One of the clearest memories I can recall with an odd sense of clarity, despite its apparent age, was during a storm at my old home. I was seven years old, a few months before the Emergence, and it had been two weeks after Maggie’s fifth birthday. Not much frightened me, but I never liked surprises. Sudden bursts of stimulus always aggravated my asthma, so my parents made sure that things were kept in control around the house. As a result, I was quite a sickly child and always tried to find comfort in my parents’ arms.

When a flash of light flickered behind the white curtains of the hallway window, I braced myself for the inevitable crack of thunder. My small feet pattered quickly along the soft carpet; arms held over my head as thunder followed lightning. I came to a stop in front of a particular door at the end of the hall, the master bedroom. My childhood home wouldn’t win any awards; it was a simple two-story building with three bedrooms, two and a half bathrooms; a home office; a kitchen-dining room and a living room. We weren’t rich, just enough to be comfortable, with both of our parents working, though mom almost did so from home. I never learn what they did, my mom working for the government about landscapes, and my father worked for a manufacturing company.

I reached for the doorknob to open but stopped. Mom had always made sure to impress politeness into Maggie and me, to try to be considerate of others, and knocking before entering a room ended up being one of the first things that she taught us.

I knocked on her door loud enough for her to hear it. “Mama,” I called out to her, trying to be too loud to wake Maggie. She had always been a light sleeper. No answer. Another crack of thunder and I jumped, my lungs tightening as I gasped. I pinched my eyes shut and tried to breathe slowly and deeply as Dad had shown me. Knocking again, I raised my voice just a tad. “Mama. Can I…” I shuffled on the carpet, looking around the dark hallway.

Another flash of light and I quickly opened the door and ran inside. My feet practically skipped along the floor as I raced towards the bed, pressed against the far wall. I leaped onto the bed and crawled along the soft, cushiony surface, getting beneath the blanket to hide — the dark blue comforter enshrining me in darkness to act a shield from the raging thunder.

My mother grunted, and the bed shifted as she sat up. “Joey? What’re you doin’ up?” Her words slurred, no doubt from having been forced awake. The thunder roared once more in place of my answer, causing her to sigh in understanding. “Oh, Joey…” I heard her grunt once more, followed by the sound of the moving blankets. She gently tugged at my shield, but I held tight. “Joey. Get from there. You can’t breathe well under the blanket.” Of course, my mother was right, but I couldn’t forgo my first and last defense, even as I felt the air I could breathe becoming stale. Another crack of thunder only cemented my resolve. “Oh, baby.” She cooed and stopped pulling at the blanket.

For a moment, nothing happened, but I soon felt her arms around me and pull my body against hers, the soft fabric of her sleepwear comforting to the touch. As her arms cradled my shaking form, I loosened my grip on the comforter and leaned into my mother’s embrace. A spot of warmth blossomed atop my head. “Relax. I’ll protect you from the thunder. Just come out from there.”

I let go of the blanket, and she quickly pulled it off of my head, allowing me to breathe easier. Her warm hand brushed my head along the side as if flattening my hair. For an indeterminate amount of time, we stayed like this; the scared child being protected and loved by his mother, listening to the sound of the rain pelting the window. Her soothing voice whispered calm assurances to my ear as she held me in her arms.

After a few moments, she let out a soft laugh. “Such a Mama’s Boy, aren’t you, Joey?” I didn’t reply, merely pressing my face into her side. Then the thunder roared once more. I tightened my grip on my mother. “It’s okay. I’m here. You don’t need to be afraid.”

“Not afraid.” I murmured; my voice muffled. “Just don’t like it.”

She hummed, her fingers pushing through my hair, calmingly rubbing my scalp. “There’s nothing wrong with being scared, Joey.” Mom’s soothing voice calmed my pounding heart.

Even still. “Not scared, either.” I stood by my statement, despite my current position.

