Another Beginning

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The Sanctuary – The Awakening Chamber

Eidos opens her eyes.

Light floods in, burning her vision white hot.

Agony crushes perception, forcing teary lids shut anew.

Defiant, she pries them open, sheer will her only lever.

And here I am again…

Soft, amber light soon bleeds in through trembling slits.

Wider, wider, ever-widening, her efforts begin to bear fruit.

Vision, though blurred, is now otherwise unimpeded.

What use is sight when the world is dark?

Suddenly remembering to breathe, a heaving gasp fills her lungs with the chamber's chill air.

Then remembering to hear, a rushing noise floods her ears, drowning out all sound but the thunderous march of her heart.

Swaying as though on violent seas, the room seems to spin.

Collapse is inevitable.

And if I fall, who cares? My body just gets up again anyway.

Eidos closes her teary eyes to the light, this time of her own volition.

She focuses on the darkness within, the nothingness that awaits.

Anything you do is meaningless, body.

A flame emerges from the murk of thought, consuming all fear, all uncertainty.

Yet this fire is indiscriminate in its consumption.

It singes her fingertips as they reach to caress the crackling glow.

Though warmth and comfort be its gifts, excess in these are its admonitions.

It’s all meaningless because in the end you hurt, get hurt, and then do it again.

She opens her eyes again, this time ready for the flood of light.

Taking measured breaths, the sting of chill air slowly decreases.

And while her heart still races, she feels much surer on her feet.

You know this, body…

Her eyes strain against the ambient light, distorted outlines sharpening into shapes, colors dividing and separating. At last, clarity replaces ambiguity and she is free to observe her surroundings for the first time, searching for hints of… something… anything really… anything but the obvious solitude confronting her.

We’ve been through these pointless motions before.

Eidos stands at the center of an octagonal room. Its pale amber illumination comes not from windows, but from dully shining crystalline sconces adorning the eight corners of the chamber. Though subdued, the light is sufficient to chase away most shadows.

You’ll see it’s all the same.

The stone walls are all richly decorated with murals and symbols, nary an inch of naked stone remaining. One such mural depicts sculpted trees draped in crimson flowers. The trees line a path where people stroll and fountains spray endless streams of water. Though these features suggest a private garden, others distract from this impression. A wolf, a crow, and a serpent skulk furtively in and among the foliage, hidden in plain sight from the oblivious eyes of those who willfully ignore them.

Same walls.

These images span several walls unbroken, except at three points. Two doors, directly opposite one another, interrupt the murals, one painted an immaculate white, the other a murky indigo. A dark glass embedded chest-high into a wall likewise stabs a pitch black hole into the continuity of the murals; its unnerving gaze injects shivers into every fiber of her being.

Same doors.

Yet cold feet soon break the spell, drawing her attention to the floor. The metallic platform she now stands upon seems to sap her body's warmth—showing no signs of stopping.

Same Farcaster.

Eidos crouches, running her hands along a polished, silvered surface. The platform consists of a metallic disk, roughly as wide as she is tall, seamlessly embedded into the tiled floor. Its face is etched with a dizzying array of lines, curves and spirals, all culminating in a Glyph at the center. This Glyph, this symbol, is meaningless to Eidos—yet at least she recollects that it is a Glyph, even in the absence of memory.

You may not remember, body, but I remember it all… every object, every action, every cruel and unfair outcome, everything.

Rising from her squat, her eyes catch an anomaly, and immediately gravitate towards it. It comes from the faintly glowing door, the blue one. She moves toward to it, not from any strong desire but rather because why not?

No. Not everything is the same…

As Eidos approaches the indigo door, she finds it is no door at all. A panel of stone with an arched door frame painted upon it deceives those who would not more closely inspect it. Her fingers run along its edges, feeling a razor-thin gap. From it, a deep blue haze seems to desperately flee whatever lurks beyond.

I’m different now.

Painted within the door frame is a lesser mural. A line of hooded figures solemnly march toward a door off in the distance. The portal they approach boasts no remarkable features, save for a small symbol engraved in its center, a symbol that can only be described as some sort of anti-spiral.

I was afraid before, but now…

The symbol is utterly incomprehensible to Eidos. Intersecting lines form the skeleton of some indecipherable Glyph, its meaning lost somewhere in memory, somewhere in time.

I just don’t care.

Not even bothering to push on it, Eidos turns her attention towards the dark glass.

Where I spoke to Fenrir? Don’t bother, he’s not there. He left after we got the Sigil of Farcasting.

