Ideworld Chronicles: The Art Mage

Day in the story: 16th December (Tuesday)

Peter's interrogation dragged on, but soon enough they decided to search him more thoroughly. That's when they found my eye-card. Naturally, it led to questions—about the card, about its connection to the others discovered in Jason's room and backpack. And Peter, of course, told them the truth. Which is why the card was sealed away somewhere, beyond my senses, leaving me blind and deaf on that channel. Such a shame. Would it really hurt him to lie once in a while?

When the beholder finally drifted off into the distance, Nick wasted no time assigning duties. Malik was told to secure our retreat room—he grumbled at first, but Caroline left Loki with him for company and his mood instantly flipped. Nick himself went with Caroline, advancing toward the Solitary Twin to check for signs of Unreflected or Shattered activity. As for me, I was tasked with seeding the area with as many eyes as I could manage, building a net of vision that might help us track or even trap the Shattered when the time came.

So I set to work, moving between the trees before the Solitary Twin, each step bringing me into a better position to scatter my cards. The trees around nine eleven memorial in this version of the city differed greatly from their earthy, leafy counterparts. Here, each leaf was a jagged shard of mirror, while the trunks and branches were forged from polished black steel.

The memorial itself appeared as a bottomless pit of black ooze, from which the Unreflected occasionally crawled. I decided it would be best to avoid that place for now.

As I worked, I concentrated on the pull of one thread in particular—the link to a card I had left behind in Jason's apartment.

I couldn't reclaim the Authority I had invested into it; it was too far outside my aura. But I could cut the tether itself. And soon, with so many eyes open at once, I would have to—too many channels meant too much noise.

It wasn't difficult. I had done it before, just not at this range. The soul-thread snapped instantly, and I felt the ephemeral whispers of my Authority unravel, evaporating into the air as if the card had been destroyed outright.

Good. Very good. The ability to let go on command, to sever my vision from places I no longer wished to witness, that was a skill worth far more than the card itself. A paramount one to have.

The area I was tasked with surveying was relatively easy to navigate. Within the Domain of the Solitary Twin, no corporate zombie dared to step foot, and the Domain's power did not feel intrusive. Instead, it carried a heavy sense of unevenness, amplifying every emotion that could attract the Unreflected.

I noticed the black creatures floating within the windows of nearby buildings, their eyeless stares fixed on me as I passed. Mostly, they only watched. I found myself wondering what it was like to see as they did. Then it struck me—I was in a unique position to actually try.

I would have to paint their stupid eyeless faces later to check how they see the world. Maybe that would give me some insight into them. When it comes to that I might also check out the eyes of shattered, with those cracks in them.

**********

The plan was simple and already in motion. Since I was the most mobile, and my senses the sharpest, I was the bait. Simple doesn't mean easy—or elegant—so don't judge me.

I was painting a massive, obscene One World Trade, shaped like a dick, right across the façade of the Solitary Twin. Above it, in equally tasteless font, I scrawled that all its residents and their glass-god sucked. It had worked on Shiroi back in the day, and in a world like this—where symbols and ideas mattered more than flesh—I figured a crude insult might be the best lure. After all, graffiti was as old as civilizations: raw, primal, a phallic declaration scrawled against authority. Consider it a high-class art lesson in low shapes.

Because while cultural specifics vary, people are universally simple and dumb.

As I finished the curve of Mr. Dick's swollen, nutty head, faces began appearing behind the skyscraper's windows. Human at first glance—until you caught the cracks seeping with shadowlight from their eyes. One of them, hopefully, was our target. But of course they weren't going to send out anything valuable first.

The first to step out was an Unreflected. A big one. The biggest I'd seen yet. Less the slender silhouette I'd come to expect and more like a professional athlete—built like a basketball forward, strength woven into every limb. It moved with unsettling patience, every step measured, deliberate. And yet its body seemed strung together from metallic black cords, flexing and recoiling as though it were a puppet that puppeted itself.

I didn't stop painting.

Not even when it halted a few feet away from me, tilting its head. Then, with a voice far too soft, too feminine, for the monster it was, it asked:

"What are you doing?"

Each syllable bared jagged glass-teeth, words slicing the air as they left its mouth.

"I'm making sure everybody knows your hospitality sucks," I answered, still tracing strokes, while five more Unreflected slinked at the edge of my vision, circling from behind.

"Hospitality?" it asked. "You want to come in?"

"Is that an invite?" I countered, catching Nick inching closer from his hiding spot, protective instinct flaring.

"No. We don't want you inside. We want you gone."

I kept painting, never looking up. "See?—" I caught myself. "I mean… feel? You're terrible at hospitality."

The thing twitched, stirred like my words were scratching at it.

"I'd rather talk to a manager than some lackey," I added.

