Cup Half-Full or Half-Empty?

The world of Sumatra Chronicles was one that was… Well, grimdark for all but the top existences were putting it lightly. Hell, even those who reached its apex still struggled.

It was a slow climb, like clawing your way up a cliff, only to see the vast mountain tops that lay ahead of you. Others, might feel discouraged to continue. But, for me? I saw it as a challenge for myself. Of the things I could accomplish on my own given the time and resources.

Growth, a desired build, and a plan. That was a all I would need. My only goal was to fight. Like sort of battle junkie or murder hobo. And it wasn't even the rewards that excited me, but the thrill of the battle.

So, I was reborn as a Mammoth Clansmen, one with talent, drive, and the grit to make it happen. It was time to leave my boring life behind, and take this new with by the horns and cackle with mad glee and excitement. It was time to make the most of what I had and do a damn good job at it too.

Looks like there was going to be an Eighth Mystic Path coming to shake things up.

{---}

A cup floated at the center of his vision, lacking any sort of color, or contents, as far as he knew.

However, taking a closer look showed cracks. Imperfections in its design. Then, a surge of information broke through, his mind practically filled with stray thoughts darting from one point to another.

Wrylla, that was the name of the body he had taken over, fully, taken over. Their identities combined and molded, shaping itself it what it was now.

Unfortunately, he wouldn't be given the time to think on his thoughts, he knew what was coming soon. He could only hope that he was ready for what was to come.

Stretching his legs, the boy took a back seat as he observed his surroundings. Just like the beginning of the story, he was in a classroom within the Mammoth Clansmen's settlement. However, unlike what he had expected, he was the only one else in the backrow of the class, every other student sitting ahead of him.

Normally, the Mammoth Clan wouldn't see anything wrong with the situation, but for Wrylla, everything felt extremely off. Like, he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop at any moment.

"If you're going to continue day dreaming, instead of listening, Wrylla," The boy winced, hearing the sharp voice scold him. "Then you might as well jump into the mouth of a pranic beast."

He immediately straightened up, eyes wide open as he stared directly at the teacher, eyes searching for why she decided to be so cranky today of all days. "Yes, miss … Yumira," he took a deep breath, calming his nerves. "I lost focus for a moment, I'm sorry. I promise to do better next time."

"You should," She commented, scoffing as she turned back to the board. "You already have the fragment disease, you should be grateful to even be allowed to use the clan's resources."

It was rude, but ultimately, in line with the clan's philosophy of survival of the fittest. Of the continent's philosophy, for that matter.

People with the fragment disease did not last long once they became adults at fifteen. After all, with the disease making it so that their body's bones shattered far easier than normal, it was difficult to physically grow when each gain you received came at the risk of it going all away because your body couldn't handle the strain.

"As all of you know, prana is made out of three main components. Mind, Body, and Soul," The teacher continued on with her lecture, her words having already been repeated for the umpteenth time that day. "The body nurtures the mind, and the mind guides the body. But what of the soul?"

There was something off with what the teacher had said. Like an off-note key, that he knew felt out of place. However, he couldn't say what was wrong when he didn't know what was wrong.

"While the mind thinks, the body acts. On the other hand, knowledge on the soul is loosely understood. However, what is a mind, if not control. What is the body, if not a self-sufficient system that seeks to work on its own without direct input. The soul is the identity given to us by Sumatra, the will of the land-"

"Evacuate all of the students to the shelters, there's been an attack!" A voice yelled from outside of the classrooms. 

The following silence was somehow louder than than the shout itself. Echoing in its volume as it consumed the entire room. 

It started as murmurs. Then, a breath later, someone got up from their seat, their hands and legs shaky, head turning to watch the entire room. 

One by one, people began to stand, until, miss Yumira herself shook herself from her stupor. "Everyone, get to the shelters, now!"

All hell broke loose. 

It felt like the ground was shuddering, as people rushed for the doors. It was like a riot. And one that Wrylla did not want to get involved with.

Today was the start of the first minor disaster, the first chapter of Sumatra Chronicles, and the third chapter chronologically. The mud vipers would be arriving soon. And he was going to enjoy every second of it.

Making his way out of the door, Wrylla, headed for the shelter, putting in just enough pressure to make sure he bones wouldn't crack. Soon, he reached the entrance to the shelter, a small path way at the back of the academy. It was closed off, and narrow, but with a door large enough to tower over even the tallest student. It looked like it could withstand a bomb, and remain standing. However, the boy knew it wouldn't last especially after the results of the first minor disaster.

Entering the shelter itself, Wrylla took a seat against the wall, bringing little attention to himself. 

The tension that wound him released slowly, his excitement put on hold as he experimented with the power system of the Sumatra. Closing his eyes, he felt for every minute detail of his body. Each sound, each twitch of a muscle, every beat of his heart. 

Wrylla closed himself from the world. Soon, his mindscape was dominated by the chalice that he dreamt of, surrounded by a vast and empty cosmos, filling his vision with stars in the night sky. 

But, instead of examining the cup, he looked inward, looking even deeper into himself, the void rapidly moving past his vision as if he had entered light speed, centering himself once he found what he was looking for.

My spirit container, He thought, amazed by the sight before him. For a human born on earth, experiencing something greater than he was... well, it was simply jaw dropping. Twenty units of Prana.

It was a paltry sum, especially compared to the later parts of the series. But, it would have to do for now. He only had it to rely upon anyways. 

Grasping the energy, it wound around his mind, as a ball, perfectly contained like a vessel waiting to be assigned its use. Then, his mind morphed it into various shapes. Playing with his prana until he had stretched it out into strings. 

It felt like pulling yarn, in the beginning, it felt smooth. Though, the longer he tugged on it, the more tangled and knotted it felt.

For now though, the best thing he could do, was defend the tribe with all the strength he had. And Wrylla was going to do his damn best, even if it meant dying another time.

Patiently, he waited, the door's imposing figure standing over each and every one of them. An aura of intimidation rooting them all to their place, as the sounds of battle from the outside made themselves loud and clear.

Echoes and shouts became boomed in every one's ears. And as the fighting drew nearer, the more tense the room's occupants felt.

Boom! Bang!

KRack!

Crimson pooled by the entrance, as slithers could be heard all around the group. A soft symphony of hisses, all coming from the other side of the door.

They all knew what was coming, but they couldn't do anything to stop it. The flickers of a tongue crept from just out of sight, the hinges loosening, as scratching could be heard from the other side.

Until, the barrier that protected all of the students gave way, and the horde was unleashed among everyone, swallowing them in a tide of brown bodies.

It's now or never, Wrylla stepped forward, his hands extending out as a blue hue coated his knuckles. It's time to show my worth to the tribe.

Taking a running start, he leapt into battle, darting towards the first mud viper that poked its ugly head.

"For the Mammoth Clan!" he shouted, my legs carrying me far, now squaring against the mud viper, Wrylla's battle cry inspiring others to move forward and protect those that were younger than them.

_________________________________

Author's Notes: Been a while since I've written with this much motivation. It must be the Brimgan Ancestor forcing me to write this, but that's neither here nor there. I've been a fan of the work for so long, and just like the characters in the story, I had been day dreaming of ideas and scenarios of what I would do if I were put into the story. Well, he's Wrylla, the white mystic path. I hope he lives up to your expectations.