“Oh? Not afraid or scared? Aren’t you fearless?” A playful amusement danced in her tone. We remained like this, silent as my mother comforted me. Another crack of thunder forced my breathing to stutter, my eyes to squeeze shut. “Joey.” Mom’s voice calmed me, but I didn’t answer her. “Joey.” Once again, she called my name. “Joseph.” Sternness entered her tone, causing me to raise my head ever so lightly. I peeked up at her, peering into her blue-green eyes. She seemed tired, exhausted even, with the faint bags under her eyes, but it did not detract from the love in her eyes. Her disheveled hair, while usually would bring out laughter in him, did nothing to detract from her smile. “It’s okay to be afraid. To be scared.”

I couldn’t help but dig in my heels. A hint of childhood rebellion sparking within me. “I’m no-”

She placed a finger to my lips, her smile widening and eyes dancing with amusement. “There’s nothing wrong with fear. Everyone gets scared.” A secretive smile grew on her lips. “Want to know something?” I nodded once; eyes wide. Her smile widened to a grin. “Even I get scared, you know.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. Mom?! My fearless and persistent mom gets scared?! “Really?”

A laugh escaped her at my response, quiet but deep. She quickly recovered and nodded at me. “Yes. I get scared, too.”

“When?” The question tumbled from my mouth.

Her eyes widened at that but narrowed in remembrance. She didn’t reply, but I felt her eyes focus on me. “You and Maggie are my world, you know.” Mom’s answer told me nothing and everything at the same time. She must’ve seen it from my expression because a snorting laugh escaped her. “Fear is okay. It’s natural. You’ll always feel a little afraid once in a while, but do you want to know a secret?” I nodded quickly, getting a smile from her. “It’s what you do when you’re afraid that’s important. When you’re so scared, you can’t move. When you’re so afraid, it’s like the whole wide world is watching you.” She moved a hand between us and tapped me on the chest. “But no matter what, always remember one thing, the most important thing: remember what you love most. Remember that, and you’ll find the strength within you to be courageous.”

I cocked my head to the side, furrowing my brow. I didn’t get it. It was all a bunch of big words that strung together and meant something important. “Huh?”

Another laugh escaped my mother, and she pulled me into a tight hug. “Sorry about that, Joey. Your Mama got ahead of herself.” She pressed her lips against the top of my head. “You’ll understand when you get older, I promise you.” Mom paused again, then leaned back with a smile. “You love your sister, don’t you?”

“Of course, I do!” I answered without hesitation, causing her smile to widen.

“Then think of her when you’re afraid.” Mom nodded once. “Until you find people that mean a lot to you, then think of Maggie. That way, you’ll push the fear to the side and face it head on.” Then she cocked her head to the side, pointing to the window with a grin. “The thunder’s hit twice now, you know.” I felt my eyes widen at that, surprised as I looked to the window, seeing the raindrops hit the window.

“Really?”

“Yep.” Mom nodded to me. “It’s not always easy, but you can be brave. It just takes a little practice.” I hummed at her words, looking down. Then I looked up to her. Her expression softened. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?” I nodded shyly, relaxing as her shoulders fell and she smiled faintly. “Still my baby boy, aren’t you?” She huffed with a smile and pulled me into a hug. “Fine. Get comfortable. We’re going back to sleep.”

As she laid back down, I asked, “Where’s Dad?”

Mom stiffened, her expression cracked ever so lightly before she straightened. “He’s working late. Something came up at his work.”

“He said that yesterday.” I couldn’t help the whine that escaped my lips.

“I know, baby. I know.” She pulled me closer and kissed the top of my head. “Your father loves you and Maggie. That’s why he works so hard.” I didn’t reply to her words, only tightening my hold on her. Mom huffed at my response, before speaking once more. “Close your eyes, Joey. The storm will be over when you wake up.”

“Okay,” I whispered as my eyelids slowly drooped downwar-

----

“Wake up!” My body shook as a pair of hands pressed against my shoulders as I laid there in the darkness. Before I could reply, a feminine voice called out to me as she shook me once more. “Joseph, please wake up!”

