An odd cawing floated in through the large window next to where Sepeti lay. It interrupted the incessantly rhyming pair who were busy flitting back and forth. Well, it drowned their annoying voices out for a moment, at the very least. The two continued with their insufferable speech pattern, grating on his nerves with each word.

Sepeti had to fight the urge to roar at them. It would only make his life harder if they realized he could understand their inane prattle.

“My my, ‘twould seem/ Our charges' condition improves/ A boon for us to redeem/ Mayhaps, soon, he grooves!”

It was painful. He waited for Boba’s mocking laughter to fill his ears. He expected it and he would not be caught unaware, heavily injured or not. The God was most definitely behind this, one way or another. Either he had given Sepeti a faulty skill that caused these people to sound like they were constantly rapping with a medieval twist or the language was naturally this annoying. It was unthinkable, in Sepeti’s mind, that there would exist a culture that naturally evolved to speak in such a brain-numbing way.

He racked his brain, doing his absolute best to ignore the chattering duo as they continued to melodically bounce their words off of one another. He couldn’t remember anything from his first life about cultures that spoke in rhyme. Sure, there were records of old civilizations that liked to make themselves seem much more impressive by waxing poetic in their literature. But that had all been proven to be nothing more than the most pompous of their bourgeoisie preening like peacocks.

Yet, here was proof that even the most annoying concept could be brought to fruition. All you had to do was look in some far off corner of the Expanse. Or, in Sepeti’s case, be sent here by complete accident due to an inept God.

“Let us dibble and dabble/ Scribble and scrabble/ Nibble and nabble…” The person hovered over him, mumble-rhyming under their breath as they applied a salve to his face. It was cool to the touch. He felt like a brisk breeze had suddenly washed over him and he shivered, just a bit.

“Oh my, oh my/ The patient enjoys it, yes he does/ He might be shy/ Don’t over do it, he might catch a buzz.”

Sepeti chastised himself, relaxing his face so he wouldn’t look like he was fighting the urge to open his eyes. The sooner the pair left him alone, the faster he could collect his thoughts and find a way out of this forsaken place. Not that the people had done anything to him, per se. He just didn’t have the mental fortitude to have to deal with a bunch of rhyming idiots. Speaking in their gibberish poetic meters, whatever the hell they were called.

He wanted to smack his own face. Hard. Anything to help relieve some of the secondhand embarrassment.

He had to ask himself, why the hell was he feeling embarrassed? Was there some repressed memory that the odd language pulled out of the deepest recesses of his mind?

He couldn’t think of anything. Absolutely nothing came to mind as to why he was reacting so adversely to the strange language. Maybe it had something to do with the host body?

That was something he felt he would need to ponder upon. Continuing to attribute random emotional outbursts and odd, invasive inclings to the host body felt normal enough. But he wasn’t sure if everything he was experiencing could be placed squarely on the sloped shoulders of his host. Boba had never mentioned anything about the host’s existence before the damned God had stuffed him into it. In fact, Boba never told him anything of interest or import.

“Let us praise most loved Zen-La’ihe/ For giving us the breath of life/ And blessing us with Man’s strife/ Since he’s always looked so shife.”

The pair's singing pulled Sepeti out of his thoughts. Not that he’d been thinking all that hard but the name they’d mentioned felt familiar. He’d heard it somewhere. Not here, not on this backwater planet, but somewhere else. A memory surfaced, reminding him of things long forgotten.

Images played across the darkness of his closed eyelids. He let himself sink into the memories, the incessant prattling dying down as he turned his full attention on his bitter-sweet recollections.

A large statue dominated the skyline of the ancient city-state. He had only ever gotten to observe it from a distance and even then he remembered how huge it was. Whoever the artist, or artists, had been, they had taken painstaking care to carefully animate the statue. It’s eyes were piercing, making it look as if it were ready to give him a stern lecture. It had that creepy effect that most paintings did, the one where the eyes seemed to follow you no matter where you were in relation to it. Creeping tendrils of fright always crept up and down his back whenever he laid eyes on the statue.

He also distinctly remembered the statue’s nose. Unlike most heroic renditions, this statue looked much more life-like and down to earth. The nose was large, slightly bulbous, and a bit crooked. It reminded him of a fighting man's nose. Or, at least, what he imagined a fighting man to look like. None of that perfect face stuff the artsy people liked to portray. This guy got down and dirty. And Sepeti appreciated the realism.

He remembered the awe that filled him the first time he had laid eyes on the mountainous statue. As a young child, he’d gawped at it, craning his neck backward as he struggled to take in the enormity of the thing. He had nearly fallen over, his head still a little too heavy for the rest of his body, but was caught by his father.

He remembered his fathers stern, reassuring hands scooping him up. It had probably been the last time he’d been made to feel so small and frail, back before the Presage had changed everything about him and his family. His father had placed him on his shoulders and happily talked about the statue, pointing at some of the inscriptions that were visible even from a great distance.

“Remember, boys, the name of this one. He was so great that, even after countless millennia, he is still revered. Even as the worship of higher beings fades from our world, this one stands alone. Man. The first and the last.”

