Luna Ashflow

  The seemingly never-ending hall ended. For what I guessed was about ten minutes, we had walked in silence. That entire time, I stewed with my thoughts, though I knew Shaed could read, or would it be more akin to hearing, said thoughts. He did not intrude. Even then, if he was eavesdropping, I didn’t care. I welcomed him to sit in and listen as I mulled over what he had told me.

  The man was crazy. To be honest, I didn’t know what I was expecting. Had I truly hoped this man was someone merely misunderstood? A mortal god who had been rejected by the rest of divinity, like how they destroyed the Far Reachers because they saw him as a threat, a victim? From what he had told me, parts of that were genuine. Shaed was a victim at first. The other gods ostracized him, and supposedly, if he were to be believed, the one who did listen to him was also cast out. He said her name was Luminia, if I remember correctly.

  Oddly, I haven’t heard much about her besides the small text in the book Isa gave my brother and me. The goddess that the dark emperor fell in love with. I understand why it was done that way now. Like Shaed, the world wished to forget about her. Did she also harbor dark secrets like him? From what I know, gods can’t die. Not in the traditional sense. So, would this Illumina still be out there somewhere? Imprisoned like Shaed?

  I decided to ask—not openly, of course. If this Illumina was indeed a lover or good friend of Shaed, I doubt ripping open an old wound would do me any good.

  “Master–Shaed, I mean,” I started.

  “Either name is fine,” he said softly as we stood before a rge, ornate double door made from dark and sturdy wood. Carved into each panel were two giant dragons depicted in intricate detail, each one standing up on its hind legs, wings outstretched and roaring.

  Shaed held a hand above his head before sliding his arms downward, his palm twisting sideways as he did so, simir to a karate chop, though not as fast. The door gave off a heavy click as it unlocked before giving off a deep groan as it opened. Inside was a vast feast hall. A long table ran down the middle, with a deep purple cover and white embroidery along its edges. The table was covered in empty dishes and candebras, yet I noticed there were no candles in them; instead, they were gemstones. Pieces of magrite were set in pce, emitting a bright yet soft glow simir to that of fluorescent light.

  The room stretched for dozens of feet, and like the hallway, the walls were covered in paintings, save for the far left, which was decorated with vast stained-gss windows. Each depicted variations of Shaed during his period as a human emperor and one other figure in the center window. Another royal-looking figure, though not of Shaed, was an older man sitting upon a high throne with a golden scepter, his subjects kneeling before him.

  I had no idea why Shaed brought us here. From what I could gather, we seemed to be walking aimlessly, as if the movement had helped him focus as we talked. I doubt he would bring me here to eat. As he said, this realm isn’t actually real. Instead, it was a rendition from his mind, a memory. Can he even eat? Do gods need to eat?

  I shook my head. Focus. You were going to ask a question.

  “Can gods die?” I asked as Shaed levitated to the far end of the gargantuan dining table. With a simple gesture of his hand, he pulled back an ornately designed chair that looked more like a throne and sat into it.

  He sighed pleasantly as he sank into the cushion on its seat as if levitating around all day had been tiring work. He took a deep breath and fixed his steely blue eyes on me like he was inspecting something on my face. “Depends,” He said after a moment as he rested his elbows on the arms of his dining throne and ced his fingers.

  I came over and sat near him on his right, and by taking a seat, I really meant I climbed the mountain that was the chair and sat in it. The furniture in here was more extensive than I realized upon getting close. Garyan people must’ve been tall. Shaed was tall, at least the few times I saw when he wasn’t levitating a foot off the ground.

  “Why do you ask?” He queried once I was comfortable.

  I took a deep breath. “My mother and teacher said gods can’t die. They said they’re concepts, beings that represent Enoran beliefs. You can’t kill something that isn’t living or a belief. Yet at the same time, gods have gone to war with each other. You said it yourself that Illumina–” I noticed his expression tighten upon mentioning her, but he didn’t interrupt “--was cast out. You speak like she is dead, but weren’t you cast out, too? If gods can be destroyed, why weren’t you?” I felt like I was starting to ramble, so I shut my mouth.

