A Chronicle of Lies-Book 1- The Dark Sculptor (High Fantasy/Isekai)

For the first few days, Vincent stayed in the guest room. Though Thal’rin made it clear he was more than welcome to join him during the Falian equivalent of “dinner”, he preferred to stay in isolation and hide away from the creatures. It was a request he was surprised Thal’rin was willing to respect, even though Vincent was sure he and his peers were dying to find out more about him. In the meantime, he couldn’t do much of anything except pace the room, sleep, and explore all the exotic objects that decorated the shelves and desk.

Sometimes he went into the washroom to splash the column of water and watch the drops slowly fall in suspension. At times, he began to feel anxious and claustrophobic. But all he had to do in order to cure that was to walk onto the balcony and gaze out onto an impossible city.

Meldohv Syredel had looked majestic from afar and he had been too overwhelmed with his own trials to appreciate it up close. But now that he had a few days to soak it all in, words failed to capture what it felt like to be in the middle of such splendor. Thal'rin's home overlooked the lake that he had seen from the Gelen Highway. Glimmering in the middle of it like a frozen geyser, jutted a colossal spire of quartz. It was asymmetric and chaotic, throwing its shards out in all directions.

The mountainous geode that housed the city lined itself with clusters of lavender-colored crystals and explosions of lambent blue deposits. During the night, these formations glowed with a weak luminescence, pouring a twilight ambiance over the carved metropolis. During the day, the sunlight poured through the opening in the apex of the geode like a gargantuan skylight and slowly scanned the city. It was darker than most cities were, but the shade only served to complement its beauty. Whenever Vincent looked at the canopy, he swayed with vertigo at the sheer size of it.

A tall arch had been carved near the back of Meldohv Syredel, where ships sailing The Great Divide, the ocean that divided Admoran, came in to dock at her ports. A seaward wind got caught in this aperture and washed over the city like a never-ending breath. Vincent was sitting on the balcony, allowing his hands to dangle over the stone railing. The continuous draft brought some semblance of calm as it caressed his arms and face, washing around his ankles.

A ward pulsed around him with its commands and its hierarchy appeared in his mind’s eye. But he didn’t want to risk doing anything to it, worrying that such a thing would invite some sort of disaster. It was nice to have a few days where absolutely nothing happened, even if it meant giving his own mind time to torture itself.

The scent of the ocean nearby soothed him. In this way, he had found some semblance of familiarity. Though he had a phobia of deep water, the ocean always calmed him. It caressed him with its steady ebb of crashing waves and allowed him to think.

Of the memories that weren’t hidden behind the fog of amnesia, he could recall lying on the beach and letting the saltwater wash over him, splashing sand and salt into his hair. He could remember the feel of the ground eroding beneath his feet as the water returned to the ocean, the sound of kites ripping through the air, the cawing of seagulls as they chased each other across the water.

Vincent’s peace was interrupted when his ears twitched. A creature chittered behind him. He opened his eyes and turned his head to find the “silith” Thal’rin had yelled at, sticking its head through the railing. It wasn't clear what the purpose of the clicking noise it made was. At first, he thought it might be echolocation, but the creature had eyes plenty big enough to see. Sighing, he slowly crouched to his knees and tapped the ground with his finger, drawing the creature's attention.

It belonged to Thal’rin’s wife, Bayont, who named it Sylax. It reminded Vincent of a cat in the way that it acted, the way that it held its body, the way it lingered close to walls to spy on him, the way it stared at him while bobbing its head to sniff the air. In fact, other than the third pair of legs, the ability to climb some solid walls, and the iridescent quality of its thin fur, it might as well have been a cat. He briefly wondered why Slade’s reputation had earned her the moniker of “Silith”, since he did not see the resemblance. Though he supposed the head shape was somewhat similar.

Sylax inspected Vincent's hand, clicking with curiosity before suddenly skittering away and disappearing off the railing. He was going to try and entice the creature back to the balcony when a word rang through his mind: Hello. It had the inflection of spoken dialogue, yet it had no voice with which to form it. Blinking in confusion, Vincent returned his attention to Sylax, who was somehow clinging to the brick and mortar of Thal'rin's home like a lizard.

Hello.

Again, the word appeared with more clarity, beamed directly into his thoughts. So far, his schizophrenia took two to three days to return after being “purged” by the Triasat nectar. It was a rule it had consistently followed, even if he took a dose between relapses. He was hoping that he could use this pattern to predict when the next relapse came about, that way he could make sure he was alone when he dosed himself. Though it was far more miraculous than any pharmaceutical treatment, the purging was an unpleasant and humiliating experience.

He was already searching for the bottle when another word resonated with him: dialect. Scowling, he uncorked the bottle,withdrew the tiniest drop on his claw and consumed it. Nothing, not even the slightest gagging reflex or the tiniest bit of the black smoke that often accompanied the purge.

Dialect. Talk. Vocal?

