The Grand Weave

Seeing the tall, powerful man kneeling in supplication felt wrong. When I pictured Brelten, I thought of an unbowed redwood standing against the world. There wasn't any detectable presence of his mana. If anything, the man seemed smaller and more reserved. It felt wrong and was starting to make me feel uncomfortable.

Cal, for his part, tsked in annoyance and waved a dismissive hand. "Despite my reputation, I am not such a petty deity that I'd destroy a village because you reacted to a perceived threat," he said dismissively. When he snapped his fingers, Brelten twitched but remained kneeling. "The wards are back up, but do not disturb them again. I want to finish my discussion with my scion in peace. Do keep out the nosy mouse trying to slip between the shadows."

Brelten was a statue until Cal waved him away. In the same motion, the guildmaster stood up and launched himself back into the inn. A loud thumping sound was heard, but Cal's wards must have reactivated the sound barrier since all sounds cut off a second later.

I raised my eyebrows in confusion and gave the god a weird look. "Is that how you normally act around people who aren't your adoptive children?" I asked suspiciously.

"Sometimes. I'm not one for titles and formality, but if I tried talking to him the way I talk to you, he'd have been even more scared. Gods are an existence above mortals and existence above ascenders. Normally, unless you're a head priest or a divine champion, you'll never meet a god. I might have given the poor man a heart attack if I had tried to be friendly and casual. Formality brings rules, and rules are easier to cope with. Not to my liking, but it is what it is. I imagine he's already started monitoring the village and is actively prepared to jump in and keep people away. It beats the mass panic that would surely break out otherwise," Cal said in a tired tone.

I didn't want to make the situation worse by talking longer than we needed, so I cut to the chase. "So why should I not be beyond furious at you for not telling me about a seal to my memories? And then I find out it's been what? Suppressing my emotions? If you learned anything from my memories, then you understand how I would have felt about my mind being fucked with!" The longer I talked, the more I felt myself starting to rile up. I didn't think it was a building rage like all the other times I got angry, but rather a natural symptom of feeling betrayed and lied to, even if it was a lie of omission.

"Don't think it's special to feel angry about mind control. In the kingdom you are currently in, most forms of mental skills are outlawed. Unless they are used as passive resistance or utility like telepathic communication, all ascenders with a mental manipulation skill are tracked at all times. Not saying people don't use such skills; rather, it's a very hush-hush situation."

"That doesn't answer my question at all!"

He ignored my outburst and conjured a table. On the table were purple cookies with white chunks and a pitcher of cool pink water. He summoned two plates and cups and helped himself to the snacks. Something about the cookies, in particular, made my head hurt.

Wiping away some crumbs, he washed them down with the drink and sat back. "Before you get angry, take a cookie and shut up for a moment. It should quell the headache you're feeling."

I begrudgingly grabbed one of the coloured cookies and took a sniff. It smelled like berries, while the white chunks were obviously chocolate. It had a hint of sweetness that wasn't too overpowering to the nose. When I bit into it, a memory played in my head. It was of Sam and I sitting around the living room with two controllers hooked up to the TV next to us. My heart ached when I saw her smile and laugh at something I said. I remembered that day. It was one of the last times she asked me to make her those cookies before she had to watch her sugar due to her new medication. Before I knew it, a tear leaked down my face, and I put the cookie down while wiping my face with the back of my hand.

"That was needlessly cruel to remind me of that. I didn't need to remember that," I said with a shaky breath.

"Cruel or not, it's your memory to reclaim. Now that you understand what it'll be like moving forward, let me clarify things. Cyrus, your world is soft. You are soft. Your upbringing, while tragic, is soft in comparison. You guys have wars, natural disasters, and assholes just as Inoria does, but it does not compare," he said bluntly.

I didn't refute him, and when he saw I wasn't going to say anything, he continued.

"That's not always the case for a Reborn, but it was for you. Generally speaking, the Weave puts in the memorylock so you'll stay alive long enough in this world to adapt. Did you really think you could chase monsters the size of small adults with nothing but a spear? Not even mentioning how insane it would be transitioning from whatever your original race was to your new one? Imagine an aquatic race who only knew how to transmit sounds and vibrations to see and communicate. Suddenly you're on land with wings and a tail that never existed with lungs that breathe air and not water. The Grand Weave compensated you for being whisked from your world, but it also invested in you. Don't forget that."

"Then why not tell me about it?"

"I would have, but it'd have done you no good if I mentioned it in the beginning. And I was pressed for time when I last saw you. Besides, it wasn't like all of your memories were sealed, just most of them. Especially the core parts of you that would have actively hindered your adjustment to this world."

"You promise that? You swear that you would have told me?" I asked seriously.

He matched my gaze. "Yes. I swear to the Grand Weave itself on my authority as a god that I tell the truth," he voiced his words, giving off a pressure that made them feel heavy and tangible. Somehow I knew that the Weave would have punished him if he lied.

"So what do I do about these anger management issues? I refuse to be the kind of person that'd murder someone just because they mildly annoyed me," I said exasperatedly.

"Good, good. If you did, then I would have to actually intervene. My domain is not one of needless rage, and it wouldn't do to have my only heir act like it is," he said playfully. He gave me a smirk and took another cookie off the plate. "Truthfully? I can try putting in a temporary seal to help filter out the rage and savagery. But know this. It would be a bandaid at best. It won't last forever, both because that's a harmful crutch and because it won't last long with all the changes going throughout your body. The only real way to not lose yourself to the anger is to train against it. Do what the Orukan do, and learn to coexist, be the master of yourself, and control your emotions."

"Orukan? Orcs? This world has orcs? How much does the stuff from my world hold weight in the universe?"