  Shaed’s expression rexed, and he turned his attention down the long table, staring off into nothing—which I noticed he does quite a lot—as he pondered my query. “A complex question,” He said.

  I frowned. “I feel like it’s more of a simple yes or no,” I said.

  Shaed snorted, and I noticed a faint smirk that only sted a fraction of a second as he shook his head and hardened once more. “Mortals of Enora have been cultivated and taught that gods are, as you said, concepts. Beliefs made manifest, and to a degree,” he said, holding a finger up. “They are. Though, as Ami has shown me, and I have experienced.” He pced his hand on his chest. “We are constructs, created not by thoughts, but physical manifestations. Something that was crafted and given life. The stories you were told and taught are merely that, stories.”

  “So gods are physical things,” I crified.

  Shaed wiggled the palm of his hand from side to side in a sort of “maybe” gesture. “Sort of,” he said, “If you recall, I told you that gods exist within a higher pne of reality. A realm that can only be visited via one’s very consciousness.”

  I pursed my lips as I tried to comprehend what was said. Instead of asking something logical or continuing the conversation, my brain decided to tch onto something entirely unreted: “Does this realm have a name?” I asked. “Like, we keep calling it a ‘higher yer of space-time’ or ‘higher reality’ and all, which is just a bit of a mouthful.”

  Way to go, me, for asking the real questions. I can’t bme my new child brain this time; even the old me would tch onto pointless stuff like this.

  Shaed huffed and sighed. “This realm has many names: the Cognitive Pne, or the Ethereal Pne, and the Astral Pne, though it’s most commonly referred to by the local inhabitants as the Cereballium.”

  I started. “Locals? There are things that live here?” I gawked, then shook my head. “Nevermind, we can talk about that ter.” Focus. “Gods, can they die? So far you just said they’re constructs which we covered already. What does that have to do with us killing them?”

  “Us killing them?” Shaed arched a brow. “Do you want to kill a god?”

  My lips curled back into a line. “Uh, not really.” I sighed. “But, if we need to fight this All-Father guy and those apostles like Charity, we need to know if we can kill them right?”

  Shaed frowned and sulked. “I do not know if they can be killed, for they are not like any god I’ve seen,” he said softly. “In regards to the pantheon, yes and no. The way… we are constructed,” he said the st bit hesitantly, “We were made within the physical realm here. Then transported to the Cereballium, where we are now.” He tapped the table. “We exist physically, but also not.”

  I blinked. “So… the Gods have a physical presence on Enora then? Find where they are and destroy them, hypothetically speaking.”

  Shaed shook his head. “Yes and no.”

  “Huh?”

  “The Cereballium is… think of it like a parallel universe. It isn’t one mind you, but for the sake of understanding. The Cereballium is a copy of the material pne overid on top. Say if I pulled you into here fully and we moved the area of the Cereballium overpping the nation of Saxsonia and then found a Webway to exit. We would be there.”

  I frowned. “But I thought you said only consciousness can be here?”

  He shook his head. “I never said that. How do you expin where we are now.” He gestured to everything around him. “We are standing on pieces of materium now. The Cereballium can be traversed if done safely, and long ago it has been. Traversing this yer of reality is far more efficient than any other form in the material realm.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So the gods, once existed on the physical realm, but then moved into here then?”

  “Yes and no.” He said again.

  “I’m confused.” I frowned.

  “I expect you to be,” he said, lounging in his chair, fingers ced and resting on his p, looking at me. “Like I was, the gods are anchored to the material pne. They alone cannot survive solely within. Something needs to have them tethered. Like a ship at sea, their anchor keeps them from being carried off by the waves. The beings that created them did this intentionally.”

  My eyes widened. “That, that sounds like a huge security fw.” Shaed nodded.

  “It is, and that is only but another reason why they wiped out Ami and their people. For again, they knew how they worked.”