Three words, the last one had the mental inflection of an inquiry. Was something trying to communicate with him?

“Uh...” He put the Triasat back on the table and looked around the room. “Is somebody or something trying to talk to me?”

Affirmation. Nonvocal. Link. Yes. Waves.

“Waves, what?” Vincent scratched his head and frowned at the door. He had not left the room since he arrived, but he almost considered getting Thal’rin when another series of words entered his mind. There was something oddly familiar about this, something that caused a rock to settle into his stomach.

Your pattern. Foreign. Apologetic. No. Apologies. Understand?

“What the...no! I don't understand! Who or what the hell are you?” Vincent looked around with the hope that he would be able to spot the source of this phenomenon.

Spoken name is Kyrotin. Not of Strix' brood, but you, he spoke but could not have dialect. Young. Inexperienced. Understandable, challenge for me. Your waves complex. Different.

The words were becoming more coherent, though they resembled spoken speech. Something was learning his speech and projecting the words into his mind.

“Strix...” Vincent rubbed his temples. So that’s why this seemed familiar. Before he had fallen off the cliff at Lorix’s Observatory, his mind had received these sorts of projections. “So you’re one of those things that has an eye in its neck? You’re a...you're a zerok?”

The eye sees the waves. It allows speech without speech. Reads your pattern, returns answers. Your pattern is foreign, but I discern it. Effort required, but it eases. Strix thought your ears closed. You were frightened of him, then angry, then frightened again. Mad. Confused him.

Vincent sat on the edge of the bed, placed his hands on his snout, shook his head and groaned. Then he began to laugh softly at the method of communication.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Also, where are you? I know you aren’t hiding under the bed, I think I would have noticed.”

My spoken name is Kyrotin. Repeated. Apologies. I am on Thal'rin's roof. Friend since early days. Visit often. The roof is warm.

Vincent immediately looked up toward the ceiling as if he expected to see Kyrotin's outline in the stucco cone. He remembered all too clearly how Strix glared at him with the grotesque eye in his gullet. The thought of such a creature peering down at him, somehow penetrating the stone with that eye, made him shudder a little inside. But then he began to laugh again. This is what he had to do: he had to learn to laugh at this world and its absurdities. It was the only way he was going to stay sane.

“Kyrotin, huh?” he said, “to be honest, I was doing fine until you started talking to me. What is this, you communicate by directly beaming words into my mind?” It had to be one of the worst ways to talk to a schizophrenic. But he supposed the schizos in this world died too fast for them to figure that out. “This ‘pattern reading’, this doesn’t mean you can read my thoughts, can you?”

I do not see thoughts, only patterns. Your thoughts are yours. Your ideas are yours until made speech. I do not speak with mouth, only eat. We glean and exchange. Normal for our society. Normal for Zerok.

“Right, that sounds fascinating,” Vincent said, “I don’t want to offend you but this...can you not do this thing, right now? It's unnerving. Where I come from, we don’t communicate by telepathy. And it's downright creepy. You’re looking through stone and spying on me.”

I see patterns. I do not see you. The sight that sees color, obscured by mortar and stone. Example. I see Thal’rin’s pattern ascending steps. I do not see him. But understandable. Apologies. Hopefulness for future communication. You are curious to me.

There was a scraping of claws on stone followed by the gust of wings. A large turquoise shape dove past the balcony, sending a blast of wind into the room. Kyrotin beat the air with monstrous wings until he became a speck against the canopy of purple. Vincent was left stupefied, then he massaged his temples and swore to himself. After deciding he had enough exotic experiences for the day, he closed the door to the balcony and sat down on the table to work on his project. There came a knock at the door.

“I am sorry if I awoke you, Vincent,” Thal'rin said when he opened the door. In the creature’s hands was Vincent’s black hoodie. “I had this washed as you advised. This is a fascinating material. I don’t know much of sewing, but I have never seen craftsmanship of this precision, neither did those who washed it.”

Vincent accepted the jacket back and was relieved that it had returned undamaged. He was afraid these creature’s claws would tear it, but he was also afraid of offending Thal'rin by turning down his generous offer to have somebody wash it.

After his first night in Meldohv, the creature respected his desire to be left the hell alone, so he made himself scarce. But of those few brief interactions they had, the creature seemed not at all what Vincent expected him to be. During his escort across Admoran, Slade and the others painted a picture of an all-powerful lord who wielded an awesome magic, one who could summon storms from atop his tower. It was an image that had stuck with him despite how generic it seemed until he met the High Channeler. Thal’rin did not look regal nor did he act the part.

“I thank you for entrusting me with this,” he spoke with an odd sincerity, “this may sound both strange and bizarre, but I felt as though I were holding in my hands an entirely new and fascinating lore.”

