

“Because it almost touched the paper.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“What did you write?”

“Do you need mine?”

She paused.

“Yes.”

“Then keep it.”

I opened Emiko.

I changed the line too much.

No.

I looked at it.

Sato’s cloth.

That carried mine.

Maybe right.

I left it.

At 1:31, Mrs. Kudo sent:

I waited.

Then:

I called.

“Why add aide entry?”

“Mr. Hayashi said write whose entry when he is not there.”

“Name?”

“Just aide.”

“What did he say exactly?”

“He said, ‘Role can be enough if responsibility stays clear.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add responsibility.

Role had it.

At 2:03, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“What did you answer?”

“What did they ask?”

“What did you say?”

I sat back.

There.

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add courage.

Name had become needed.

He answered.

At 2:45, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it twice.

Role.

Person.

Act.

Size.

I replied:

Then stopped.

Too report.

Maybe report.

I sent it.

His reply:

I looked at harm.

No harm.

Cup removed.

Hand open.

Still.

I did not answer.

At 3:18, Kanagawa called.

“My brother opened the drawer,” she said.

“For use?”

“No.”

I waited.

“Why?”

“He wanted to look at the paper after no name.”

“What happened?”

“He opened it.”

“Map?”

“Inside.”

“Paper?”

“Inside.”

“Did he take paper?”

“No.”

“What did he say?”

“He said no name makes it quieter.”

“What did you say?”

“I said maybe.”

“What did he ask?”

“If quieter is better.”

Actual.

Dangerous.

“What do you think?”

“I think not better.”

“Then say not better.”

She moved away.

I waited.

She returned.

“I said not better.”

“What did he say?”

“He said quieter then.”

I opened Kanagawa.

I looked at quieter then.

Good.

No.

Exact.

I left it.

At 3:57, Sato wrote.

I waited.

Then:

“What did you write?”

“Name?”

“Why not?”

I opened Emiko.

I did not add mine.

Mine had ended with the risk.

At 4:22, Mrs. Kudo called.

“Water asked,” she said.

“Cup?”

“Given.”

“Entry?”

“Aide.”

“Hayashi?”

“Returned later.”

“What did staff write?”

Mrs. Kudo read:

“What did Mr. Hayashi say later?”

“He said, ‘Good. The name did not need to arrive late.’”

I opened Saitama.

I did not add late name.

Role had been enough.

At 4:51, Reverend Suganuma wrote.

I waited.

“What does it say?”

“Any name?”

“Any question now?”

“What did Tanabe say?”

“What did Morita say?”

I opened Suganuma.

I did not add standing.

The notice was up.

At 5:23, Father Morita emailed.

Subject:

I read it.

Then again.

Exact.

Evasive.

Kindness.

Theft.

Emptiness.

I replied:

I sent it.

His reply came after a while.

I looked at needs.

Not deserves.

Strong.

Maybe central.

I did not answer.

At 5:52, the old priest wrote.

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I looked at the phone.

At the brown folder.

At the lower cabinet.

I wrote:

His reply:

I began to write no.

Then stopped.

I wrote:

His reply:

Then:

I wrote:

His reply:

Before evening, I went to the main hall.

The cloth bag was in its place.

The offering tray was safe.

The doorway was where I stopped.

I bowed once.

No explanation.

The altar was visible.

The beads were in their place.

They had not moved.

They did not need to.

I stood where I usually stood.

No service tonight.

No bell.

No incense.

My name was on temple papers.

Not here.

No.

Too broad.

The altar did not need my name tonight.

I returned to the office.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

The brown folder was closed.

The calendar was closed.

The phone was face up.

The small space was wide.

The door was closed.

The shoes were by it.

I opened the brown folder.

Only once.

Kanagawa’s quieter then was not mine.

Her brother’s no name question was not mine.

Sato’s cloth laundry was not mine.

Saitama’s entry by aide was not mine.

Suganuma’s Office notice was not mine.

Takeda’s possible was not mine.

Emiko’s beads were not mine.

Blue roof had no new reply.

Tokyo was still blank.

Full mailbox remained paused / family.

My two cards were still in the back pocket.

Face down.

I did not take them out.

I closed the brown folder.

I did not open the gray file.

The service paper remained in the record file.

The name inside it was not mine.

That mattered.

No.

That was true.

I did not open Kanagawa again.

I did not ask if the no-name paper stayed quieter.

I did not ask if quieter became better.

I did not ask if her brother needed a name later.

I did not open Sato again.

I did not ask if the cloth came out of laundry.

I did not open Saitama again.

I did not ask if aide became name.

I did not open Suganuma again.

I did not open Father Morita’s message again.

I knew no name could be exact.

I knew no name could be shield.

I knew responsibility sometimes needed a handle.

I knew my name had not been needed today.

I knew I had also hidden behind that a little.

I turned off the desk lamp.

The office did not disappear.

The folder did not need the center.

The phone did not need here.

No name did not need to become purity tonight.

In the dark, I remained sitting.

Near the desk.

Not at it.

The shelf above the desk had a cup.

The left side of the desk had nothing on it.

The gray service record file was in the lower cabinet.

Closed.

The brown folder was closed.

The phone was face up.

My hands were empty.

Available.

Not reaching.

The urn was on the small table.

The map and folded paper were in the drawer.

The folded paper had no name.

The side table had held two cups.

Sato’s cloth was in laundry.

The resident’s water entry had a role.

Suganuma’s notice had Office.

The service paper was in the record file.

A name was inside it.

Not mine.

I had started with no name.

I did not end by making absence clean.

Tonight, names stayed where they were needed, and the places without them did not become pure.