  I licked my lips. “So the gods, are just machines then. Computers connected to the goddamn cloud?” Shaed snorted and ughed for a moment.

  “No. No.” He shook his head. “I do not fully understand, but if that is an analogy that’ll help you understand, sure.”

  “But they are, you said it yourself, they’re constructs, created by someone. They have a device keeping them around–”

  He held a hand up to stop me. “They are not machines, Luna, a machine is a servant. A sve, an unliving one. The gods, are real, they are living.”

  “But what if they were merely made to act like this?”

  Shaed sighed. “I…” He started but then frowned and finally slumped. “I honestly don’t know. That would be more of a question for Ami.”

  “So, then, what happens if they ‘die’? Do they just go away? Are they tossed into the recycling bin?” I asked, and Shaed raised an eyebrow.

  “They can not die,” he said, “Not in the mortal sense. They can be defeated and have their power taken from them. Like I was, their connection to the material pne is severed, trapping them here forever where no mortal can ever interact with them and vice versa.”

  “Then they’re forgotten,” I finished, and he nodded. “Wait,” I realized. “If your connection was severed, how can you still reach the physical world?” I asked, and Shaed simply looked at me and said nothing. Then it clicked. My eyes widened. “Through me?” He nodded slowly.

  “With Ami’s help,” he said, “we were able to form a connection with you. A…” He pursed his lips, and I saw him trying to figure out how to word this. “Like one of those mobile cellur towers I mentioned earlier.”

  “Cellphone towers.” I corrected it just to be an ass.

  I smirked as he shot a look at me and sighed. “Yes. One of those. You’re a conduit. A lightning rod ready to catch me when I reach out.”

  “But how?” I asked. “I never met this Ami guy, not until Lucien, or whoever Lucien is compared to him. I never met you until we went to the cave. Was it there?” I asked.

  Shaed didn’t answer immediately; once again, he stared at nothing. It was as if something on the wall was very interesting, as if he hadn’t noticed it before. Finally, he looked at me and said, “No.”

  I frowned, then pursed my lips in thought. “Was it during those hundreds of times you were psychologically torturing me with the truth?” I asked coyly.

  “No.”

  I blinked. “Okay, then when? How are you and I connected?”

  “This is getting off-topic,” Shaed said, attempting to shut the conversation down. How you and I are connected is not relevant to our goal.”

  “This is reted to the ‘truth’ then isn’t it? The knowledge you said that’d break me?” I asked.

  Once again, he simply looked at me with an expression that read, “What do you think?”

  I sighed. “So much for learning about everything.” I huffed and crossed my arms, but finally, I let it drop. “So gods can be defeated. I guess that’s good to know if we ever need to fight them.”

  “Let us pray it never comes to that,” Shaed said.

  Changing the subject, I looked to Shaed. “Who is Lucien?” I asked. “Who is he really? You said he was a piece of Ami. Expin that please.”

  “Spirimancy,” Shaed said bluntly. “Lucien About is a fragment of Ami’s soul. A piece from a prior life made manifest.”

  My eyes widened. “Wait, wait, you mean the asshole in my caster can just summon past versions of himself?’ I gawked.

  Shaed’s eyes met mine, and he nodded. “To a degree. I am not as knowledgeable as he is. I’ve only dabbled in the art of projecting my astral self. It is how Ami scouts Enora without fear of being found by our common enemy.”

  “So, wait,” I said softly. “Lucien is like me then?” My mind began to wander as I connected the dots. “He was from my world and was brought here–”

  “No,” Shaed stopped me. “Lucien is not like you in the slightest. Yes, he is from your prior world, but he is not living.”

  “Huh?” I blinked. “I saw him though.”

  “He was a projection, a powerful one. Like Putinov’s shell but not entirely, I say this for your understanding,” he tried to expin.

  “I think I’m just more confused,” I muttered. “So. Lucien isn’t alive? What is he, a ghost?”

  “You could say so,” Shaed said with an amused smirk and nod. “That is actually a good way of putting it, though unlike spirits, he is fully manifested in the material realm. Again, Ami would be much better suited for answering this.”