That's the most eloquent way I've ever heard anybody describe a hoodie, Vincent thought as he folded it up and laid it on the bed. He thought he detected a few stains of blood remaining on the black fabric, but he said nothing. Blood was difficult to clean out. Thal'rin walked over to the table and look at the project he had been working on.

“Is this your language?” the creature asked, carefully picking up the ohnite Vincent had been writing on the past few days. He traced the lines of the diagram with his claws.

“Part of it is,” Vincent said, “but that one is a basic schematic for a full-wave rectifier.”

“That term is foreign to me.”

“We...um, my people, found out how to harness electricity and use it to run machines,” Vincent explained, “that's a visual representation of a very basic circuit we use in a lot of them. That's what I was studying before I came here. The other stuff is just some algebra and journals, some logic problems. I wanted to give myself some challenges to keep my mind sharp.”

Curiosity struck the creature's countenance, but he forced it down, put the ohnite back in its place and walked to the balcony. Clearly Thal'rin came here with a purpose. “Would you walk with me?”

“Where?” Vincent asked.

“There is a garden up on the roof. I often find myself going there these days. I will be the only strange creature you have to worry about meeting.”

“Uh...sure.”

He followed Thal'rin in silence down the vine-covered corridors, his eyes drawn to the ever-elaborate depictions of Falian culture. Fire scorched the ground from which the vines grew, as if the excoriation were nourishment. The vines turned into trees, extending their carved canopies over the hallway, their limbs cast in silhouettes by the chain-suspended crystals. A brief flight of spiral stairs emptied them onto the roof.

The garden was about the size of a basketball court. A stone path, whose surface was carved to resemble more flames, cut through flowers that bloomed with blue and red petals. In the middle of the garden was a pool of water. Stepping stones led to an island from which a tree grew. Its shape resembled that of a bonsai’s and its limbs seemed to float against the indigo glimmer that was Meldohv Syredel's reflection.

“Do you have family?” Thal’rin asked.

Vincent watched a strange insect wriggle its way up a flower. It stopped briefly and flashed a red light along its spine and continued its ascent.

“Twin sisters,” he said, "father. I had a mother, but she passed away nine years ago.”

“I am sorry to hear,” Thal’rin said as he pulled a hood over his head. He then scratched the base of his horn with a wing claw.

“I moved on,” Vincent said, “I also have a niece.”

Thal’rin approached a bench that was carved from stone and took a seat. He stretched his arms and wings until there were several audible cracks.

“Ohhh...that was a good one,” he groaned as he folded his wings back in, “whatever you do, Vincent Cordell, don’t grow old. It is the worst decision I have ever made.” He gyrated his wings several times before continuing, “I have a wife and two sons. Both have moved out to pursue their paths. Sister too. My parents met the night carrier many years ago, so they are long gone.”

Thal'rin paused to see if Vincent would respond, but he remained silent. “I asked you to walk with me for several reasons,” he continued, “your 'presence', for lack of a better word, has stirred up murmurings among The Thirteen. But first, before we get into that, I want to know more about you.”

“What do you mean?”

“I look at you and see one of us,” Thal’rin said, “your look is unusual, but your form is familiar. Yet as a channeler, I can sense an 'otherness' to your 'nature', for lack of better vernacular. I can sense that you are different than the rest of us and I expect other channelers can do the same, We have heightened instincts for these sorts of things."

"Huh…"

"But more importantly than that, the thing that distinguishes you the most from us, is that no inhabitant of Falius can survive the Bane, just as nobody could survive being stabbed through the heart. Any creature on our world that is capable of reason is susceptible to this axiom. The Bane kills both groundwalker and zerok alike. It is even said to have killed the ancient Yanai. Your defiance of this makes you exceptional.”

“Your people can do unbelievable things,” Vincent said, “I’m sure you can find a cure.”

“Perhaps...” Thal’rin nodded, “but how do you cure something which takes a life so fast? The Bane kills its victim within days. Our best healers and scholars throughout history have tackled this issue, but none of them have made any strides."

Vincent shrugged.

"But this is all beside the point. I mentioned before that the Bane may as well be a curse all creatures of reason on Falius have inherited. But not you. You suffer it, yet you live. For this reason, among others, I believe you to hail from another world. So...I want to know more about you, about your people, which is why I asked about your family, since we believe it is the foundation of society. The answer to that question alone would show how different, or how similar you are to us, regardless of physical appearance.”

“You seem pretty calm for somebody who believes they are talking to an alien.” Vincent knelt to the ground and put a claw in front of the crawling insect. It hesitated for a bit and inspected him with its antennae before climbing onto his finger.

“My calm is well-practiced,” Thal’rin said, “but inside, my mind is inundated with an academic's questions. I don’t know how different you are from me and my people or I, from you and yours. I don’t know how to address you, what customs you hold dear, how long lived you are or how strange we are to you. If I were standing in your place, I imagine I would be baffled by this strange creature asking me these questions.”

