“Sam.” A gruff voice said upon entering the room.

“August. Please take a seat.” Sam Colon motioned the head of the Reform Inquisition to a plush chair. “If I had known you were coming I would have prepared a feast. I hope a light lunch will suffice.” Sam continued, motioning to an attendant by the door. She then walked to the other side of the tea table, sitting in an identical chair across from August.

“Trust me Sam, if I knew I was coming a week ago I would have gotten some fine Micron liquor for us to share. It truly has been too long since we have shot the breeze.” The gaunt mage leaned back into his chair letting out a tired sigh. The attendant returned with a tray carrying clear tea cups and a kettle. He mixed up a tea blend for them both to see —more to show the knowledge Sam had of the guests preferences, than an issue with poison— before letting it steep in the kettle of hot water.

“Something must have happened for you to not even know a week in advance,” Sam stared at the exhausted mage, processing all the possibilities for his arrival. August had not arrived in the usual manner. Typically Sam would have ample time to receive him, but not even an hour ago he appeared on his own and requested an immediate audience.

“Fine I’ll just be out with it. You don’t mind if I secure the area do you?” August fixed his posture before visibly activating his system.

“Please do.” An almost tangible pressure was felt at Sam’s acknowledgement. August spread his hands apart, filling the room with his ability. The walls started to shimmer. Sam kept her eyes on August, knowing what would happen if she stared too long at the effects of his class.

“Alright, the room is secure.” August leaned forward, pouring himself a steaming cup of tea as he talked. “The Warden is with us again.”

“The Warden? I thought he went missing along with the Figments?”

“As we all did. I am certain it is him. A few days ago we were notified of two multisystem users around Fort Colon. I decided to scry to get a better general direction, but I was rebuffed.” August noticed Sam’s eyebrows flinch as he continued, “I only saw one thing before I was thrown out: purple eyes.”

“According to the rumors I heard, only Cain has purple eyes.”

“You are well informed. Yes, Cain was the only one with such eyes. However, as there have been no reports of Figments returning, that means only Cain and one other have escaped.

With this in mind, there is a single explanation for the situation.” There was silence as Sam analyzed the implications.

“Why are you here, August?” Sam asked the question that had been nagging at her since he arrived.

“I thought you put it together. I am here because they are,” He responded, nursing his tea.

“I meant why are you here, talking to me?”

“Ah well I was about to get around to that. With the guilds cooperation, I will be taking full control of all cities in the area.”

Yuclaus felt an intense energy strengthen the pulse in his chest. He gasped at the influx of energy, immediately choking on water. Yuclaus panicked at the surge of water filling his lungs. Limbs flailed, pushing Cause in an unseen direction; that is, until he opened his eyes.

Cause found himself in the center of the now empty lake. He started desperately swimming towards the surface. Before even three strokes were made, Yuclaus remembered an important fact: he didn't need air. Feeling embarrassed at the behavior, he locked the moment of panic away in his mind alongside his failed Soul Spore capture.

He looked around taking in the empty bowl of water. Bowl was an apt descriptor, as the ground sloped evenly on all sides of the lake. The mangrove had occupied the exact center of the clear waters. This was apparent from the porous cavity that the root system once occupied.

Yuclaus was giddy at this scene. There could be only one explanation for the emptiness of the lake. He had done it. Yuclaus decided to take a victory lap. That is to say, he attempted to swim to the other side of the lake. It was interesting to note that though Yuclaus had joined his high school swim team for two years, he could only flounder in the lake. Well like a flounder out of water, but in the water. Ok let me try another one. He splashed in the lake like a toddler discovering a fountain for the first time.

Frustration at his swimming abilities and recent embarrassments made Yuclaus claw at the water with more gusto. After minutes of frustration ending in a yell of rage, Yuclaus calmed down. He was glad no one would remember this excursion but himself. Hopefully, even he would forget as he returned to the bus.

Surrendering, Cause sank to the bottom of the lake. He didn’t breathe water to weigh his body down, he just willed himself to sink. This was not something he consciously thought or even noticed weeks after the event. It was something that for once in this story, could not be explained by outward intervention.

He walked out of the lake, feeling somewhat lonely. As he marched on the mangrove initially, he had been followed by a kingly procession of roots. As he left from his victory he found himself alone. It was ok though, he was one step closer on his path to reality.

Yuclaus emerged from the water, ready to see his spoils. He charged up his vine tattoo with the energy from the seal. Unlike when he acquired his spore, the energy flow had not only increased, but so too did his control over it. What had taken him around a minute now only took him ten seconds. The vine filled, and a green flash caused him to shut his eyes.

He kept them closed after the light had abated. First impressions were important, and he did not want to rush his meeting with the Soul Spore. He thought of the majestic crystalline fortress, commanding its fish-like troops to battle. How would it change with it joining his soul? Perhaps he would need to give it rare materials first for it to properly develop. He opened his eyes, unable to handle the anticipation.

What met his eyes was a behemoth of a plant. Rising up to five times his height, drowning him in its shadow, was his Soul Spore. The contour of the plant was magnificent; the way its circular form resembled the planets above spoke of its insurmountability. It was a massive tumbleweed.