  “For a ghost, he seemed very real,” I said, scratching my head.

  “Because he was. What you saw was really Lucien About, a man who once lived in your world. I should crify and say that I was too hasty to discount your original assumption. In a sense, the two of you are simir in the fact that you died, and are now here. Where the difference lies, is that you are alive and possess your own soul and autonomy.”

  I cringed. “I don’t feel like I have autonomy.”

  Shaed faltered a bit and nodded. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” I said with a sigh. “It’s not like you caused the war… right?” I gnced at him.

  Shaed frowned. “No,” he said without a sense of humor.

  I gulped. “Yeah, uh, sorry.” I scratched my head again. “So, Lucien is a tool? Brought back from the dead and made a scout for some guy who’s supposedly him? Or has the same soul as him?”

  “Yes.” Shaed nodded.

  I bit my lip. Seems like I get the better deal.

  Shaed, who was reading my thoughts, merely nodded.

  “What about Putinov?” I asked. “He was a shell, a soul in that crystal? Why was Lucien with him, and why was he looking for me?”

  Shaed took a breath. “An ancient enemy of ours,” he said, “A Herald sent from the Other Side.”

  “An apostle?” I gulped and fidgeted in my seat, hands nervously wringing at my skirt.

  Shaed shook his head. “No. The Heralds are separate from the Apostles. From what Ami and I know, they were sent here to prepare this world for it’s eventual conquering, and to find you.”

  “Me?” I shivered, great. I have a friggin Terminator looking for me?

  “I told you, Luna, Father and their Apostles seek not you, but who you were.”

  “In other words, they want my soul?” I crified, and he nodded.

  So they just want me dead, great. Why? I thought.

  “I do not know,” Shaed said, reading my mind. “Putinov is an ancient being, as I said. He has been around for millennia, preaching of ‘Heavens’ arrival. From what limited knowledge I’ve gathered, he is one of the original prophets that formed of Aerism.”

  Anxious, I blurted out. “Aneurism?” I then snorted. “I feel like I’m going to get one from all this.”

  Shaed hesitated, then actually ughed. Seeing him let loose for a moment was oddly comforting, though it was only that moment. He quickly recovered and shook his head. “No. Aerism. It means “The one” or “The only one” from the old tongue. It is the official name of the All-Father Church.” I nodded, and he continued, “Ami and I have been working against Putinov for thousands of years. Yet, like a krek, you stomp one and another and simply take its pce. He cannot be killed. Destroying his body is merely an inconvenience for the Herald, as he will just return.”

  “And I fucked it up…” I pouted, and Shaed blinked.

  “How so?” He asked.

  “You were trying to trap his soul in his book,” I said. “You did something to seal him. Then, when I set it aside, the reactor went off. It shattered, and now he’s free again.”

  Shaed sighed and shook his head. “No. What I mean is you aren’t the reason he escaped. The reactor dispelled all ether. Even those in pce for spells. Neither you or I could’ve prevented that, Luna.” He sighed. “Even then, that was merely a fragment of Putinov’s soul. He is a powerful being, like Ami, he is able to partition himself amongst other ‘shells’ allowing him to be in multiple areas at once.”

  “He can clone himself?!” I gawked, and to my horror, Shaed nodded.

  “There are limitations to his abilities, do not worry,” he said to try and calm my rising anxiety.

  This was becoming too much. Uniting the world and being hunted by an unkilble Terminator from Heaven in all pces. Oh, who can also clone themselves. Man-made Gods, different pnes of reality. Shaed was also an insane dictator who killed millions.

  Outside, I was being cooperative. Asking questions as I should and try my best to listen, but internally. Internally I was freaking out. I was amazed at how well I was being composed. I wanted to panic, and I felt like I was going to hyperventite. Maybe it’s because we’re in this “higher pne” of reality, and technically, I wasn’t in my natural body, which prevented me from doing so. I’m no hero, and I was some fat slob who bitched about the world being unfair and did nothing to make my life better. I was no longer that slob; I was a young girl with some magical potential, but that was it. I had no skills.