“Yeah,” Vincent scoffed and shook his head. He appreciated and was impressed, hell, even charmed by the creature's keen insight and self-awareness. “Yeah, it’s 'new' all right.” He allowed the caterpillar to explore his digits. “So far, it's mostly just the physical appearance. We're both bipeds, but I don't have wings, tails, or horns. My face is flatter and our blood is red. But the actual behavior...you all act like humans.”

“The irony is that I was thinking you act just like one of us,” Thal’rin mused, “I suppose it is a boon our appearance is not too outlandish. When I hear the word ‘human’, the image that comes into my mind is that of a creature with two heads and tentacles coming out of its mouths.”

“Uhh...”

Thal’rin’s interpretation of humanity caught Vincent completely by surprise. The statement was subtle and delivered with such a deadpan seriousness, that if he had not seen the gentle glint in the creature's eyes, he would not have recognized it as humor. Still, Vincent could not let his guard down. Thal'rin had to have an ulterior motive for this talk.

“You also want to know if I’m a threat,” he said.

“I do, yes. Are you?” Thal’rin betrayed no surprise. “It is certainly something I should be made aware of if you are.” There was humor in his voice.

“You tell me.” Vincent stood up and let the insect crawl over his fingers. “I killed somebody in my sleep.”

“Do you feel guilt?” Thal’rin asked, his tone thoughtful and solemn.

Vincent wasn’t sure what he felt as he stared at the insect on his hand. Pulses of red light continued to flash along its spine. “I can’t accept it,” he said after a brief silence, “that should tell you something about how I would feel if I actually thought this was all real.”

“Ahh...” Thal’rin stood up and stretched his wings. Then he walked over to Vincent’s side and gazed out over his city. “That is right, you don’t believe any of this is happening. You don’t believe I am actually standing here, talking to you. May I ask why?”

Vincent shrugged. “That's what schizophrenia...or the ‘Bane’ does,” he said, “that, and I suffered a fatal injury before waking up here. So, it's either the Bane causing this, or I am dreaming, or both. ”

“That is a very interesting quandary, with all the morals and ethics involved,” the creature said, “because the second reason I wanted to speak with you is because I owe you the truth.” Thal’rin glanced sideways at him. “If I were you, I would be wondering why Kiolai Reashos was so desperate to get you to us that she risked chancing the Teramin Devourer. Moreso, I'd wonder about the interaction we had on the day she brought you in.”

“Actually, I'm more wondering why the hell you were so interested in me in the first place. Even before I did anything with the reticulum.”

“Normally there would have been no interest. From what we have been told, the zerok, Strix, overreacted when you were found. He is young and he is not used to seeing channelers in that region, so he assumed you were sent there by us. When he got into contact with Meldohv Syredel, they tried to assuage him by reaching out to you. You only caught our interest when you repelled the telen. Such a thing has never been done before and so, we wanted to bring you in and ask you how such a thing was accomplished. But when Teresis passed, this spooked us. The Jalharens wield a mysterious lore and so we suspected you of being one of their agents.”

“For this, I am sorry. We did not know what you were,” Thal’rin continued, “Kiolai Reashos put you in danger and she has been reprimanded. Nevertheless, we gave both the kiolai and the shandan instructions to be vigilant of anything unusual among Mid-Admoran. She saw your immunity to the Bane and heeded those instructions. The stormspawn added to her need for haste. Since we feared to use the reticulum prior to your arrival, she had no choice but to get you to us as fast as she was able...at least that is the rationale she used to traverse the Devourer's thread.”

Thal'rin paused to see if Vincent would say something. He did not.

“There is an artifact in The Deep Archives, a massive collection of ancient texts, rare books, and old manuscripts,” he continued, “it is kept on a restricted floor which we call the Runite Vault. Its chambers are where we keep our most elusive and dangerous artifacts, items of whose history we know very little.”

Thal’rin took a moment to clear his throat. “The particular item I speak of,” he said, “is a statue of a woman named Ayrlon. From her right eye drips a tear carved from a black gem. For centuries, this gem will remain dark and lifeless. But when it glows, it forecasts tragedy. The light is an omen whose color represents imminent danger for the entirety of Admoran. Before fires ravaged our lands and burned our crops, it illuminated those around it with the light of flames. Before the sapphire plague ravaged our populace, it was said to shine blue. Each of these calamities could have very well erased us as a species. But because we had warning, we were able to prepare.”

“It’s lit again,” Vincent guessed, “you mentioned it during my trial.”

Thal’rin nodded. “It shines with a brilliant, beautiful white ambiance. But the surfaces that its light touches reflect only darkness. It is a contradiction.”

“Like I’m a ‘contradiction’,” Vincent scoffed, “so I’m the great danger.”

“Or you have a power that can aid us against it,” Thal’rin said, “the Lore of Contradictions fulfills its name by having many contradictions about what the Saedharu actually is.”

“I’m not really interested in what the ‘Saedharu’ is,” Vincent said, “I want none of it.”