Sepeti remembered hugging his fathers face as he admired the statue. Even in his memories, it stood unblemished and untouched by the ineffable march of time. He never did learn what it was made out of, not that he’d had time to care about such things. But, it would have been nice to know. Maybe it was some form of ancient marble that never aged and decayed. Or some treated alabaster that was blessed by Man himself. Or something. Whatever it was made out of, he distinctly remembered how it never seemed to fade. It never seemed to be shadowed, no matter how brightly the sun shone on it. It was a beacon. And it lived on in his mind.

“If Man was so great,” Sepeti’s brother said as he stepped toward the distant statue. “Then why isn’t he still here?”

“He is still here,” his mother’s soft, teacherly voice answered. “Just not in the same way that we are.”

Sepeti and his brother snorted at the same time. He remembered feeling bewildered and awed. Bewildered by the deference his parents were paying to some figure who was long done with the world. And awed at the architectural marvel that was the gigantic statue.

“That makes no sense.” His brother voiced his misgivings. It was so odd for their secular parents to show their acknowledgement of a higher power. Even as a child, he was aware of how weird it was that they would feel any deference for any higher beings. They’d raised him and his brother to believe in the here and now. Not in mystical people who probably wouldn’t ever bother with them.

“One day, it’ll make sense,” his father said as he lifted Sepeti off his shoulders. “Maybe.”

Sepeti continued eyeing the statue. He could just barely make out the markings that ran up and down the large figures arms. They looked like they were in constant motion, sliding around on the outstretched arms in a uniform dance. He found it odd that, no matter how hard he stared, he just couldn’t quite remember all the details of the statue’s face. Other than the nose and the eyes, the rest of the face felt like it was constantly shifting.

“Why’s the man’s face like that?” Sepeti asked, stomping his little feet as he grew frustrated from trying to pin down what they looked like. He remembered how annoying it was, the uncertainty he’d felt, the disquiet from looking at something that he felt he shouldn’t be looking at.

“Man was fickle and he made sure the artists figured out a way to convey that. He never liked his face much…” His fathers voice trailed off. Sepeti looked up and found him rubbing his thin goatee with a wistful look on his face.

“Did you know him?” Sepeti asked, voice full of youthful vim and vigor.

“No,” his father said, clearing his throat. He awkwardly scratched his chin before turning away from Sepeti’s gaze. “I just admired him quite a bit when I was your age. Still do.”

Sepeti frowned. There was a lie somewhere in his father’s answer. He could feel it. His gut always knew when someone was lying and it was telling him that his father was doing exactly that. But he also felt that most of what he said was true. He felt conflicted.

“Come on, let’s get a move on,” his mother said as she held a hand out to him.

Sepeti reached out for her hand and eagerly grasped at the thin fingers. As his small hands closed on the woman’s hand, the world flickered. Light flashed and his grip phased through the outstretched hand.

“One touch here, one touch there/ His skin is mottled but fair/ Some time beneath Zen-La’ihe would do him good/ Absorbing nutrients, as we all should!”

The sing-songy voice greeted him as he returned to full consciousness. He hadn’t fallen asleep. All he’d done was sink deep into his unconsciousness, an old technique he’d learned at a young age. Long hours of meditation had made him accustomed to drowning in his inner thoughts. After such a long time, it was second nature. It helped that he’d had a memory to explore, even if it brought up some unpleasant baggage.

Man, the ancient hero of his old world. His first world. That despicable, decrepit place that he’d tried so hard to forget about. The first God of ‘Oseni.

Sepeti suppressed the urge to snarl at the thought of his homeworld. He had some good memories of the place, that was a given. But most of his memories of that forsaken planet were mired by the Presage. Long hours of study, even longer hours of physical training. Training, they called it. But for him, it had been torture. All those forms and fighting styles and scenarios crammed into his tiny brain and weak body. All those long hours of increasing his body’s natural strength and endurance. All those nights filled with tears and pain. All because of one stupid, idiotic prescient God and their penchant for passing divine prophecy off to people who weren’t ready to receive it.

He shifted in his bed, controlling himself to not move too much and give away the fact that he was conscious. It was hard to exert control over a body that was roiling with loathing and pain. More memories simmered just beneath the surface but he fought them. Now wasn’t the time to be sinking into useless meditation. He still needed to figure out the specifics of his current condition and assess the situation.

Sepeti listened and felt that only one person was still in the room with him. It sounded like the person who reminded him of his mother. He realized that the person was incapable of doing anything quietly.

“Change comes, yes it does/ As old bandages must go, new ones apply/ Change is a must, or they grow fuzz/ Let’s stick that there, don’t be shy.”

They continued to narrate everything they were doing. Sepeti couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or if he wanted to roll himself into the fetal position and never come out. Whatever he was feeling, it was confusing. Listening to the constant rhyming wasn’t helping anything. As he was about to force himself to sink into meditation once more, something the woman-person said caught his attention.

“Stranger yet, stranger still/ One does as one wills/ The strange texts devolve and fill/ Why can’t I see his skills?”