  Sure, I can make stuff explode well, and I can sort of fly if I try, and I can melt metal. All of those were simple “motes,” like cantrips in D&D. I haven’t had proper training, I never learned how to fight, and the most I have done is practice shooting cans with Varis and Papa and some minor mote practice with Mother and Alexander.

  The only thing I had going for me was my healing. Great, I can at least keep myself alive long enough to prolong my suffering as the radiant Terminator comes to kill me again. I don’t want this. I never wanted this. I, I just wanna go home. I wanna go back to those early years. The st four years before this happened, when I could walk and talk. I miss waking up early, excited for school, and ready to learn about this new world with Isa and Varis. I want to climb Sycora trees with my brother. I want to cuddle up with my new mother, Cailynn, and read books with her again, and I wanna shoot cans with my father, Slyran.

  I don’t want to be a hero. I don’t want to unite the world. I want to live a happy, everyday life. I never yearned to be the center of attention. Yet, it seemed like I didn’t have a choice. I never did, it seemed.

  I wasn’t paying attention. Shaed was talking and expining Putinov’s abilities. I should be focusing. Yet this annoying self-pity, this darkness inside me. It was cwing its way out. Like it always had before. Just like my old life. Whenever something seemed overwhelming, I just wanted to run away. To hide. To forget. I–I needed to.

  “Luna,” Shaed said firmly, snapping me back to reality.

  How long was in my thoughts?

  “Something seems to be bothering you,” he said. "I know this is much, but you must focus. Putinov is not to be taken lightly, but there are ways we can work around him.”

  “I, I…” I started, then swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. Go on.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “How did you do that?” He asked me, and I blinked.

  “Do what?”

  “When you stopped focusing, I noticed you pushed me from your mind; I couldn’t see inside,” he said.

  “Maybe you should ask permission before you go nosing around my thoughts,” I huffed.

  He started, then frowned and nodded. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Anyway, it was most likely unintentional. We can explore it ter. I was saying that Putinov’s projections aren’t the same as the real him. They are fragments of his soul that represent certain aspects of him. Their personalities are different, tailored specifically for each of their assigned goals, which makes them easily maniputive. For instance, the one we encountered, the archbishop. Was his devotion, known for spreading the word of Aerism and the All-Father’s word.”

  I simply nodded. “Yeah, seems about right.”

  Shaed’s frown deepened. “Perhaps,” he said. “We should take a break? I can understand if everything I’ve said so far is overwhelming.”

  I said nothing but nodded in agreement.

  “Well then,” he straightened up. “Let us be–wait!” He started his eyes bulging; I jerked in my seat.

  “What?”

  “No! You idiot!” Shaed blurted. “I should’ve warned–”

  Everything went white, and then a flurry of colors and noise assaulted my senses. A sense of vertigo washed over me as I became weightless. I felt like I was falling and spinning into a void. Around me, images of pces, people, and events zipped by. I saw my mother, my father, and someone else. A dark-skinned woman in pte armor.

  Then suddenly, I was in a forest, standing beside my father, though he looked much younger. His features were not as sharp, his face clean-shaven, and his hair nicely brushed. He was wearing a worn yet fine suit. Around us were people I’d never seen before, a small crowd of humans, halflings, and creatures. Beings I have never seen before, half man, half goat? Deer maybe? Besides them, I saw a valendi man with dark scales and swirling purple eyes.

  Mr. Bxen.

  Behind us was the dark-skinned woman from before, no longer in pte, though instead, she wore flowing white robes and held a thick book. She was preaching, and my heart was swelling with emotions that weren’t my own.

  Love, affection, and desire. A deep-rooted desire for the man I held the hands of. My god, the sensations I felt, the need to kiss him and tear his clothes from his body. Whoever I was, my mother, perhaps? Deeply wanted him.