My eyes shot open as I quickly sat up on the cold, hard floor. I looked around to see reflections of myself and Arce surrounding us. Mirrors encircled us, confusing my sense of direction as I tried to find out where I had woken up. I couldn’t help but note that my sword was missing.

“We’re on the bottom-most floor of the dungeon,” Arce answered my unspoken question. I grunted as I got to my feet, grimacing at the sudden pinch in my ankle. A groan escaped me as I dropped to a knee to keep my weight off of it. Arce got to my side in an instant, inspected my ankle with a frown. She gingerly touched it, causing me to hiss at the sudden spark of agony. “You must’ve landed on it wrong. It’s twisted, but thankfully not broken.”

A surge of frustration filled me as I examined my surroundings. I could faintly see through the darkness around me, but the presence of the walls confused me. Were they even there? Or are we trapped in some endless pit of the dungeon? “Are you okay, Arce? Not hurt?”

She blinked at my question, staring uncomprehendingly at me. After a few seconds of silence, her expression softened as she nodded to me. “Yes. While it did surprise me, I’ve always been skilled at falling well.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of stiff sticks and some bandages. “It hasn’t been long since we’ve fallen, but no one’s come by, so I can tie a makeshift splint.”

As Arce worked, I watched her hands move with almost fluid grace. “Have you heard from Sora?”

Arce shook her head, her bangs flowing side to side at the motion. “No. She’s likely nearby, but she could also be setting up a checkpoint for us when we get moving.” I noticed that she said nothing about Faithe and Rorick.

As I thought of them, I recalled the moment seconds before the floor vanishing beneath us: Helma’s slit throat and the blood flying through the air. Of how it painted the air, reminding me of an artist’s macabre tapestry. An unbidden shiver raced down my spine, causing me to grit my teeth in frustration. Why did this shock me? Why am I fretting over something so, so, so stupid?! Why did I feel so…?

Scared.

It’s okay to be afraid.

Mom’s voice sounded in the back of my skull, causing me to squeeze my eyes shut. Nostalgia warred with a reluctant betrayal. Why had I remembered such a thing? What was the point? I’d probably never see her again, and that was before I had ended up on Verum. Now? It’s a pipe dream, never to come true because it’d only happen after a string of unlikely events.

Why this memory in particular? I’m not afraid. I’m free. The whims and machinations of others no longer shackle me, only lead and guided by my whims…

Yet, why do I feel so unfulfilled?

“Joseph?” Pulled from my downward spiral, I met Arce’s concerned gaze, her dark grey eyes filled with worry. “What’s wrong?” She had finished wrapping my ankle; it felt tight and restricting since I couldn’t move my ankle, but that meant it worked. Still, it looked goofy as hell, considering she had wrapped it around my boots.

“Nothing.” I murmured. Her lips curled downwards, a hint of disappointment coloring her countenance. It quickly vanished as she stood and straightened her leathers, offering me a hand. I took it and managed to get to my feet without much trouble, making sure to keep my weight off my ankle. “Thanks.” I extended my gratitude to her, though my smile felt more like a grimace.

Arce nodded once, seemingly copying my smile/grimace, before she turned and stepped to my side. “Can you see yet? I’m unsure if your vision has evolved at this point.”

As she wrapped my ankle, I could indeed begin to clearer in the darkness. I could now better see the walls, noticing that its rough surface reminded of the floor that had disappeared beneath us earlier. Only this time, they were reflective. Glowing red eyes stared back at me, my grimacing face staring back at me in a mocking distortion. “I can. Has the bottom floor of this dungeon always been a mirror funhouse?”

It felt like we had been walking for hours, but I knew that wasn’t the case.

“I…don’t know what you’re referring to, but no it has not,” Arce answered decisively, already starting to walk forward. I limped after her, ignoring the twinge in my ankle from the motion. She didn’t notice or at least didn’t bring attention to it. “Either Garland’s spell was more elaborate than I assumed, or Faithe and Rorick have an Affinity that can affect the environment.” She pursed her lips, eyes searching the area around us. “Because this cannot be an illusion.”