“And there is our dilemma,” Thal’rin sighed, “you are here, you feel pain, you breathe our air and eat our food. And yet you do not believe any of this is real. It is unreasonable for us to assume a burden on your shoulders when you do not believe any of it, especially when we don’t know what that burden is, when we don't even know who or what you are."

Several birds with two pairs of wings each flew on by.

"We also may be ahead of ourselves in entertaining the possibility that you actually are the personification of such a figure," Thal'rin continued, "however, there is an entire history informing our actions, one that demands your presence be both acknowledged and considered at the very least, whether you are this figure or not.”

Vincent shook his head and walked over to the railing. He put his hands on it and leaned forward, letting the air of Meldohv Syredel wash over his face.

“You're right. You don't know anything about me,” he said.

“I would like that to change,” Thal'rin said, his voice filled with honesty.

“Your schizophrenics die.” Vincent deposited the caterpillar onto a plant and watched it scale the leaves. “They go mad, then they die. So you haven’t had a chance to see how delusional people like me can get.”

The caterpillar reached the end of a leaf, stood on its hind legs and probed the air for something to grab onto.

“They start believing that they are the reincarnations of gods or whatever,” Vincent continued, “or that the world is out to get them because of all the voices...it’s just so much easier to go along with it and believe in whatever bullshit they feed you than to fight them. I mean, yeah, I feel pain. Hell, I’m feeling things that I shouldn't be feeling. The wings, the tail...” He shook his head. “But I’ve known schizophrenics who've felt wings on their backs. I knew a few who thought they were animals or mythical creatures. But that's–that's not me.”

He closed his eyes. “I used to fantasize about places like this as a kid, heck, every kid did. I could easily fall in love with it. I could easily see myself going along with this, fulfilling some fantasy I have about wanting to be a hero, villain, or whatever. I always wanted to meet aliens. But what happens when I wake up? How would I return to a normal life after this?”

“I am afraid I lack an answer for you.”

“I wouldn't be able to. If I went along with this and woke up after going through–through all of this,” he gestured to the city, “I wouldn't be the same. My mind would be stuck here. That’s what most schizophrenics do: they escape into their own damn fantasies because they are too pathetic to cope with reality. They become a joke and everybody around them suffers for it. Or hell, they just straight up kill themselves because they can't handle it.” Vincent sighed. “I can’t be your 'Saedharu’. Whatever the hell it is, I want no part of it. It goes against everything I've been trying to accomplish. I don't indulge in fantasies.”

“Mmm...” the creature grumbled, “I think I understand, and I empathize, appreciate it even. It reminds me of why the Culluinar, the council below The Thirteen, looks down upon the lifestyle of a fivendai. Well, perhaps 'looks down' is not the proper choice of words. But the practice is not a good one.”

“I've heard of them.”

Thal'rin nodded in acknowledgment before looking back out toward the city. “They deliver their story by acting the part of the main character,” he said, “they differ from the actors in a play in that they actually live their lives as the characters they claim to be rather than rely on traditional narration. They tell the story by recalling events in the character’s life as though he or she had experienced those events themselves. They never break from that persona unless conversing secretly with other fivendai. The argument is that this practice allows the listener to be immersed in their world. They wish to cast a spell on the audience.”

Thal’rin sighed. “But what happens all too often is this: the fivendai become absorbed into their own worlds. They begin to fall in love with their fables, with the identities they forged, and the masks they present to the audience. First, it begins as entertainment, and many gather to watch and listen. But as the fivendai hone their craft and bring their fictions to life, they slowly begin to believe in earnest, that they exist as those characters...because an enhanced reality is often preferable to the real one.”

Thal’rin took a moment to clear his throat before continuing. “Though they are not mad, they become, as you said, convinced they are gods. Their desire for these fictions to be reality becomes so strong, they act the part until it consumes who they are. It ceases to be entertainment and becomes self-deceit and delusion. It becomes a stroking of ego, misinformed pride, and self-idolization. They become wanderers, lost in their forged personas, unable to cope with the cognitive dissonance they inadvertently helped to create.”

“Am I correct to assume this is your fear?” Thal’rin asked, “you fear that if you immerse yourself in our world, you will become just like the fivendai who lose themselves. The Saedharu would become the mask you wear, and your life here would become nothing more than a chronicle of lies.”

“That...sums it up.”

“I respect that.” A silence passed between them both as they gazed out over the city. The caterpillar kept floundering as it looked for higher places to climb to.

“What would you do if you believed this were real?” Thal’rin asked.

“I don't know...you don’t know what you’re asking me to accept.”

“No, I do not,” the High Channeler admitted.

Vincent was once again struck by the creature's candor.