I will not repeat the scene that immediately followed. Suffice to say, while Cause always prided himself on poise, his situation for the past few days had understandingly unsettled him. Though the words spoken shall never be repeated, I will not hesitate to sing their praises. The use of adjectives, the creative nouns, the sentence structure...beautiful. Never before had I seen something so disgusting sound like the twinkling of a wind chime on a summer evening. When the wind picks up, cooling down the valley from the harsh heat of the day, swaying the chime. Even if the chime was a disgusting jumble of metal from a scrap yard, the sound of the twinkling could not be ignored. The juxtaposition of the beauty of Yuclaus’ prose and the content thereof was astounding.

After his tantrum, Yuclaus further analyzed the situation. A tumbleweed had in fact interrupted the ritual, but it would not explain the absence of the mangrove. The tumbleweed was also significantly larger than the one which body-checked him. A distant recollection came to Yuclaus in that moment, as if summoned by a foreign entity in his mind: a Rose of Jericho.

The Rose of Jericho is an interesting plant. It looks like a dried up, condensed tumbleweed, but in reality it is a living plant. It can lose up to ninety-five percent of its water and still survive. The dried plant will roll about the globe, searching for the life giving substance. The moment it finds moisture, it settles its roots, and springs to life. In mere hours the plant will unfurl and start restoring itself to a lush green.

Yuclaus was unsure of where this revelation came from, but it rekindled his hope. He looked at his Soul Tumbleweed, and attempted to mentally move it to the lake. As if reading his thoughts, the dried plant rolled to the edge of the water. As it made contact, the plant halted in its tracks. Roots shot down into the earth, spreading into the fertile soil and bare lake alike. The plant started gently unfurling, the scaled roots resigning their roles as the surface of the sphere.

With a few hours left of the rapidly concluding day, Yuclaus decided to wait for the —assumed— mangrove to unfurl. When the sun crossed half of the remaining horizon, the mangrove was returned to its former glory. At least, the edge of its glory. The fish filled the lake once more, but were unable to fully reach the opposite shore. Alongside the distance limitation, the glimmering roots were unable to leave the water.

Yuclaus had gotten his ideal Soul Spore, or rather half of it. While he enjoyed mentally controlling the army of roots, their limitation to water put a damper on Yuclaus’ enthusiasm. Perhaps the tumbleweed was good afterall. Had he only acquired the mangrove, it would have only been able to occupy the water, barred from the land. He could have gotten some resources with Isencia’s help to allow it to bear its might on the land-walkers, but that was now unnecessary.

Now he had a massive tumbleweed. I take it back, I would rather have a mangrove moving over the land like a spider, attacking with shimmering lances. However, beggars could not be choosers. His mind had thrown him this hurdle —perhaps a gift— for a reason.

The sun, however, brought his discoveries to a halt, its dying light a signal for the end of the day. Yuclaus stared at his Soul Spore, and attempted to withdraw it. He tried summoning the green light, touching it, and doing both simultaneously. It seemed he had reached the limit of his capabilities alone. He would need to ask Isencia how to return it to its seal.

By this point, the rays of sunlight no longer filtered around the body of water. Twilight had started to claim its due time. Yuclaus may have trusted his mind to keep him safe while he acquired his Soul Spore, that same trust did not apply to the night. Were he to walk, the last part of his journey would be in complete darkness. The idea inexplicably disturbed him. Yuclaus was about to start the trudge back through the forest when he remembered his Soul Spore still sat on the demarcation of land and water.

Cause mentally nudged the Spore to curl up back into a tumbleweed, hopefully allowing it to roll alongside him. The mangrove was still. Yuclaus tried imagining the mangrove rolling onto its side, and the creaking of branches greeted him. As the semi-transparent maple leaves leaned towards the earth, the roots slowly started retreating. As the canopy raked the soil, the roots rapidly curled upon the plant. Before it had rolled completely upside down, a familiar brown ball greeted Yuclaus.

Cause rolled the tumbleweed to the edge of the forest. Not by his hands, but instinctively. He had gotten used to the impulses he sent to the plant, so by this point it was almost second nature. In his mind he pictured a massive joystick which controlled the behemoth of dried plant matter. Yet he was too late. Night had fallen, and at its arrival, the ground tremored.

It seemed Yuclaus’ dallying had written him a check he did not want to cash. In panic, Cause did something a logical mind would never attempt. He lept at his Spore, having it spread its roots to allow him entrance into the center. He proceeded to koala onto the trunk in the middle, hanging on for dear life. Roll Gourami Roll! In his hysteria, Yuclaus had named his Spore after the Moonlight Gourami. A fish which vaguely resembles the roots of his mangrove. Terror can cause interesting mental connections to form, moreso with unstable individuals. In response to its new name, Gourami gradually picked up speed, snowballing until the tremors slowly died down.

The forest exploded behind the retreating pair. Yuclaus, spinning madly and blinded by the branches of Gourami was unaware of the chaos. Gourami itself was impressed by the mountain of vines and plants which destroyed the area. The two pinballed from tree to tree, trunks conveniently in the perfect places to guide them back to the ruins.