  “In the presence of the Oathmaker, Cailynn Sartosi, do you pledge your life to this man, Slyran Ashflow? Do you swear the oath to follow him into the Current when the time demands of it?” The woman asked me.

  Self-consciousness, anxiety. I felt put on the spot. Mixed in with these feelings are eagerness and joy.

  “I do!” I heard my mother’s voice come from my lips.

  “And what of your oaths, Slyran Ashflow? Will you pledge your life and your duty to protect this woman? Will you follow her to the depths of the Darkest Ocean?”

  Without hesitation, the man beamed an intoxicating smile, flicking his head and brushing his blonde bangs from his face. A shudder ran through me, or really my mother, and heat within soared as the woman serving as the officiant decred us married.

  In an instant, I jumped at Slyran, my lips catching his, as the two of us melted into each other, my heart soaring with joy and happiness.

  In an instant, the world changed. My lips were still locked with Slyran as weightlessness took over, and my body smmed into a bed. The two of us rolled as his hands began to explore my body and–

  Jesus Christ! I snapped back to reality. Wh-what’s going on?! I was seeing memories of my mother. I-I was her. I was in her body, like when the Master controlled me. I can feel everything: my father’s touch, the tingling sensations. The passion.

  Oh god, oh no, no, no, no. Please, stop. Pause. Where’s the pause button? How do I stop this?

  Thankfully. The vision shifted again. Away from the heated scene, I was almost forced to watch. I almost saw how I was made…

  As the new vision came into view. A wave of intense emotions immediately assaulted me. Loss, anger, and sorrow. I was sobbing uncontrolbly. Tears poured down my face as I wailed. I was on my knees, bending over somebody. My arms were draped around them as I held them tightly against me. I could feel something wet and hot soaking into my dress and breasts. A sensation I was all too familiar with: blood.

  Someone grabbed me by the shoulder, firm yet somehow gentle at the same time. “Cailynn, we need to go!” It was my father. “We have to go now!” He sounded desperate yet angry.

  Voices in a nguage I couldn’t understand shouted in the distance, followed by cracks of gunfire.

  “We can’t leave her!” I could hear myself shouting, sorrow boiling into anger. “We can’t!”

  “There’s nothing we can do for her!” Father snapped. “We need to go or else we’ll be overrun!”

  “Tukari tribesman!” A familiar yet heavily accented voice shouted. It was a woman, Isa? “Top ridge, north by the outcrop!” God, she sounded so much younger.

  I pulled away from the one I hugged, and horror enveloped me. My chest was soaked with gore, and in front of me was the woman from the wedding. The officiant dressed in pte yet lodged in her thin throat was a bck arrow, two others having pierced the metal jutted from her chest. Her dead eyes were wide with shock, mouth agape, and dripping blood.

  “He said these ruins were clear,” I snarled, the anger boiling into a storm. A raging inferno screamed within as everything began to go red. “That bastard!”

  “Cailynn,” I heard my father say, though his voice was drowned out.

  “I’ll kill them!” I screamed. “You want a fight?!” I directed the energy upwards and felt weightless as my body soared into the air. I could see we were in a canyon, along an edge in the center of it. Now below me, as I rose higher and higher, was a white bridge covered in corpses. Wagons on the bridge were burning; men, women, and striders alike y strewn across it dead, their bodies riddled with bck arrows.

  “Then attack me!” I screamed as I shifted my form, directing the energy towards the tribesman who was loosing arrows from the top of the canyon.

  Everything went dark, and I fell unconscious.

  "Peering into the cognitive realm isn't as easy as pulling back one's curtains upon a window. Though I wish it were, unfortunately, it is much more complicated than that. However, such an analogy almost fits the idea perfectly. Our universe is said to be the surface yer of the Wydle, the curtain, you could say. The Cerebellium, is the space in between your curtain and the window, to get to it, we would need to peel back our reality. How do we do that? You may ask, well, this is where things get exciting..."

  - Excerpt from "Peering into the In between" by Terry Rosewall, Page 2.