“It's one of humanity’s dreams to make first contact with an alien species,” he said, “so I guess this would be a historic moment. The fame alone would set me up for life. Let’s forget that I was kidnapped from my home, ripped apart and reassembled into this body. Then you guys sent Slade after me like I’m a rabid animal that needed to be captured. Let’s just forget all that happened.” He let those last few points sink in for a few seconds before he continued. “Your world defies logic. We would have to rethink everything we built our understanding of physics on.”

He looked around for an example until he spotted a youth running along the rooftops. “There,” he pointed, “that kid over there with the orb of light bobbing above his head. How does that work? What keeps it in the air? It needs some sort of propulsion for that to occur, but I don’t see any propellers or thrusters. According to everything we have observed, that is not possible. In order for it to float, it would have to apply a force toward the ground equal to or greater than its own weight. But it appears to be doing none of that. It’s just...floating. As far as I can tell, that little ‘toy’ is making fun of long-established laws of physics. If I bought one of those and brought it back to Earth, our scientists and engineers would be all over it.”

“But...” he sighed, “I can’t get back to Earth. I have no idea how the hell I got here, and neither will anybody else. By now, they definitely found my car, probably saw all of the blood but no body, no footprints, no sign of me at all.”

“Forgive me,” Thal’rin interrupted, “that word you just used: ‘car’, you mentioned it during the trial. May I ask what that is?”

“Oh...it’s a machine we use for transportation.” Vincent said.

“Ah. Forgive the interruption. You can continue.”

“But yeah...my family probably found my car by now, but not me. I’ve just vanished. My family spent the holidays wondering where in the hell I was, and they are still wondering where I am. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? That’s what you are asking me to accept. I have no way to contact them and even if I did, what in the hell would I even say? They wouldn’t believe any

of this.”

Vincent wondered what his family was doing now.

“But...I would try to get home,” he said, “maybe bring one of your conduits with me so we could study, provide proof of alien life. If I thought this was real, that would be my goal: get back to my family. But you’re also asking me to accept that you have this amazing power, but you can’t use it to send me back because of...because of ‘pride’?”

Thal’rin didn’t show offense at Vincent’s frustration nor did he blanch at his disrespect. Indeed, the creature continued to gaze outward at a city of jade and granite, its majesty reflected against his golden orbs. He gave Vincent the impression that his frustration and skepticism was one Thal’rin had heard from others hundreds of times before. They both watched the youth with the bobbing light scale the outside of his home until its parents called him inside. Thal’rin looked down at the railing and sighed.

“’Namelessness makes a person of the light,’” he recited.

“What?”

“It is a saying by Culen Throweir, an academic and philosopher who devoted his life to studying flamewielders...that is, channelers who at some point in their lives wielded Weaverfire. The saying is a bit cloying for my tastes, but there is truth to it. Though he was never a wielder himself, he made an interesting observation of many of the well-known wielders throughout history. Many of them were unassuming. They had no rank, they had no wealthy bloodlines. Few were educated and many were dumb by our standards. Even Naikira Laneus, who founded the Naikiran Way, from what we know of her, was born to a simple laborer. Many channelers who wielded Weaverfire were little more than dirt to society.”

“I am one of the few exceptions to that observation.” Thal'rin's voice, though it remained calm, took on a haunted inflection. “I am educated and I am smart. None of those things helped me wield Weaverfire. The thread that linked me to those channelers, is humility...and it took a primal force to make me feel it.”

“I...don't understand what you mean,” Vincent said, “what does pride have to do with it?”

“There is a will behind the flames,” Thal'rin said, “in order to make you understand the significance of that will, I would have to inundate you with our beliefs about the creation of the world. Just know that we were once able to tap into Weaverfire, but a betrayer among us rebelled, tainted our blood and souls, and the natural consequences of that rebellion have been felt among each of us ever since. The pride and malice we naturally inherited from that act taints the good in us to the extent that our wants are often incompatible with the will that guides the flames. If we try to force the gate open without surrendering our pride and our wants...we destroy ourselves. That is what is often misunderstood about my legacy. It had nothing to do with prowess...but with the fact that I was scared to my core.”

“I was told you protected this place from a giant wave.”

“A giant wave...” Thal'rin repeated, he seemed rather amused by those words. “It was the thing that sent the wave that terrified me, not the wave itself. One of the deepwater eels that churn Falius' waters swam through The Great Divide. We don't know why it did, but the wave was but the mere wake it left behind and it alone threatened to drown the entire city.”

“An eel did that?” Vincent asked in disbelief, “how big was it?”

“I didn’t gaze upon it. But if you wish for a sense of its scale,” Thal'rin gestured to the crystalline orb housing the city, “the entirety of Meldohv Syredel resides in one of their egg shells.”

It took a few seconds for Thal'rin's words to sink in. When they did, Vincent's brain simply froze, and he felt the world trying to list beneath his feet. He was incapable of envisioning a creature that massive. It would be a doomsday machine. Its scale would be incomprehensible.

“Yeah, that's not physically possible,” he muttered, “it is physically impossible for a creature that large to exist.”