Sepeti couldn’t feel them within his immediate vicinity, so he took a chance. He cracked his eyelids, a painful affair as he’d forgotten that his face was still very swollen, and slowly turned his head in the voices direction. He could barely make out the person, standing a few feet away. They were busy flailing at the empty air in front of them, sliding their fingers up and down like they were dragging something he couldn’t see.

“These words, they make no sense/ Viewing them hurts, they make me tense/ Who is this one? So shielded from my prescience/ I must call in Mo-Ka’ilo, to take evidence.”

They turned and quickly left the room, taking their constant babble with them. Sepeti sighed and allowed his body to relax. All things considered, he didn’t feel too bad. The most pain he was currently experiencing was a low-grade, dull throbbing emanating throughout his body. His face ached but he was pretty sure he was still under the influence of some foreign painkiller.

Sluggishly, he tested the restraints again. When he was laying still, not tugging on them, they felt nonexistent. He couldn’t even feel them rubbing against his skin. But as he moved his arm away from the bed it slowly tightened. Whatever was holding him down was wrapped firmly around his wrist. He figured that it was probably motion activated. Some form of utility magic.

He considered learning the magic but quickly moved on. What was the point of learning something he’d just forget about within moments of acquiring it?

Next, he tested his legs. He lifted his left leg and took note of where the tightening and tugging occurred. His ankle he expected. Strangely, there was also a thread wrapped around his thigh. He turned his right leg, trying his best to be as careful as possible and found that his thigh was bound but not his ankle.

Maybe this had something to do with his right leg's condition? Sepeti flexed the lame limb, a little harder than he’d meant to, and a spike of white-hot electric pain shot up his leg and into his back. He groaned, trying his best to keep quiet. The pain caused his vision to split in double as the bright room spun. He ground his teeth, digging his nails into his palm.

He’d forgotten that he’d broken his ankle during the fight. It seemed that his hasty immobilization rune had long worn off, leaving his leg a dangling mess. The pain was nearly unbearable. It set off a chain reaction of aching all over. All he could do was hold on and ride the intense wave. He wanted to scream. He wanted to vent all the pain into a long, mind-numbing yell. But he refused. Stubbornly, he resolved himself to handle the pain as quietly as possible. Extreme pain coursing through his body was preferable to having to endure the poeticized drivel of his caretakers.

Now that he thought about it, where exactly was he? He hadn’t been too worried about it before but he found he was now in a need-to-know position. He hadn’t known where he was before arriving here but that made little difference. Before, he hadn’t really cared. He’d been too foolish about blindly letting the stupid God pull him in the direction the idiot had intended for him.

For a moment, he thought about the masked riders he’d met. What if he’d asked them for their help getting back to the nearest city? He was still convinced that they would have killed him at some point. But maybe, just maybe, they weren’t a roving band of brigands or a detachment of spies from another country.

As he was busy thinking, the pain slowly subsided. He kept himself braced, mentally and physically. He wasn’t going to be caught by another wave without being prepared.

A long, shuddering breath escaped his lips as he slowly exhaled. His lungs empty, he held his breath as he concentrated on using some of his old refinement techniques. His fulcrum reacted, buzzing with mana as it had slowly been refilling itself as he rested. Mana slowly leaked from his center as he guided it. Just like before, the mana hit seven points before returning to his stomach. A small burst of energy was released each time the mana hit a focal point. Upon returning to his core, it mixed itself back into the murky mass that was his internal reserve.

He watched his reserve for a moment. Lightning crackled, at least, that’s what he thought he saw. He focused on the circular barrier holding his mana reserves in place, the thing he’d been taught was called the fulcrum. The last time he’d done a comprehensive check on it, back before he’d arrived on the planet, he’d found it to be boring and bland. His old fulcrum had been refined to the point of sterility. On the Machina world, he’d had no real use for refinement.

Now, he was in possession of a fulcrum that was completely malleable. Various colors flashed in his mind's eye as he concentrated on observing his reserves. The mana itself was mostly colorless, save for a few dustings of random color that would be mixed in and out until they disappeared.

He tempered his excitement. This would be the first time he would get to experiment with the refinement of a fulcrum.

He sucked in a gasp of air as he belatedly realized he’d gotten sidetracked studying his core. He drew in long and deep, filling his complaining lungs. As he drew breath, he watched the way his fulcrum responded. It lit up, colors dancing across the unstained surface as the colorless mana within spun rapidly. He held his breath and pushed a smidge of mana out into his body, focusing on trying to make it be as neutral as possible. The lines leading up his torso lit up as the trickle of mana made its rounds. He watched, eyes tightly closed, as the mana walked the lines and spread energy throughout his body. It pleased him that he was able to exert enough control over the small amount to keep it from running wild. As it neared the end of its route he marvelled at how it had grown. It had collected what little external mana was available. Again, it returned to his stomach and released a burst of energy.

Sepeti sighed as he dropped his meditation. He knew he’d only been doing it for a few seconds but his body had grown tired. He’d been able to disperse some energy but not enough to further accelerate his healing. The best he could do right now was rest.