But before her feet begin their tiresome march to it, she loses interest and moves instead toward the white door.

A quick glance reveals that the plain white door has no obvious handle or hinges. Her hand rises, guided not by her will, for Eidos the Impartial has none, but rather, of its own accord. Eidos does not try to stop the renegade limb as it rises to push the door open. Contact made, the milky barrier ripples outward from her fingertips, and yet she feels none of it, just as though she were touching emptiness itself.

Suddenly, a Glyph born from the overlapping of several lesser shapes etches itself precisely where Eidos had first touched. Its meaning is innate to her—and how could it not be?—for it is the Glyph of Eidos.

At the recognition of her name, Eidos can feel the Glyph respond. The portal shimmers, showering the room in chaotic waves of luminescence. The door's surface quickly becomes sharply reflective, casting her image in fine detail. Staring back at her is the figure of a young woman with braided hair, draped in a simple shirt, breeches, and a red traveling robe.

Quite the sight. A body that moves by itself.

But soon, the image begins to fade, the metallic sheen along with it. The space beyond the vanishing door is enveloped in absolute darkness, save a pinprick of light beckoning her from the opposite end. Her feet ease into a lazy stroll as she moves toward the light’s source.

And so it goes.

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The Sanctuary – The Winding Stair

The air here is dry and stale, unperturbed long enough to stratify by density. The thickest of it clusters at the bottom, eating away all intrusions of light.

A thin layer of dust coating the stairs suggests that Eidos' newly added footsteps are the first to disrupt the balance in quite some time. Though the steps may not have seen any recent use, they are in a state far from disrepair.

Distractedly brushing away a swath of the dust with her hand, Eidos sees the floors have been carefully polished, showing no cracks, no threat of crumbling. It is as though they were only recently crafted. Rich marble veins of geometric designs carve their way through this landing, though only humble shapes adorn the individual steps leading to and from it.

Yes, we’ve seen this before, too. Why the repeated investigations, body?

Above, as below, light and dark entrench themselves in a pointless battle for supremacy. But Eidos is utterly unconcerned with their struggle.

And the missing door is still the same, I suppose.

Returning her attention to the more immediate surroundings, Eidos finds that the door has vanished. The chamber beyond is now nothing but the shadow of a fading memory—the memory of an event that may or may not have ever been.

Where to now? The Archives? Or to where we murdered the sentry?

And yet, she does not care why it has disappeared; she merely continues in an arbitrary direction.

Up, her body decides. She does not argue with the decision. And thus, her Falseflesh begins to fight the weight of the oppressive air as she ascends the myriad steps stacked before her. Leaning against the wall for support, she climbs and she climbs until eventually, her unnumbered steps lead her to the top.

To the top, to the sentry’s tomb.

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The Sanctuary – The Hall of Sentries

This short and narrow hallway is lined with the graven images of men and women at arms. They are finely carved, with no trace nor marks of the tools that wrought them. Yet, their forms are rough and simplistic, primarily comprised of simple angles and straight lines.

And of course, the corpse of our first victim.

The ceiling hangs low enough to touch with a short leap, and the corridor's width scarcely exceeds her armspan. A dim light seeps in from the opening at the far end where the hall pours into a vast chamber, though something thwarts the light from completely consuming the doorway.

That’s odd… Why is it…

Eidos walks toward the doorway. As she draws nearer to the opening, the source of the blockage becomes apparent. What once appeared to be simply a void carved from light gains detail. Its weaker shadows emphasize smooth contours and rugged features. Immobile before her stands a tall, statuesque figure, a spear held at its side. Expression cold, and demeanor dispassionate. As if carved from stone, its features are flawless but for the large gashes rent into its face and abdomen. Glistening, blue liquid slowly leaks from its wounds, serving as a natural highlight of the sentry's figure.

Why is this thing alive? I thought we killed it…

In an alcove, nearly consumed in shadows, a Glyph appears to call to her; it offers an escape. And toward the Glyph she travels, not for an escape but rather because it is closer to her.

Then nothing dies in this world?

Stepping upon the platform, a violet light seems to carve a Glyph into its center. A slight rumble and it drops into a shadowy shaft, carrying Eidos into the depths little slower than a free fall.

Even death is meaningless here…

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The Sanctuary – The Archives

Soon, the levitating platform brings her to gentle stop upon the floor of the Archives. Tomes and tables, a dead tree faintly glowing, and that is about it, as far as she is concerned.