Why do I feel like she’s wrong? A chill raced down my spine as if I was being watched. “How can we leave?”

Arce exhaled through her nose, lips pursing. “There’s a teleportation stone in the epicenter, but I don’t believe it’ll be that easy.”

“Why?” She didn’t answer, because I felt a sinking sensation deep in my gut. I lifted a hand to interrupt her. “They beat us there, didn’t they?”

“I’m going to assume that they did, yes.” Arce did not sound happy at that answer.

I didn’t feel happy either. That meant we either had to fight our way out, or they’d already leave and tell the world about me. Both sucked, especially considering my current injury. “We need to find Sora.” I declared, and Arce nodded with a determined frown. With that, we ventured into the darkness of the dungeon.

All around us, I witnessed our distorted reflections follow our movements, moving in a variety of directions. It felt like we walked through a mirror funhouse with the lights dimmed to just above complete darkness. As we walked, Arce’s voice spoke lowly. “No doubt, Soralynn is most likely pursuing the pair.” She paused, her lips curling downwards. “Marishka is with her, isn’t she?” I nodded, causing Arce’s frown to deepen. “Hopefully, the bond between the two of you is strong enough to strengthen her. Especially considering what your Affinity can do.”

I gave her a sideways stare, limping alongside her as we continued down the uneven path. “What do you mean?” This monotony started to piss me off; people are figuring out my Affinity before I am. Once we get out of this, I’m going to sit down and do some experiments with my abilities to find my limits.

“Immediate mastery over everything you’ve touched.” She pointed to the empty sheath at my left side. “You’ve only trained with the sword for three months, yes?” I nodded to her, causing her to incline her head to me. “That includes all form of martial mastery if my assumptions are correct.” I nodded to her once more. “However, how does that lend towards horse-riding? Or learning a new alphabet? Or fighting in armor? What else has your Affinity gifted you, Joseph?” Arce paused, coming to a slow stop to turn towards me with an intense stare. “Your Mantle?”

I stopped at her words, turning to face her fully. “My Mantle?”

“The knowledge of Ascension is limited and restricted. No one truly knows what happens to those who are chosen to ascend to the ranks of Hero King and Demon Lord, save for the ones who experience it.” Arce spoke softly, her tone and mien severe and unmoving. “Yet, neither spoke of how it changed them, for differing reasons. The Hero King, because he threw himself into war immediately after his Ascension, and the Demon Lord, who sparked a war spanning the entirety of Verum, uncaring of the loss of life in the process. Perhaps they saw it as unnecessary to dwell on the past, or their roles were too important to waste on answering pointless questions.” Arce paused, her expression becoming stoic. “Or perhaps they were still adapting the roles that forced themselves upon them. Perhaps, the powers they inherited truly didn’t become theirs until they clashed in their final battle.”

“Where are you going with this?” I tried to keep the quiver out of my voice as I replied, an uncomfortable squeeze settling in my stomach.

“You are adapting to your new role frighteningly fast.” I gave her a confused look. An abashed look crossed her face before she paused. “No, that’s not it. You’re taking in the powers you’ve accepted at a breakneck pace.” Arce motioned ahead of us, no doubt in the direction of the epicenter of the dungeon. “Even before the first meeting with their group, you had suspicions of them. Suspicions that held no basis, beyond being called out of nowhere.” She tapped me on the chest. “Your vision is already at the level of the average Beastkin since you can see in near darkness; if Sora’s statement of your defeat over the bandits is true, then you’ve already found your capability for exponential growth; but the most shocking aspect of it all is the simplest observation…”

Arce lifted her hand towards my face, hesitating before she placed it on my cheek. With a gentle push, she moved my head to look past her, towards the reflective wall behind her. Red eyes stared back at me, and I could swear that the hallway around me seemed brighter than before. “Your eyes. The glowing eyes of a Demon that revels in conflict, testing the resolve of all who dare to meet them.” Her lips curled upwards, dark grey eyes gaining an amused twinkle. “By all rights, you are an anomaly. Of all the texts explaining your Mantle, none of them ever mention someone coming into this power as quickly as you.”