“If you were to stand at Meldohv's entrance and watch as visitors poured in,” Thal'rin said, apparently not hearing him. “You would see some of them drop to their feet. Though it has been millennia since this egg incubated life, we can still feel its power. The deepwater eels are the most potent, the most powerful creatures to share this world with us. As such, every living organism including ourselves, has an instinct to fear them. That sensation fades the longer you stay in the city and soon, you no longer notice it.”

“Anyway, I am afraid I am going on a tangent. If a mere emanation from an egg can cause people to drop to their feet, you can imagine what one of those creatures did to me. It is a fascinating tale...which I will save for another day, for its telling demands nuance, and nuance demands time we do not have. But the point is that it terrified me more than anything in this world ever has, save for the idea of losing one of my sons. Summarized in a few words, I realized how insignificant I was even though I was given prestige and in my desperation, I reached out and begged for aid. The aid was given, not taken.”

“I am no longer that man, Vincent,” Thal'rin continued, “I learned many things about myself from that encounter. But, at the risk of sounding overly introspective, there are things within me now that would inhibit me from opening the gate again. It seems humility can be fleeting, even after being faced with mortal terror. I have too much pride now. I know this answer is not an answer at all...and I am sorry for it, but it is the only one I can give you.”

A silence passed between them both. Vincent opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. What would he say? He had no clue what the creature was talking about. But Thal'rin's sincerity disarmed any anger he might have otherwise felt.

“We don’t know what your role is, if you even have one,” he continued, “we, The Thirteen and I, are obligated to find that out. While I will do anything I can to help you, you can expect to be pulled into our affairs. I say this not because I wish for that to happen, but because I want to be honest with you. If I told you we would be able to let you be, that would be a lie. If you truly are a figure predicated upon in the Lore of Contradictions, then your role in our history will not be insignificant. Your mere presence alone merits acknowledgment because of your immunity to the Bane. The Lore of Contradictions only compounds that. We cannot ignore you.”

He waited for Vincent to reply, but what could he say? So all he got in response was silence.

“Tomorrow, I wish to take you to The Deep Archives,” he continued, “there, you will meet our most seasoned tuhli, as well as the young man who first suggested the idea of the Saedharu’s arrival. But–”

“–I refuse,” Vincent said, “I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but I said I'm not playing along with your games.”

“Vincent, you misunderstand my intentions. Yes, it is my hope that not only would an exploration of the Saedharu shed light on you, but perhaps it may also give us a clue as to how you arrived. Anything that can reach across realms is a threat to us. Also, it is my hope that we will eventually find a way to send you back to your family.”

“Yeah, I'm not biting. Nothing you or your 'tuhli' do will change anything. Either I’ll wake up, or I’ll die in a coma.”

Thal'rin didn’t appear to be offended. “You truly fear losing yourself,” he said thoughtfully.

“Like I said, you haven't seen what can happen to us. I'm not going to let it happen to me.”

“Somewhere, there is a profound irony in this situation. Well, I will do my utmost to respect your wishes for as long as I am able.”

Thal’rin put a wing over his eyes and looked down the street. “I believe I see Bayont, my wife,” he said, “I suppose I must make my way down to greet her and assure her I have not addled my mind when I sent her word that a myth is taking residence in our guest room. If I cannot persuade you to come with me to the archives, then perhaps I can at least persuade you to join us tonight? Not as an ambassador, but as...” The High Channeler scratched his head as he sought the right words, a hesitation Vincent suspected was very rare for him. “Well, our sons have long since moved out and, the truth is...our home feels a little empty without them. You seem about their age, assuming our lifespans match your longevity. Well, call it an old fool's sentimentalism. We would enjoy your company. Well, I would anyway. I have so many questions.”

Thal’rin’s voice took on a sudden note of mischief. “I’m not sure what Bayont's reaction will be, but I suspect it will be amusing. She will of course, wish to meet you either way.”

Dammit, Vincent thought.

He wanted to refuse the creature's invitation because he knew he would probably be cringing the entire time. But Thal'rin was so damn sincere and affable, he couldn’t help but take a liking to him.

“Yeah...sure.”

“Consider your answer wisely, Vincent,” Thal'rin said with something bordering on glee, “I will not be able to stop myself from inundating you with a thousand mundane questions about 'Earth'.”

Vincent closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Wait,” he said as Thal'rin was about to leave, “you're the leader of the entire region...or at least very important. Why are you alone with me after what I did? And after everything I said while I was wearing those 'truth' cuffs?”

Thal'rin seemed to weigh his words before he responded.

“If this is about Teresis,” he said, “we own that tragedy. It is not on your shoulders. Let us bear the guilt. As for the 'liars handcuffs', they reveal a state of both mind and belief, which is what we sometimes use to inform our decision. They do not reveal absolute truth. If somebody steps on my tail, in that moment, I may truly wish to harm them. If I were wearing the handcuffs, I would most likely admit as much. But that sentiment is fleeting. I assume your words against us were a reaction to your situation."