Following their familiar pattern, her feet lead her towards the nearest object, in this case, a darkened passageway.

Luin’s Chamber.

Eidos continues further down the passage walking what seems to be an infinite distance, only to arrive right back where she started. Here she absently notes that the platform’s violet glow has dulled but not completely faded.

Perhaps I was mistaken.

She moves toward the platform and it again revives, shining its vibrant light. She then retreats, just enough to trigger its rest.

She waits a moment as the glow dies. It does not take long. The infinite distance she walked down the hallway took even less.

Eidos shrugs her shoulders, unconcerned with her body’s findings.

Her feet try again, moving along the same path, away from the platform and down the passage, again returning to the platform.

No. I’m certain this was the path to Luin’s Chamber.

She hears an echoless giggle, utterly innocent, utterly pure, utterly honest in its desire for violence.

Laugh as much as you want, murderer. All your work is undone in the end.

Then, silence.

Bored with the idea of walking an infinite path an infinite number of times, her Eidos ambles away from the passage and to wherever else seems closest. This happens to be the exit.

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The Sanctuary – The Winding Stair

She is returned to the winding stair, but at a location significantly distant from where she first encountered it and more distant still from the top.

Turning her attention once more to the stairwell itself, she sees that any and all plans to descend have been thwarted—not that she cared to descend anyway. The stairs beyond this point have crumbled away, sabotage a likelier cause than age given the pristine condition of the stairs. And while there is another landing far beyond, one continuing the theoretical spiral trajectory into the void, the gap is far too wide for any reasonable person to consider leaping to it.

Looking down from the edge, Eidos sees only oblivion—making failure to reach the opposite landing even more terrifying…

It’s hard to be afraid when there are no consequences.

More terrifying for a normal person, perhaps. But not for her.

Her arms swing back and forth, preparing her body for the jump. Her legs coordinate their squat with the swing. And soon, she leaps. The mark of bravery? Insanity? Or… Awareness?

Her hands reach out for the landing as she nears it, but it is indeed much too distant, and soon it seems to rise upwards, towards the ceiling and away from her indifferent hands.

Instinct takes hold. A crescendoing sense of impending doom fills her body as it plummets into the depths. Blood and organs are forced to deny their inertia, forced to obey gravity's summons. It is not long before the stairs are altogether gone, consumed by the shadows.

Faster, faster, ever faster, she tumbles into the lightless abyss. As her speed increases, time seems to slow. Unfathomable distances traversed in an instant, all while seeming to never have moved at all.

What an odd experience. No, odder than anything else in this place, I suppose.

Suddenly, pitch black gives way to emerald phosphorescence, as a peculiar greenish sludge now lines the walls of the shaft.

Without warning, the shaft opens into an immense cavern, appearing wider still than the winding stairwell was tall. The air racing against her face brings tears to her eyes as she speeds down towards some gargantuan object. A massive, broken sphere, half-submerged in a radiant lake draws her nearer. Its cracked and ruined surface shows signs of some interior structure, composed of seemingly impossible geometries.

But this peek comes at a cost. For though Luin protects her outer form, her body slams into the massive orb's pitted, sooty metal, liquefying her organs upon impact.

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The Sanctuary – The Awakening Chamber

Eidos respawns upon a metallic platform in the middle of an octagonal room. The garden murals all about leave no doubt that this is the same chamber in which she first awoke.

And of course, I’m back where I started. Using Farcasting, I guess.

Eidos crouches, running her fingers along the silver surface of the platform, somehow expecting it to spring to life. But the dizzying array of lines, curves and spirals, forming the Glyph at its center remains as impassive as ever.

So, no Farcasting, but Luin still haunts me?

Patience spent, she moves toward the white door, but soon hesitates. It looks so far from this vantage point. Perhaps the dark glass would be a more suitable object to investigate. Her feet are restless, not eager to wait for a decision. Her Falseflesh moves, stumbling as her mind and her feet come to terms. Only after arriving at the circular pane does she learn of their final agreement.

This is where I first met Fenrir.

The twinkle of reflecting light off the dark glass seems benign, inviting even. She stares at it for a time. It looks like a hole pierced in space, but offers no view of what lies beyond. She then peers into it, but sees only the dim, visual echo of her own youthful visage.

Just as she is about to lose interest, her reflection seems to distort, like the smoke of a flame just snuffed. Soon her warping image is replaced with an unsettling apparition… Bristling hairs of the darkest gray and the deepest black outline the form of a lurking wolf. Its yellow eyes seem somehow darker than the emptiness from which they emerge.