Instantly, the five creeping figures froze as the big one flicked its head.

"We don't have managers. Tell me why you are here. Why you want to enter."

Was it voicing its own thoughts—or parroting someone else's?

"I'll only say to someone who looks more like me, you know?" I tossed Jason's careless catch-phrase into it. "I'm xenophobe like that. You shadow-folk are too uncanny valley for my tastes."

With the last stroke finished, I straightened, slipped my cans into the bag, and looked directly at it for the first time.

To my surprise, it flinched. Drew back.

"Shattered will not come out to meet you," it hissed at last, the others retreating with it, step by step. "You may stay here at the threshold if you wish. But if you enter… we will attack. We will kill you."

It moved backward, never turning, until the mist swallowed its form.

"By we, you mean who exactly?" I asked, strolling a few steps after it. Nick stiffened but held his position.

"Anyone necessary."

"That's so inefficient. Maybe we could've handled all this with a simple talk."

"We are talking. It leads nowhere."

Yet I saw them stir—Shattered behind the windows, whispering to each other like moths rustling against glass.

"I wasn't exactly forthcoming," I said, lowering my voice to conspiratorial. "I represent a company that makes clothes for the Shattered. We noticed there's a market for that. Let your naked friends know, okay?"

The thing smiled. A wicked little curl of jagged glass, but a smile nonetheless. The Shattered overhead lingered only a few seconds more before gliding back into shadow. Clearly, my humor hadn't landed.

"I will let them know," it said. "But clothes are not necessary for masters of reflections."

"Are they?" I pushed.

It hesitated. "…Are they what?"

"Masters of reflections."

"Yes. They are."

"Would they reflect on your passing? Or are you just another tool to them?"

The creature stiffened. Those behind it halted mid-retreat, pivoting back toward me. Even two Shattered reappeared in their windows, watching—or directing—it, hard to tell.

"Every Unreflected is dear to our masters," it said at last. "My passing would bring them much sadness."

"Are you sure?"

The watchers pressed closer to the glass. The tension pulled taut.

"Yes."

I slipped a card from my holder.

"Let's test that theory." I said, rolling the card between my fingers, a sleight of hand trick to snag its attention. Funny thing—despite the lack of eyes, its head tracked every flick of my hand like a hawk.

Which was exactly why it didn't see my other hand move.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The second card hissed through the air—death in steel and paper—until it punched straight into the eyeless face of the shadow stalking behind me. The impact froze both card and creature mid-motion, suspended in a momentary trap of zero momentum. For a heartbeat it hung there, skull pinned, then collapsed to its knees with a soundless whump.

The Unreflected in front of me turned too late, realizing too slow. By the time it registered, the first card was already at its throat, biting against shadow-flesh.

"So?" I asked softly, pressing just enough for it to feel the promise in the edge. "Seems like they're just watching."

"You murdered my kind unprovoked," it hissed, glass-teeth glinting. "You are a monster."

"Unprovoked?" I barked a laugh that carried razor-sharp. Around us, everything went still—Nick, Malik, even the Shattered in their high windows. "Are you kidding me? You came into my world. You dragged a man close to me into yours. And when I came to pull him back, you stood in my way. And now you have the tenacity to call me the monster?"

Its body coiled tighter, a hiss bubbling in its throat.

"What man?" it demanded.

"Jason Smith."

"You came for him?" the Unreflected asked, head tilting.

Before I could answer, the air shifted. The glass doors of the tower parted, and one of the Shattered emerged.

He was striking—an African-American man of slender build, silver beard braided into lines of age and authority, long dreadlocks gleaming like molten quicksilver. Naked, like the moment of creation—or recreation, in their case. His skin caught the Solitary Twin's haze, shimmering with fractured reflections.

"We asked Jason," the Unreflected at my throat added, voice suddenly deferential. "He said he wants to come with us."

"You asked him?" I didn't waver. I'd expected a ploy like that—flipping consent into a shield.

"We did," the Shattered said, his tone smooth as glass. He stopped only a few feet from me. Close enough to strike, close enough to tempt me into striking first.

Now I was boxed in. Four Unreflected hemming me in the rear, one trembling in my grasp, and a Shattered radiating authority from the front. Perfectly reasonable odds.

He raised his chin, silver eyes narrowing with calm amusement. His voice carried like a sermon, measured, unhurried.

"We come unannounced—that much is true. But we do not come to harm. We always ask those in need if they wish to join us." His gaze didn't blink, didn't move. "Jason felt trapped in a love unreflected, and in a path forced upon him by others. He had no hope left, no choice he believed was his own. We offered him a life with meaning. And he accepted."

"You offered him a life? You want him to become one of you?" I asked, shoving the hulking shadow aside. I twirled the card before holstering it, shadowlight spiraling with the motion as it sank back into my soul. A little flourish never hurt.