Vincent nodded.

"As for why you are with me, you are safest here. If you are asking why I am unguarded? Well, the answer is that guards are not needed. I am not defenseless. I mentioned my power has its dictations, one of them being that I am both allowed and am able to defend myself.”

Vincent waited for Thal’rin to leave and remained in the courtyard for a bit longer before heading back to his room. He replayed the conversation through his head numerous times. Though he was a paranoid, cynical person almost by nature, he couldn’t detect even a bit of either mendacity or duplicity in the High Channeler's words. Thal'rin came to his door later that evening to repeat his invitation and Vincent accepted, following him downstairs.

Bayont, Thal’rin’s wife, was tall and was the color of evergreens. Like all Falian women, her snout was shorter and softer than the male counterparts. It was difficult to discern her thoughts as she scrutinized Vincent, but he thought he could see hints of disbelief in her eyes. However, she held herself with an air of silent dignity. What did she say to Thal’rin when he told her what Vincent was? Was she so ready to believe he was an alien as he did?

“Vincent Cordell,” she said, a faint smile creasing her aged snout. He felt an ear twitch against the side of his head as it caught hints of an accent. “Bayont Cyos, bonded to Thal’rin Cyos. I see Falian stand before me, but he says you are...not Falian?”

She asked it as if she were inquiring about what school or what subject he was majoring in. Though there was an undertone of shock to her words, a disbelief that she was even uttering them.

“No, I mean, yeah, he's right,” Vincent said, secretly thinking that this kind of exchange would never happen on Earth in any kind of formal setting. It would take place behind the doors of a lunatic asylum. The questions would come from a shrink, not from the wife of a dignitary.

“Then I welcome you and shed apologies,” she said, taking a step forward and reaching her clawed digits toward his face. Instinctively, he took a step back and recoiled from her gesture. At this, Thal’rin snickered.

“He is not familiar with the greeting of your people,” he said, “to him you are a strange creature trying to grab his face.”

“Thal’rin!” she hissed in embarrassment. “I do not know what I should say or how to greet him! I feel tail-tugged.”

“Vincent,” Thal’rin explained, “she is embarrassed because she does not know how to welcome you. The placing of palms upon cheeks is a traditional greeting from her birthplace. But I told her that to you, she is a strange creature trying to grab your face.”

Vincent didn’t know why Thal'rin needed to repeat this for him, he heard every word. “On Earth, we shake our hands,” he said. Then to his slight amusement, Thal’rin raised his own hand and began to shake it in the air. “No...I mean we shake each other’s hands,” Vincent clarified, “I hold my hand out like this, you grab it, we shake briefly, then let go.”

On Vincent’s prompting, Thal’rin reached forward and grasped his hand. Perplexion and amusement wrinkled the creature’s snout at the brief gesture. Then they let go.

“Huh...” Thal’rin mused. Then Bayont did the same. Vincent could feel his insides churning from embarrassment. Teaching dragons how to shake hands was something that would appear in a cheap made-for-TV special directed toward children. The level of embarrassment in the air made him want to tear the flesh off his face.

“I wonder what the philosophy behind such a gesture may be,” Bayont said in a hushed voice.

“Bayont was wondering about the history behind this gesture,” Thal’rin said, “does it have meaning?”

“I don’t know,” Vincent said. Again, he did not know why Thal’rin repeated what Bayont said, “It’s just, everybody does it.” Perhaps it had something to do with the role of women in their society. Maybe the males felt they needed to explain what their wives meant when they spoke. But then he thought of Slade. Somehow, he doubted she would let anybody explain her words. Something else was going on.

“You must join us,” Bayont said, “you live on his food and that provided by the servants. That is not life.”

“Your words are harsh,” Thal’rin said playfully, “he is not dead...”

“He is emaciated and weak,” Bayont shot back in quickened whisper, “he is a step from death and will be carried away by the wind. Have you been feeding him grass?”

“It’s...fine,” Vincent said. At these words, both Thal’rin and Bayont did a double take and stared at him. “I didn’t eat much. But you’re right, I'm uh...skin and bones. But it was even worse when I got here, I think. I haven't looked in a mirror much.”

Vincent didn’t know why they were giving him the stares he was receiving. Was it something he had said? Was it some other cultural taboo that he had unknowingly broken? Somehow, Bayont looked even more mortified by his words.

“You...” Thal'rin said, mouth twisted in wry amusement, “you understood what she said?”

“Yeah?” Vincent said.

“Do you understand what I am saying right now?”

“Yeah, I don’t see why I shouldn’t. You are both speaking English. At least...that’s what I’m hearing.”

“No,” Thal’rin said, “up until now, I have been addressing you in Upper Meldohn. And just now, Bayont has been addressing me in her home language of Scrale and you just answered her in kind.”