So, you’re home, wolf.

“Awake at last… Eyes open, but be they yet with sight?” The beast speaks not in human tongue, yet every word, every thought is crystal clear to Eidos.

Those yellow eyes were once fear itself to me, but now they’re nothing more than just eyes.

Leaving her no time to reply, it continues, “The darkness of this Sanctuary blinds, such an unfitting dwelling for our ilk. To leave this room you aim. Certain truth, as akin to mine your nature be.”

The same exact lines, but why is it speaking to me like it doesn’t know me?

“Where am I?” she asks.

The Sanctuary, body, that’s where.

“Known to me this chamber be, within the Sanctuary lying,” growls the wolf. “But now more questions arise. For only in kinship to its brother rooms can one room known be. These brothers, too, in a single Sanctuary dwell, their dwelling itself upon the Jenowin Plain resting. But all this little means… absent awareness.

Awareness does little to add meaning, Fenrir.

“And yet, only in first moving through one of three doors can you your question's true answer find.” It snarls, thin threads of drool hanging from the opening.

“Three doors? I count only two,” replies Eidos, confused enough to ask the question, but not enough to genuinely care about the answer.

“A hole in a boundary, from this place to that leading. Three such objects in this chamber lie. Though, perhaps one your ken eludes. The metal seal upon the floor, essence from form to form casts—some near, some far. A break in walls of space and void.”

“I tried it. It doesn’t work,” she replies.

“A locked door a key requires. If your nature with it resonates, perhaps its key I can you give. Though freely given this help be, on your instinct alone does its acceptance rely.”

“Sure. I guess. Why not?”

Not that it’s really any help.

“The my aid yours is…” growls the wolf with a knowing grin. “Many have I in my hunger consumed. Some bore Glyphs, their living thoughts now into my Trueflesh carved.”

Before the beast, lines of pure white light cut through the air, bending and folding into impossible geometries. The only identifiable shape is the circle that surrounds the mess of copulating rays and edges.

The brilliant object suddenly vanishes, leaving only a hint of its brief appearance burnt into her vision, but that too soon fades.

The wolf renews its explanation, “Though neither can I the Glyphs read nor write, a use these symbols cast as Sigils will for you have. For Glyphs through their use, not their reading, known be. Sigils as reader act, so that without knowing you may the Glyphs use. Granting one fleeting Sigil now unto you, my ken allows…”

So a ‘fleeting’ Sigil is it? Then the Farcasting and Wulfias Sigils are gone?

With a sudden guttural rumble, more roar than growl, Fenrir demands, “Your truth speak! What reason have you to the Awakening Chamber leave?”

Leave? So that the world can fail to kill me and I it? Why bother?

“No reason in particular; leaving is immaterial,” comes her honest yet unimaginative reply, for is she not the Impartial Eidos this time around?

The wolf renews its pacing. “Though I no loremaster of thoughtcraft be, with your nature—more than with any motivation to word translated—yes, with your Trueflesh more strongly did one symbol resonate…”

Suddenly, lines of vibrant blue cut the air before her, pouring forth from the dark glass out into her reality. A countless array of forms—outlined, never filled—writhe between dimensions both seen and unseen, marking a Glyph the size of her fist.

As the final lines pour out, a lustrous pendant floats forth from the surface of the glass, causing the darkness to unripple, like a pebble leaping from the water back into the thrower’s hand. The Glyph appears to emanate from this pendant’s shrinking surface.

Her hand reaches for the pendant, and it eagerly moves toward her open hand. Contact brings awareness.

Not Farcasting... odd.

“The Glyph of Discipline—though tied to the Sigil be,” says the wolf. “In indifference unwavering, though in aim malleable. Path unknown, possibilities boundless, you proceed.”

“Your Sigil now the Glyph's mark bears. Our parting nears. Till we meet anew, daughter of Viracocha…” Fenrir’s words end abruptly, all sound seemingly devoured by the dark glass.

Confusion, though still present, gives way to the stronger sense of apathy. Her journey may have begun, but she would be content even if it went on without her.

She looks into the glass once more, expecting… something. But the ravenous Fenrir does not reappear—nor does her own reflection for that matter. Nothing shines on that once reflective surface. No light survives its utter darkness. Eidos now stares into a greedy singularity, ever-taking, never-giving.

So, a new key. There is that third door, I guess.

A third path, unexplored. Her feet urge her towards it, loathe to remain motionless, for what are feet for but to move?