When Mason blinked, he saw Mowry and Geralt towering over him, but when he opened his eyes, he was back in the tree. In the memory vials, it was as if he were them, or they were him, but having seen them in that white room, he knew that they were somehow distinct from him.

He sat back, and tried to focus somewhere else other than the memories, or the white room, or this strange potion-filled place. Hazily, he saw words.

Glamour has levelled up (4) - Level 10

Congratulations, you’ve unlocked a new soul art! Memory Walker!

Walker: Few can see the branches that hold the lives of all who pass through reality. You have touched on these secrets, and can begin to walk among them.

You’ve completed the hidden challenge Walker of the Tree of Memories: Discover the branch of the Tree of Memories housed within your soul. +2FP Willpower, +1FP Intelligence.

You’ve unlocked the continuing challenge: Walker of the Tree of Memories.

Walker of the Tree of Memories: Learn to move beyond your branch, and explore the realm of memories. As you unlock its secrets, this challenge will update with rewards.

The words made no sense to him on first sight, but he heard himself grumble, “Another challenge with no clear solution.”

His own voice startled him, and he began to Focus on those words hard enough that Analyze triggered. Mason shuddered at the force of all the thoughts that poured into him then. The Trials. He was Mason Nevels, who had decided to fight as hard as he could to survive and damn the consequences.

Those consequences were the birth of the Demon, as the souls he had taken warred within him. Then those memories… Of course, they were Geralt and Mowry’s. That is why they were so angry with him. Sure, he could have their souls, but what did he know about how to do anything with them?

They didn’t get angry with him until he invaded their privacy, until he found a way into their memories. He looked around again, and the memory was fuzzy, but he knew now why he had seen himself fighting that strange, white beast. They had been moving toward the dome, but was this place what was within?

The Tree of Memories, the challenges had indicated, must be where he was. But if this branch were supposed to be housed within his soul, then it couldn’t be in the dome. He glanced at where the doorway was conspicuously missing. If he were stronger, perhaps he could pass that threshold, but all he had was this table, and his soul…

He closed his eyes and saw Geralt still fuming over him. The man couldn’t harm him, not with Mowry protecting him, but if Mason were to push deeper into their memories, perhaps Mowry would reconsider their alliance.

His hands were wrapped around his staff where he was bound, and he clenched his fists around it tightly. It was the first motion he had made in this place other than shifting his head or eyes, but he knew more was to come. Focusing on the staff, he filled it with energy and felt a softening of the muscles in his arms and shoulders as the staff came free of where it was suspended in the air, and his body could finally move around it.

Whipping the staff around ahead of him, he stood in a graceful motion and aimed it at Geralt with his own fierce expression. Something caught him off guard momentarily. He actually felt the changes that came over him when he used the staff. That alter-ego, Demon, was somehow manifest. In that moment, the changes were so obvious Mason could hardly believe he had ever missed them. He was fill with an inner fury, and it spawned a determination to use any power available without second guessing it.

Geralt saw it too, and he hesitated for just a moment. He quickly recovered, stepping forward so that the staff pressed against the center of his chest, leaning so that his height added to his intimidating presence. But Demon saw the hesitation, and was bolstered by the sense of authority he felt over this soul place.

“Back off, Geralt,” Demon roared, shoving the staff forward into the cavity of Geralt’s chest.

The man stepped back and then grounded himself, glowering back, “You are still weak, boy. So you can stand. Are you proud?”

“A few weeks ago I thought I was going to die from seven points of mana running through my body, so you know what? Yeah, I’m feeling awfully proud that I can maintain a presence in my own damned soul. So back off!” Demon roared, pulling energy into his staff that he knew Geralt would notice.

Mowry stepped between the two, placing his hand calmly on the staff, “Mason, you’ve already claimed his soul. Would you really harm him here, in this place?” His face was pulled tight as in worry, but there was a look in his eye that made Demon question whether Mowry was as much of a saint as he appeared to be.

“At this very moment, Mason is behind me. I am Demon, and I will not stand for either of you treating me as a child to be intimidated or bullied. You have knowledge that I need, skills that can keep me alive, history which I can learn from. Yet you’re letting your egos prevent me from gathering any of those because of what? Are you afraid of what I’ll see inside each of you?”

Mowry’s resting hand gripped the staff as his eyes hardened, “Do you believe in nothing sacred?”

“Nothing that will stand in the way of my finding the power to fight in the Trials,” Demon said without a hint of uncertainty.

“Boy,” Geralt started.

“Refer to me as I am,” Demon countered.

“Demon, then,” Geralt spat out. “You ask for too much. You are not my king.”

Demon pulled back the staff and let his demeanor relax. He could feel the horns on his head fading, and his stature shrinking slightly as the glamour dissolved. “No, I am something much greater than your king. Look around- this is my soul. I may not have intended to bring either of you here, but if you wish to remain without me forcibly pulling every memory, skill, and bit of energy from what is left of you, then we should begin to figure out what even ground looks like.”