I took in her words with a shaky breath, staring at my reflection with a confused expression. I stared into my eyes, basking in the iridescent crimson orbs while I tried to consider everything. Ever since I gained my Affinity, physical actions always came easy to me, so long as I grasped the tool connected to it. Swords, spears, knives, staves, and countless other weapons shown to me from Veritas’ armory. Even archery, though I never fired an arrow after touching a bow; I could fight in armor like a second skin after donning it for the first time. Weapon maintenance became trivial, provided I didn’t break it; horse riding felt like I had done it my entire life — even most noncombat items added to my growing experience, like some gardening and farming tools.

Everything I touched, directly or indirectly, I mastered instantly, though I needed the physical strength and ability to follow through. The only thing I could never use ended up being magic. After Lillian had told me my handicap, I borrowed a tome from one of her subordinates, but it did absolutely nothing for me. I gained nothing from it; when I tried to read it, my head pounded as a migraine settled in my forehead. I would never use magic, so I decided on staying on the martial path. Though, learning Baasima’s Ki manipulation that day in the Merchant quarter surpri-

I jerked in surprise, stepping backward to create space between Arce and me. I tore my gaze from my reflection and lifted a hand. Clenching it in a fist, I focused on what I had done to call upon that power when I first gained it. Arce’s concerned voice sounded miles away as I looked deep into myself; I hit a wall, something like a flexible barrier that prevented me from going further. Furrowing my brow, I pushed and felt a hint of give, before it held firm. It felt like saran wrap, a thin film encompassing my awareness, muddling my vision. I pushed harder, and the resistance grew in response, but all it did was aggravate me. I closed my eyes and pulled back.

I inhaled slow breath to gather myself, exhaling just as slowly. Centering myself, I squared my shoulders and once again breathe deeply, from the diaphragm. My unconscious mind idly provided instructions and relayed them to my body. Slowly, but surely, the film began lessening, losing its thickness. In the back of my awareness, I felt my right fist clench tight enough for the knuckles to crack.

Arce’s confused voice echoed in the background as if trying to catch my attention, but I pushed her out. She’d only distract. I leaned into my Affinity, immersing myself in the dearth of instinctual knowledge. Piece by piece, I adjusted my stance; I shifted my footing, ignoring the twinge of my twisted ankle. I rolled my shoulders, relaxing them as I turned them to the side. I opened my hands, loosening the tension that settled in them. I exhaled slowly, breathily, and the film that covered the veritable sea of energy that thrummed within me slowly dispersed. Strength filled me, washing away what little fatigue I felt. My ankle burned as if it were dipped into warm water before it cooled, and the pain washed away as though it never existed.

You can be scared. It’s natural.

I opened my eyes as I felt a smile grow on my face, watching as Arce’s eyes widened in shock. The surrounding area brightened as a faint glow overtook my body, warmth cocooning me in its embrace. I hadn’t found inner peace or perfect equilibrium between rage and serenity; I only followed what my Affinity already gathered from contact with Baasima’s Affinity. “It’s official…” Arce’s gaze shot to mine, confusion filling her at my words. “My Affinity is blatantly unfair.” I grinned and turned to face the mirror wall behind me.

All around us, illuminated by the power I had called upon, rested a paradoxically endlessly array of mirrors, shattered and broken mirrors that continually rebounded reflections and light. We stood within a perfectly ovular prison, our boot prints decorating the earth around us.

“How…?” Arce’s disbelief sounded palpable, a sense of self-deprecation coloring it.

I stared at my distorted reflection, my grin widening. “It’s like you implied. My Affinity lets me cheat the system. Accelerate understanding; move forward at a more efficient pace, a faster pace.” As I approached the wall, I couldn’t help but notice how…unstable, I appeared. The broken congruity of my expression didn’t feel wrong; it felt like a representation of my actual state of mind.