"Not the same orcs you know from Earth. I'm sure those kinds exist in other worlds, but not any that I know. While they sometimes deal with a racial rage perk, Inoria's Orukan is more martial and spiritually orientated than big, mean, war-driven muscle machines. Think of them more like monks who nomadically travel around the seventh continent going around living off the land in a tribal way but also sidelining as spiritual gurus who just so happen to think duelistic combat is the best means to enlightenment."

"Err... ok. That's actually kinda cool. But what about demons? Surely, not all demons have anger issues. How do we even function as a species if that's the case."

"Mmmm.... you're right. Not all demons have anger issues. The first thing to understand is that demons are from a higher plane. Technically, a higher realm, but that doesn't matter right now. What that means for us as a species is that we experience emotions much more drastically than those of the lower realms. Demons embody the extremes, and whether that is hyper-sexuality, deep sadness, excessive, uncontrollable rage, you will deal with it. For us, Felkins, it's a mixed bag. It depends on the lineage, and yes, my lineage means you'll have to deal with being prone to anger easily. And no, I won't tell you who my parents are. They don't matter."

I munched on another cookie and gave some to Zharia while letting Áine have some of the lemonade-like water. There was a lot of new information to process, and every new tidbit only made me want to ask another ten more. With a glance behind me, I relented to the idea of having to ask more questions at a different date. Part of me wanted to head upstairs and sleep. The stress may have been keeping me going for the last two weeks, but it was starting to take its toll.

I held up two fingers and sat forward. "Last two questions. When can you do the sealing thing you mentioned? And what do I do from here? I... I don't know what to do. Without Sam, I don't want to stay here. With my emotions in flux, it wouldn't be healthy."

He stood up, and I followed. With a clap of his hands, the couches and the table disappeared. The plate of cookies and a strangely full pitcher of lemonade hovered in the air.

"Take the cookies and drink. Nobody would begrudge a father for giving their child some food," he said.

I channeled my mana and summoned Chomperz. The little dragon hovered at eye level with the god and sniffed his horns. With a tiny nod, the dragonling turned around and sucked in the food with a loud chomp. As fast as he appeared, he disappeared back into my chest, returning to my soulspace.

"I'll do it right now before I leave. It'll be crude and fragile, but I'll recreate it the next time I see you. Give or take a week," he said while walking behind me. "Turn around and take off the vest. I need access to your back."

I took off the beaten and scratched leather vest with difficulty. Ultimately, it came apart into a pile of shreds at my feet. The damage it sustained proved too much for the piece of armour. My shirt underneath was in the same condition, and I resolved to find a new piece of clothing rather than trying to save the tattered cloth.

With the god behind me, I started to feel nervous, but a moment later, his warm hand touched the small of my back. I felt his mana pierce into me and spread outward. I tried to probe the mana with my own and guess at the flavour of his mana, but it was like looking at a painting with drunk glasses on or trying to taste a five-course meal while being sick. The difference in tiers between the god and me was too much, and before I could make a second attempt, the mana flared before shrinking into a tiny sigil inside my soulspace. It left no hint as to what the mana was made of, and it added no weight to my soul that I could feel.

"If I wasn't so weakened, I could make that cleaner, but oh well. It's not like anyone will be able to notice it and critique my work," he complained.

I wanted to summon another shirt, but I figured it'd be better to bathe before I needlessly ruined another piece of clothing. Burnt hair and blood covered my body, along with random splotches of dirt and mud.

Cal tapped my shoulder and turned me around. "To answer your final question, it depends on what you want. You said you don't want to stay here, but give it some thought. You know the area, have a place filled with people you know, and there's plenty of space for you to grow. But if you're dead certain about leaving, then talk to the guildmaster. Your biggest priority should be acquiring a full set of skills and passives. As long as you remain unslotted, then you'll stay weak. You'll stay mortal."

"Thank you, Cal. For intervening, for choosing me, for showing up and talking to me. You didn't have to, even if I'm some fancy heir, scion, or whatever. And thank you for looking out for Sam. I may not remember my father from Earth, but you're pretty cool," I said seriously. My inner thoughts were in turmoil, but I meant every bit of sincerity I offered.

Calstrax gave me a broad smile, revealing large, pearly-white fangs. He raised his hand and moved it over my head, but at the last second, he hesitated and lowered back to his side.

"It's the bare minimum, Cyrus. And, uh, don't worry about the whole dad thing. It's a joke, and I don't want to take it too far when your memories are all messed up. Remember to tell the guildmaster not to worry. He won't believe you, but he'll wind down eventually," Cal said softly.

With a flick of his tail, he was gone. The noises blocked by the wards flooded in and overwhelmed me momentarily. Giving a final sweep across the empty village streets, I relaxed my shoulders and rolled my neck. Zharia and Áine rejoined me back on my shoulders.

"Grandpa smells funny. He smells of sweets and spices," Zharia chirped.

"Warm and cold," Aine added.

"Grandpa? I'm not sure we're allowed to call a god grandpa," I said in surprise.

"You call him father."

The tiny bird had a point. I was curious as to how they described him. I smelled or felt nothing outside of his warm hand when he put in the new seal. It was something to note for the future.

I gave both my familiars a gentle pat on the head and knocked on the inn's door. The door was flung open an instant later, with Brelten guarding the frame. Seeing me, he looked behind me before stepping aside and letting me in. The beastkin was gone, but the blood was still there, staining the right wall and a table.

I ignored the wide-eyed looks the others gave me and walked up to Bera. Summoning three silvers, I set them down on the bartop and smiled at her.

"I'll take a room if you have one. And I need a bath, if you don't mind."