Mason looked between Geralt and Mowry then, and saw that neither was preparing any obvious signs of rebellion. Nevertheless, if looks could kill, Mason would be far outmatched by the bitterness apparent on each of their faces.

“The Tree of Memories will help him understand that he is not composed of merely his own history now. His actions are unprecedented. I’ve never before seen someone house two complete souls within them without first having tremendous internal power. That dynamic could tear him apart, of course. But if it doesn’t, I think we’ll both be astounded by the results,” Artorias intoned.

“How is it even possible? He can’t even cast a true spell, yet you’re saying he used a soul art that you’ve never even seen?” Leornal asked.

“This plane we’re on is not like any of the material realms I have ever been on,” Artorias started. “It’s guided by a magical force which makes my own prowess look like a bag of party tricks. And it seems that for some reason, that force has been enabling your companion to make use of the abilities in that staff by powering them directly.”

“That force is casting the spells for him? Wait, so they’re being cast by a god?” Leornal cried out, shocked.

Artorias looked solemn, “I don’t know exactly. These Trials are something I cannot begin to explain so quickly. I can only guess by what I see in your memories. But more to the point, if that boy cannot begin to tame the souls within him, his own will surely corrode to the point of ruin. Even a master of Soul Arts would strip a soul to pieces before consuming it.

“Most would completely remove the Branch of Memories within any soul they meant to take, or keep only a few specific memories that they need. But he has the entirety of both souls as whole as they were in their own bodies, and that staff is possibly the only thing keeping them at bay in any way.”

“That staff seems like much more trouble than it’s worth,” Leornal muttered.

“Why do you think I haven’t attempted to take it for myself? I’m doomed enough in this library without corrupting my soul further with something so treacherous,” Artorias chuckled.

Leornal began to pace, “How is someone as powerful as you doomed?”

The chuckle turned sad as he explained, “This whole place is bound by a Soul Stasis spell not unlike what destroyed the rest of the city’s inhabitants over time. My power is still great within the boundaries of the spell, but I will be lucky if I can even maintain it for much longer, let alone leave its protective boundaries.”

“Soul Arts are taboo among my people. I’ve heard of how powerful they can be, but it is said that no one can cast them without ultimately being destroyed by them. My people call it a fate worse than death.”

“Well both your friend and I are prisoner’s within our own souls. I think you can assess the value of the power yourself.”

Even with his eyes open, he was no longer disconnected from that place within his soul, or the voices of Mowry and Geralt. They both used their own methods to try to reason with him, but he tuned out their voices like he was turning the volume dial on a car radio. Once more he contemplated the dark, rich wood of this room, and the myriad potions that represented the memories of himself and the souls he had taken.

What information lay within those bottles?

Seeing just a brief snippet of the lives of Mowry and Geralt, he felt like he understood something that until now he had been completely missing. They were entangled with him, not merely hostages held in some room that he didn’t understand. Theoretically, he assumed, he should be able to pull up their memories as easily as his own, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

Mason couldn’t wrap his head around what it truly meant to have taken their souls, but he was beginning to see that mana was the first key to being able to explore an inner world buried within him.

He felt his mana, a faint, small pool in the core of his chest that burned ever so slightly, and he could pull it around his body with a bit of focus. It was easier to push it out all at once, or throw it in the form of Mana Blades. In order to precisely pull it around with him, he had to devote his full attention and a great deal of energy.

There was another spot in the center of his chest where the mana seemed to form and also remain, and he imagined that must have something to do with his soul. He pictured a small, white orb, though with his limited control of mana he could tell almost nothing about it. Still, there were secrets within him that he was just beginning to understand.

Mana, his soul, the Tree of Memories. How were they tied together? What powers could he develop by learning to master their secrets?

He remembered the rune then, but could tell Mowry was in no mood to seed his thoughts on it. Nevertheless, he had studied it enough to bring it up from his own memory. With that image pulled up in his mind, he began trying to pull that small seed of mana within him to loop around in that shape. It seemed to resist his pull the further he got along that path, but at the same time, the mana grew agitated, almost vibrating under his concentration.

But something clicked in him as he almost finished the rune. This was the Tree of Memory. He was not truly aware in his body, not fully. What would even happen if he finished the rune?

More importantly- how did he get here?

It was a serious effort to make contact with his true memories, and he felt himself pulled from the Tree of Memory as he did so. His consciousness flittered in a limbo somewhere between the Tree of Memories and the soulscape which housed his companions. At the least, however, here he was present and aware. He could remember entering the Trials, that strange assessment and the days that followed with him eating scavenged food and fighting small wild animals.

But he could not for the life of him remember how he had gotten into the Tree of Memory.