Trauma changes people. It shifts priorities and triggers shifts in personality. Even on Earth, I don’t remember much about how I used to be before being separated from my parents. How much more different would I be had the Emergence never happened? Would I have changed? Is who I am now an inevitability that would have come to pass, regardless of how my life passed?

Or has experiencing death and remembering it as vividly as I have driven me insane, and I just haven’t realized it?

Hell, I don’t know.

There’s nothing wrong with fear.

All I do know is that I’m fucking tired of being afraid. I’m nowhere near ‘enlightenment’ or anything like that. I want to find my path. My own goal and self-understanding.

I stopped within arm’s reach of the distorted glass wall, sliding my foot backward and turning my shoulders. “Getting lost in my head and losing myself to emotions will get me nowhere,” I spoke, both to myself and Arce. “I’ve lived my whole life trapped in a singular place, a stationary position.” I reared back my fist, squaring my shoulders, and bending my knees. “No more. I’ll stand still no longer. Nothing will stop my advance. Not your threats,” my eyes narrowed as my grin widened enough to hurt my cheeks. “Not my fears,” I placed my free hand against the wall, feeling a tingle race down my arm. “And definitely not a fucking prophecy!”

I twisted forward and put all of my body weight behind my punch. My fist tore through the glass wall like a wet paper towel, spearing through it and slamming into something soft, followed by a yell. The barrier shattered from the impact, exploding outward harmlessly, allowing Arce and I to see through it.

I knew I stared into the epicenter of the dungeon. In the very center of the stood a waist-high stone pedestal, forged from a pair of intersecting stalagmites. Atop it rested a glowing, white sphere, that appeared to contain an ever-shifting fog. It illuminated the room, revealing two prone, bleeding corpses lying on the ground off to the side; two people stood, both staring at me in a perfect dichotomy of horror and delight, while a third rested on the ground, groaning and rubbing their face from the force of my punch.

Sora grinned proudly, her face scuffed and marred by black smudge, a bruise on the left side of her jaw and a cut beneath her eye. In her left hand, she held a knife in a reverse grip, while her right held aloft with an orb of purple energy floating above her palm. Her scuffed armor was torn and scratched, with blood dripping from a wound on her side.

Across from her, Rorick stared at me in horror and anger, surprise coloring his bruised and slashed face. He missed significant portions of his armor, with many bite and claw marks around his uncovered limbs. Scorches and burns decorated his body in abundance, colored by the occasional bruise. A broken sword lay a few feet off to the side, while another rested in his hand, clenched tightly. His shield could no longer be called a shield, more like a chew toy.

At Sora’s side, and somehow big enough to stand at her waist height, a black wolf with thick, powerful limbs stood menacingly. Fangs bared hatefully as red eyes bored into Rorick; in front of the wolf laid a ball of twisted and torn metal, adorned with a variety of bite and claw mark. Marishka had somehow grown large enough to tear out her foe’s intestines with no more effort than I would tear a sheet of paper.

Lying on the ground a few feet away from me, grimacing as she rubbed her jaw, Faithe breathed erratically as she stared at me in disbelief and fear. Soot and scratch marks marred her formerly flawless skin. Other than that, she seemed unmarred. Eyes wide with shock stared up to me.

I kept up my grin as I rolled my gaze over the group in front of me. A part of me wanted to say a quip before diving into the fight, but I felt my smile fall when I caught sight of Helma’s body. Blood pooled around her no doubt cooling corpse. A person died because of my actions, no matter how indirect. Though I did not wield the blade, my efforts led to it, causing the desperation Faithe experienced. That may seem twisted or strange, but that’s how I felt. Very little could change that.

I had a choice before me. An inevitability that I would’ve reached regardless. A decision I still don’t know if I’m ready to make. But we don’t always have the luxury of choosing our crucibles, do we?

My grin returned as I looked towards Rorick, relishing in the flinch he gave at the weight of my attention. “You have my sword. I’d like it back.”