"He is already undergoing the change," the Shattered replied evenly but paying attention to my trick. "If he survives, he will become like me—or my family."

The big Unreflected picked itself up, silent again, as if its part in the conversation had ended.

"I want the process stopped. And Jason released." I snapped the thread tying me to Caroline's eye-card—a signal. She just lost the vision I gave her. She'd know what to do.

The Shattered tilted his head, silver dreads brushing his shoulders. "He made his own choice. I understand that you were driven here by strong emotion, so as courtesy to him, I will let you leave unharmed. Despite what you did here today. Despite what your group has already done. Take this offer, walk away—and perhaps you will see Jason again, if he wishes it."

Then he turned his back to me. A deliberate insult. Naked spine gleaming with fractured light as if daring me to strike.

"Catch and bring." Caroline's voice moved through the other card she held, quiet but carrying a weight that was anything but.

And Loki—oh Loki. She broke her stealth order with the same enthusiasm most dogs reserve for squirrels. One second she wasn't there, the next she was grinning wide, snapping the invisible leash around the Shattered's throat.

Then she ran.

And the mighty, silver-dreaded master of reflections collapsed face-first, dragged bare-assed through the dust like a sack of potatoes.

I couldn't help it—I laughed. Actually laughed. The Unreflected froze around me, their perfect menace shattering into disbelief.

The big one finally turned its jagged glass-toothed face back toward me.

"You know this dog?" I asked, shrugging.

And you know what? It worked. Instead of focusing on me, this Unreflected and the others ran after the Shattered and Loki, leaving me standing there alone. I, for one, certainly hadn't expected that. Neither had Peter or Malik, who were already on their way to back me up, only to stop and back off once they saw what was happening.

So I started to retreat, watching the chaos unravel like a badly cut improv show.

Some Shattered had been watching me earlier—painting and talking smack to their people—but the moment Loki made her move, they bolted back inside the tower. All except one.

From the main entrance, another figure emerged, sprinting toward me at impossible speed the second the doors parted.

And that's when it happened.

From the center of this approaching Shattered, a light bloomed—gentle, radiant, expanding into a perfect sphere. It washed over me, swallowing me inside, then rippling outward until it encompassed a hundred feet or more.

The world changed.

The cracked glass-trees turned lush, green, and alive. Grass and wildflowers burst from the ground in an instant. Birds sang overhead like the soundtrack of a summer morning.

It was strange. It was beautiful. And for a second, I just stood there in the middle of paradise, wondering what kind of Shattered could twist Ideworld into something that actually looked like hope.

It was breathtaking, sure—but beauty doesn't keep you standing when the world decides to press you flat.

A sudden pulse of gravity slammed into me. One second I was upright, the next I was sprawled on all fours, chest heaving, lungs burning like someone had swapped the air for molten lead. My body betrayed me, forced down with the kind of violence that makes you wonder if bones can shatter just from existing.

And then the worst part hit.

I saw them—my links, my threads, every single tether I had to my creations, all the work infused with my Authority—snuffed out. All at once, erased from my soul's sight as though they had never existed at all. Even my painted suit abandoned me, its strength evaporating like cheap paint washed out in the rain.

"Order your people to return my son."

The voice carried from above me, heavy and resonant. Both masculine and feminine, twined together until it was neither and both at once.

"I— I can't." My words came ragged, desperate, while I forced focus onto my Lifeline Talisman, willing a world to move around me.

"You will not weasel out of here, child. You are within my Domain, and in Nature, everything moves according to its rhythm. I have authority over your teleportation, and I will use it to deny you."

"Domain… of nature?" I asked. "Aren't you… Shattered?"

I forced my chin up to look at the figure pinning me. The Shattered stood naked before me—feminine between the hips, a man's chest, a boy's face polished smooth and bald, the entire body devoid of a single hair. Their eyes, cracked and pale blue, caught mine.

"I am," they said. "It doesn't stop me from cultivating my own Domain. Why can't you call back your people?"

"They're too far away."

"I see. Will they come back for you?"

"No. They won't."

"That's a lie. I will wait with you then. My name is Joan. Nice to meet you."

There was no mockery in their tone. With power like this, I figured they didn't need to mock—they saw me as nothing.

"Nice to meet me? You… are pressing me into the ground," I managed to choke out.

Immediately, the weight vanished. The release was so sudden I jerked upward, momentum from all that pressure throwing me off balance.

"Thanks," I muttered, settling cross-legged into the grass, staring at Joan. They just stood there, calm, like they had all the time in the world. And yet—this was someone who wanted their "son" back badly enough to bend reality for it. Caroline might've been right: they might actually be willing to trade.

"Will you trade your son for Jason?" I asked.

"Trade? They are no slaves to be traded." Joan's double voice stayed calm as they looked at me. "I can see you are uneven too, but you resist it. That is admirable, child." Their words lingered a moment before returning to mine. "We will not exchange them. Jason will soon become a son of mine. I will not give away one son for another."

"A son? Are you the Solitary Twin?"

"No. I am merely a servant to a God older than this tower, older than the form it wears now."

"Will you kill me?" I asked. What startled me wasn't the question but the calmness in my voice. This Domain of nature—did it… suppress fear? I felt none. None at all. It was unnerving in its own way.

"I do not intend to. I understand your compulsion. I admire it, even."

"Your Unreflected said you care about them," I pressed, locking onto those cracked, blue eyes. There was definitely something off in the way I was acting, too steady, too detached. "Yet you'll let me go?"

"Yes, we care about them. Care enough that we collected their bodies and gave them proper burial. One that let their memories be preserved, reused in their reimagination. Their death wasn't the end, and I would not punish you for something reckless—but reversible—if your intentions were pure."

"Who are you, Joan?"

"I am a Shattered, and a mage. An archmage, by human standards. If you ask about my deformations—"

"I wasn't asking about that. I understand people can be different." I cut in, and that interruption made them smile.

"You do now. But people when I was born weren't so accepting. I was neither fully woman nor man. I didn't accept myself, nor did my community. That fracture—that rejection—led to me being Uneven. I did not feel like my body reflected who I was."

"That was my question," I said, holding their gaze. "Who are you?"

"I admire your curiosity. Most of my family focuses far too much on themselves. A noble pursuit, yes, but dull." Joan tilted their head. "So let me ask you something—since we are still waiting for your people to realize what happened. I let them go, by the way. They were ready to fight for my boy, and I didn't want to escalate. Why do you want Jason back?" Their gaze locked on me, steady, piercing.

"Thank you for leaving them. We didn't expect you'd be able to keep me here."

"It was a good plan. But we would never exchange one for another."

"I was led to believe you might." I swallowed. "Anyway, I came for Jason because I thought you'd taken him to… feed off him. I wanted to save him from that fate."

"We do not feed on people—we eat food." A faint smile touched their lips. "We will let Jason go as soon as he is ready. I believe he will be a better person then."

And with that, the weight crushed over me vanished. The Domain, all its beauty and pressure, collapsed back into Joan as if it had never been. My threads returned to sight. My painted armor hummed against my skin again.

"I apologize for keeping you suppressed for so long," Joan said. "I forget myself sometimes. I've lived too long."

"How old are you?" I asked, pushing myself up to stand.

"I am over three hundred by now." Joan smiled faintly. "I believe you will let Edward return to us?"

"I want to see Jason first."

"You are a curious creature. Are you not afraid to die?"

"I know people pretty well by now. If you wanted me dead, you'd have done it already. And honestly—I've already offended you more than I've begged or demanded."

Joan chuckled. "I can't invite you inside. It's a holy place, reserved for our kind. But I could bring you a picture of him, if you like. We do have phones."

"You've got phones but no clothes?" I tilted my head.

Without warning their form shattered and rearranged, like glass in a kaleidoscope. In a blink, they stood in front of me wearing jeans, a blouse, and a jacket. Blonde hair fell across their forehead, eyes no longer cracked. They looked like a man now.

"Our God lends us power. We can change our appearance—even create clothes of our choosing. Phones, however, we bring from Earth. We use them there like everyone else."

"Color me surprised." I folded my arms. "Can I talk to him instead, then?"

"I'm afraid not. Calls don't work in Ideworld. Pictures do."

"Can I give you a card instead? It carries my power—it'll let me see what the painted eye sees." I pulled one out of my holder while, in the background, my gang argued about whether to come for me. They were holed up in the apartment with the Shattered called Edward; Nick wanted to check on me, Caroline said no. Typical.

"That's an interesting power." Joan reached out. I let shadowlight flow into the card, Authority pulsing through it as it left my hand. They watched the transfer but didn't flinch. "You painted before, so paintings are your Domain?"

"Something like that."

"I would take it, but our God won't allow you to see what's inside."

"Picture will do then." I tucked the card back as they returned it, surprisingly careful. "How did you do that Domain-of-Nature thing? Is it one of your soulmarks?"

"It is not. It's Domain projection. When your resonance level is high enough, you will learn it too."

"Resonance level?"

"They don't tell you about that at the guild?"

"I'm not from any guild. I'm a sourcerer."

"I assumed otherwise. I saw one of your people in guild-issued armor."

"She's only here to help."

"I see." Joan tilted their head, as if listening to a thought only they could hear. Then their gaze settled back on me. "Would you consider working for us?"